Captivated by the Sheikh. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ pushed himself up and away on his arms, then knelt to strip the last of her clothes from her. The heady scent of female arousal registered in his nostrils, inciting him to move more quickly.

      It was the work of a few moments to remove her clothes, and his own, and reach for the protection he’d promised her.

      Rosalie’s world had tilted completely off its axis. She’d spun crazily out of control in Arik’s arms as he’d brought her to a juddering, mind-blowing climax. It had been all red-hot light and heat, searing her body till she’d thought there’d be nothing left of her but ashes. Only Arik, his gaze holding hers, his body anchoring her to the spot, had brought her back to something like safety again. If it hadn’t been for the link between them she felt she might have died from pure ecstasy.

      His dark eyes had been the only real thing in her consciousness, other than the impossible burst of fire in her blood.

      And now she felt…she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to give a name to the sense of wellbeing, of effervescent excitement that filled her, but she couldn’t.

      Her body was weighted, yet tingling with life. She stretched, registering for the first time the slide of the luxurious coverlet beneath her body. Her bare body. Arik had peeled away the last of her clothes just a moment ago.

      Rosalie snapped open her eyes, anxious now that she couldn’t feel him against her. But when she located him she swallowed hard.

      He stood beside the bed, feet planted wide in a stance that was utterly masculine. He was naked, gloriously so, his dark olive skin the perfect foil for his athlete’s body. Every taut muscle and powerful curve was bare for her to see. She stared, fascinated, at the fuzz of dark hair across his pectoral muscles that narrowed and disappeared as it descended. He’d make a wonderful study for an artist. Magnificent proportions, latent power and pure energy from every angle.

      But she couldn’t view Arik with an artist’s dispassionate eye. She’d lost that objectivity.

      Instead she dragged in an unsteady breath at the image of rampant male libido before her. He thrilled her. And frightened her.

      He was fitting a condom. Rosalie swallowed again, her mouth suddenly dry. Surely it would break…it couldn’t possibly…but it did. She felt her eyes widen.

      He looked up and smiled at her, a tight, lopsided smile that nevertheless had the power to unravel some of the spiralling tension inside her.

      ‘Rosalie,’ he murmured as he took a single stride to the bed and knelt above her. ‘My beautiful golden girl.’ He raised her limp hand in his and kissed the palm, nipping at the fleshy part of it till a spear of heat arced straight from her hand to her womb.

      How magnificent he was: so at ease in his flesh, each movement economical yet with an innate grace. The dark bronze of his body was in contrast to her own paler skin and as he lay down beside her she was fascinated by the sight of his large long-fingered hand splaying possessively across her body. Who’d have thought anything so simple could be so erotic?

      Butterflies swooped in her stomach at the spreading sensation of warmth deep inside her. She felt his leg brush hers, the hair on his thigh wiry and tickling. Then he bent his head and planted a kiss at her navel.

      Seismic waves spread out from the point of contact, making her shiver. The sight of his head bent over her so intimately made her conscious again of the moist heat between her legs. The empty, needy sensation.

      He nuzzled her belly, planted a string of kisses across to her hip and set the butterflies dancing again inside.

      She shifted uneasily, aware of a renewed urgency in the signals her body was sending to her brain.

      He lifted his head and smiled, a knowing smile if ever there was one.

      ‘You like it when I kiss you here?’ He dropped his mouth once more to her waist, her stomach.

      She reached out and tried to pull him up, edgy again and unsure of herself. She shouldn’t feel like this again, surely.

      ‘You don’t like my kisses?’ His tone was teasing but his face was set in harsh lines of desire. The flame of arousal was hot in his eyes.

      She opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her: a knot of hard, tight emotion that blocked her throat. He was so gentle, so tender. He treated her as no man ever had before. Heat glazed her eyes and she shook her head.

      ‘Rosalie?’ His tone was abrupt as he levered himself higher, the better to see her face.

      For answer she wrapped her arms round his shoulders and lifted her lips to his, opening her mouth and giving herself up to the ecstasy that beckoned. Giving herself to him.

      For a long moment he held himself rigid above her. Then, as her tongue danced against his and her hands swept in wide circles down over his back, he settled closer. She revelled in the smooth texture of his skin against her hands, and in the sensual friction of his chest hair brushing her breasts. It was…arousing. The press of his large body against hers was an exciting weight. She felt the hot, heavy throb of him between her legs and fascination mingled with trepidation.

      ‘Rosalie,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘You drive me wild with wanting.’ Now their kisses were more urgent and the caress of his hands heavier, more possessive. He gripped her hips and pushed forward and she felt the hard length of him intimately against her. Instinctively she tilted her hips up towards him and he growled deep in his throat. ‘You’re a houri sent to bewitch me.’

      He raised one hand to her breast, squeezing gently, and she let out a cry of excitement as a flaming arrow of sensation shot through her body. Above the drumming in her ears and the rocking tension in their almost-joined bodies, she heard the whisper of his deep voice in her ear. He spoke in his own language, a lyrical intonation of syllables that flowed like music around her. The words were soothing yet somehow unsettling, urging her closer as he rocked harder against her.

      All she knew was him. The clean, earthy fragrance of his skin, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him everywhere, and still that yearning, aching sensation that couldn’t be denied.

      She barely noticed when he moved, hooking his arm under her thigh and lifting her leg up and over him. But she did register the pressure as he pushed between her legs, nudging up against her, into her.

      She froze, absorbed in the sensation of him filling her.

      Arik drew back a fraction. She had an impression of flashing dark eyes surveying her, then his head dipped to her breast and all capacity for coherent thought fled. His tongue was on her. His mouth. His teeth. She cried out, a muffled shout of bliss, and cradled him closer, arching her back as he wrought his magic on her body once more.

      There was nothing but Arik and the dazzle of stars behind her closed eyelids.

      But then, suddenly, there was more. One single, smooth, never-ending surge of movement drew him forward, impossibly filling her. She opened her eyes to see him poised above her, his face almost unrecognisable from the tension that held him so tight in its grip.

      For an instant there was no movement but the rise and fall of their chests, each breathing deeply, struggling to find equilibrium.

      ‘Lift your other leg, sweetheart.’

      Slowly she complied, and then СКАЧАТЬ