Nan Ryan (22 page)

Surrendering totally to her masterful lover, Temple soon found herself on the edge of orgasm. Almost afraid of the frightening ecstasy to come, she wrapped her arms around Sharif’s neck and drew his mouth down to hers. Frantically she kissed him as though only his kiss could save her.

Sensing her climax was at hand and feeling as though he couldn’t hold his back much longer, Sharif dipped both hands beneath Temple as he kissed her.

He spread his fingers, cupped the twin cheeks of her bottom, lifted her to him, and speeded his movements. Clenching and unclenching his lean hard buttocks, he plunged aggressively into her in a rhythmic rocking motion not unlike the force of waves pounding into a beach.

Her orgasm began almost immediately.

Temple tore her burning lips from Sharif’s. Her eyes wide with fright and wonder, she flung her head from side to side and began to whimper. The whimper became a moan, and finally a loud piercing scream of shocked rapture tore from her throat.

Sharif pressed her face against his slick shoulder. She bit him viciously.

He didn’t feel it.

Groaning out his own shuddering release, he closed his eyes and bowed his neck backward, the tendons standing out in bold relief. Temple’s teeth released his punished flesh, her head dropped back to the rug, and she looked up at his dark, sweat-streaked face, contorted in ecstasy.

Then all at once an incredibly peaceful expression came over his handsome features, and for an instant he looked almost like an innocent young boy. The long dark lashes slowly lifted over his black eyes and he looked at her.

And there was not that cold, indifferent beauty about him, no hint of his impassive nature.

His lips curved into an endearing half smile that was the opposite of the cruel sneer she’d come to dread. Without a word he laid his dark head on her breasts and collapsed atop her.

Sighing with satisfaction, Temple wrapped her weak arms around his slick brown shoulders and pressed her lips to the luxuriant black locks falling appealingly over his forehead.

Sharif immediately
fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Moments later, Temple too was dozing.

The naked pair slept there on the floor as the long somnolent summer afternoon passed. When the burning desert sun finally sank toward the western horizon and the still air began to cool, Sharif awakened.

His lashes fluttered restlessly, then lifted lazily.

Above him was the shimmering white of his tent’s roof and beneath him the luxurious softness of the Persian rugs. He was, he realized foggily, Adam naked and flat of his back on the floor in the tent’s main room.

Yawning sleepily, he wondered why.

Then a rush of remembering. It all came back, and Sharif felt his bare belly contract reflexively.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head.

And saw her.

Temple, as naked as he and more beautiful than a sinless angel, was sleeping beside him amid their torn, scattered clothing. She, too, lay on her back, with one shapely leg stretched out fully, the other bent at the knee, raised slightly and cocked to one side. One of her small hands lay draped over her bare midriff; the other was flung up above her head.

Her tousled blond hair was in tangled disarray. A portion of the wild golden mane partially hid her beautiful face. One long wayward lock was curled around her throat, its wispy ends fanned out on her bare right breast.

Silently Sharif turned onto his side, levered himself onto an elbow, and stared at the sleeping blond beauty. His dark gaze slid admiringly down her pale body. She was more slender than she appeared to be when clothed. Each fragile rib showed beneath the flawless ivory skin, and because she was lying on her back, her flat stomach was concave. Delicate hipbones rose prominently, leaving a taut, shadowed plane between.

Her slender legs were long and perfectly formed, the knees dimpled, the slim ankles shapely. Even her feet were pretty, the toes as precious as a child’s.

Sharif’s assessing gaze climbed slowly back up her nude white body.

Her chest rose and fell gently as she slumbered. The soft breasts were flattened a little in her reclining position but stood up alluringly enough, their large, soft, rose pink centers sleeping just as she was.

How long, Sharif wondered idly, would it take to awaken those nipples—and her—if he were to bend his head and begin gently kissing them? He was tempted to find out.

Those bare creamy breasts were not all he wanted to kiss.

His dark gaze slid lower, touched her narrow waist briefly, then followed the line of pale wispy hair in its descent from the small indentation of her navel to the dense growth of golden curls between her pale thighs.

His heart began to thud against the wall of his chest. He stared at the tempting triangle of crisp blond coils, totally tantalized. His fingers itched to touch, to stroke, to tunnel through the pale springy curlicues.

He swallowed with difficulty.

He was tempted to reach out, spread his hand, and possessively cup that enticing mound of warm femininity.

And claim it for his own.

To push her legs apart and gently sweep aside the pale angel curls and kiss her there, where that tiny bud of sensation was asleep as she was asleep. One stroke of his tongue and it would awaken as she would awaken. After the initial shock, she would sigh and moan and squirm while he licked it to throbbing life.

Sharif exhaled heavily and ground his even white teeth.

Already he wanted her again. Had to have her. Couldn’t rest until he’d made love to her. Was aroused just from looking at her. Sexual sweat beaded his hairline and upper lip, and a fully formed erection bobbed and surged on his bare brown belly.

His hot black eyes suddenly went cold, and he scowled at her. His weakness angered him, and that anger was directed at her. She looked so sweet, so innocent in slumber, but she was dangerous and deadly in her desirability.

He shuddered.

She held a mysterious power over him no woman ever had. The startling knowledge rankled him. Made him want to show her right here, right now, that
he
was the master,
she
nothing more than an available plaything.
He
exercised all the power.
She
had no control over him. None.

His eyes flashing with a mixture of fury and desire, he stared at her, grinding his teeth.

There she lay, stretched out naked and defenseless, his to do with as he pleased. Over the years more than one jaded lover had been awakened to his less-than-tender lovemaking.

