Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh!: The Sheikh's Seduction / The Sheikh's Revenge / Traded to the Sheikh

Somehow he saw what was happening to her, recognised it, and his arms swept her strongly against him, and the tremulousness inside her gathered a hunger for his strength. She pressed closer, her hips against his, needing, wanting, her hands sliding up over his shoulders, around his neck, her breasts pushing into soft, no hard, harder contact with the pulsing wall of his chest, pursuing the need, the want as a whirlwind of beating, throbbing sensation travelled through her.

The storm in his eyes was rent by a blaze of blue lightning, electrifying the air, tingling her skin, her lips, jolting her heart. Her mouth fell open, gasping for breath. Her mind seized on the image of his face, his beautifully sculptured face, coming nearer, nearer to hers. Her fingers raced into his hair, clutching, grasping, pulling his head nearer still. Every atom of her energy was focused on drawing him to her, reaching into him.

Then his mouth covered hers, softly at first, gently, tenderly, holding back the fire she’d seen and sensed and invited, but the heat of his lips, the caress of his tongue, the excitement of touch and taste whirled her into a passionate searching for all he would give of himself. Her whole body seemed to soar with exultation as he abandoned softness, driven to a wild exploration that eclipsed hers with its ardent, urgent hunger to know, to feel, the wanting a sweet, fierce, nearly desperate need, crying out to be satisfied more fully, more deeply.

Kissing was not enough. Kissing was an anticipatory intimacy, a tantalising promise, a binding beginning to the journey towards the togetherness she craved.

He moved her back against the door, holding her there between his thighs, the burgeoning thickness, hardness of his arousal stroking across her stomach in a rhythmic swaying as his mouth continued to devour hers, the need of a man implicit, raw, demanding to be met. His hands moved quickly, skilfully, stripping her of blouse and bra, dragging off his shirt, freeing flesh to meet flesh, heated with feverish excitement.

Then he was kissing her breasts, his tongue circling the nipples, teasing them into needful erection, and Sarah threw back her head, arching to push for more acute sensation, the need of a woman surging through her, concentrating fiercely on the hot attachment of his lips, sucking, dragging an intense stream of pleasure through her body, her flesh pulsing to his pumping mouth, his hands stroking her thighs, rolling down her trousers, fingers smoothing her stomach, thrusting through moist curls to the core of heat, cupping it, taking possession of the wet softness.

Sarah closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sweet chaos of sensation, forgetting everything, all sense, all caution, all care, wanting only to feel. She had no idea how Tareq accomplished the rest of their undressing. Her entire physical existence was turned inwards to the hunger he fed with his skilful touching, the seductive, exquisitely pleasurable invasion of hand and mouth.

Only when he picked her up and carried her did she realise she was naked, both of them naked, and the sensuality of skin against skin was another wonderful intimacy. He lay her on the soft Persian carpet in front of his desk and she feasted her eyes on him as he knelt over her, such powerful maleness poised to mate with her, and her body was crying out for him, longing to feel him there in the place that was made for him.

She lifted her arms and he came into them, kissing her mouth, slowly, tenderly, as she felt him pressing against her, beginning to fill the opening to her charged, innermost self. Her whole body quivered in waiting. She moved, urging him on, thrusting for the fullness of him inside her. His hands slid beneath her, holding, moulding her buttocks and she felt him enter, slowly pushing further, growing, and she had the amazingly voluptuous sensation of opening before him, spilling the essence of herself around his passage, muscles pulsing, drawing him in.

She heard herself cry out sharply when he stopped. But it was only a pause to negotiate a barrier neither of them wanted. A pinprick of pain and it was past, trailing in the wake of deep, deep pleasure as he sank into ecstatic union with her, and she curled her legs around him to hold him in, savouring the sense of him being captured, possessed by her, a prisoner enveloped, held in a sea of intense bliss.

His mouth took hers in a long passionate entanglement, making the possession his, and she surrendered to it, letting him do as he willed because it didn’t matter. Only the togetherness mattered. And he led her on a journey she had never taken before, a wild, plunging ride of ever-increasing excitement, rising to an exhilarating peak, falling only to rise again, on and on, a tumult of sensation, tumbling endlessly, spreading out into ever-widening, powerful circles, faster, faster, drawing her into a vortex that spiralled towards a brilliance she couldn’t quite reach.

Frantically she thrust at him, pulling him with her, needing his help, arching her body to drag him into it, a fierce compulsion driving her, driving him, and there was thunder in her ears, white-hot needles piercing her body, painplea-sure screaming for release, and she needed it, needed it, him with her, riding the crest of…and there it was, an explosion of exquisite sweetness bursting through her like a supernova, and she was floating in an incredible free fall, swimming in waves of love, her heart thumping a paean of joy, her mind filling with the wonder of it, her body sinking into blissful quiescence.

She opened her eyes and Tareq was looking at her, drinking in the soft glow of her repletion, knowing he had put it there, a tender triumph in his eyes. “This I can give you,” he said, his voice low, throaty, husking over feelings that were inexpressible.

