In Too Deep_ Husband Material & the Sheikh's Bargained Bride - Brenda Jackson [55]
She moaned his name as her breasts spilled out of the imprisonment of the corsetlike top and into his hands. He bent, leaning around her, engulfing one nipple and then the other in the moist heat of his mouth. Her cries rose, lengthened, her writhing getting more frantic. He didn’t give her a chance to process the feelings as his right hand dragged her lehenga up, yanking her panties down. Then his palm was cupping her mound, squeezing it, condensing the throbbing there into a pinpoint of insanity.
He let go before it all spilled over. In her haze, she realized. He knew that she needed intimacy, not release. And he was giving it to her. The closeness of owning her flesh as intimately as she did.
Two strong, certain fingers parted her feminine lips, delving into the desire flowing there for him. He lifted his head from her breasts to swallow her sobs of overstimulation. He glided in her moistness, from her bud to her opening, until she bucked, begged. Only then he slid inside her, adding a third finger, replacing his fingers at her bud with his thumb. Her keen poured into his mouth. He withdrew his fingers, corkscrewing the tension inside her to a weeping pitch.
“Take your pleasure, ya jameelati. Areeni jamalek wenti b’tjeeli…show me your beauty as you come for me.”
She’d been trying to hold back, needing to come with him deep inside her. But he was, if in another way. And he wanted her to give him this surrender. She’d give him anything he wanted.
He thrust his fingers back in, along with his tongue deep inside her mouth. And the tension snapped, over and over, uncoiling then folding back on itself, only to lash out again as her orgasm quaked through her like the ebb and flow of a stormy sea.
His gaze bathed her in his possessiveness, in his profoundly male satisfaction at the sight of her racked with pleasure, begging to be at his total mercy, to be taken, pleasured any way he could think of.
He held his fingers deep inside her, letting her quiver to the last tremor of satisfaction around them, before he slowly removed them, brought them up to his lips, licked them, growling his enjoyment at tasting her.
He gathered her, folded her, held her tight in his arms. His eyes were incandescent in the dimness, flaring gold with each passing streetlight filtering through the darkened windows.
“Do you know what it is, seeing and feeling you taking your fill of the pleasure I bring you, ya hayati? Tasting it? It’s the most beautiful thing in my world.”
Her heart swelled so hard, so fast, she whimpered with it. She couldn’t utter a word. She’d been at her lowest point, and had given up on him. She’d been trying to contemplate a life of emotional exile, loving him and knowing he’d never love her back.
Now he’d given her this. And it wasn’t only sex, or pleasure. He was opening himself up to her, letting her see inside him. This was for her, not for the eyes and ears of the world. And it was sincere. She just knew it was.
Tenderness swamped her, welled from her in feverish kisses and caresses all over his face. He rumbled a string of native praises to her as he kissed and caressed her in return.
The car stopped. In seconds he’d helped fasten her top and had her out and in his arms.
He took her where she’d thought she’d never be—the room he’d chosen as his in this sprawling house.
It was not as enormous or extravagantly decorated as the one he’d given her, but because it was permeated by his scent and presence, it was in a class of its own. Any place where he chose to live his most private moments was the best place she’d ever been.
He laid her down at the foot of his bed and proceeded to strip from her the outfit and jewelry in excruciating slowness, pausing at every inch of flesh he exposed to fondle and worship and praise. By the time he had her naked, her teeth were clattering, her heart in hyperdrive, desperate for an end to the sensual torment.
He then