‘Look at me,’ he urged softly.
Until he spoke, she hadn’t even realised her eyes had closed again. She let the lids flutter open to meet his heated gaze as he made that first thrust deep inside her—a long, slow thrust that made her gasp
and instantly he stilled, his eyes narrowing.
‘It hurts?’
Breathlessly, she shook her head. ‘Not really. It just feels...’
‘What?’
‘Big.’
Saladin smiled—he couldn’t help himself. But her unintentional boost to his masculine ego only increased his hunger—if that was possible—and it was a moment before he could trust himself to move again. Already he felt close to a tipping point that had been reached the moment he had entered her. He could feel her flesh enclosing him as sweetly as an oyster clamped its shell around the glistening pearl. She was so tight. So wet. So...unexpected. But he reined back his sudden urgent desire to ride her as fiercely as he would ride one of his horses. Because this was her first time, he reminded himself. This was the touchstone by which she would measure all the men who would follow. And he must make it a good experience—the very best experience—for all kinds of reasons.
So he concentrated on kissing and fondling her. On doing all the things that women liked best and on holding back his own desire. And even though his sexual hunger was at a high that was almost unendurable, it felt exquisite. Maybe because it was the first time in a long time that he had put a woman’s needs before his own. Usually he didn’t have to, because he prided himself on being able to make a woman orgasm within moments of touching her, but this was different. Virgins were different...
The pain of memory shot through him like a dark streak of lightning and for a moment he screwed his eyes tightly shut, cursing the thoughts that crowded into his mind—and slamming down the barriers before they could take root there.
He drew in a deep breath and began to objectify what was happening, in order to distract himself. He concentrated on Livvy’s reaction rather than his own—watching as her eyes grew dark and her cheeks flushed. He felt the tension in her fingers as they kneaded against his sweat-sheened back. He could feel the urgency in her thighs, which were digging hard against his hips, and the way she instinctively angled her pelvis to encourage him to go deeper. He tipped his head back as she covered his shoulder with a flurry of frantic little kisses that seemed to grow in crescendo as he drove her towards her climax.
He knew when she was about to come. He could sense the change in her body—the unmistakable quiver of expectation and excitement edged with the sense of disbelief that heralded any orgasm. And that was when he kissed her again. Gripped her hips hard as he drove into her. Imprisoned her against his exquisitely aroused length as her back began to arch and he waited for the split second of stillness before she started spasming against his flesh. He thought she called out his name as he gave into his own release, which he could hold back no longer—his own pleasure increased by the sensation of her still quivering helplessly in his arms.
It took him a long time to come down and, unusually, he stayed where he was for a long time—withdrawing only when he felt the returning stir of an erection. He rolled away from her, pulling the discarded blanket over her, unable to resist a glance at her flushed face and the bright, honey-coloured eyes, before her eyelids fluttered sleepily down. But for once he did not want sleep—something his body habitually demanded after sex, which helped emphasise the distance he craved and lessened the chances of being asked pointless questions about the possibility of a long-term relationship.
For once he was wide awake and more alive than he could remember feeling in a long, long time. He wanted to hear what the feisty little redhead had to say about her first experience of sex, although he told himself that his interest was simply academic. He was not looking for praise because he knew how good he was—but he needed her to be satisfied with what had just happened. He needed to keep her sweet.
Stroking a slow finger over one flushed breast, he smiled. ‘No need to ask whether you enjoyed that.’
His murmured words dissolved the clouds of contentment that had settled on her and, with an effort, Livvy blinked herself awake. Her eyes felt so heavy, it was as if someone had crept in and placed two tiny pebbles on them while she hadn’t been looking. She met Saladin’s dark gaze. His skin was flushed and his eyes were smoky, yet he sounded more concerned with his own performance rating than with anything else. She told herself that his arrogance didn’t matter because nothing had felt this good in a long time—maybe ever—and she’d be a fool not to hold on to it while she could. She felt...warm. Complete. As if she were floating on a pink cloud that she never wanted to get off.
She studied his hawklike features and sensual lips and she wanted him all over again. All she had to do was to lean forward to kiss him, and she had to fight the longing to do just that because something warned her to tread carefully. She needed to remember that the sheikh was unlike other men—and her own track record was hopeless. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself and, more important, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to reject her. Because hadn’t she vowed that she would never get rejected for a second time?
She must not make the mistake of falling in love with him.
What would such a seasoned lover as Saladin normally require in such circumstances? she wondered, and something told her to play it straight. Just because her system was flooded with hormones that were making her want to do inappropriate things like stroke his face and be all tender—didn’t mean she was going to listen to them.
‘I don’t think you’d need me to be wired up to a machine to register my heart-rate to realise that it was a very satisfying experience,’ she said.
He looked surprised, there was no denying that—and neither could she deny the little rush of pleasure that gave her.
‘So you don’t regret it?’
Livvy chewed on her lip. Did she? She thought about the vow she had made to herself a long time ago.
‘I don’t do regrets,’ she said quietly. ‘Not anymore.’
Saladin’s eyes narrowed. It was not the glowing endorsement he had expected, nor the compliancy of a woman who was eager for more. If he had been on territory he could call his own—a hotel suite, perhaps—then he might have taken himself off for a long shower and left her lying there to think about the wisdom of her words. But he wasn’t. He was in her house on her rug—and she was still in possession of something he wanted. He gave a slow smile as he drew a thoughtful finger down over her breast and felt her shiver. Did she really think she would be able to deny him now that she had tasted the pleasure he could give her?
‘I’m going to make love to you again,’ he said.
But instead of being captured by his gaze, she was looking across the room at a radiating blue-white light.
‘Your phone’s vibrating,’ she said.
And her damned cat chose that precise moment to stalk into the room and hiss at him.
CHAPTER EIGHT