His mocking smile dared her to deny it, but how could she deny it when it was the truth? When she’d dreamed and fantasised about this in weak moments when her defences had been down. Gazing up into the hectic gleam of his eyes, Jasmine was aware of her almost imperceptible nod of consent and the Sheikh’s low growl of pleasure before he bent his dark head to kiss her again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HIS HUNGRY HANDS were on her breasts, her bottom and her belly as sexual heat ripped through Jasmine like a desert storm. Zuhal’s fingers were moving urgently over her as if he couldn’t wait to reacquaint himself with every inch of quivering flesh. She clung to his shoulders for support as he pulled her closer with a possessive mastery which made her feel weak with desire.
‘Zuhal,’ she breathed, the warmth of her breath mingling eagerly with his, the heat in her lower body starting its restless throb.
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nbsp; He didn’t reply. Not at first. His only response was to deepen the kiss—his tongue exploring her with breathtaking intimacy. Her heart was racing like a piston as her fingers touched the unfamiliar headdress and she gave an impatient little tug to remove it. It slithered redundantly to the marble floor and suddenly his head was bare, just like in the old days. Exultantly, her fingertips explored the thick silk of his hair, before kneading at the base of his neck in a way which made him give an instinctive murmur of appreciation. Her hands moved to his biceps—powerful and supremely strong beneath his desert robes. She began to massage the rippling flesh and felt a familiar tension enter his body as he circled his hips in a way which made her intensely aware of his erection.
Jasmine closed her eyes as she felt that steely column pressing into her belly, suddenly aware of everything which had happened since they’d last made love. She recognised that her body had done some amazing things during that time. It had grown and given birth to a baby—an accomplishment which seemed both unreal and marvellous. But this was different. This was hunger. Sexual hunger. A raw and primitive need which was fierce and all-consuming. It was eating her up from the inside and igniting a yearning so powerful that she felt almost unable to stand.
Did Zuhal realise that? Was that why he drew back and stared down at her for a long moment—his eyes glittering like polished jet—before scooping her up into his arms with a moan which called out to her aching heart? When for a moment he seemed like the embodiment of all things alpha as he towered over her, dark and strong and vital as he carried her across the shiny marble floor towards an arched entrance at the far end of the vast chamber, his robes flowing like liquid silk as he walked.
‘Where are we going?’ she gasped, as he dipped his head to enter a narrow corridor, whose ceiling gleamed with exquisite inlaid tiles depicting erotic scenes of cavorting lovers.
‘Somewhere where we’ll be more comfortable.’
She looked up into the hectic gleam of his black eyes. ‘Somewhere?’
‘My bedroom,’ he clarified unsteadily. ‘It is connected to your apartments through this passageway, which is unseen by anyone else and which only the King is permitted to use. But I grant you my permission to use it any time you wish, Jazz.’
They emerged into a room which was way more magnificent than the suite which had been assigned to her and Darius, but for once Jasmine wasn’t daunted by the size or splendour of the accommodation. Exquisite furniture and several statues swam in and out of focus, but all she could see was the vast bed, which Zuhal was striding towards.
Dimly she became aware of him impatiently brushing aside a litter of cushions before laying her down on it, his black gaze raking over her with a look of hungry speculation. Her hands were lying above her head and her legs were splayed out beneath the soft silken robes. And in that moment she felt like a sacrifice about to be offered up to the gods—a feeling which should surely have repelled the modern woman she was—yet the expression on his face spoke to some deep need inside her and she knew there was no power on earth which could have made her resist him.
‘Oh, Jazz,’ he groaned as he lay down beside her, his lips at her neck, his practised hand already rucking up the slippery fabric of her gown as his mouth drifted to her ear. ‘You look so beautiful lying there.’
‘D-do I?’
‘Utterly.’ he husked. ‘Do you know how much I want you?’
‘I think…’ She closed her eyes as he began to drift kisses over her neck. ‘I think I can just about work it out.’
‘Then double it,’ he growled. ‘Better still, triple it.’
His hungry words thrilled her—they made her heart race even harder. She remembered the first time he’d taken her to bed, when her heart had swelled up with so much joy. When she’d cried—she wasn’t quite sure why—when he had taken her virginity, and he had dried away her tears with a touch which had seemed almost tender.
And although some tiny voice in her head was telling her this was different—was urging her to employ caution—Jasmine refused to listen. Because how could she possibly be cautious when Zuhal’s fingers were at her breasts? When they were cupping each swollen mound so that the mango silk appeared bright against his burnished flesh. And now his hand was inching its way up her leg, his featherlight fingertips brushing against the silky flesh of her inner thigh so that goosebumps were flowering beneath his touch. She could feel a syrupy rush soaking her panties and Jasmine closed her eyes before opening them again. ‘Zuhal,’ she said weakly, and just saying his name out loud was making her even more excited.
‘Do you like that?’
‘You…you know I do,’ she managed to say, but only just—because now he had reached her panties and his finger was tracing a teasing path over the delicate fabric, which stretched tightly over her aching mound. Jasmine swallowed. How could she have forgotten that her body could ever feel like this?
‘And this?’ he questioned, almost carelessly.
She almost shot off the bed as skilfully he targeted her quivering clitoris. ‘Oh, yes,’ she groaned. ‘Yes.’
‘How much do you like it?’ he murmured.
‘A…a lot,’ she breathed.
‘Then let’s see if we can do something you like even more, shall we? Any ideas, Jazz?’
‘I’ll… I’ll leave those to you,’ she gasped. ‘You were always the one with the ideas.’
Pushing aside the damp fabric, he began to thrum his finger against her moist flesh and Jazz began to quiver as his hand took on that slick rhythm she hadn’t felt for so long. Already she felt crazily close to coming, knowing that if she let him continue she would succumb to the intense orgasm which was building up inside her. And wasn’t that what she wanted? Wasn’t that all she wanted? A quick, physical release to satisfy her aching body—with no danger of compromising her heart. Fractionally she lifted her hips and squirmed, her silent invitation to continue with his ministrations all too obvious. But Zuhal obviously had other ideas. Pulling his hand away and allowing it to rest indolently against the springy curls of her pubic hair, he pressed his lips into her ear.