Gently he stroked her cheek, traced the desire-swollen fullness of her lips, kissed them, kissed her eyelids shut again. Then with a long, hissing sigh, he gathered her to him, lifting her as he moved aside to lie on the carpet, using his body to cushion hers, holding her to the warm closeness of intimate contact.

He stroked her hair, her back, languorous caresses that kept her sensually aware of both herself and him. Sarah was lost to everything else. He was her world. She rose and fell to the rhythm of his breathing. The drum of his heart echoed her own. She wanted for nothing. He had given, was still giving, more than she had ever imagined he would.

“Is it enough?” he asked, his voice oddly strained.

It stirred her sluggish mind out of its comfortable haze of pleasure. He had fulfilled her needs, but she simply did not have the experience to know if he was completely satisfied. What if she had been hopelessly inadequate in returning his lovemaking? Should she have been more active towards him instead of being so utterly enthralled by her own feelings? Did he feel short-changed?

“Do you want more?” she asked in reply, her heart fluttering at the thought she had failed him.

His hands splayed possessively over the pit of her back. He gave a funny little laugh. “More and more and more. I would take all you would let me have, Sarah. Until there is no more.”

She smiled, comprehending that he was pleased with what they’d shared and he was looking beyond the moment, further down the path they had taken today.

“Yes,” she agreed, anticipating the filling in of all that had been missing in her knowledge of him. “I want that, too.”

He sighed, his whole body relaxing underneath hers. “So be it then,” he murmured. His arms enfolded her, wrapping her tightly to him as he turned them both onto their sides. His eyes locked onto hers, a glitter of purpose in their dark blue depths. “You stay with me of your own free will,” he stated, commanding her assent.

“Yes,” she answered, thinking he was dismissing the hostage arrangement and making it a purely personal decision to stay with him, not for her father, not for Jessie and the twins, for herself alone, because she wanted to. “Yes,” she affirmed more emphatically.

The glitter flared into the all-consuming blaze of desire she had seen weeks ago when he had challenged her willingness to accept it. Now it was unleashed on her and she revelled in it, meeting his mouth, kissing him as avidly as he kissed her, sealing the new bargain between them.

She didn’t realise that being lovers was all he had in mind, didn’t realise the pact she’d just made had limits, didn’t realise promises would not be given because too much stood in the way of their being kept.

She loved him and felt loved by him.

It was more than enough.

At this moment in time.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ALL MORNING TAREQ had struggled to direct his mind onto the business decisions to be made before the festive season closed everything down. the Persian carpet in front of his desk was a constant distraction. The searing memories of yesterday…last night…continually kicked at the control he was valiantly attempting to assert over the desire that tempted him to toss his responsibilities aside and indulge himself in every possible pleasure with Sarah.

He read the invitation that had come in the mail with a certain amount of cynical amusement. It was addressed to him and was from the Earl and Countess of Marchester. Sarah’s society-minded mother was undoubtedly intent on showing off her daughter’s conquest at a formal dinner on Christmas Eve.

Irrelevant to him whether they attended or not, but it was Christmas, and mothers were mothers. He would be visiting his own, as expected, on Christmas Day. It was up to Sarah to decide what she wanted to do.

I don’t need you to make judgments for me. Nor decisions.

He shook his head over his own misjudgments. Sarah was so young, yet very much a woman who knew her own mind and with courage enough to seize what she wanted and run with it. The passion of her, the wilfulness and wantonness, the intense response from her…Tareq marvelled at it.

The invitation from her mother provided a valid excuse to seek her out, to be where he most wanted to be…with her. “This bit of mail is for Sarah,” he said to Peter Larsen who was diligently scanning other correspondence. “I’ll take it to her.”

Peter looked up, concern drawing his eyebrows together as Tareq rose from his chair. “Is she okay? I do regret having upset her yesterday.”

“Not a problem. In fact, it worked out very well.”

The satisfaction underlining the remark evoked a quizzical look from Peter.

Tareq ignored it. His private life was private. And compellingly attractive. He made a swift decision. “We finish this paperwork today, Peter. Prioritise what absolutely needs to be done. I’m taking time off until we have to prepare for the trip to the homeland. The second week in January should cover the reports my uncle will expect.”

“Suits me,” he agreed, keeping his curiosity contained.

Having released himself from work that could wait, Tareq had an even more buoyant spring in his step as he went in search of Sarah. He found her in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa closest to the hearth where a cosy fire was alight. She was reading a book and he noted a pile of books on the table next to the sofa.

So engrossed was she in the story, his entrance had gone unnoticed, and he paused before disturbing her, remembering her scathing comment about giving her dolls to play with. He was well aware Sarah was far too intelligent to be content with a frivolous life. Nursing a child with Jessie’s disabilities had obviously been rewarding and the time would come when she would crave another challenging occupation.

Time…it was always going to be the enemy for them. The thought stirred an urgent greed for all he could take now, while it was new and good and untainted by the conflicts that would inevitably part them.

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