In Too Deep (13 page)

He raised his head, his eyes almost black and unseeing as they panned the crowd surrounding them. Then, with a growl, he bent, hauling her high in his arms.

“I'm taking you home, Sabrina.” His words held the conviction and power of a pledge. “And I'm making you mine, in every way. Tonight and forever.”

S
abrina clung to Adham's neck as he strode out of the tent, the whole world receding from her awareness, shrinking to the confines of his body.

She registered nothing but its powerful perfection moving against hers with his every stride, his hands rhythmically squeezing her flesh. She saw his face clenched on such drive and felt weakness invading her every muscle, in preparation to have all this ferocity unleashed on her.

She didn't know how long he'd walked or what distance he'd covered. Time was suspended, space was compacted, until she found herself inside a limo with dark windows and a soundproof, mirrored partition. Adham laid her down and came to rest on top of her. Her legs opened in eagerness to accommodate his bulk. He lay over her, giving her what she needed of his weight, supporting enough of it so as not to oppress her. He devoured her lips, his hands everywhere, creating erogenous zones all over her, his hips
driving between her splayed thighs in a simulation of the possession she was quaking for.

She heard her voice, thick and choppy, pleading for him. He rose off her, dragging her up. She swayed with the car's smooth movement as it shot across the streets, with the imbalance he'd struck inside her, feeling as if the burn in her blood would consume her if she didn't get under his skin. “Sabrina,
galbi,
I need to feel your desire, taste your pleasure.”

Before she could understand what he meant or tell him he could do whatever he liked with her, he hauled her on his lap, her back to his front, her thighs splitting wide over one of his. He stretched back so her upper body fell to the side and into the curve of his left arm. His hands came around her, undoing her front fastening.

She moaned his name as her breasts spilled out of the imprisonment of the corsetlike top and into his hands. He bent, leaning around her, engulfing one nipple and then the other in the moist heat of his mouth. Her cries rose, lengthened, her writhing getting more frantic. He didn't give her a chance to process the feelings as his right hand dragged her
lehenga
up, yanking her panties down. Then his palm was cupping her mound, squeezing it, condensing the throbbing there into a pinpoint of insanity.

He let go before it all spilled over. In her haze, she realized. He knew that she needed intimacy, not release. And he was giving it to her. The closeness of owning her flesh as intimately as she did.

Two strong, certain fingers parted her feminine lips, delving into the desire flowing there for him. He lifted his head from her breasts to swallow her sobs of overstimulation. He glided in her moistness, from her bud to her opening, until she bucked, begged. Only then he slid
inside her, adding a third finger, replacing his fingers at her bud with his thumb. Her keen poured into his mouth. He withdrew his fingers, corkscrewing the tension inside her to a weeping pitch.

“Take your pleasure,
ya jameelati. Areeni jamalek wenti b'tjeeli
…show me your beauty as you come for me.”

She'd been trying to hold back, needing to come with him deep inside her. But he was, if in another way. And he wanted her to give him this surrender. She'd give him anything he wanted.

He thrust his fingers back in, along with his tongue deep inside her mouth. And the tension snapped, over and over, uncoiling then folding back on itself, only to lash out again as her orgasm quaked through her like the ebb and flow of a stormy sea.

His gaze bathed her in his possessiveness, in his profoundly male satisfaction at the sight of her racked with pleasure, begging to be at his total mercy, to be taken, pleasured any way he could think of.

He held his fingers deep inside her, letting her quiver to the last tremor of satisfaction around them, before he slowly removed them, brought them up to his lips, licked them, growling his enjoyment at tasting her.

He gathered her, folded her, held her tight in his arms. His eyes were incandescent in the dimness, flaring gold with each passing streetlight filtering through the darkened windows.

“Do you know what it is, seeing and feeling you taking your fill of the pleasure I bring you,
ya hayati?
Tasting it? It's the most beautiful thing in my world.”

Her heart swelled so hard, so fast, she whimpered with it. She couldn't utter a word. She'd been at her lowest point, and had given up on him. She'd been trying to contemplate
a life of emotional exile, loving him and knowing he'd never love her back.

