The Sheikh's Hidden Heir: Secret Sheikh, Secret Baby / The Sheikh's Claim / The Return of the Sheikh. Carol MarinelliЧитать онлайн книгу.
hers, kissing her deeply, his tongue probing her, darting in and out as she unfurled inside.
Karim was always prepared, always aware of the value of his seed. Condoms were dotted everywhere in his life, and easily he opened a drawer as still he kissed her. ‘Here.’ He handed her a condom.
‘We can’t now…’
‘Of course not. We will take our time—we have all morning—but it is good to practise.’ He unwrapped the tiny parcel. ‘Later, after your bath, you will slide it on like this…’ Her hands were shaking so much she almost dropped the slippery thing. ‘When you know how to do it, it will be much easier. I will show you…’ He placed it on his tip and then took her trembling hands. ‘Now, roll it down…’
She was terrified she’d scratch him, but she did as told, watching it unfurl over his gorgeous length. ‘See,’ Karim said. ‘It is easy.’
Karim was glad it was on as he parted her and ran his erection over her sweet place; he knew that precious warning drop had already escaped. He had imagined her last night—but she was so much sweeter in the flesh. So pretty and pink and wet, and she was a virgin. Well, suffice to say he was ready! He stared down at her tentative hands and hoped he was doing right by her—because her beauty deserved it. He could hear involuntary moans escape her lips as his thumb worked her clitoris and his fingers crept to her entrance. He felt her tighten, felt her tense refusal, and knew rather than hoped then that he was right to do it this way.
She felt his fingers there and she panicked. But as they moved away she relaxed a touch.
His blasted phone was ringing again, and she knew he had to get it—except she didn’t want him to, was kissing him hard as he pulled back.
‘I have to get that!’
‘I know.’
But he was still kissing her as the phone clicked off, kissing her harder and harder as the message bank bleeped.
‘He’ll call back…’ Karim groaned his apology. ‘Bath, Felicity.’ He was right at her entrance, smiling a rueful smile. ‘You deserve my full attention, and when you come out…’
He was right there, right there, just nudging a little, with tiny, tiny thrusts that went nowhere and yet shot her to orbit, giving her a glimpse of what maybe could be done. Then the blasted phone rang—their five minutes were clearly up.
‘I will just take it…You go and…’
‘Okay…’
‘I really must take it.’
‘I know.’
He was staring down at his sheathed erection, just there at her entrance. Felicity did the same.
‘Soon I will have the whole day.’
‘I know.’
The phone was silent again. He was a tiny way inside her, just the tip of him nudging her, and she was still staring down. His phone would start trilling again soon, and she knew when it did that he’d have to answer. But she didn’t want him to.
‘Look!’ Karim gently ordered her, and she did, staring down at where he was, watching as he pulled out a little way and then pressed in a little more. He shrugged off his bathrobe, his whole delicious naked body in front of her, and she could feel her thighs shaking, feel a pit of want as he slid in just a little more. It was starting to hurt, and she knew she would spasm, but she was saved by the phone. There was utter regret in his eyes as she looked up.
‘Now, if you will forgive me, I really have to…’ And he did. Holding her eyes, he thrust deliciously in, watched the shock of fear as he stabbed inside her, watched the surprise, the bemusement and then the wonder. If it had been anyone but her he would have come at that second, it was almost killing him not to come, and yet he wanted her to relish this moment. There was no triumph, just tenderness as he saw the rapt expression on her face as she looked down.
Oh, it had hurt—did hurt—yet it was a delicious hurt. For Felicity it was like a bizarre out-of-body experience. She was watching it, feeling it, yet unable to comprehend that it was happening to her. He absolutely filled her, guiding her hands to feel him, to feel him slide in and out, till she could look no more—because she was weak, leaning on his shoulder and sucking it—biting it, maybe—as her legs wrapped around his back. And then she felt it.
The it she’d never felt was emerging, the tremble in her thighs spreading, a flash of heat darting up her spine as he bucked fiercely within. And it wasn’t gentle, it was fabulous as he pulled her off the dressing table, and finally she came. Karim pressed her right into him, holding her, supporting her, as her body gave what she thought it never could—the delicious stabs of her first orgasm. She wanted to scream, but she held back. And then he was groaning and thrusting. And, yes, she could scream now—but instead she sobbed, a deep, sweet sob as he climaxed inside her.
Karim was dizzy.
He came often. But not like this—never once like this. He felt depleted—his thighs ached, the small of his back ached. It was as if he had dragged on hidden reserves to deliver all of his best. He couldn’t even take her to his bed for a moment, just stood as he lowered her down.
‘Thank you…’ she gasped, as weak and as dizzy as him. She stood till the world caught up, and then let him take her to his bed. She sat on the edge as he undressed her, garment by garment, kissing each newly exposed part of her body and then lying down on the bed beside her. He held her in the crook of his arm and felt her warm skin. ‘I loved it…’ Her voice was more normal now. ‘I never, ever, even in my wildest dreams…’
Her hand slipped down. He was about to tell her no, that it was too soon, too tender—but nature never ceased to amaze him. Her pleasure was so transparent, her wonder so catching, and he watched as he rose to greet her. And for Felicity—for her—he knew that he could do it all over again.
FOR three years, at some level, Karim had known this day would come.
Late afternoon his phone had buzzed quietly—not his regular phone, which he had long since turned off, but the one phone that he never could.
He had taken the call in the lounge, listened to the news and sat with his head in his hands in silence for a full five minutes afterwards. Then he had walked back into the bedroom, his gaze falling to where she slept, and all he’d wanted to do was climb in beside her, rest next to her soft skin and disappear. He wanted to wake with her in his arms and smile in relief as he realised it was just a dream. But to sleep now would have been to waste what he knew was his last taste of freedom.
The last few minutes in his life of being Karim—because, despite being the third-born son, he was being groomed to be King.
This day that should never had come—had never, when Karim had been a child, been anticipated. The third of four boys, relatively safe from the prospect of succession, he had run free. His mother had loved him with more abandon, the press had been less interested in the dark, wilful young Prince than in his elder brothers.
His elder brothers, Hassan and Ahmed, had been groomed, of course—Hassan the successor, Ahmed just in case. But for Karim, and later Ibrahim, there had been more freedom. It was a freedom that their mother had fought and begged for, and had been won only for her younger sons. Three of the boys had inherited some of their mother’s features. Hassan, the eldest, had her piercing blue eyes but none of her joy or lightness, Ahmed, the second boy, had a lighter complexion and hair and had inherited her high-strung personality too.
And young Ibrahim was a true mix of both—royal and abrupt, like his father, yet dashing and wild, like his mother.
Karim, though, was truly his father’s son.
He was, his father had said