12. Chapter 12 There Can Only Be One Answer #2
His eyes burning with near frightening intensity, he leaps from the bed without a word and lopes into the other room. Returning moments later with his agal in his hand. Running his hands over my curves in a way that claims every inch he touches, he strips me of my bra and panties.
Using the latter to tie my wrists together, he then attaches them to the ornate wrought iron headboard with his agal.
"What are you do—" My inquiry ends in a high pitched cry when my sheikh pinches both my nipples without warning.
He twists my tender buds sending zings of ecstasy straight to my ladybits. "Anti lī." He lets go of one nipple to pound a fist against his chest. "Me. You belong to me."
All semblance of the urbane prince I first met in the paddock is gone. In his place is this ferocious man, unbridled by modern sensibilities.
And I'm completely enthralled.
Then he sets about proving his words, touching me in ways he didn't even on our first night together. His hands are everywhere and his mouth follows, placing open mouthed, sucking kisses in strategic places.
He bites my instep before kissing the back of my calf. His nose runs along the back of my knee as if he's savoring my scent like I do his.
My intimate flesh pulses as he sucks up another mark on the tender skin of my inner thigh.
"Gabriel," I beg, not even sure what I'm begging for.
For him to stop or keep doing exactly what he's doing?
He lifts his head, his eyes nearly black with lust. "That is right. Say my name exactly like that. Let me hear your need."
His name becomes a litany of desperate pleading as he turns his attention to my other thigh, so close to where I need him most, but not there.
I keep saying his name over and over again, like it's the only word left in my need addled brain as he moves up to rub his close cropped beard over the curve of my tummy and between my breasts.
Cupping my breasts, he presses them together and rubs his beard over the sensitized flesh.
He teases my nipples with his heated breath and the tantalizing possibility of him taking them into his talented mouth.
"Gabriel, please!" I shout.
He lifts his head. "What do you need?"
"You. I need you." There's no doubt in my mind what I want right now. "Take my nipple into your mouth!"
"With pleasure." He licks around my areola before taking my nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly before sucking it and my entire areola into his mouth.
Pleasure shoots straight to my core with the power of a lightning bolt and I keen.
Wordless cries of pleasure and desire.
When he lifts his head and moves to manhandle my limbs so my most intimate flesh is fully exposed to his hot gaze, I'm so aroused, my slick runs down between my butt cheeks.
Pushing my thighs so wide, the borderline uncomfortable stretch of my muscles adds to all the sensations bombarding me, he taps my forbidden hole. "Mine."
"Gabriel!" I yell.
"Every part of you belongs to me," he says in a tone that would do a caveman proud as he rubs the wetness from my center around the spot I never thought another human would see much less touch.
My sphincter contracts, but I don't know if it's in repudiation or pleasure. When the very tip of his pinky finger presses inside, I have to acknowledge it's pleasure, if only to myself.
"Every part of you belongs to me too," I gasp out, saying the Arabic term back to him with the masculine form. "Anta lī."
"I have not denied it."
"Then don't bring up other women." I don't care if it's rational, or the right attitude for a modern woman to take.
If he can be downright primitive in his possessiveness, so can I.
And if he's going to claim the right to look at and touch a part of me I never thought to share with someone else, I want all of him too.
He tilts his head forward and taps his forehead in the traditional gesture used to indicate acquiescence to a superior.
"I will not. But know this: no other woman has ever mattered.
You matter." He hits his chest over his heart again.
"Here." He taps the side of his head. "Here.
" His hand sweeps out indicating the world beyond the French doors to the balcony "There. "
"Don't say stuff like that if you don't mean it." My heart can't take it.
"I told you. I do not say things I do not mean." Then he's leaning forward and his mouth is right there.
His big hands holding my body still, his tongue spears inside me and my vaginal walls contract around the slippery appendage he wields so adeptly.
"Yes, Gabriel! Please!"
Humming with obvious pleasure, he makes love to me with his mouth. He sucks on my nether lips, first one side and then the other, before running his tongue from my opening to my clitoris and swirling the pointed tip around my engorged and aching bud.
He kisses me down there every bit as thoroughly and passionately as he did my mouth. And I love every second. Even how he holds me in place so I can't move. His thumb presses inside me while his forefinger rubs over my sensitized sphincter.
It's so forbidden. How can this feel so freaking perfect?
There's no warning.
I'm lost in a dark forest of pleasure, his every touch a moment when moonlight bathes my skin.
But nothing else exists beyond that touch, everything else faded into darkness.
Until suddenly my body lights up like I've been transported to the desert in the middle of the day and I'm screaming from the ecstasy of it.
I'm still pulsing with aftershocks when Gabriel surges up my body and pushes inside my tender and now swollen flesh with his oversized manhood.
Stretched almost to the point of pain, I make a whining sound, but don't tell him to stop. His face cast in lines of strain, he slowly rocks in and out of me until he's fully seated and his pelvis is pressed against mine.
I'm so freaking full.
"Perfect," I say the only word that can describe this feeling of being possessed by him.
Of possessing him, fully and completely.
It takes me long seconds to realize how still he is. He's watching me. Waiting for something.
What?
"You can move," I tell him.
He may not have prepped me like last time, but he took his time getting inside me, making sure my intimate center could accommodate his length and girth. And I want him to move, to bring my body the pleasure only he can.
"No condom," he says like the two words are an entire conversation.
"No condom," I agree.
He nods and then orders, "Give me the words."
What words? I already said no condom.
Then I remember the first time and realize what he needs from me. "Yours, my sheikh. I'm yours."
I'm unprepared for the sensual beast those words unleash. He pounds in and out of me with forceful thrusts that shake my body with the power of an earthquake. The agal I grasp with tight fingers becomes a tether to the present, so my soul doesn't fly away on the powerful wings of pleasure.