Guilty Pleasure (18 page)

She moaned. Her lashes fluttered closed.

Gripping the base of his cock he pressed it to her parted lips.

“Suck my cock, precious. Slow and easy. I want to feel that sweet little tongue working over the head. It’s my favorite fantasy. Your pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

His teeth snapped the last word off as she did just as he ordered. Her lips parted as she sucked him in, her tongue lashing over the sensitive crown as a low growl tore from his chest.

“Fuck yes.” The words were torn from him.

Lightning flares of exquisite pleasure began to race through his body as he continued to flex his fingers in her hair, pulling delicately.

Her expression became a picture of perfect sensual pleasure. Her lashes drifted closed over her soft gray eyes, her face flushed, a delicate pink staining the creamy flesh.

Watching her, his body tight with the need for release and the demand to hold back, Khalid controlled her movements. One hand in her hair, the other wrapped around the base of his cock, he fucked her mouth with slow, easy strokes, letting the pleasure wash through his senses.

The deep, measured suckling of her mouth over the sensitized crest was nearly more than he could bear, though. In all his sexual years he had never known the pleasure that Marty managed to send rushing through his body. She was like a narcotic, instantly addictive, always desired.

Clenching his teeth, he fought the tightening of his balls as she sucked him deeper, her tongue stroking over his cock as he took her mouth with gentle greed.

Moving his hand from his cock he watched as she wrapped the fingers of both hands around the heavy flesh. He wanted to touch her, to follow the curve of her breast, to feel the hardness of her nipples.

Like responsive live pebbles, her nipples were tight and hard, silken and heated. At his first touch he felt the little moan from her throat vibrate against his dick and nearly lost his control then.

His hips jerked, his ability to pull back nearly disintegrating beneath the heated strokes of her tongue and the snug suckling of her mouth.

“Your sweet mouth is destroying me,” he groaned, his hands tightening further in her hair. “Are you sure you want this?”

There was so much he wanted to do to her. So much he would do if she gave him the chance.

Her answer was a moan and the swirl of her tongue over his cock, and the leash snapped.

Marty didn’t know what she expected, but when he pulled back, his expression, his eyes wild, she was certain it wasn’t quite this, though “this” sent screaming waves of pleasure and anticipation tearing through her.

“Over.” She sure wasn’t expecting him to turn her, to push her upper body to the bed as he lifted her hips.

“Khalid.”

“You asked for all of me.” His voice sounded torn, dark and dangerous. “Give it to me now, because I need all of you.”

She felt his cock tuck against the folds of her pussy, spreading her flesh as it began to push inside, opening her, searing nerve endings that seemed to have forgotten the last time he had taken her.

“Sweet. Fuck me, you’re so tight and sweet.” His voice was rougher, deeper, darker. “Fucking you is like drowning in pleasure.”

He surged inside her. Half the length of his cock buried inside her in one firm thrust that had her fighting to lift her upper body from the bed in reaction.

A broad, calloused hand pressed her back down, held her there as he pulled back, then surged inside again. With each broad stroke his flesh buried deeper inside her, stretched her farther, and sent explosions of sensation erupting.

It was like being burned alive from the inside out with such incredible pleasure that there was no way to acclimate herself to it. She could only take it, love it, press back for more of it.

“Stay there.” His hand lifted from her back. “Keep that pretty ass raised for me, sweet. Let me show you a mere shadow of the pleasure I can give you.”

Marty’s breath caught as his fingers moved along the crevice of her rear. Caressing, firm, demanding, his fingers stroked the juices of her pussy from the heavy layer coating his cock and the folds of her sex.

Slick, heated, his fingers always returned to her rear as she felt him like a thick, living wedge, buried inside her. The thunder of blood rushing through his cock pounded through her pussy as the heated rasp of his fingers began to press against the delicate opening of her anus.

She had never been touched there before Khalid.

Marty shuddered with the pleasure.

She had never been taken quite this way.

A desperate moan pushed past her lips.

