When he made sure he’d blown her every fuse, he moved up to her calves, trailed up a path of sensual destruction to her inner thighs. He opened his mouth over her tender flesh, making her feel he was devouring her for real. “And when this exploded in my mind, I always did something drastic. Now you know why I’m called the Mad Prince.”
Her body contorted under his onslaught, breath shearing its way into her lungs. “You didn’t have to be. I was always yours for the taking, you magnificent fool.”
He looked up, eyes twin emerald infernos, sable hair raining over his leonine forehead. Then, with his mouth set, he slid back up her body, igniting every fuse she’d thought burned out until he thrust at her through his clothing, bent to her breasts and introduced her to a new level of mindlessness.
Between long, hard pulls on her nipples, he swirled them with his tongue, grazed them with his teeth, blew the stimulation of his demands on them. “Why don’t you tell me some more, about how you’re mine? Emphasize the ‘for the taking’ part.”
Her hands trembled between them, flailing over the zipper keeping him from her. “Nothing…to emphasize…I’m yours…so take me.”
In answer he only stopped her fumbling hands, came over her, straddled her midriff, unzipped his pants, slowly. Oh, so slowly.
A clench of intimidation sank its talons in her gut and core at the sight of his girth and length even as everything inside her flooded at his beauty and sleekness. She craved his occupation, not only for the ecstasy it would wring from her flesh, but because she’d also have full intimacy with his desire and essence. With him. Giving her pleasure without that was punishment.
He held his shaft, doing what her hands, now imprisoned by his thighs, burned to do, stroking himself inches from her.
“Is this what you want?”
She had no words to say how much. She nodded frantically.
“Thrilled to know. Because you can’t have it.” A smothered shriek of frustration escaped her as she managed to free her hands. He held them back, kept her from lunging for him, his smile almost smoking with sensual malice. “Not yet.”
Before she could contest his mercilessness, he slid down her body again, his hand gliding over her quivering flesh until he cupped her mound. She lurched up into his hold and his deft fingers nudged her soaked folds apart. The blow of sensation, of having his fingers gliding along her most intimate flesh, paralyzed her. He swallowed her keen, stroked her to the rhythm of his thrusting tongue inside her mouth. She was too inflamed, would find release with just one more touch…
He withdrew before giving it to her. She lay limp, watching him going lower, until he lay on the bed on his stomach, between her thighs, draping both over his back. He breathed her in, growling his appreciation over her engorged flesh. That lashed her out of her stupor, had her clawing at him.
He groaned his pleasure as her fingers sank in his scalp, his shoulders. “I’ve been going insane for four years imagining the scent and taste of you. Good thing I couldn’t imagine it fully, or I would have invaded Ossaylan and claimed you as a war prize.”
She was about to scoff that if she’d known that was how he felt, she would have raided Zohayd long ago and carried him off, when he took her most intimate flesh in a voracious kiss. She keened, arched her hips toward his mouth, giving him every license. He took it all, thrusting light then hard, sweeping short then long, suckling, layering sensation upon sensation until she was buried. He brought her to the edge, snatched her away, never pushing her over, too many times to count.
When her breath fractured, her pleas stifled, he spoke, so close, sending the shock of each syllable throughout her system. “Now give me the sight that I regularly went insane imagining. You, in the throes of pleasure only I can bring you. Come for me, Maram.”
She did, on his command. The discharge of years of craving was so explosive that she writhed with detonation after detonation until she felt her spine might snap.
He had no mercy, slipped two fingers inside her, sharpening her pleasure even as he continued to lap up its flood. He didn’t stop until she slumped in his hold, satiated, soothed.
He loomed over her on all fours, watching as she trembled with what he’d done to her. Mute, saturated with pleasure, hungrier for him, she watched emotions emanating from him, coming too fast and thick for her to decipher. To withstand.
But she knew what he was waiting for. One final offering of herself, after the edge of hunger had been assuaged. An unpressured choice. A certain need for him, not prodded by arousal. And she made him the offering.
She spread shaking thighs, reached out quaking arms for him. “Amjad, I only ever craved pleasure with you. Take me, I beg you. I’ve needed you for too long, too.”
Each word seemed to wrench through him. He dragged her thighs around his hips, bunched her hair in a grip that trembled to quell its ferociousness, securing her for his mouth’s plundering, his other hand clenching her buttocks.
He transferred the hand in her hair to his shaft as he tilted her hips, ran himself through her flowing need, inflaming her, bathing himself, seeming to struggle to temper his ferocity.
She couldn’t bear for him to, cried out, “Come inside me, Amjad, join us. Invade me, ya habibi, fill me.” The words my love fell on him like a whip. His face twisted in carnal suffering as something seemed to shatter inside him and he plunged into her with the force of the snapping momentum.
She screamed, at the excruciating fullness, beyond her capacity…tearing her apart… “Yes, Amjad, yes…”
But he rested inside her, let her flesh ripple and reform around him, bent to crush her lips in another exercise of abandon.
She opened all she was for him, for his potency and need, tightening around his invasion until he growled, “Ya Ullah, so tight, so right. Scorching, Maram, annihilating, like I knew you would be.”
Her head thrashed, words fracturing out of her. “I thought I knew how…you would be. I knew nothing…nothing. Take me, ya rohi, finish me…”
“Sahrah.” His threw his head back at her invocation, calling her a witch on an elemental groan as he withdrew.
Then he rammed back into her, the accumulation of years of frustration and hunger behind the thrust. His hardness scraped against her, abrading her every nerve for the maximum sensation it could take, the rush of response it could yield. She wanted him to occupy her, wanted to capture him forever, but she was overloading. The feel of him, the sight of him, the thought of him, inside her, after so much waiting and craving… Beyond description, beyond her ability to withstand.