Pregnant by the Sheikh

It was as if he was reading her mind. More, her deepest, most private beliefs and yearnings.

Again she nodded, not even thinking of contesting his verdict. “I left naiveté and idealism behind when I was seven, grew up in the cutthroat worlds of highest-level politics and business. I’ve long since learned that the best men need to have a lot of monster in them to be merciless enough to make the painful decisions, cunning enough to beat evil at its game, strong enough to enforce harsh changes for the better and resilient enough to be the one left standing after a war and doing as much good as possible in this crazy world.”

His eyes darkened with her every word, until those fathomless black pupils engulfed the glowing emerald. She felt as if she was watching a panther in the seconds before he pounced. And she couldn’t wait for him to. Even when she knew she might not survive his ferocity.

Then he did. Growling deep in his gut like his namesake, he brought her fully over him, making her feel she was no more than a twenty-pound baby. It should have been terrifying to realize just how much stronger than her he was. But his roughness was infused with such care, it only sent all her senses soaring.

She tumbled over him, the skirt of her dress riding up as he splayed her thighs wide, had her straddling him. The moment she felt him fully against her, between her legs, she almost fainted with the spike of arousal. Then his lips opened over her neck, and she did swoon. Her head fell back, giving him fuller access, surrendering to his pleasuring.

She needed this, needed him, come what may.

“You feel and taste even better than I imagined. Jenan...”

She jerked as if at the sting of a lash when he said her name. She’d never liked her full name. Now it inflamed her to hear it on his lips, in that voracious growl. But he was sending her out of her mind with everything he did. The way he moved against her, breathed her in, touched and kneaded and suckled her... It was all too much.

And too little. She needed more. Everything. His mouth and hands all over her, his potency inside her.

“Numair...”

At hearing her moaning his name, the same desperation she felt reverberating inside her seemed to emanate from his body in shock waves. Then he swept her around and brought her under him on the couch, then bore down on her.

The world disappeared again, nothing remaining in her awareness but his greed and urgency and lust dominating her.

Spreading her thighs around his hips, he pressed between them, his hardness grinding against her entrance through their clothes. Her back arched deeply to accommodate him, a cry tearing from her very recesses at the feel of him, the sight of him above her.

“Jenan.” His growl sounded pained as he surveyed her for one last second. Then his lips claimed hers, branding them. She opened wide to his invasion, and his tongue thrust deep, singeing her with pleasure, breaching her with need, draining her of reason.

Pressure built—behind her eyes, inside her chest, deep in her loins. Her hands convulsed on his arms, digging into his muscles, everything inside her surging, gushing, needing anything and everything he’d do to her. His fingers and tongue and teeth exploiting her every secret, his manhood filling that distressing void he’d created inside her...

Something buzzed against her thigh, made her lurch beneath him. After moments it stopped. Then it started again until it finally made him stiffen above her. Then he was cursing viciously as he rose off her.

The moment she lost his anchoring, she whimpered. His tempestuous glance told her he was feeling exactly the same. Wild with hunger and frustration.

He whipped out his phone in barely controlled fury. He only bit off a few phrases before ending the call. She vaguely understood it was one of his Black Castle partners. It figured only one of them would warrant Numair interrupting their first kiss.

As she finished the thought, she found herself snickering. First kiss indeed. First ravishing more like.

Numair’s grimace filled with mock reproach and a too-real self-deprecation as he surveyed her still boneless condition. “I’m glad one of us is not in agony, and can still laugh.”

“I’m not laughing... I’m snickering.”

His huff sounded genuinely amused, not to mention surprised. “Thanks for the correction. Care to share the source of your merriment? I can use something to take my mind off the urge to hunt Antonio down for interrupting us. Or to pounce back on you and finish what I started.”

Before she blurted out for him to just do the latter, she remembered they’d been in the middle of a game-changing conversation. And they hadn’t reached a resolution yet. There might not be even one to reach.

Dismay finally made her pull herself up from her flagrant surrender. Numair remained towering over her as she sat up, like some all-powerful genie from a fable. The searing sensuality of his scowl made it almost impossible for her not to pull him back over her. Only the “heir” thing stopped her.

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