The Sheikh's Bartered Bride. Lucy Monroe

from hers. “I can?”

      “Yes.” When he didn’t close the gap, she said, “Please.”

      The kiss was as soft and fleeting as a butterfly flitting from one flower to another, but he did not move his head away and their breath continued to mingle.

      The scent of his cologne mixed with a fragrance that could only be him. Male. It called to the primordial woman in her. She wanted to claim this man.

      “Are you teasing me?” she asked, wondering why he had not kissed her again, more thoroughly.

      “I am teasing myself.”

      His admission was flint to the gunpowder of her self-control. To say such a thing implied he wanted her and that was as exciting as having his body so close she could feel his heartbeat. She closed the gap of those few centimeters, her mouth locking to his with enthusiasm, if not skill.

      He didn’t seem to mind. His grip on her tightened and he took control of the kiss almost immediately. His mouth moved against hers, his tongue running along the seam of her lips. She opened her mouth on a small rush of air and he took possession of the interior. She’d thought of kissing like this before of course, but it had seemed messy.

      It felt wonderful.

      He tasted like the tiramisu he’d had for dessert at the restaurant. He also tasted like Hakim and it was a flavor she could not get enough of.

      She moaned and sucked on his tongue.

      He growled, his grip on her going painfully tight now and she found herself in his lap, her breasts pressed against his chest.

      She wanted to touch him. She had to touch him. Her hands landed against his shoulders and stayed there for a full five seconds while the kiss went on and on. But just feeling the heat of him under her fingers was not enough. She wanted to explore.

      First she let her fingers trail through his hair. It felt soft, almost like silk and she explored the shape of his head through it. He was so male, even his head felt a particularly masculine way to her searching fingers.

      A sense of desperation, laced with fear that this would end soon and she would miss having touched the rest of his body, she brought her hands down on either side of his face, slowly sliding them toward his neck, then shoulders. With each centimeter of movement, she memorized the feel of his warm skin against the pads of her fingertips.

      Sliding her hands down the polished cotton of his shirt, under his jacket, she outlined each muscle, each ridge and valley on the masculine torso so close to her own.

      He shuddered and she rejoiced that she could affect him.

      His hands were kneading her backside and she could feel a growing ridge of hardness under her hip.

      In the back of her mind, she registered that meant he was getting excited which sent her emotions careening out of control and the impossible feelings she harbored for this magnificent man poured out through her lips and fingertips.

      As if the release of her emotions had freed something in him, his ardor increased and the kiss went nuclear.

      His tongue dueled with hers, demanding a submission she was only too willing to give. While he conquered her mouth, she tore at the buttons on his shirt, getting enough undone to slip her hand inside and feel the smooth, hot flesh of his naked chest. It was at that point that she accepted this was not a waking dream. No fantasy could possibly be this good.

      And somehow because it was real, it was more. More intense. More feeling. More excitement. Almost too much.

      She broke her mouth from his and sucked in air, trying to breath as her world spun around her in a kaleidoscope of feelings she had never experienced, but nonetheless recognized.

      She wanted him.

      Desperately.

      “Do engaged people get to make love?” Her own boldness shocked her, but she waited tensely for his answer.

      The kneading action on her bottom stopped and his forehead fell against hers. “No.”

      “Is it because I’m a virgin?” she asked, feeling tears of frustration already burning at the back of her eyes.

      Hakim was going to wake up to whatever insanity had prompted his proposal and withdraw. And she would still be a virgin. Life was so unfair.

      “It is true. This is part of it.”

      “But I don’t want to be a virgin,” she wailed and then felt mortified color drench her face, neck and even the breasts achingly aware of the proximity of his body.

      He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He kissed her, hard and quick against her mouth. “We must wait.”

      “I can’t.”

      He groaned like a drowning man going under for the last time. The hardness under her thigh twitched and his mouth locked with hers again, this time not waiting for her to open her lips, but forcing them apart for the entrance of his tongue.

      His hand came up and cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her achingly erect nipple. She arched into his touch while squirming her backside against his hard maleness. She loved him so much. Loved what he was doing to her. Loved the anticipation of more. For the first time in her life Catherine was glad she had never been with another man.

      She wanted Hakim to be her first.

      He kissed his way down her neck, stopping to suckle her rapid pulse beat. Arrows of pleasure shot through her limbs and she cried out at the wonder of it all.

      Then his mouth was on her collarbone, his tongue caressing her in a way she had not expected. She went completely still when he pulled the stretch neckline of her dress down to expose her braless breasts.

      He stopped moving, too, pulling back until he had an unfettered view of her exposed flesh. There was a lot on display. Her figure in no way resembled the boyish shapes so popular in today’s media.

      She felt another blush crawl up her skin as her senses prickled with heat and heady excitement.

      Dark fingers caressed her pinkened flesh, making her moan and shake in response.

      “So beautiful. So perfect.” His words registered with the same sensual impact as his touch had done.

      “I’m—” She’d meant to say something about how she was not exactly cover model slender, but he forestalled her with a finger against her lips.

      “Exquisite. You are exquisite.”

      Then his head lowered, his lips touched her sensitized flesh and she lost her sense of place and time. He tasted her. All of her, covering each square centimeter of her naked curves with tantalizing attention. By the time he took one of her nipples into his mouth, she was shaking and inexplicable tears were running hotly down her temples and into her hair.

      It was too much. The pleasure was too great.

      “Hakim, darling, please!”

      She didn’t know what she was begging for, but he seemed to as his hand trailed down her body until it reached the hem of her skirt. His fingers brushed against her stocking clad leg and moved upward, slowly, ever so slowly.

      Combined with his tasting of her breast, this tormenting slowness was driving her mad. But then his hot fingers were on the skin above the top of her stocking, curving toward her feminine center. His fingertip brushed against the silk of her panties where it covered her most tender flesh and sensation exploded inside her like a nuclear reactor.

      Her body bowed. She screamed. She thought Hakim cursed, but she couldn’t be sure. Nothing but the agonizing pleasure of her body was registering completely.

      His hand slipped inside the waistband of her panties, down to flesh that had never, ever felt a man’s touch and she cried out in an overload of sensation as he touched that bit of feminine flesh that other women talked about, but she had never even experimented with finding.

      She