This one was no different from the others. He felt no need to act the sensitive suitor. No obligation to kiss and coax her before taking her. She thought him an animal, a heathen, a dark, dirty savage. Why not prove her right? Why not force her to endure the sexual whims of a base barbarian?

At that moment Temple awakened.

The first thing she saw was a naked, angry-looking Sharif looming menacingly over her. Fear immediately filled her emerald eyes, and she tried to lunge up.

“No, it’s all right,” he murmured soothingly, her fright instantly undermining his wrath.
“Naksedil,”
he whispered, the intent to roughly take her forgotten. “Be still now.”

Gently he urged her back down onto the soft rug. He was, oddly, overcome with the need to put her completely at her ease, to be tender and caring so that she would
want
to give herself to him.

Looking into his jet black eyes, full consciousness returning, Temple was immediately filled with shame and regret. Her face flamed as she recalled with appalling clarity their frenzied bout of animalistic love-making a few short hours before. Dear God, what had she done? How had it happened? How could she have possibly allowed this heartless Arab pirate chieftain to … to …

Temple’s eyes closed as Sharif lowered his face to hers, brushed his smooth, warm mouth against her lips. No pressure. No force. Simply a gentle, nonthreatening caress, his full lips pressing tenderly against her own.

No. No. It had all been a terrible mistake and one she wouldn’t repeat. Temple turned her head away in an attempt to evade his kiss.

“No,” she said. “Don’t … please.”

“I won’t,” he murmured even as his lips followed and found hers again.

He kissed her and kept on kissing her. The soft, sweet kisses continued as Sharif, supporting his weight on an elbow, leaned over her face but did not lay a hand on her. He touched only her lips with his lips.

Temple ordered herself to push him away, to leap up from the lush Persian carpet and flee. But it was as if she couldn’t find the strength to move, couldn’t make herself roll away from him and rise. Still, she wouldn’t, she promised herself, allow him to make love to her again.

Not now.

Not ever.

His tender, disarming kisses continued, and try as she might not to, Temple slowly began to respond to the brushing, teasing feel of his persuasive lips on hers. Her pulse quickened. Her will weakened.

How strangely seductive it was to lie here naked while the equally bare Sharif kissed but did not touch her. Her lips began to respond to his, to cling to his. She began to lift her head in an effort to keep his lips on hers longer.

Sharif took his time kissing her. Savoring the warmth and softness of her mouth, he continued to press gentle, unhurried kisses to her lips until they were opening to him, inviting him to stay longer, to take more.

Still he waited.

It was several long minutes before his kisses changed, became seeking and demanding. His tongue finally delved into her mouth to explore and probe its inner sweetness.

Sighing, welcoming the intrusion of his sleek fiery tongue, Temple felt her resolve slipping away. Desire was starting to build and with it a kind of pleasure that was like a powerful drug. The more of it she tasted, the more she wanted, the more she had to have. It was impossible to forget the ecstasy that awaited if only she would stay right here on the floor with the amorous Sheik.

Surrendering to his stirring kisses, Temple felt as if the masterful mouth moving so expertly on her trembling lips were searing them and burning all the way down into her body. Nobody kissed like the Sheik. His kisses were an irresistible blend of fierceness and tenderness, oddly soft and at the same time violently demanding.

Thrilling beyond belief.

Quivering from the probing of his tongue, Temple felt her fingertips tingle with the need to stroke his smooth back, his hair-covered chest, his flat belly. But still she hesitated. He hadn’t yet touched her. Why, she didn’t know. But she decided she would wait until he could no longer stand not having his arms around her, his hands on her flesh. Let him be the one to weaken first. Make him touch her.

Then she would respond in kind.

Her arms lay at her sides, her hands flattened on the thick Persian rug, fingers clutching the lush nap. It was all she could do to keep them there. Surely any second he would reach for her.

He didn’t.

While his kisses grew increasingly hotter and prolonged, Sharif kept his hands to himself, as if he had read her thoughts. When his heated lips left hers Temple was sure he would raise his head and reach for her. But his head never lifted, his hands didn’t stir.

His mouth moved across her flushed face, pressing kisses to her hot cheeks, the tip of her nose, her closing eyes. She trembled when his lips traveled along her high cheekbone and moved to her ear, to kiss the sensitive spot just below it. His silky black hair tickling her face, he slid his open lips along the cord going down the side of her throat, and Temple shivered.

Her head bowed backward and she drew in her breath when his mouth sank into the hollow of her throat and his tongue gently stroked. Involuntarily she squirmed about, her bare bottom wiggling, her shoulder blades digging into the cushioning softness of the Persian rug.

She wanted so badly to touch him. She wanted so badly for him to touch her. To feel his hands on her. To have her hands on him.

It had become an erotic game of torment, and both were playing to win. As the game progressed, both became more and more aroused. While she writhed and wiggled, his roving lips drove her half crazy with desire until the blood in her veins became liquid fire.

She would never be able to figure out just how Sharif managed to continue his invasive exploration of her body with just his mouth. But he did. And it was both maddening and thrilling.

Nuzzling and nibbling a wet, hot path down from her throat, Sharif moved his lips to her left breast, pressed kisses to the rising swell before opening over the taut nipple. A strangled cry caught in her throat. Her hands automatically lifted a couple of inches off the floor. She caught herself, placed them back palms down beside her.

A little wince of joy escaped her when Sharif raked his sharp teeth across her tingling nipple. She sighed when he flicked his tongue back and forth over the pebblehard crest, circled it with quick swirling motions, licked it as though it were a sweet candy, then opened his mouth wide and sucked forcefully, sending her into deep shudders of ecstasy.

Oh, God, how she wanted to put her hands into his thick raven hair and press his hot face even closer to her swelling breast.