Now he'd given her this. And it wasn't only sex, or pleasure. He was opening himself up to her, letting her see inside him. This was for her, not for the eyes and ears of the world. And it was sincere. She just knew it was.

Tenderness swamped her, welled from her in feverish kisses and caresses all over his face. He rumbled a string of native praises to her as he kissed and caressed her in return.

The car stopped. In seconds he'd helped fasten her top and had her out and in his arms.

He took her where she'd thought she'd never be—the room he'd chosen as his in this sprawling house.

It was not as enormous or extravagantly decorated as the one he'd given her, but because it was permeated by his scent and presence, it was in a class of its own. Any place where he chose to live his most private moments was the best place she'd ever been.

He laid her down at the foot of his bed and proceeded to strip from her the outfit and jewelry in excruciating slowness, pausing at every inch of flesh he exposed to fondle and worship and praise. By the time he had her naked, her teeth were clattering, her heart in hyperdrive, desperate for an end to the sensual torment.

He then stood up to admire her sight, arranged among black silk pillows and sheets. Then, as if he hadn't tormented her enough, he started his own striptease.

He first shrugged off the silk
abaya.
It slid from his daunting shoulders and slithered to the floor with a resigned sigh. His gold-embroidered top, wrapped cummerbund and boots followed. He left the low-riding loose pants on.

Before she could cry out her indignation, he kneeled before her. His hands traveled up legs that went boneless
at his first touch, his to do with as he chose. It pleased him to spread them, to drag her by them, to bring them over his shoulders. “
Daheenah adoogek men jedd
—now I taste you for real. I've been addicted to your taste from that first time. I've been starving for more of you.” He opened her lips, gave her core one long lick, groaning in response to her cry. “Say you'll always let me taste you, always want me to.”

She wanted to tell him but her tongue twisted in her mouth, paralyzed with anticipation. She only keened, her hair falling all over her face with the vigorousness of her nod. Satisfied with her condition, with her response, he clamped her feminine lips in a devouring kiss. He licked and suckled at her swollen flesh, thrust inside her with his tongue, drank deep of her pleasure. He took her to the edge again and again, only to pull her back, set her to a simmer, then build her desperation once more until she felt the ache inside her reaching critical mass. She begged him with her hands in his hair, with her body writhing in mounting agony as she tried to pull him up, to have him penetrate her, ride her, put her out of her misery.

He resisted her, lashed her trigger and sent her convulsing and shrieking into another racking orgasm.

He drank her dry, kept licking her, soothing, defusing the surplus of sensations, until her oversensitized flesh subsided. And she wanted him more than ever.

She struggled to her elbows, looked down on the magnificent sight he made, kneeling between her legs, his lion's head rubbing her thighs, his lips worshipping them. Her heart spilled a fresh batch of palpitations.

“Adham, stop tormenting me. Don't make me wait anymore.”

He raised eyes blazing with satisfaction at her renewed agitation, at his own pent-up arousal. He rose, pushing her
back across the bed with his shoulders against her legs until he had her in the middle. Then he rose above her on all fours. “Release me.”

At his command, though her hands felt like they were no longer under her control, she fumbled with his pants. She somehow undid the zipper and pushed them halfway down his muscled thighs, exposing their bronzed splendor. He took pity on her, pushed them all the way down, kicked them off. He held her hands and guided them into removing his tight boxers. And she gasped.

His erection sprang hard and long and heavy, slamming against his belly. Just the sight exacerbated her swooning state.

He noted her reaction with those all-seeing eyes as he again had his hands and lips all over her triggers.

“I pleasured you in the car, and again now,” he groaned against her nipples, her pulses, her lips, “not only because I crave your pleasure as much and more than I do mine, but because I need to know that your desire is all mine, all about needing
my
possession. Tell me.”

“I want you,” she moaned. “I've been going out of my mind with wanting you. I want you all the time, doing everything to me. Please, Adham,
habibi,
take me.”

