Christmas Bride For The Sheikh. Carol Marinelli

it sounded as if he were already inside her.

      Her sex clenched to his words.

      She had no resolve.

      None.

      For a second she sat, his cheek pressed to hers, his ragged sexy breathing in her ear and his hands firm on her arms, and Flo closed her eyes in a vague prayer for common sense to prevail.

      It didn’t.

      Fired on by one kiss, her body crackled like a chip in hot oil and she offered her response to his indecent request. ‘Take me to bed.’

      As soon as the night air hit her, sense would appear, Flo reassured herself as they stood. He took her by the hand and she was rather glad for the support as he led her through the bar.

      But not to the street.

      No cool air to hit her.

      No car or taxi to calm her mind.

      They were in an elevator. He hit the button and even that jab of his finger had her almost fold. And then that same finger stroked her nipple and she simply watched, entranced.

      Was it her self-imposed ban on men that had her so frantic? Flo wondered. But, no, that wasn’t right, for she had never felt like this in her life.

      She was turned on to her very core. When he removed his hand she took it and pressed his palm to her face then deep-kissed his hand.

      He moaned and said something in Arabic and then, when the elevator doors opened, Flo dropped his hand and they stood for a second facing each other.

      She had to have his mouth.

      Yet he just gave a slow smile and with an utter lack of haste he turned and walked down the long corridor.

      For a hotel, there was a distinct lack of doors, Flo thought vaguely, for her mind was muddled by him.

      They came to one, though, and he opened it. They stepped in and she realised the lack of doors was because his suite took up the entire floor.

      A rainy London night glittered before them. Flo could see the Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben told her it was after midnight, yet the landmarks, so loved and familiar to her, were now altered in her mind. How could she ever gaze upon the time again and not remember the feel of him coming up behind her?

      His hands dealt with her zipper and she just stood there as her dress fell to the floor.

      She turned her head, needing his touch, for little slivers of doubt were raining in.

      ‘Kiss me...’ she said.

      ‘Of course.’

      But still he denied her the taste of his mouth for his lips went to her shoulder and he tasted her there as he slowly removed her bra.

      ‘Hazin...’

      ‘Do you mean, kiss you here?’ he asked, and turned her around so he could kiss her breast.

      Softly, slowly and indecently.

      The doubt he’d sparked was intentional, Flo realised, and it now felt delicious. The hovering of uncertainty was dizzying as he kissed down her stomach.

      Hazin removed her knickers and then he kissed her calves as he carefully slipped off her shoes.

      ‘Sit down,’ he told her.

      ‘Where?’

      ‘You choose.’

      She couldn’t.

      Flo looked around at the stunning surroundings and blinked in confusion. She was naked while he was fully dressed and she was actually trembling with desire.

      ‘How about here?’ Hazin suggested as he indicated one of the high-backed wooden chairs from a large polished dining table.

      ‘It doesn’t look very comfortable.’

      ‘Poor Flo,’ he said as he brought the chair over.

      The wood was cold and hard on her bottom and she wasn’t certain she liked this game, yet she complied willingly.

      He was still completely dressed—he hadn’t even removed his jacket—and the only concession to her nakedness was that he further loosened his tie.

      ‘Are you going to spank me?’ Flo asked, curious because she had never been spanked before. In fact, she would absolutely refuse it.

      Not with him...

      ‘Why would I spank you?’ he asked. ‘When you’ve been so good?’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘I’m going to reward you.’

      He knelt down and his hands parted her thighs. ‘Hazin...’ Flo objected. It was all too clinical. She didn’t want flowers but, hell, a kiss would be nice.

      And then he did kiss her.

      But...there.

      He just scooted her bottom out before lowering his head and thoroughly kissing her. He could be as clinical as he liked if it meant this! He moved her calves to rest on his broad shoulders as she hung onto the edge of the chair.

      His tongue was insistent and he moaned with intent. It was so focused and thorough and Flo found that tears threatened. Her thighs were trembling but his arms clamped them down. She let go of the chair and buried her hands into his hair. His tongue grew more rapid in its intimate perusal and her bottom tried to lift as she began to climax, but he pinned her down and she tugged at his thick black hair as she met utter bliss.

      Then he stood and simply picked her up and did as she had asked.

      He took her to bed.

      It was already turned down, but he pushed the sheets further back and deposited her there.

      And she lay on her side, trying to recover and somewhat bemused as she watched him undress, for she had wanted to do that part.

      Hazin was like no other lover.

      He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks.

      She wanted to feel the muscled arms beneath the white shirt.

      Yet he denied her that pleasure.

      She wanted to tug at his belt and to feel him, yet she breathlessly watched instead.

      God, he was exquisite.

      Lean and strong and completely unabashed. He smiled over to her, an arrogant smile, and she returned it, for they were feasting on each other with their eyes.

      He went into the bedside drawer and took out a condom. She reached out to touch him but he slapped her hand back. Again she had to settle for watching and she bit on her lip as he stood and gave his long thick length a couple of deft strokes before sliding on the condom.

      It shouldn’t have been sexy, yet it absolutely was. She was burning from her roots to her toes, on fire as he climbed into bed beside her.

      And then finally, finally he kissed her.

      He rolled her onto her back and he gave her all that had been denied until now. His tongue was probing and his mouth was urgent and rough. Finally, she felt those muscled arms and the satin of his skin. He drove into her and she cried out because he was not a gentle lover, but his controlled power was the just the right kind roughness, for he stroked her deep inside and seemed to read her wants instinctively.

      Hazin spoke in Arabic, yet she somehow understood every word, for they were so hot together and so damned good.

      Worries fell like dominos.

      That row at work? Gone.

      The bastard earlier? Forgotten.

      Obsolete.

      Hazin felt the same.

      For the first time utterly attuned to another person.

      He had tasted her first peak