6. Chapter 6 Tell Me I Can Have You #2
In answer he presses his lips to mine, the kiss almost reverent. And then he says the words again.
Before I can ask again what he said, he kisses me again, this time with claim-staking carnality that robs me of both my breath and reason.
When he breaks the kiss, I’m panting, my vision hazy.
"This dress is delightful but hides too much of the precious body beneath."
"Yes," I say, not really sure what I’m agreeing to.
Then, before I realize what’s happening, my pink dress and soaked panties are gone and I’m as naked as he is. Meeping again, I slap one arm over my heaving chest and my other hand over my mons.
I try to scoot backward, but there's nowhere to go.
Gabriel grabs both of my wrists in a gentle but unbreakable hold. "Let me see."
"I don't…I've never…" I'm hot all over and it's not excitement.
I'm blushing from my ankles to my hairline.
"Now you will." He pulls my arm away from my breasts and tugs my hand from between my legs, but his eyes stay locked on mine. "With me."
"I want that, but…" I let out a shaky breath. "I'm scared."
Like some kind of Victorian maiden.
Or a modern woman who has never been naked with a man before.
"It is my privilege to take care of you and allay your fears," Gabriel says without a glimmer of either amusement or judgment.
"Tell me it means something to you." I manage to keep the pleading from my voice.
I'm not that pathetic. Right?
It's natural to need reassurance taking such a big step with another person. Even though he said he sees the possibility of a future for us, I need to know that this moment matters to him.
Maybe not as much as it does to me, but it has to be important.
"It means the shaping of my future."
Wow. Okay. That is definitely something real. "Mine too."
"As it should be."
"You're not a virgin." Oh man. Another wave of nervous heat washes over my skin.
I'm going to sunburn from the inside out at this rate.
Did I really say that?
"I am not, but I have never considered a future with a woman I had sex with."
"You're considering one with me." It's not a question.
Not really.
"Yes."
"Why now? Why me? Do you need to get married before you're thirty-five, or your royal family will disown you, or something?"
Now he laughs. "I think that is a plot from one of those very interesting books you read."
By interesting, I think he means spicy. And he's right. It's actually a pretty common romance trope, the whole have to get married by a certain age to inherit thing.
I laugh at my own absurdity. "You can look at me if you want."
He could have been looking at me all this time, but he's been waiting for me to stop hiding. Even in my head.
"Thank you." He kisses me on my forehead and then he lets his gaze travel down my body like a long, slow caress.
"Such beautiful, voluptuous curves." His eyes are hot and possessive on me.
Right now? Despite a lifetime of being told I could be pretty if I just tried a little harder, I feel beautiful.
And sensual.
Gabriel runs his fingertips down my sides and grips my hips, an animalistic sound coming from deep in his throat. "So perfect. Lush and soft."
His words rewrite the message about my body my mom and so many others have tried to impart to me.
Not too round to be attractive, but lush and soft.
Voluptuous.
Starting with a kiss to the instep of my right foot, he maps my skin inch-by-inch. Hands and mouth against naked flesh, he raises goosebumps of pleasure in the wake of every kiss and caress.
When he's kissing his way across my shoulders and I can reach him, I touch him too.
Running my fingertips over his chest, I trace the ridges of his muscles, reveling in the hardness of his physique as much as he enjoys the softness of mine.
When I slide my thumbs over the small brown disks of his nipples, they get hard.
Just like mine.
He groans. "Yes, habibi, put your small hands all over me."
More than happy to obey, I smooth my hands over the planes of his back.
His skin is hot. His muscles are hard. Eventually, my fingers find their way back to his chest, tunneling through his chest hair.
It's surprisingly soft. I arch up and press my aching nipples against it, brushing side to side and reveling in the sensation.
So good. My hands grip his chest hair and I tug, wanting more.
The sound Gabriel makes sends a shiver of primitive, wanton delight through me.
In a flurry of movement, my arms are above my head and both of my wrists are gripped firmly in one of his hands. "Enough."
"You said I could touch you. I'm not done."
"You are for now," he vows.
"But—" Words fail me as his mouth comes down onto my breast and he sucks on the upper swell of one generous mound.
His close-cropped beard abrades the sensitive skin and I moan, long and low.
It feels so, so, so good.
He covers my breasts with biting, sucking kisses and my nipples ache for just one of those kisses to land on the turgid nubs. But he doesn’t touch them.