He rose to loom over her, a god of virility and beauty, almost menacing in the fierceness of his focus, the ferocity of his lust. He pushed her with gentle power until she lay flat beneath the cage of his muscle and maleness. He drove one knee between hers, winding the throbbing between her thighs to a tighter rhythm.

“How do you want me to take you? The first time?”

She didn't hesitate. She knew just how. “Fill my arms, let me wrap myself around you as you fill me.”

“And the second?”

“Cover me, lie on top of me, over my back, let me feel all of you pressing me into the bed as you possess me.”

He bent to pull hard on one nipple, grazing the other with his blunt fingernail. “And the third and fourth and fifth time?”

Her delirium intensified with each suckle and flick. “Anything—anything at all. Just do it all.”

He rose over her again. “Then give it to me. Everything you have, everything you are. I will have it all.”

“Yes.
Yes.
” She stabbed her fingers into the mane raining around his face, brought him down to her for a compulsive kiss. She tore her lips away, needing to know, panting. “And you'll give it all to me, too?”

“All that I have. All that I am. It's all yours,
ya malekati,
my owner. Take it. Take me. All of me.” He reared back between her splayed thighs, his erection throbbing over her mound and reaching up to her belly button, heavy and engorged. He glided its underside between her lips, nudging her trigger over and over. She arched up, opening herself, hurrying him. He only rose on one knee, taking her one desire out of reach. “Show me what you want.”

Unable to heed any inhibition, unable to wait to take advantage of the freedom he was offering her, she reached a trembling hand to his erection. She couldn't close around his girth. Intimidation shuddered through her even as another surge of readiness flooded her core. She stroked the velvet-over-steel shaft in wonder, rubbing the smooth head with the fluid silk seeping from its slit, her tongue tingling with the need to taste it. Promising herself she'd beg for the privilege later, she tugged at his shaft.

He growled, deep and dark, thrust his hips at her, watching her with an intensity she felt left its marks all over her skin. He let her drag him closer to her sex, still keeping his eyes on hers. But with the first touch of their
intimate flesh, he threw his head back in an agonized growl, a duet with her keen. Then, as if they'd agreed, they both lowered their gazes to the sight of the intimacy she was performing.

She slid his head along her inner lips, bathing it in her moistness. Unbearably aroused, rumbles reverberated from deep within him on every glide, a sharper cry from her each time it nudged her slit. She kept going on and on, until he was shaking as hard as she was, his breathing as labored as hers. She knew she'd tumble into oblivion any second now, had to do it with him buried deep inside her.

She could no longer hold herself up, could no longer bring her hand to close around him. She slumped back to the bed, legs splaying. His erection was throbbing at her opening where she'd left it before she lost all coordination.

“Please,” she sobbed.

“Please what?” It came out the growl of a great feline at the end of his tether. “Tell me. Let me hear you say the words.”

“Fill me.”

Rumbling something driven, he did, on one lunge.

She wailed as her flesh yielded to his invasion, as he stretched her beyond capacity. He forged on through her molten core until she felt him reach her womb.

The coil of sensations that had compacted inside her unraveled so violently, it lashed out through her system, shredding her with a release so profound, she convulsed as if with a seizure, as if with a chain reaction of explosions. Gusts of sharpness shrieked from her depths on each detonation.

“Sabrina.”
She felt him expand to a size she couldn't accommodate as he drove deeper inside her body, lodged into her recesses. She jerked like a marionette with her strings being pulled haphazardly, her inner walls squeezing
him until he hissed. “
Aih, ya habibati, eeji alai
…come all over me.”

And all that was left inside her was one need. She sobbed it. “Come with me…come inside me…fill me….”

As if he'd been waiting for her plea, her command, his seed splashed against her spasming walls. She shook and wept as another breaker of pleasure crashed down on her with each jet hitting her most intimate flesh, as his erection shuddered inside her, as his roars of release harmonized with her cries.

Time expanded. The perfection of it. The totality. The oneness.

Pleasure raged, each slam of his inside her unhinging the foundations of her very soul until she felt he'd uprooted it, until she felt it roamed free, releasing her body of its limitations.