Royal Weddings. Annie West

into what passed for his soul. For a fleeting instant doubt hammered him, the remembrance of all he couldn’t offer her.

      Then her fingers moved, learning the shape of his body, and doubt fled.

      This time it was simple attraction, he assured himself, heady with relief and anticipation. There would be no painful emotional complications.

       This time it would be okay.

      The knowledge reassured him and fed his arousal.

      His eyelids lowered as he fought to rein in rampant hunger to a level that wouldn’t panic her. His need was so profound.

      ‘I want you, Tariq.’ She whispered the words against his collarbone, pressing a kiss to his burning skin, then another and another, working her way in towards his throat, her mouth soft and hot.

      Tariq arched back his head, exhaling with relief and shuddering anticipation. He grabbed her shoulders and with one surging movement hauled her onto his lap, groaning as her satin-clad bounty pressed against him. Her taut backside was on his thighs, his erection nudging her hip, the glorious weight of one full breast in his hand.

      Was ever a woman created with the sole purpose of driving a man crazy?

      He was near explosion point and they were still dressed. He hadn’t felt such urgency since he’d fumbled with his first woman.

      Tariq dragged in a breath that smelt of sugary cinnamon with a hint of musk. Sex and Samira, a heady combination.

      His mouth found her shoulder and he bit down on the spot that curved up to her neck, knowing how sensitive it would be. The taste of her in his mouth was as heady as he remembered.

      She gasped, twisting closer, her breasts thrusting, her buttocks sliding across his legs. The friction of her hip against his shaft was excruciating pleasure. So was the knowledge that Samira was as aroused as he. She trembled all over as if sensitised to the very weight of the air against her body.

      Tariq smiled and sucked gently at the spot he’d nipped. She grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging hard, her breath a low moan that was music in his ears.

      ‘I told you I could make it good for you, Samira.’

      But she was past answering. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard. Her eyes were slits and her breath came in little pants as she shifted restlessly against him.

      To hell with it. Foreplay could wait till the next time. This thing between them was too urgent, too elemental, for games.

      He grabbed her waist, the silky material on her delicious body too flagrantly appealing. With a surge of energy he lifted her up to face him, the muscles in his arms locking hard to support her.

      ‘Move your leg over mine,’ he growled.

      Her eyes opened, looking directly into his, and Tariq felt the impact of her stare thwack him in the chest. He read dazed confusion and a desperation that matched his own.

      His arms shook as he lowered her gently onto his lap, pulling her close so her thighs wrapped around his hips. He struggled to breathe in, but the sensation of her heated core hard up against him was almost too much. He gritted his teeth, praying he had the stamina to last.

      His hands slipped up her thighs and he found the lace-edged slit on one. Instantly his fingers were under the material, questing over skin every bit as enticing as the delicate, slippery fabric.

      She shifted, rising clumsily on her knees, and somehow the silk ripped as his hand plunged higher.

      ‘Sorry.’

      For answer she shifted her weight onto one knee, then the other, dragging the material out from under her legs, clearing the way for him. By the time she’d done that he’d yanked open his trousers, freeing himself from the folds of fine cotton.

      As she sat back down, Samira gasped and shuddered, her silk-clad breasts exquisitely arousing against his bare torso. Flesh on flesh, heat on heat...the sensations were exquisite torture. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her still against his recklessly pulsing heart.

      Did he imagine a flicker of something like anxiety cross her taut features? It couldn’t be. It was too late for second thoughts. Yet some part of his almost numbed brain still worked. To his amazement he found himself asking, ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘Absolutely.’ Her voice was that of a temptress, throaty and low. She speared her hands through his hair, clamping his head as she brought her lips to his. Sweet as wild honey, delicious as ambrosia. That was Samira. He plunged into her mouth, demanding complete submission. Elation filled him at her unstinting response. Yet even that wasn’t enough.

      He let one hand trawl high to the soft hair at the apex of her thighs. It was damp and she jerked at the fleeting brush of his hand. He circled back and she tilted her pelvis greedily, inviting.

      An instant later, hands bracing her hips, he lifted her bodily, not breaking their kiss, and positioned her over his erection. She sighed against his lips as he drew her slowly down.

      Tariq felt his brain fog, every part of him focused on the sensation of slick pressure as Samira bore slowly down on him. Had there ever been a moment like this? So tight, so perfect, so right?

      The taste of her in his mouth, her scent filling his nostrils, the feel of her surrounding him... He shuddered, already too close to the brink.

      He devoured her with a marauder’s kiss, angling his body higher against hers till she took him all, and ecstasy hovered on the edge of his consciousness.

      Samira moaned into his mouth and he swallowed her pleasure, the sound of it rushing through him in fiery trails.

      Not yet. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to relinquish this.

      But there was no holding back. Already he was lifting her high, supporting her as she finally found the rhythm they both needed. Tariq tilted his hips and stroked deep as she returned to him then rose, riding him harder, drawing him in as far as she could.

      Fire flashed and her hands grabbed tighter, her movements growing jerky. His blood sizzled, his skin tingling, every sinew and tendon straining as he felt the first ripple of her pleasure drawing him closer to the edge. The ripples became shudders; the synchronicity of their bodies grew staccato, almost out of rhythm. Samira tugged her mouth away, gasping his name as she shattered around him. He’d never heard anything so beautiful.

      With a last, desperate surge Tariq powered up hard, touching heaven and spilling himself in spasms of bliss.

      A lifetime later he came back to himself. He held Samira tight in his arms: warm and sumptuous. Her thighs locked around him, her body trembling, each movement teasing him with agonised delight.

      Tariq breathed slowly, filling burning lungs. His brain still swam. He felt dazed, as if he’d passed through some mysterious rite of passage.

      He frowned, unsettled at the way something at once familiar could feel so extraordinary.

      Samira snuggled closer, her breathing muffled in his collarbone, wetness smearing his shoulder.

      ‘Samira?’ He wouldn’t have known his own voice. It was a hoarse, unfamiliar rasp. ‘Are you crying?’ Dismay rose at the suspicion that glorious, white-hot sex had turned to something else. Something fraught with female emotion.

      She shook her head. The movement brushed her breasts against his chest and Tariq sucked in his breath as pleasure stirred anew.

      ‘It’s just a little overwhelming.’

      ‘Good overwhelming?’ He found himself soothing her back with gentle, circular strokes.

      ‘Fantastic overwhelming.’ She sniffed and blinked, her wet eyelashes spiky against him. ‘I’ve never done it like that before.’ Her head tipped up and huge, soft eyes met his. He knew an insane urge to fall into those glowing depths and lose himself for ever. ‘Is that why it was so amazing?’

      Tariq felt his eyes widen.