His hips moved, his cock easing back as a single finger slipped just inside the sensitive opening of her ass.

“Khalid.” She could only gasp his name.

He thrust inside her again as his finger eased back. Seconds later he pulled back once more, his finger slipped deeper into her rear, and Marty lost that last fragile thread of control.

“Damn you,” she cried out, feeling her juices gush between them a second before his finger slipped free entirely to gather more. His finger slipped in, coated the opening, then slid back once more.

“Khalid.” She was demanding. She needed it. She knew there was more than the gentle caresses he was giving her. She knew there was more he wanted to give her. Much more that she was willing to take.

“Then take it, sweet,” he urged her, as he filled her pussy again, every thick, hard inch of his cock burying inside her. “Take what I have to give you.”

He pulled back, and this time two fingers slipped into her rear and sent her senses reeling.

Pleasure pain. The most incredible burning, agonizing pleasure tore through her as his fingers slid inside her ass. Delicate, ultrasensitive tissue screamed out in ecstasy and in agony. Fiery pleasure enveloped her, brutal ecstasy threatened on the edges of her senses.

She couldn’t help but clench on the invasions as she cried out at the sensations, the alternate strokes fucking inside her with wicked intensity, tearing away her control and her will to resist.

Pressing back, she took what he gave and demanded what he held back. Her nails clawed at the blankets as perspiration coated her flesh, and waves of lust and hunger surged through her with tidal waves of sensation.

“Harder.” Her cry was a mix of desperate begging and demanding passion. “Oh God, Khalid. Fuck me harder. Harder.”

She needed more. She needed to ride this incredible wave into the pure bliss she could sense just out of reach. The pinnacle of pleasure awaited her, and she wanted to fly into it.

Tiny shocks of sensation began to ignite inside her with every alternate thrust inside her pussy, her rear. She could feel the explosion coming, building. It was there. It was a golden ball of pure white-hot heat, and it sucked her in with such a burst of sensation that she feared she may not survive it.

Tension gripped her, tightened her. Her muscles gripped his cock, sucked at his fingers, and the white-hot conflagration of sensation building inside her erupted.

She felt Khalid, thrusting powerfully, his release powering inside her, heating her, filling her. His groan was a distant sound, his heavy body coming over her another pleasure mixing with the torrent of sensation already tearing her apart.

Was she screaming or just trying to scream?

She was shuddering beneath him, crying, locked inside the heavy pulses of agonizing sensation still tearing through her. She was his. In that moment, in that second, she sensed it like an animal senses its mate.

She belonged to him totally.

Khalid stared out the window of his library, three days later, a frown marring his brow. He watched the breeze drift through the trees surrounding the gardens. He looked tired, he thought, catching sight of his reflection in the window. Nothing like the charming seducer he was supposed to be. Or the carefree lover he tried to be with Marty. Though, he admitted, at the best of times, he was anything but carefree.

Working for Joseph Mathews and Zachary Jennings had done this to him, he thought, with a twinge of amusement. He thought perhaps he had earlier even glimpsed a gray hair or two in the thick black strands of his hair.

Of course, knowing his brothers would move against him didn’t help things. A man could grow old before his time looking over his shoulder as often as Khalid was forced to. Not to mention the strain it had placed on him of all those years fighting his overwhelming desire for a woman who he knew would be placed in danger the moment she came to his bed.

Marty was in the thick of it now, and protecting her was his main priority. His brothers had sworn they would destroy any woman who held his heart, and he feared they were now making good on thier promise.

Ayid and Aman should have been dead after the explosion that had been set off in the terrorist headquarters in Riyadh so many years ago, and the initial report had stated no survivors. Abram and Khalid had relaxed their guard for no more than hours. Just a few short hours, but long enough for Abram’s father, Azir, to demand that Abram rush to Riyadh to find out what was going on. Just long enough for the brothers to contact their followers in the region and have Khalid kidnapped and held.

He rubbed his hand over his face and moved away from the window. Just a few hours. It had been enough to allow the brothers to make their way back to the palace and torture and kill the woman Khalid and Abram secretly had been sharing. The woman Abram had claimed as his own, the wife he had cherished.

