Trish Morey - Shackled To The Sheikh

His tongue. The steam. The water cascading over her and his fingers teasing, circling her aching centre.

Right now there was nothing but sensation, and the inexorable build to a place a man had never taken her. A place she’d never believed it possible for a man to take her unassisted. This man was taking her all the way.

She felt his fingers stray closer until they edged inside her. She felt the tug of his mouth on her screaming nub of nerve endings and she felt the surge coming. She bit her lip to stop from crying out but there was no stopping the wave that washed over her and the cry that came all the same as her body broke around him.

* * *

He supported her before her knees could give way and she fell, and she felt him there, at her core.

Yes , she thought, because even on her way down from the highs he’d taken her to she still wanted this—wanted him deep inside her—more than anything.

But then, just as she thought she had him, just as her muscles worked to urge him in, he pulled away on a curse and slammed open the shower door.

She blinked as he pulled a towel from a rack and wrapped it around her, swinging her into his arms.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said, still trembling after her high and back to the virgin she wasn’t, fearful she’d done something wrong.

‘Nothing,’ he said as he deposited her in the centre of the big wide bed before pulling out a drawer, ‘that this won’t fix.’

He tore the top from the foil packet and rolled the condom down on him and suddenly it made sense and she was glad one of them was still thinking.

‘Now,’ he said, his face grim as he positioned himself between her legs, ‘where were we?’

And the virgin inside her turned wanton as she wrapped her hand around his bucking length and felt his power and his need within her fingers, and placed him at her core. ‘Right here.’

His eyes flared with heat as he growled with approval, and her heart skipped a beat as he took her hands and pinned them each side of her head, their fingers intertwined, and then with one long thrust he was inside her and sparks went off behind her eyes.

It was sex, she had to remind herself, just sex, because in that moment it had seemed that the world as she knew it revolved around that moment and that moment only.

He leaned down and kissed her then, so sweetly and reverently that she wondered if he’d felt it, too, this tiny spark of connection that went beyond physical, before he let go her hands and raised himself higher and slowly withdrew. She almost whimpered at the loss, wanting to hold him inside and keep him there, but then he was back, lunging deeper if that were possible, the slide and slap of flesh against flesh bringing with it that tidal flow of sensation, in and out and building each time until their bodies were slick with sweat. There was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to hide, and the next wave surge crashed over her and washed her away.

She clung to him as he went with her, tossed helplessly in the foaming surf of her undoing, gasping for air, not knowing which way was up.

He pressed his lips to her forehead before he slumped beside her. ‘Thank you,’ she heard him say between his ragged breaths, and she wondered if he could read her mind, for they were the exact same words she wanted to tell him.

* * *

He watched her sleep in the yellow-grey light, watched the slow rise of her chest and listened to the soft sigh as she exhaled, all the time wondering at a woman who had turned up exactly when he’d needed her. A woman who had made him forget the shocks of today so well that he’d almost forgotten to use protection.

When had that ever happened before?

Never, that was when.

He shook his head. He was more affected by today’s revelations than he’d realised if he could forget something so absolutely fundamental. There could be no other reason for it. Other than the way she’d come apart so furiously that he hadn’t wanted to wait, he’d wanted to follow her right then and there.

Propped up on his elbow, he lay alongside her, watching her eyelids flutter from time to time. Her hair splayed wild around her head and against the pillow. Tangled. Elemental. He touched a finger to one of the coils, felt the silk and steel within the shafts of hair and congratulated himself for walking down the stairs into that basement bar.

One night with a stranger had never been so desperately needed and so satisfying.

Almost.

He leaned over, pressed his lips to hers. Her eyelids fluttered open and momentary surprise gave way to a tentative smile. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said as her smile turned wary. ‘Is it time for me to go?’

‘No way,’ he said as he pulled her into his arms. ‘You’re not going anywhere just yet.’

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS STILL dark when her phone buzzed, only dull yellow street light filtering up from the street far below sneaking between the gaps in the curtains. Disoriented and aching in unfamiliar places, Tora took a while to work out where she was let alone manage to stumble from the bed and find where she’d left her bag. Groggily she snatched up her mobile and stole a glance over her shoulder. Behind her Rashid lay sprawled on his front, legs and arms askew as he slept. He looked magnificent, like a slumbering god, somehow even managing to make a super-king-sized bed look small.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, and listened while Sally apologised for calling her on her day off, but it was an emergency and could she come in?

She closed her weary eyes and put a hand to her head, pushing back her hair. How much sleep had she had? Not a lot. Not a good way to go to work, especially not when she had news to tell her friend—bad news—and she’d really wanted more time before breaking it. ‘Are you sure there’s nobody else?’

But she already knew the answer to that or Sally wouldn’t have been calling on the first day off she’d had for two weeks. ‘One more thing,’ Sally said, once she’d told her she’d be there in an hour. ‘Pack a bag and bring your passport. Looks like you might need them.’

‘Where am I going?’

‘I’m not sure exactly. I’ll fill you in on what I do know when you get here.’

Tora slipped her phone away and glanced once more at the man she’d left sleeping on the bed, the man who’d blown her world apart and put it back together again more times than she would have believed possible in just one night. She shouldn’t be sorry there wouldn’t be one more time, she really shouldn’t. No, no regrets. It was a one-night deal and now that night was over. She gathered up her discarded shirt and skirt and abandoned underwear and dressed silently in the bathroom.

Leaving this way was better for both of them. At least this way there was no chance of an awkward goodbye scene. No chance of anyone expecting too much or appearing hopeful or needy.

He seemed like the kind of man who’d be relieved she wasn’t going to hang around and argue the point.

She picked up her shoes and spared one last glance towards the bed.

One night with a stranger.

But what a night.

He’d done what he’d promised to do. He’d blotted out the pain and the anger of her cousin’s betrayal. He’d taken her from feeling shell-shocked and numb with grief and for a few magical hours he’d transported her away from her hurt and despair to a world filled with unimaginable pleasure.

He’d made her forget.

She let the door snick behind her.

It was going to be a hell of a lot harder to forget him.

* * *

He woke with a heavy head from too little sleep and with a dark mood brewing yet still he reached for her. There were things he had to do today, facts he had to face from which there was no escaping—headaches, each and every one of them—but the lawyer and the vizier and the headaches could wait. There was something he wanted more right now in this drowsy waking time before he had to let the cold, hard light of day hit him, as he knew it soon would. Someone he wanted more.