One Night with a Seductive Sheikh. Оливия Гейтс

She’d bet the only reason he wanted her now was the challenge she represented.

      She’d better not stimulate his feline tendencies anymore. If she played dead, he’d get bored and go chase some other prey. But—

      She stopped so suddenly that she wrenched her hand from the glove of his. He turned to her, eyes questioning.

      “You said you met.” Incomprehension rose in his eyes. She whacked his arm as hard as she could. “They’re no longer here, are they?” His admission was a nonchalant shrug. She hit him harder, her hand stinging from the force of the smack. “You tricked me!”

      He rubbed his arm, his eyes flaring, his lips filling. “I didn’t. You insisted on coming late.”

      “There was no need for me to attend lunch, and I wanted you to have time alone with the others. My presence would have only been needed while you wrapped up the meeting.”

      “And we had to conclude it earlier than expected. Businessmen don’t have their time under control. They had to leave.”

      “You could have told me not to bother coming.”

      “But I wanted you to come.”

      His voice, his eyes as he said that …

      Images exploded in her mind, sensations in her body. Of every time he’d demanded she come for him, of the last time she had …

      She pressed her head between her fists, trying to stop the surge of madness, fury and frustration almost as fierce. “I get that no one walks out on you. Hell, no one is allowed free will around you, and you want to punish me for both transgressions. You headed to my place fresh off the plane with that in mind. So what will it take to satisfy you? Is ruining my career a must?”

      “That’s the last thing I want, Roxanne.”

      She staggered back two steps for the one he took closer. “Excuse me as I believe the proof of your actions instead.”

      His gaze became serious, soothing. “Whatever I did that compromised you, or could have, I didn’t plan any of it.”

      She huffed incredulously. “I wonder how that would hold up in front of a judge. ‘I didn’t plan to run the lady over, Your Honor.’”

      His lips twisted. “Zain. I deserve that. And I have no defense. Premeditation isn’t better than negligence from the victim’s point of view. But I swear to you, I never meant you harm. And I will never compromise you again.”

      She stared at him. “You mean you’ll leave me alone?”

      “I mean I’ll be the essence of discretion as I do no such thing.” He reached for her as he spoke.

      This time, she didn’t move away. This train would hit her. Why pretend outrunning it was an option?

      “Roxanne …” He groaned as he enfolded her into his large body.

      As if feeling her surrender, he crushed her to his hardness, making no attempt to temper the carnality of his response, of his intentions.

      He wanted sex. Raw and raunchy. Dominant and devastating. No pretense of gentleness or emotion. He’d exploit her body and take his pleasure in every way he pleased, plumb her flesh for all the ecstasy she could withstand.

      She wanted all that. She was disintegrating with needing it.

      She pushed out of his arms.

      It took all of Haidar’s restraint not to yank Roxanne back and down on any horizontal surface and caress her until he’d aroused her out of resistance.

      Not that her reticence was physical. Her arousal cloaked him in echoes of their pleasure-drenched nights, slashed him down to the beast at his core. It had him an inch away from devouring her, riding her hard, shattering her with pleasure, so she’d never again contest his ownership of her flesh, of her every response.

      “Roxanne …”

      Her raised hand stopped him. What was she …?

      Then both hands rose up to her hair, took the pins out. It cascaded in waves of flames down to her shoulders.

      Before another neuron could fire a thought, a response in his brain, she was pushing her jacket off her shoulders, then unbuttoning her blouse, revealing the creamy globes of her breasts. Ya Ullah, she was … was …

      She was stripping for him.

      His lungs burned. His hardness passed the point of pain.

      He heard himself choking on “While this might be a delight after I’ve taken you ten times or so, right now it’s agony not being the one undressing you.”

      He reached for her again, expecting her to sweep him away, to continue punishing him with her striptease torture. Again she did something that shocked him into another detonation of arousal.

      She grabbed him, climbed onto him, wrapped her legs around his buttocks, digging her high heels into his flesh as she bunched her hands in his hair and brought his lips crashing down on hers.

      “Roxanne.” His growl was that of a predator at the end of his tether. She pushed against him, making him stagger back and sit down on a couch with her on top. Before he could drag in another breath, she was tearing open his shirt, sinking her teeth into his chest and sucking his flesh.

      He bucked beneath her, the pleasure of each nip and suckle acute distress. “Roxanne, let me …”

      She slipped from his hold, ended up on her knees between his splayed thighs, her hands as feverish as her lips on the buttons of his jeans.

      He watched her, his brain, every inch of him overheating from the sight of her beautiful hands dragging down his pants, dipping into his briefs to greedily surround his erection.

      His mind hazed, his body hurtled beyond his control with the first touch of her lips on the oversensitized head.

      How he’d missed her touch, her mouth, her breath on him. How he’d hungered for her answering hunger, for her delight in him, in all the liberties he gave her with his body.

      But this was spiraling out of control. He had to … needed to slow down, savor it, stop her …

      Her hot, moist mouth engulfed almost half of him, the tip hitting the back of her throat.

      “Ya Ullah, kaif betsawwi hada?” he raved, mindless now, his hands frenzied in her silken hair. “How do you do that? Make every touch ecstasy?”

      She gazed up at him, let him see how she took him, loved it, how her lips and hands milked his hardness. A hot tide surged upward from his loins, outward to his every skin cell. His buttocks and thighs tightened with holding it back. He pulled at her, needing to have this completion within her, with her.

      She moaned her refusal to let go, the vibration an electrocuting surge of stimulation from every inch she devoured to his every nerve ending.

      He collapsed back, surrendered to her demand, liquid fire flooding from the depths of his loins. He froze in the intensity of the moment, trapped in the excruciating pleasure that had him on the verge of splintering into a million pieces.

      Just before he exploded, he tried to wrench himself out. She held on, her lips and hands making insistent sweeps, inciting him to madness. And he lost the struggle.

      He shouted her name, threw his head back, dug his hands in the depths of her silk fire and spilled his seed on her tongue.

      She held his eyes as he bucked again and again into her hold, as she drained him to the last drop.

      A long, long moment passed before she let him slip from her reddened, swollen lips. He lay there, gulping air, staring into the depths of her magical eyes and instead of satisfaction, passion roared again, consuming his body in a fiercer fire. Hers. She’d always been what ignited him. What satisfied him.

      He tried to pull her