Lessa had paid with an agonizing death for Khalid’s part in the destruction of that terrorist cell. Simply because Ayid had somehow learned of the part Khalid had played in the attack against the terrorist cell’s headquarters in Riyadh.

After Khalid had left Saudi Arabia, Abram had returned to being the son Azir had demanded. It was the only way to keep Khalid safe, he had claimed. Though Khalid knew Abram was simply biding his time, waiting until he could destroy his younger brothers without the threat of Khalid paying in some way for his crimes.

It hadn’t worked, though. Khalid had never been safe, and now Marty was in danger as well.

She had worked her way into his desires, then into his heart. She was in danger because of him. He could feel it. The attempted drive-by shooting had been a clear message. Ayid and Aman were tired of waiting for their vengeance. For whatever reason, they were moving now.

And he couldn’t still the fear that no matter her training and her abilities, he would still lose her.

His Marty was determined to always be the risk taker. At least, in some areas. Unfortunately, having her risk her life didn’t sit well with his possessive male tendencies.

The sound of the door opening behind him caused him to stop his musings, and he turned from the window. He watched as Joe and Zach entered the room, glancing at him with concerned expressions.

“Khalid, you’re looking tired.” Joseph wasn’t one to mince words when the situation warranted it.

“I have no idea what would cause such a thing,” he answered, with subtle sarcasm. “Perhaps it’s the late nights I’m keeping.”

Nights spent trying to track the information that had come in that Ayid and Aman were tired of Khalid’s interference in their terrorist activities over the years. That, added to the deaths of their wives, had exhausted their patience.

Zach moved to the bar and began pouring drinks. He hadn’t spoken yet, but Khalid had a feeling that once he began, they would all need them.

“Have a seat.” Joseph waved to the seating area in front of the cold fireplace.

“The news is this bad?” Khalid took a chair across from Joseph as Zach moved to him and handed him the straight whiskey that he had poured.

The situation must be grave indeed. The meeting the two men had asked for had surprised Khalid, especially when they requested that Marty not be made aware that they were arriving.

“The reports coming in are inconclusive so far,” Joe stated. Zach took a seat on the short couch facing the fire. “Ayid and Aman crossed the border into Iraq last night. There are murmurs that they’ve sent someone to the area, but not against you. A single terrorist, rather than a cell sent to strike against a strategic target.”

Khalid sipped the whiskey.

“Sheikh Azir Mustafa contacted the consulate when news of the attack on Marty was first reported and your name was mentioned as having arrived at the scene of the attack. He’s demanding that they provide proof of your well-being.”

Khalid snorted at such an idea. Trust the old bastard to use the attack to stage a display of fatherly affection that didn’t exist. If the old man gave a damn about his eldest and youngest children, then the two sons who had struck against them would be dead now, not benefiting from their father’s benevolence.

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” he muttered, knowing his father had only demanded the proof because of his fears that Ayid and Aman was coming after Khalid. Should the Saudi king learn, for a fact, that Azir’s sons were terrorists, then Mustafa would lose all hold they had on the region that they ruled.

“The ambassador thought perhaps a politely worded assurance of your health was more in order, all things considered at the moment,” Zach retorted, his expression deadpan. “It seemed to require much less effort, and less bureaucratic red tape.”

Khalid glared back at him.

“It’s been years since there’s been even a hint that they’re still targeting you, Khalid,” Zach pointed out. “Just because Shayne has heard rumors that they’re prepared to move now, after the D.C. operation, doesn’t mean you’re more important to them than whatever strategic target they’ve chosen. We have time to figure this out.”

“Think what you will. I know my half brothers. The attempt on Marty’s life was ordered by them. I can feel it. Whoever your lone terrorist is, whatever his agenda-trust me, I’m high on his list of priorities, and Marty would be the perfect target to make me suffer before they came after me.” Rising from his chair, Khalid moved to the bar to refresh his drink.