Page 38 of To Defy a Sheikh

A simple, delicate touch that sent a flash of heat, like lightning, through her body.

He pulled back slightly, his hands still on her face, holding her. “Kiss me back, Samarah.”

“I don’t know…how. I don’t know…” Desperation grew wings and fluttered in her chest, fear and need gripping her tight.

“What do you want to do?”

“I…” She looked at his chest, at his stomach, and she put her hands on him, one palm resting against the hard ridge of his abs, the other just above his heart. She wanted to touch him. To feel those muscles with no clothing between them. She’d known that for a while now, even though she hadn’t quite understood it.

Or, more to the point, she hadn’t wanted to understand it.

Now she did. Now she wanted to understand it all. All this depth and nuance of being human, of being alive. This rich tapestry that existed beyond mere survival.

There was so much more than just drawing breath. There was the feel of Ferran’s skin beneath hers. The rough hair, the heat of his body, the hard definition of his muscles. And there was the need it created in her. Reckless and heady. A high like nothing else she’d ever experienced. The adrenaline rush that accompanied fear coupled with a much more pleasant emotion.

So this was lust. Real, raw lust, so much more potent than she’d ever imagined it could be. Even though she’d known it must be something so very strong, there was a difference from knowing that and having lived it. She was living it now.

She leaned in and kissed him, freezing when her mouth touched his, a raindrop rolling between their lips and sliding onto her tongue. She laughed, then pulled back. “Sorry, I don’t think you’re supposed to laugh when you kiss.”

He moved his hands from her face and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her against his body. “Why not?” he asked. “I like that you’re finally smiling.”

He closed the distance between them, his kiss harder this time. His lips moved over hers, his tongue sliding against the seam of her mouth before she opened and gave him entry. Then he took her deep, long. The sensual friction sending a deep, sharp pang of longing through her. An arrow of pleasure that shot straight to her core and left a hollow pain in its wake.

She fought to free her hands from where they were trapped between their bodies and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her. She tried to match his movements, to make her lips fit against his. He adjusted some of what he was doing, and she adjusted, too. And then they found a way to make their lips fit together just right.

He moved his hands down over her back, her butt, and down to her thighs. Then he gripped her tight, tugging her up into his arms, the blunt tips of his fingers digging into her flesh, the points of pressure adding pain into the mix with the pleasure.

She clung to him, wrapped her legs around his waist so that she didn’t fall back down to the ground, and the motion brought the heart of her into contact with his hard stomach. A short, shocked moan climbed her throat and escaped.

He growled and angled his head, biting the side of her neck, harder even than he’d done back in the gym.

She whimpered, and he slid his tongue over the spot, soothing the sting, ramping up her arousal. She kissed him back, feeling confident now. Maybe because he seemed as if he was on the edge of control, too. She certainly was. Because this wasn’t necessary, or useful. And yet it felt essential. And she wanted it. More than she could ever remember wanting anything.

He cupped her bottom and pulled her hard against him. At the same time he bit her lip, then soothed it away. Pleasure rocketed through her. She curled her fingers tightly into his shoulders, understanding perfectly now why some people actually enjoyed biting.

There was so much more to this than she’d ever thought possible. To wanting a man. To sexual desire. It wasn’t just nice feelings, or pleasure, or whatever it was she’d imagined it might be.

It was need, so deep and intense it made you burn. It was pain. Pain because there was too much pleasure, pain because you wanted more.

Kissing Ferran was both the best and the worst kind of torture.

It was everything. It filled up the moment. It filled her up. And yet, it wasn’t enough. It hinted at things she didn’t know about, made her desire things she didn’t understand. Made her body crave something she wasn’t certain existed. Tipped her beliefs on right and wrong onto their heads and twisted her into a stranger she didn’t know, and wasn’t certain she liked.

But she didn’t care.

She rocked her hips against him and a low, feral growl rumbled in his chest. He moved quickly, decisively, lowering them both down to the ground. To the sand. And she didn’t care that she was going to get dirty. That she would get wetter. It didn’t matter as long as he kept kissing her.

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