Gritting her teeth against the frustration soaring through her, she realised that two could play that game.
She knew that he liked to hear her—could feel the pleasure that sprang through him with each sound that left her lips. In her heart of hearts she admitted that the sound of her own desire was something that also inflamed her. She might have been a virgin only a few hours ago, but she was a quick study. He had taught her to be.
She reached beneath her, then paused, wondering—just for a moment—if she could do this...if she was ready to take control over their sensual power-play.
The way that Odir’s body stilled completely beneath hers was all the answer she needed. With her back still flush against his chest she undid the clasps of his trousers beneath her, her fingers gliding the zip down, and she felt the hardness of his arousal on the backs of her hands.
He growled, the sound of his voice shockingly deep and powerful in contrast to her own. She felt his hand move back between her legs and she swatted it away. It was his turn now.
She wrapped her small hand around his hard length and revelled in the silky smoothness of his skin. The weight of him in her palm felt incredible as she gently squeezed, tightening her hold on him. She guided her hand down his length and back up again, and was surprised by the desire to taste him. To take him into her mouth.
Anticipation fired through her, but she put all thoughts of that aside. That was for another time. She focused on the feel of him, hot and hard, felt his hips flexing just as her own had moments before.
She smiled as Odir burst into Arabic, his words so quick and fast that she could only grasp the sentiment, the promise of the things he would do to her settling over her skin and into her heart. Wicked things he promised, but the warnings and threats all came to a halt suddenly with the gasp of pure need she felt echoing within her.
Suddenly he shifted beneath her. She felt his hand wrap around her own, guiding her up and down his length. His pleasure was hers, the erratic beating of his heart matching time beneath her own.
Then his hands moved again, his palms beneath her bottom lifting her just a little. She moved to grip his strong, powerful thighs, leaning forward to stay on top as he guided the head of his penis between her legs and into her from beneath. Her own slick wetness was a shock to her as he pulled her down onto his length and filled her completely. Her breath was expelled from her body as if to make room for him within her.
Trust, need and desire whipped around them, stronger than any gale force wind, binding them to each other. She pushed forward, feeling the weight of him pressing against her, causing a shock of urgent need, and it was all she could do to hold on as he thrust upwards again and again, strong and sure. One hand came around her chest, moulding her breasts, teasing her nipples, the other was back between her legs, toying with her sensitive flesh, pushing her towards the abyss that waited for her.
She couldn’t hold all the sensations within her. She dragged in air to lungs so full with passion that she didn’t think she could take any more. She clung desperately to the edge, fearful of losing herself, fearful of everything. Again and again he thrust into her, completely surrounding her, covering every single sensitive point of her body, and inside she was crying out for release.
‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered into her ear, his own breathing ragged but his voice steady and confident. ‘I’ve got you. You can let go.’
For a moment her heart struggled—she didn’t want to trust him—but her body paid no heed to her heart. The command he issued was so sure, the need he mastered so strong, that with one final powerful, incredible thrust he pushed her into an abyss of stars.
CHAPTER NINE
August 2nd, 04.00-05.00, Heron Tower
IT WAS THE chimes from Big Ben at the Houses of Parliament, further down the river, that brought Odir back from his sensual haze with an ice-cold certainty of what was to come. He counted each toll to four and then cursed out loud. He had just as many hours again until the press conference and it left a bitter taste in his mouth, washing away the flavour of pleasure that had been there only seconds before.
It had been a moment stolen from time, as simple as a man and a woman coming together in sheer passion, with no thought to anything else. But they weren’t just a man and a woman. They were King and Queen. And what they had just shared was the last moment of its kind that he could afford to take.
He was now the ruler of a country, he was now the Sheikh. And that had to be—could only be—his one priority. But the events of the last few hours—the revelations he’d uncovered about his wife—made him wonder what kind of ruler he would be.
For so long he had been safe and secure in the knowledge that he would be so much better than his father. Guilt and grief sliced through him at the thought, but he couldn’t allow that to overtake him. With his father gone, he now stood alone. But the doubt that had been held at bay for so long was creeping in through his carefully constructed barriers.
He had been a truly awful brother, ignoring what had been plain to see, what his wife had seen and known. He had been a terrible husband, failing to ask the questions that would have resolved so much between them, failing to support and protect his
