Royal and Ruthless: Innocent Mistress, Royal Wife / Prince of Scandal / Weight of the Crown. Robyn DonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
the inner demands driving him, and something unregenerate and fierce flared up to meet and match his hunger.
‘Reckless?’ he murmured, his mouth poised so close to hers that their breaths mingled.
‘Yes,’ she said simply, knowing what she’d just agreed to, knowing that after this there would be no going back—knowing, and not caring, because there was nothing in the world she wanted as much as learning about Rafiq in the most intimate way of all.
Later? Oh, she’d deal with later when it came.
She gave a squeak of astonishment as the world swooped, and he lifted her high in his arms and carried her across to that sinful double day bed.
Beside it he lowered her to her feet, sliding her down his lean, powerful length so that his need for her became blatantly, erotically obvious. Shivering, afire with sensation, she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his narrowed gaze, which darkened with an elemental need that banished all her shyness with its heat.
‘This pretty dress is a seduction in itself,’ he said deeply. ‘I’ve been wanting to slide these tiny, taunting buttons free, push them back so that the silk frames you…’
As he spoke his hands followed his words. Prey to an intensity of feeling she’d never experienced, she ignored the colour burning her skin and shrugged free of the bodice. And then stopped, acutely conscious that the only thing between her breasts and his deft, insistent hands was her bra.
Should she undo it?
Almost before the thought had formulated she felt his hands at the catch—knowledgeable and far too skilful at this, she thought on a spurt of sharp jealousy that kept her head high when he eased her bra away.
He stood looking at her, the dark, fierce hunger in his eyes satisfying something primitive and untamed in her.
On a raw note, he said, ‘You are—perfect,’ and took her eager mouth, bending her back over his arm so that his lips slid easily from hers to the demanding, importunate tips of her breasts.
The hot caress of his mouth splintered every inhibition. Moaning, lost in a carnal haze, Lexie’s hands clenched helplessly in the fine fabric of his shirt as his mouth worked erotic magic on her.
‘No,’ she muttered when he lifted his head.
‘What?’
He bit it out with such harshness she forced her eyes open, and saw the sudden rigidity in his features. ‘Don’t stop,’ she said on a gasp.
But he held her eyes in a measuring stare. ‘You are sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Frustrated, she stumbled over her next words. ‘If you stop, I just might kill you.’
Strong arms closed around her again, and he set her on the bed. Shivering with anticipation so keen it came close to pain, she watched him shuck off his shirt. Lamplight gilded his skin, picking out the smooth swell and flex of muscles as he dropped the garment to the ground. But when his hands moved to the belt of his trousers she looked away, suddenly and shyly aware of her total lack of experience.
Should she tell him? Would he think she was some sort of frigid freak? Worse still, would he be overcome by an outdated chivalry and refuse to make love to her?
Clamping her mouth to hold back the confession that threatened to tumble out, she kicked off her shoes, not caring whether they landed on the stone terrace beside the bed or in the pool a few feet away.
Lithely, Rafiq came down beside her, muscles shifting and coiling, a study in gleaming bronze power. Lexie swallowed to ease a dry throat as the sheer size of him struck home. Without the civilising influence of his superbly tailored clothes, the difference between her female slenderness and his forceful masculinity overwhelmed her.
But that initial qualm was immediately eased by his gentleness as he began to slide the dress down her body.
Only to stop when he saw the faint shadows on her ribcage. She said quickly, ‘They’ve just about gone now.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ He bent his sleek black head and kissed them, his lips sending darts of sensation to her very soul.
‘You couldn’t hurt me.’ When he hesitated, she held her breath in an agony of supplication.
He said, ‘I will be very careful, and you must tell me if there is any pain.’
‘I will.’
Her eyes flew open in dismay as another thought presented itself. What if he thought she was using contraceptive medication?
As though he’d read her mind, he asked, ‘Are you protected, my sweet one?’
‘No,’ she mumbled, rigid with embarrassment.
‘It is no problem.’ He got off the bed.
Lexie knew she should be relieved, and was shocked to discover that the thought of carrying Rafiq’s child sent a subversive pang of longing through her.
Keeping her eyes away from what he was doing, she looked downwards. Her gaze stopped on the thong her sister had insisted she wear under the silk dress.
Should she take it off?
Colour mantled her skin, and desire ebbed under the weight of her embarrassment. How on earth did people ever make love with all these things to think about?
‘What is worrying you?’
It was scary just how easily he could read her. ‘Nothing.’
But once she was in his arms again, and his mouth on hers wreaked the familiar havoc to her busy mind, the need came back, swift and sure and compelling. Her virgin fears and worries vanished in an intense, voluptuous craving for something only Rafiq could give her.
‘You taste like desire,’ he said. ‘Warm and silken and mind-blowing.’
His hand touched her breast, and she was unable to prevent a convulsive jerk of response.
‘What is it?’ he demanded.
‘I just… I can’t… I want you so much,’ she finished in a rush, scarlet with an odd sort of defiance, but determined to be honest.
His laughter was deep and intimate. Her hips thrust upwards in an involuntary plea and demand for something she craved so much she could feel the wanting in her bones.
Against her skin, he murmured, ‘So fierce you are, so responsive, so passionate, my dove. But shy—I won’t break if you touch me.’
Almost dazed by the ferocity of her need, she smoothed a hand over his chest, her fingertips tingling at the resilience of his skin, the subtle shift and move of the muscles and tendons, their power and promise.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, his warm breath tantalising the sensitive tip of her breast. ‘Touch me, Lexie, as you want to—and as you want to be touched.’
Cautiously she ran a coaxing, tentative hand across his shoulder, her fingertips thrilling at the heat of his fine-grained skin, the coiled strength that called to something deep inside her. Her breath came quickly; she bent her head so that her hair fell across him in a golden-amber flood, and then she kissed the path her fingers had made, rejoicing at the sudden thunder of his heart.
Emboldened, she opened her mouth and licked him, savouring his taste—a hint of salt, faint musk, all vital male.
Passion was a painful flame, an exciting demand, a surge of sensation through her so intense it was all she had room for. She said in an aching voice, ‘You are beautiful.’
‘Ah, no.’ Rafiq sounded oddly shaken. ‘That is for me to say to you. But beautiful does not convey enough—you are lithe and graceful, a woman of flame and satin and desire. The moment my eyes found you, I knew that this was inevitable.’
And he kissed her again, banishing her final fears and worries so completely that she