froth on the white-gold shore, its mass rocking gently back and forth, its rumble a hypnotic loop. The dense palm trees embracing the villa on its eastern and northern sides swayed in the strong autumn breeze in a dance of rustling elegance and harmony.
The magnificence and serenity felt lifeless, lacking. When she arrived everything would come alive, would be complete.
A cloud of dust swirled at the edge of his vision. In moments it parted on a streak of silver. A speeding car.
“Johara.”
He whispered her name, again and again, as he ran through the villa and grounds to await her at the gates.
In minutes, she pulled the car to a gentle stop, feet from him. He covered the remaining distance, holding her eyes through the windshield. He ended up leaning down to plant his palms flat on the hood of her father’s Mercedes, trying to bring the longing under control. Then he saw her mouth his name, the feelings echoing his trembling over her face. And he failed.
He rushed to her side, yanked her door open. Then she was in his arms, and he was in hers.
He took her from gravity as he wished to from everything that caused her worry. She surrendered herself to his haven, arms enveloping him from neck to back. He savored their connection, letting their eyes embrace, mate, love welling through him as he pressed her closer and closer. Then he took her lips.
She whimpered his name and he groaned hers between kisses so urgent they grew from barely letting their flesh connect, to sealing their lips in wrenching fusions.
They only broke apart when he placed her on his bed.
He loomed above her, looking down into her eyes, waiting for her to show him, to ask him.
She did, in every way. Her swollen lips joined her misty eyes in their demands, trembled on his name, begging for him.
He’d promised himself he’d talk to her first. But while he could have denied his own craving, he couldn’t deny hers.
He rose and her arms fell off his body. They thudded on the dark brown silk he’d draped his bed with for her, graceful arcs of surrender surrounding her head and fanned golden hair. Then she arched upward sinuously, in a wave of white-hot desire stroking him from thighs to chest.
He shuddered with the effort not to tear her out of her clothes and ram into her. His hands trembled when he forced gentleness into them as he stripped her out of her beige pantsuit, which could have been the most outrageous lingerie for its effect on him. He descended deeper into mindlessness as her twists and undulations helped him expose her lushness for his voracity.
“You have no idea, my Gemma…” He kissed and suckled his way from her feet, up her endless satin legs, turning her on her stomach to devour the firmness of her thighs and buttocks, to dig massaging fingers and mouth into the grace of her back and neck. “No idea, what I went through, when you disappeared. Worry almost destroyed my sanity. Then misery, when I thought you didn’t want me.”
“No.” Her cry tore through him as he ground himself against her back, finesse and restraint evaporating. Moans filled his head, high and deep, hers and his. Her flesh burned him with its own torment as she struggled beneath him, demanding he let her face him. He did, and she sank her fingers in his hair, tugged, her eyes urgent, adamant, solemn. “I’ve never wanted anything but you, Shaheen.”
“And I never knew what wanting was until you.” Her tears spilled at his declaration. He kissed them away, put her hands to his shirt. “Show me how much you want me, ya galbi.”
The hunger that spread over her face made him unable to bear the speed with which she exposed him. He ripped anything that couldn’t be undone fast enough, hoping she wouldn’t be alarmed at his savagery. Relief flooded him when it only inflamed her more.
But it wasn’t every dig of her fingers, nip of her teeth, pull of her lips, or even that she overcame her shyness and stroked and tasted his manhood that
The magnificence and serenity felt lifeless, lacking. When she arrived everything would come alive, would be complete.
A cloud of dust swirled at the edge of his vision. In moments it parted on a streak of silver. A speeding car.
“Johara.”
He whispered her name, again and again, as he ran through the villa and grounds to await her at the gates.
In minutes, she pulled the car to a gentle stop, feet from him. He covered the remaining distance, holding her eyes through the windshield. He ended up leaning down to plant his palms flat on the hood of her father’s Mercedes, trying to bring the longing under control. Then he saw her mouth his name, the feelings echoing his trembling over her face. And he failed.
He rushed to her side, yanked her door open. Then she was in his arms, and he was in hers.
He took her from gravity as he wished to from everything that caused her worry. She surrendered herself to his haven, arms enveloping him from neck to back. He savored their connection, letting their eyes embrace, mate, love welling through him as he pressed her closer and closer. Then he took her lips.
She whimpered his name and he groaned hers between kisses so urgent they grew from barely letting their flesh connect, to sealing their lips in wrenching fusions.
They only broke apart when he placed her on his bed.
He loomed above her, looking down into her eyes, waiting for her to show him, to ask him.
She did, in every way. Her swollen lips joined her misty eyes in their demands, trembled on his name, begging for him.
He’d promised himself he’d talk to her first. But while he could have denied his own craving, he couldn’t deny hers.
He rose and her arms fell off his body. They thudded on the dark brown silk he’d draped his bed with for her, graceful arcs of surrender surrounding her head and fanned golden hair. Then she arched upward sinuously, in a wave of white-hot desire stroking him from thighs to chest.
He shuddered with the effort not to tear her out of her clothes and ram into her. His hands trembled when he forced gentleness into them as he stripped her out of her beige pantsuit, which could have been the most outrageous lingerie for its effect on him. He descended deeper into mindlessness as her twists and undulations helped him expose her lushness for his voracity.
“You have no idea, my Gemma…” He kissed and suckled his way from her feet, up her endless satin legs, turning her on her stomach to devour the firmness of her thighs and buttocks, to dig massaging fingers and mouth into the grace of her back and neck. “No idea, what I went through, when you disappeared. Worry almost destroyed my sanity. Then misery, when I thought you didn’t want me.”
“No.” Her cry tore through him as he ground himself against her back, finesse and restraint evaporating. Moans filled his head, high and deep, hers and his. Her flesh burned him with its own torment as she struggled beneath him, demanding he let her face him. He did, and she sank her fingers in his hair, tugged, her eyes urgent, adamant, solemn. “I’ve never wanted anything but you, Shaheen.”
“And I never knew what wanting was until you.” Her tears spilled at his declaration. He kissed them away, put her hands to his shirt. “Show me how much you want me, ya galbi.”
The hunger that spread over her face made him unable to bear the speed with which she exposed him. He ripped anything that couldn’t be undone fast enough, hoping she wouldn’t be alarmed at his savagery. Relief flooded him when it only inflamed her more.
But it wasn’t every dig of her fingers, nip of her teeth, pull of her lips, or even that she overcame her shyness and stroked and tasted his manhood that
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