Lora Leigh - Guilty Pleasure

She didn’t slip over. She didn’t slide.

She was catapulted into a shimmering sea of brilliant, pulsing sensation and explosive rapture.

Crying out Khalid’s name, Marty felt him slam deep just before the deep heavy throb of his cock signaled the fierce, heated jets of come spurting inside her and driving her higher.

Beside her she felt Shayne’s fist moving over his cock as the fingers of his other hand stroked her clit to a blistering release. He was moaning her name at her side as Khalid groaned above her, his body arched back, perspiration gleaming on his shoulders and chest as the flames of pleasure continued to flicker over them.

As the final violent tremors of orgasm eased through her, Marty collapsed back on the bed, fighting to breathe as exhaustion moved through her.

How the hell was she supposed to get through the rest of the day now? All she wanted to do was curl back into Khalid’s arms and go to sleep.

She was only distantly aware of Shayne groaning as he finally moved.

Khalid was collapsed at her side, his arm thrown over her waist as he gasped for air as well.

“Fuck me,” Shayne breathed out roughly. “I’ll have a heart attack at this rate.”

He moved from the bed, stumbled, then padded off to the bathroom.

“Kids, I need a nap,” he announced long minutes later, as he came into the bedroom and moved back to the bed. “Rest, sweet thing.” He kissed her gently on the lips before she felt him move away. Seconds later she heard the bedroom door close softly.

“I think I did have a heart attack,” Khalid mumbled at her side. “I felt my heart rip out of my chest.”

She turned her head and couldn’t help the smile that curved at her lips as she asked, “How do you figure that?”

As he lifted his head he stared back at her, his expression somber, serious. “I lost my heart,” he said then. “You stole it, Marty. When I wasn’t looking, you took it right from my chest.”

What was he saying? She stared back at him in shock.

“I love you, Marty,” he said then, and she saw the truth of it in his eyes, in his expression. “I love you until there’s no tomorrow without you. Until I think I would die a cold, lonely death without you.”

He loved her.

She stared back at him, still not entirely certain that she was awake. Had she fallen asleep? Had she somehow managed to slip into her greatest fantasy to hear the words she had needed to hear for so very long?

“You’re not saying anything, Marty.” He reached out, his fingertips caressing her cheek, then her jaw. “What’s wrong?”

She had to swallow tightly to speak.

“Say it again.” Was that her voice? So desperate, so filled with hope. “Please, Khalid, say it again.”

“I love you, Marty Mathews,” he said simply, softly. “With everything inside me, I love you.”

He loved her.

She wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t a fantasy. It was real, and she wasn’t losing her mind.

“You love me?”

“I love you.” He gave her a small, gentle smile. “More than you can ever know.”

She couldn’t stem the tears. They filled her eyes and slid slowly down her cheeks as he stared back at her, a small, confused frown darkening his brow.

“I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old,” she whispered. “So much, Khalid. I’ve loved you so much.”

Her arms went around his neck as she buried her face in his chest, fighting to stop the tears. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want his face blurred because of her tears. She wanted to memorize it. She wanted to preserve this moment in time.

“He loves you so much.”

They both froze for one second before jerking around to stare in shock at the figure who stood in the doorway, an automatic rifle cradled in his arms.

Aman Mustafa.

Marty knew his scarred face instantly. The thick black hair was pulled back into a ponytail; a ragged, ill-kept bushy beard covered the lower part of his face.

She couldn’t move. She stared at the barrel of the rifle as it pointed toward her chest, the evil smile on his face as he moved into the room, terrifying her.

There was no mercy in that gaze. There was no compassion. There was only evil. Pure, black-hearted evil.

“This was so easy.” He laughed at them as he moved inside, an arrogant swagger in his step that screamed conceited confidence.

Her weapon was tucked under the edge of the mattress, so far away. She lay against Khalid on his side of the ultra-king-size bed, the edge of the bed a good body-length from her.

“Aman.” Khalid’s tone was ice, his body tense against her.

He stared around the room curiously as he moved to stand at the foot of the bed. “I’m surprised you have no third with you tonight. I expected it.”

He didn’t know Shayne was there.

“I didn’t need one tonight.” Khalid held her close as he sat up fully and stared back at his brother.

“Ah, surely you are not giving up on such pleasures?” Aman propped his foot at the bottom of the bed. “I thought for certain that if you did not give them up for the memory of Lessa then you would give them up for no woman.”

Marty kept her eyes on Aman, but her senses concentrated fully on Khalid. Aman was trying to piss him off, to hurt him. The memory of Lessa was one Khalid had never let himself forget, nor had he ever forgiven himself for her death.

There was also a sense of hope. Shayne was in the house. There was a chance, a slim one at best, but a chance that he could return to the bedroom and distract Aman.

“Does it matter why I gave it up?” Khalid asked, further drawing Aman into the belief that no one else was there. “Tell me, Aman, how did you get past my security guards?”

“They were easy.” Aman smiled as he shrugged. “Very complacent in their abilities and their technologies. Unfortunately, I was here long before the full force actually arrived. Your poor cook slipped me in this afternoon, just after you and your lovely Agent Mathews left the house.”

“And the call that the Saudi ambassador’s assistant made from the party last night?” Khalid asked.

Aman smiled. “To Ayid, as I’m certain you know. I’ve been here for a while, brother.” His gaze slid to Marty. “Long enough to nearly kill your whore the night you almost caught me in her apartment.”

It wasn’t an unknown assassin. Aman had been here all along.

Khalid breathed in deeply behind her. A controlling, patient breath as Marty clutched the sheet tighter to her breasts.

“Americans amaze me.” Aman sighed, as though they were children he didn’t understand. “They believe they are so full of wisdom and answers. But living is the understanding that such things cannot be controlled. Allah controls all things instead, and he reaches back, forsaking us when vengeance is owed us.” He glared at Khalid then. “Vengeance is owed, Khalid. Allah provided a way for me to strike.”

“I thought you said the cook provided that?” Khalid drawled.

Aman’s glare intensified. “You mock me, Khalid?” He snarled. “You mock Allah further? The unholy alliances you partake of with other men’s wives is a sin against all men. You should have been stoned as an infant. Destroyed before you could infect others with your perversions.”

And Aman believed that , Marty saw. In his deep brown eyes she saw the conviction he felt.

“I’ve heard this all before, Aman.” Khalid sighed. “It’s becoming boring.”

“Then hear this, traitor…”

The rifle went off.

Marty flinched then screamed as the bullet tore a hole in the pillow no more than a breath from her head.

“Fuck you, Aman!” Khalid yelled furiously, as he pulled Marty closer to him, despite her attempts to throw herself to the other side of the bed and the gun within easy reach if she could just make the distance.