A Secret Birthright - By Olivia Gates Page 0,34
touches unraveled her body and mind.
Among her stifled cries of release she heard something primal rumble in his gut, knew it was the sound of his control snapping.
He came over her and her hands fumbled with his to remove his pants, the last barrier between them. She went nerveless as his lips spilled worship into hers, proclaiming her soul of his heart, his need to be inside her.
“Roh galbi, mehtaj akoon jow’waaki.”
She couldn’t bear not having him filling her, couldn’t bear the emptiness he’d created inside her, couldn’t…couldn’t…
She couldn’t let him take her when she hadn’t told him…
No. She couldn’t tell him. And she couldn’t not have him. Just this once. She needed this once. It wasn’t too much to ask, to take. She’d live in deprivation for the rest of her life.
And she sobbed her need, her desperation. “Come inside me, Fareed, now. Don’t wait…just take me.”
“Aih, ya hayat galbi…take me inside you, take all of me.”
He bore down into her, as blinded, as lost. She cried out, in relief, in anguish, spread her legs wider for his demand, contained him, her heels digging into his buttocks, her nails into his back, demanding him, urging him.
His pained chuckle detailed his enjoyment of her frenzy as his muscled hips flexed, positioning himself at her entrance, prostrating her for his domination. Then in one burning plunge, he was there, inside her. Flesh in flesh.
The shock to her system was total.
Paralyzed, mute, she stared up at him, everything swollen and invaded and complete. He rested deep within her, stretching her beyond capacity, as incapacitated. Blackness frothed from the periphery of her vision, a storm front of pleasure advancing from her core. Fareed…at last.
It was he who broke the panting silence, his voice a feral growl now. “Gwen, the pleasure of you…ya Ullah…”
He rose on his palms, started to withdraw from her depths. She clung blindly, crazed for his branding pain and pleasure.
He withdrew all the way out, dragged a shriek of stimulation and loss from her. Before she cried out again for his return, he drove all the way back inside her.
On his next withdrawal, she lost what was left of her mind. She thrust her hips up, seeking his impalement. He bunched her hair in his fist, tugged her down to the bed, exposing her throat, latching his teeth into her flesh as if he’d consume her.
Then he plowed back into her, showed her that those first plunges had just been preparations. He fed her core more, then more of him with every thrust, causing an unknown, unbelievably pleasurable expansion within her, until she felt him hit the epicenter of her very essence.
She was destroyed, blind, mad, screaming, clinging to him, biting him, convulsing, the ecstasy rending in intensity.
He withdrew, and she saw his magnificent face seize with ferocity, with his greed for every sensation he plumbed her body for, had ripping through her. Tension shot up in his eyes, as if he was judging when to let go.
She begged him, for him. “Give me—give me…”
And he gave. She felt each surge of his jetting climax inside her. It hit her at her peak, had her thrashing, weeping, unable to endure the spike in pleasure. Everything dimmed, faded…
She had no idea when awareness started trickling between the numb layers of satisfaction. She was still lying beneath Fareed. Then she realized what had roused her. He was leaving her body.
Before she could whimper with his loss, he pressed back over her, his weight sublime pleasure. She moaned her contentment. More bliss settled into her bones as he swept her around, draped her over his expansive body, mingling their sweat and satisfaction.
She closed her eyes, let his feel and those precious moments integrate into her cells. She’d need the memories to tide her through the rest of her life.
But this wasn’t over yet. She had hours with him still.
She wouldn’t waste a second.
“And I thought it would be unprecedented with you.”
Everything inside her stilled.
Would his next words elaborate on the disappointment of his expectations? Had he given her her life’s most transfiguring experience, but she’d proved no more than a barely adequate one?
Suddenly, she wanted to bolt. She wanted to hold on to what she’d experienced. It would be all she had of him. And if it turned out to be a one-sided illusion…
“If I’d known how it would be between us, that it would far exceed even my perfectionist fantasies, I would have carried you off to my bed weeks ago.”
She raised