Words gasped out of her without meanings as she discovered that her inner thighs were far more sensitive than she’d ever realized.
He chuckled, the sound wicked and delicious. “Are you sure it is the right time to be praying, ya habibti?”
“I … what? It …”
That smile that told her he was about to do something naughty creased his sensual mouth. Then, he pushed her galabeya higher and suddenly stopped, letting out a deep sigh of clear approval. “Oh, this is nice.” “You like my panties.”
“Oh, yes, ya habibti, very much.” He stroked a single finger right over her clitoris and pressed down into the silk.
She jolted, arching her body toward that teasing touch.
“I do like these, but I am going to adore what is underneath them.”
“You are so much earthier than I ever expected.” “I told you, I am a traditional man of my people. We celebrate the delight of pleasure.” “Your Bedouin tribes, perhaps.” “You would be surprised.” Maybe she would be. Like Jawhar, Zohra was one of the few Arabic countries whose outlook and culture had always suffered less religious oppressions than their surrounding neighbors or the rest of Eastern Europe. “I’ll take your word for it.” “You should not have to.” It was the first time he had outright criticized her upbringing in America rather than Jawhar.
“So, show me now.” She wasn’t about to get into a discussion on that particular topic right now.
“Oh, I fully intend to.” And he did, caressing her until she was in a fever pitch of desire.
She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she lost the galabeya. Finally. He took a moment to admire her in her lacy bra before removing it. He paid the kind of homage to her breasts that felt almost spiritual, but at the same time was very, very carnal.
Her nipples were aching and her panties literally soaked before he pulled back to ask, “Are you ready for me?”
“I’ve been ready.” She’d meant to yell it out, but her voice was gone it was a barely there croak. “I also.”
But still, he took his time removing her wet panties. And then, instead of covering her with his body like she expected, he pressed her thighs wide apart and began to touch her with careful, knowing fingers.
“Zahir,” she pleaded.
“It will be easier for you if I deal with your maidenhead with my fingers.”
“What?” she gasped in a shocked whisper. And then shook her head frantically. “No. I … That’s …”
But his forefinger and middle finger were already pressing inside, pushing against the barrier that stood between her virginity and their ultimate connection. He rubbed gently, making circles with his fingertips, pressing, pressing … always pressing.
It was a dull ache, not a stabbing sting. The small pain helped bring her to a more alert awareness as Zahir started his preparation of her body for his penetration.
“You are so careful with me,” she breathed.
He gave her that smug half smile that she found more endearing than annoying. “Naturally.”
“Is it a learned trait, or bred into you, I wonder?”
“What?” he asked, but his knowing gray gaze said he had the answer already.
“Your arrogance.”
“You have met my father. It is genetic.”
Yes, she knew the king of Zohra as well as the King of her father’s country, Jawhar, and she would have to concede the point. Supreme confidence was definitely a family trait.
“Khalil and Amir do not seem quite so over the top with it.”
“I am not sure Grace or Jade would agree with you but, aziz, you should not be thinking of other men while I am doing this.” He pressed against her clitoris with his thumb and all thoughts of arrogance and his family flew from her brain.
A long, low moan snaked out of her throat as pleasure intensified in that one spot and then radiated outward. He continued the pressure massage against the thin barrier while caressing her sweet spot with his thumb in a way guaranteed to make her forget her own name.
She felt the stunning ecstasy begin to build again, this time all the more intense for knowing what it would lead to. Her body went rigid with tension, the dull ache inside her drowned in the hurricane of desire.
As the pleasure exploded he pressed through the barrier, her pleasure muting the sting of pain. She still felt it, but somehow it was natural, a moment meant only for them.
He looked into her eyes, his own so dark they appeared black. “Now, I make you mine.”
She didn’t reply. Could not form words to deny the claim and refused to face the truth of its temporary nature.
There was no need for her to respond as he moved between her legs, his engorged, steel-like hardness pushing inside her.
She could feel the stretch as her most intimate flesh strained to accommodate his. His member was much thicker than his fingers had been inside her. The sensation of not only being joined to him, but completely filled by him washed over her.
Neither spoke as he rocked gently with his hips, pressing deeper with each small thrust. Their gazes remained locked, the connection something so much more than physical. But then, she’d never expected anything else.
She loved this man with her whole heart and sharing her body with him was both spiritual and highly emotional.
Despite the obvious need making his muscles bulge from the tension of holding back, Zahir leaned down and placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips.
Tears washed her eyes, but she wasn’t ashamed of them. They seemed an appropriate reaction to this moment. He did not seemed fazed by them, either, merely tilting his lips at one corner as he brushed the moisture away with his thumb. “Are you ready?”
She almost asked for what, but he shifted just that much and she felt a new type of pleasure. Something so intimate and primal that she could do nothing but nod.
He did not smile, though she could sense his satisfaction at her agreement. He did begin to move, starting a careful, steady rhythm that was at once wonderful and not enough.
“More, please, Zahir.”
He shook his head; the strain around his eyes the only indication that holding back was taking its toll on him. “Not this time. You are too new to this. You will have nothing but pleasure from me this night.”
“It does feel good,” she said somewhere between pleading and affirmation.
And they didn’t have a some other time between them.
Rather than answer, he kissed her again, but this time with an unrestrained carnality that revealed how close to losing his control he really was. She responded, losing herself in the joy of their connection.
His movements grew jerky, though he did not let himself go as she was craving. A small voice in the back of her head told her she would thank him for his control later, but right now, she was once again reaching for the pinnacle of pleasure.
When it came, it washed over her in a warm wave unlike the frantic convulsions of the first time. However, his body seized, muscles straining, his neck corded as he threw his head back and let out a primal shout of completion.
A sense of accomplishment washed over her, adding to her happiness. She had given him this, just as he had given her unimaginable pleasure.
“It is done.” His voice