He adjusted their positions, forking his hands through her hair, tilting her head back, tugging slightly. He slid one hand down her back, cupping her rear and lifting her up against him. And she wasn’t pressed against his stomach anymore, but the hard line of his shaft. She’d seen him naked yesterday, but it hadn’t prepared her for this. He hadn’t been aroused yesterday in the lake.
Instinct, and need, had her flexing her hips against him, each movement making the ache inside her build, grow, until she thought she was going to die.
She was sure no one could withstand this kind of sensual assault. The rough sand beneath her; Ferran, hot and hard above her; the rain, cold against her skin.
He moved his hand to cup her breast, drawing his thumb slowly across her nipple, before pinching her lightly. She was still covered by the damp fabric of her gown. He lowered his head and sucked her deep into his mouth.
He pushed against her, the hard ridge of his arousal hitting her just where she needed it.
And the dam burst inside of her. A hoarse cry escaped her lips, much like the sound she made when she fought. Raw, passionate, bold.
Pleasure poured through every part of her. She arched against him, holding tight to his shoulders as the waves crashed over her, her eyes squeezed shut, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
She just lay there for a moment, feeling spent, the fog slowly clearing. And then she started to feel other things. Shame. Embarrassment.
He moved against her again, kissing her neck, his hands firm on her breasts.
She shoved at his chest.
“What?” he asked. “Samarah, did I hurt you?”
She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell him that she’d had what she suspected was an orgasm from kissing him. That was…it was terrifying and way past the point of embarrassing straight into humiliating. Because how could that be? How? With him…with anyone, but especially with him.
This was not lying back and thinking of Jahar. This was not a truce. It was somewhere far over that line, and it was one she couldn’t believe she had crossed.
He moved away from her and she scrabbled to her feet, her nightgown sticking to her legs, tugging upward, the sand caked over her skin, in her hair. “I just…I have to go back inside now.”
“You do?” he asked, still on the ground, breathing hard. He looked nearly as shocked as he had the night she’d tried to kill him.
“Yes. I do. I…thank you. For the kiss. I have to go. I’m cold.”
She turned away from him, her arms wrapped around her waist, and she ran back toward the house, then into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and turned the water on, stepping inside fully clothed and watching the sand wash down the drain.
Then she started to shiver.
She’d never felt anything like this before. And it was much too big for her to deal with. Too big for her to process.
There was a whole new depth to life, and she’d just discovered it. And now she was terrified by what might come next. By what it meant about who she was.
Because once upon a time, Ferran might have been able to have lovers without feeling connection. But in that moment she knew for certain that she couldn’t.
She thought of her mother, the author of her own destruction, and everyone else’s, so desperately in love with two men that she couldn’t give either of them up.
As much as she didn’t want to be her father, she didn’t want to be her mother. And God help her, she would not be a fool over Ferran Bashar.. And until she figured out how to get a handle on her emotions, she couldn’t allow Ferran to touch her again. It was as simple as that.
* * *
Ferran called himself every kind of bastard as he kicked over the cooking grate that was still set up over the dead coals from last night’s fire.
He was an animal. Of the worst kind. He’d known she was a virgin, hell, he knew she’d never been kissed. She’d been badly handled all of her life. Thrown out onto the streets when she was a child so that she could escape a grisly death.
He was responsible for every bad thing that had happened in her life. And now he’d added another thing to the incredibly long list.
He’d allowed himself to be ruled by passion. Had let the floodgates open after keeping them firmly closed for so many years.
He was not that man. Not anymore. He would not allow it. Not again.
He had been rough with her. He’d been ready to take her, take her virginity, in the sand, in the rain. Without talking to her. Without making sure she was ready.
You’re using your need for control to hold her captive.
He shrugged the thought off, turning his self-disgust to the more specific events at hand.