A Secret Birthright - By Olivia Gates Page 0,33
sobbed again as she pulled him back. He’d called her his love, his life, said he coveted her, needed her.
She knew those were the exaggerated endearments his culture indulged in. They didn’t have to be literally meant, and in those moments, were likely driven by arousal.
It didn’t matter. Just hearing him say those things was enough. And if it were possible to give him of her life to fill his needs, she would have surrendered it.
She surrendered what she could now, all of herself.
He swept her pajama top over her head, his arm beneath her melting her into his length, circling her waist, raising her against the headboard to bury his face into her confined breasts.
She moaned at seeing the dark majesty of his head against her, let her hands fulfill what she’d thought would remain a fantasy, burying them in the luxury of his silken, raven mane, pressing his head harder to her aching flesh.
He groaned something deep and driven, the sound spearing from his lips into her heart as his hands went to her back. She arched, helping him release breasts now peaked with arousal, throbbing for his ownership.
He gathered her hands again above her head, drew back to gaze at her. Naked to the waist, the image of abandon, on wanton offer. She turned her face into the sheets, unable to withstand his burning scrutiny.
“Look at me, ya galbi.” His demand overrode her will, drew her eyes to his. “See what your sight does to me.” He let one of her hands go, took it to his heart, let her feel the power of its thundering, then to his erection. “Feel it.”
Her hand trembled as it fulfilled the ultimate privilege of feeling his potency. She stroked his daunting length and hardness through the heavy silk of his pants.
He undid the drawstring, slowly, maddeningly, holding her eyes as he guided her hand underneath. Her hand shook at touching him without barriers, couldn’t close around him. But even with the nip of awe and alarm, knowing all this would soon dominate her, she reveled in his amazing heat, his satin over steel, the edge of anxiety making her readiness flow heavier, soaking her panties.
He came down over her again, thrust his tongue inside her mouth to her stroking rhythm, groaned inside her, “Your touch is a far better heaven than any I imagined.”
She was lost in his feel when he suddenly drew back, spread her again, closed trembling hands on her breasts. She arched off the bed, in a shock of pleasure, making a fuller offering of her flesh. He kneaded her, pinched her nipples, had her writhing, begging, before he coaxed and caressed the rest of her clothes off her burning flesh.
The spike of ferocity in his eyes as they touched her full nakedness should have been alarming. It only sent her heart almost racing to a standstill with shyness, with anticipation. With pride that her sight affected him that intensely.
He tore his abaya off, finally exposing the body she’d known would make the gods of old fade into nothing. “Ya Ullah ya Gwen, koll shai ma’ak afdal menn ahlami. Anti ajmal shai ra’aytoh fi hayati…anti rao’ah.”
Her awed hands shook over his burnished, sculpted perfection, barely biting back the protest that everything with him was better than her dreams, that it was he who was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life, he who was the wonder.
“Habibati…” His groan roughened to a growl as he rubbed his chest against her breasts until she thrashed beneath him. He bent, opened his mouth over her breasts as if he’d devour her.
Pleasure jackknifed through her with each nip of his teeth, each long, hard draw of his lips, had her shuddering all over.
“Fareed, just take me…all of me…”
He told her he wanted exactly that. All of her now. Now.
“Bareedek kollek, daheenah, habibati. Daheenah.”
She lay powerless under the avalanche of need, her moans becoming keens as his surgeon’s hand glided over her, taking every liberty and creating erogenous zones wherever they fondled and owned, before settling between her thighs. His strong, sensitive fingers slid up to her intimate flesh, now molten, throbbing its demand for his touch, his invasion. They opened the lips of her femininity, slid between her folds, soaked in her readiness.
It took only a few strokes of those virtuoso fingers to spill her over the edge. She convulsed with pleasure, hazy with it, failing to imagine what union with him would bring if just a few