This Stream of Dreams (Mirella, Rashid and Adam Book 2) by Roberta Latow Page A

difficult to equate the mysterious stranger before her with the reserved English attorney she liked and had imagined to be, if anything, somewhat naïve and merely adequate sexually.
    He unknotted the skirt tied around her waist, and before it fell, covering her nudity, with one quick movement he tore the silver gossamer silk strapless gown open from the bodice to the hem. It made a frightening, alien noise against the night sounds of crickets and toads, the faint rustle of tall grass in the intermittent soft summer breeze, then it drifted, silently, onto the sand around their bare feet.
    Deena had been caught off guard by his action. The surprise and shock made her catch her breath.
    Brindley devoured her with his eyes. She was far more rounded and voluptuous than he had imagined. Visions of what he would do, shortly, to that willing body, the marks he would leave on it, aroused him.
    He took her in his arms, and a fistful of her long, honey-coloredcurly hair in his hand, and he pulled hard on it while he kissed her deeply. He moved his mouth to her nipple, which he sucked and ravished. Still holding her hair bunched in his hand, he pulled hard, tilted her head back, and kissed her again, bruising her lips with passion, and in a voice charged with emotion he spoke to her for the first time since they left Humayun’s rooms.
    “This is no midsummer night’s dream, this is our life we are playing with, our emotions, our most basic needs and desires. Trust me, I’m going to take you where you want to go. There’s no turning back, all you have to do is submit. Obey me and your body, and remember, I too have the appetite for lust that Humayun has. Tonight you will experience the libertine in me as well as in yourself.”
    Deena’s heart pounded from the sexual excitement his words promised, his actions began to deliver, and the fear of what total submission might bring. Her mouth went dry, she couldn’t speak. She felt her body change, a huge rush of orgasm. Her face and chest flushed and she trembled before her masked sybarite. He took both her hands, closed them around his raging penis, and lifting her up by the waist, wrapped her legs tight around his body. Swiftly, adeptly, he stretched open the lips of her silky-moist, lusciously fleshy cunt and in one sharp effort pushed, as she guided him in.
    The silvery moon shone white upon them standing naked, the masked man in a frenzy, embedded as fully as the woman wrapped around him appeared able to receive him. With hands now on her shoulders he kept pushing down, determined to bury all of himself deep inside her. He felt his phallus sink to its fullest length, and her cry of ecstasy pierced the night.
    “And now it begins for us,” he whispered, a tremor of unbridled passion in his words, his cheek against hers, his lips touching her ear. He kicked open the boathouse door, and carried her in impaled upon his cock. The warmth of her vaginal clasp combined with her rush of orgasm, and it was as one that they joined the couple waiting to assist them in their quest.

6
    “H e’s not a fool, you know, not the born rich dilettante he pretends to be. Nor is he the absentminded professor-type archaeologist, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ralph Werfel said to Edward Osborne, one of the youngest of Wall Street’s elite of dealmakers. “It suits Adam to have people believe he’s a blue-chip dividend man, playing it safe right down the line with his backup of stocks and bonds, just sitting in his palace on the Bosporus, cutting coupons to finance his interests. That’s the image he prefers to give the world. The last thing he would want the general public to know is that he is the heart and guts behind the Corey Trust, a colossus he pretends is just a family business. The guy throws out a lot of red herrings, to make you think he’s only a figurehead, dependent on his executive staff, who run the whole show for him. He has always been shrewd, using the most competent