In Too Deep_ Husband Material & the Sheikh's Bargained Bride - Brenda Jackson [53]
“Suheeh?” he drawled, slow and devastating, a predator certain his mate was in the bag, certain he could prolong her torment and his gratification to his heart’s content. “Really? The only under and over I’m interested in are when they involve you and me during lovemaking. So let’s drop all acting and get down to the truth.” He tugged her hand and brought her slamming against his steel length. One hand splayed across her back, searing the flesh exposed by the dipping back of her top through the sheer dupatta covering it, the other hand sinking into her left buttock, yanking her to him, grinding her against his thigh. A moan of unwilling stimulation bubbled from her depths. Her head fell back, her mouth opened, her lips stung and swelled as if he’d already ravished them. He documented her reaction, merciless satisfaction blazing in his eyes. “This is the only truth. That you want me. As much as I want you.”
She tried to break free, feeling as if she were drowning. As she was—in sensation, in yearning. Every syllable he uttered, every press of his fingers, every abrasion of his clothes on her exposed skin, every gust of his breath brushing any oversensitive part of her, was an aphrodisiac overdose. She felt she was being submerged in him, in her need for him.
It made her angrier.
He was only manipulating her, feeling nothing himself. And she’d be damned if she’d let him pull her strings like that.
She wrenched free, any attempt to make this look like anything but an all-out fight dissipating.
For she was fighting. For her sanity, her sense of self. What he was taking over, with such ease, just because he could, not because he wanted her.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she spat. “You told me how it is this morning. You don’t get to change the rules as you please. I don’t know why you’re doing this and I don’t care. Just let go of me.”
He hauled her back, crashed her into him once again, his arms a vise. “I’m never letting go of you.”
She stilled in his arms, chagrin and embarrassment drenching her. “For God’s sake, stop. Everyone’s watching us.”
“Let them watch.”
“But this isn’t what you want them to watch. At least, if you don’t let me go, it won’t be.”
“Is this how you want to play it now, Sabrina? You want me to make you succumb, take it out of your hands? You want me to arouse you out of your mind and take you so you can have what you want and not be responsible? I’d be happy to oblige. I made you beg for me once. This time, I won’t have to take it easy or go slow, to make allowances for your inexperience and discomfort. This time I can show you just how much you inflame me and hold nothing back, exploiting every inch of your made-for-pleasure body, giving you so much satisfaction you’ll faint with it.”
She felt the world distorting, as if she’d pass out from testosterone overexposure. She struggled to focus, choking, “Stop it, Adham. If you don’t, I will make a scene. And not the kind of scene you want your friends and the paparazzi to witness.”
The sensuality on his face deepened as he leaned back, his hands shaping her, exploring her curves, cascading fire through every cell. He stopped at her breasts, kneaded and weighed them, rubbed circles of insanity around her nipples through the layered material of her top. “Show me, Sabrina. Do your worst.”
A second before she felt she’d faint for real, she smacked his hands off her and spun around.
She didn’t get far. He caught her at the tent’s entrance, turned her and snatched her off her feet. His hands clamped her back, her buttocks, opening her thighs in her flaring lehenga over his hips. One hand held her in place as the other snatched her dupatta out of the way to sink into her curls, holding her face upturned to his, her neck arched back.
He swooped down to latch his lips on her pulse, growling against its frantic beating, his voice feral. “I shouldn’t want you, I should keep this cold and all business. But you inflamed me, drove me mad, from that first moment I laid eyes on you.