I writhe under him, arching my back, trying to shift so that hot mouth will land where I need it most.
The only thing I get for my efforts is a dark chuckle.
"Please, Gabriel!"
He lifts his head, his smile diabolical. "Yes? What does my little virgin want?"
"I want my sheikh to put his mouth on my nipples." I want it too much to demur.
"Your pleasure is mine to command," he promises darkly.
I’d rather my wish was his command, but my ladybits don’t agree, gushing with more arousal, soaking the bedspread under me.
He goes back to tormenting my breasts, his hand sliding over my hip to touch my slick folds. A single fingertip flirts with the opening to my body as his thumb circles my pleasure spot.
Now I’m lifting my hips toward him, begging silently for his touch there. Then not so silently, but my sheikh does exactly what he wants.
And that only turns me on more.
When his mouth finally comes over one nipple, hot wet and insistent, I scream, my entire body bowing with the sensation.
Gabriel slips his finger fully inside me.
Oh.
That’s so different than the tiny vibrator I tried. It’s Gabriel. His finger. His touch.
My thoughts devolve into a maelstrom of sensation as he suckles my nipple and thrusts his finger in and out of me.
When he adds a second one, there are no words, only cries from my lips.
He touches my clitoris as he scissors his fingers, stretching my vaginal walls, preparing my body for his full possession.
Without warning, ecstasy washes over me in another orgasm. This one rolls through me, cascading from one nerve ending to the next until I’m floating in a sea of bliss.
I expect Gabriel to move up my body for penetration. But he doesn’t. Isn’t that what comes next though?
My thoughts are like lazy pontoons, floating on the surface of my pleasure, too buoyant to go any deeper than my vague wondering.
The fingers keep moving inside me, slowly but inexorably stretching.
"So good. Oh, Gabriel. Don’t stop." I’m greedy for more of the amazing sensations he's giving me and I don’t care.
As bliss starts to build and coil inside me again, he adds a third finger, stretching me to the point of pain. But the sting adds to the pleasure devastating my body.
Then he separates his fingers, stretching me even more and I scream. Pleasure and pain coalesce, making it hard to breathe.
My sheikh pulls his mouth off my nipple, tugging it with his teeth until the last second.
Relief at the cessation of at least one source of stimulation lasts only long enough for him to move to my other boob.
And that nipple becomes the target of his fiendish attention.
I don’t know how long his ministrations to my swollen and aching nipple last as he continues to stretch my inner flesh, but abruptly he pulls his fingers out of me and he's positioning himself so the head of his oversized sex is pressing into the opening of my body.
It stretches me in a different way than his fingers, both easier and harder to bear.
Oh lord. Please.
"Do not pray to God when it is my mercy you require, juwayhira."
I stare up at him. His face cast in harsh lines, his eyes command me to accept him.
No pleading for my sheikh.
"Please, Gabriel," I gasp out.
But I don’t know what I’m asking for. I don’t know what I want.
He’s big. It hurts. But I don’t want him to pull out.
I definitely don’t want him to push deeper though.
Do I?
He doesn’t ask what I want. He gives me what he knows I need.
And it’s more of him.
He presses forward, rocking with inexorable movements that drive him deeper and deeper inside me. I’m stretched almost beyond bearing, but I do bear it.
Because I want it. I crave being filled by him.
He releases my wrists. "Hold onto my shoulders," he orders in a voice that borders on harsh.
I do. And it grounds me.
His rocking motion increases in intensity and I have just enough sanity to be glad for all the years of horseback riding, because there is no natural barrier for him to breach.
I still scream with that same overwhelming combination of pleasure and pain as he seats himself fully inside me with one final, hard thrust.
Then he stills his hips. His body pinning mine to the bed, he gentles me with soft caresses over my face, my shoulders, and my over-sensitized breasts. He doesn’t pinch my nipples like he did in the living room; he circles them with tender caresses and tears burn the back of my eyes.
It’s so good.
He knows. He doesn’t stop the soft touches, even when the tears form and trickle down my temples.
"So lovely," he praises me before leaning down to sup at my tears. "Sweet."
"Tears are salty." Aren’t they?
"Everything about you is sweet, my little virgin," he whispers.
I shiver in reaction to his breath against my ear.
"It’s just so beautiful." I try to explain my tears.
"You are beautiful and you belong to me now," he says in a voice filled with unwavering certainty.
I have just enough wherewithal to say, "And you belong to me."