He rolled onto his back, surprising her, his powerful hands holding her hips, keeping her locked to him, and he lifted her on his length, up and down, driving deeper inside of her, finding new places to pleasure her. She cried out again, not his name, something almost incomprehensible. He shifted a hand to her clit, stroking her and she jerked her head down, her eyes locking to his with a look of such intense passion and need that his own breath burned in his lungs.
Hell, she was gorgeous.
Beneath that innocent veneer, the cool dislike with which she’d always treated him – and he her – there was a wildcat, a woman driven by madness and desire.
He lifted his hands, catching her hair, pulling her head down at the same time he lifted up, kissing her hard, his lips almost punishing on hers, and then he sat up completely, driving himself into her, holding her body tight to his, kissing her, his tongue dueling with hers before dropping to her breasts, biting one nipple first before moving to the other, his fingers lifting and flicking it, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb while his dick drove into her again and again.
She was whimpering on his lap, her head thrown back, her eyes staring heavenward exposing her beautiful throat. His gaze chased sideways, to where he’d caused her flesh to show a pale pink circle, and a rush of power and desire ran through him.
“Please,” she cried out, and he wondered if she knew what she was asking for, and how badly he wanted to give it to her? Only he wanted more. He wanted…
He shifted his hips, dislodging her, his eyes unknowingly fierce when they met hers.
“Stand up,” he grunted.
Her face showed confusion but she did as he said, scrambling to her feet. He followed swiftly behind, catching her hips and spinning her around, pushing her forwards a little, until her hands were braced on the old timber table above which a tremendous historic mirror hang.
“Watch this. Watch me, watch you.” He held her eyes in the mirror as he thrust into her from behind, burying himself so deep inside her, moving his fingers to her front and pleasuring her while he took possession of her again and again and again, thrusting into her until she was crying out with sheer animalistic desire, with the torrent of her sensations and needs.
He stared at her as she began to tip over the edge, as she gave herself over to this completely, and now, he was powerless to stop his own release. He held her hips, driving deep inside her, keeping her arse backed right up to him, and he tipped his seed into her, all of himself, over and over, until he was spent, and she was weak with the shock of her own orgasms.
He clamped a hand around her waist possessively, holding her upright and preventing her from falling forward at the same time, and his eyes locked to hers, challenging her to hold his gaze, challenging her to look away.
She didn’t. She stared right back at him, so he saw the awakening that washed over her features, and inside of him, some kind of beast roared.
He had done that to her. He had shown her body what it was capable of and there was still so much more to learn –there was still so much he would teach her.
From the ruins of this situation, from the necessity of their marriage, at least there was this.
Sophia felt as though her cells were pulling her in a thousand directions.
Her senses – every single last one of them – was shimmering inside of her, sparkling and alert, electrified, intensified, startling her with the forcefulness of this sense of pleasure.
There was no escaping her desire.
She stared at Malik, a man she’d always disliked and feared in equal measure, and felt only… need.
She didn’t want him to pull out of her; she didn’t want her body to lose this closeness and proximity. She wanted… more.
So much more.
Her own desperate hunger for him made her cheeks colour and now, she dropped her gaze, even when she had told herself she wouldn’t be the first to look away.
They were in the eye of the storm, though. And it had been a storm – a storm of complete desire, of madness and insanity, and it had been more amazing than she could find any kind of words for – it had blown her away, utterly and completely. She was lost and found, all at once.
But the calm came, and suddenly her nakedness, their closeness, the passion that was still splitting her breath into tiny little explosions of air, made her self-conscious. With a small sigh, she shifted her body away from his, the desertion of his body from hers like a physical blow. She didn’t show that, though. With great effort, she kept her expression neutral, her eyes as cool as she could make them.
“There,” she murmured, the word only slightly shaky as she stood with the appearance of confidence. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
She arched a brow and then turned her back, strolling to the wardrobe and grabbing a robe. She wrapped it around her body, cinching it at the waist.
When she stepped back into the bedroom, he’d pulled his pants back on, but they sat low on his hips, and her eyes were drawn to his broadly muscled chest, his tanned, sculpted body, and her throat was dry suddenly.
Addan had been eleven months older, but he had always said Malik should have been born first. Malik, Addan had insisted, was far more suited to rule. With his cold-hearted ruthlessness, his black and white morality, a strength and determination that were forged from some kind of ancient, kingly fibre, deep inside of him.
She looked at him now and wondered how there could ever have been a world in which he wasn’t king?
And if he had been, all along?