Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) by Abby Green (free e reader .TXT) 📕

This man was hers.

And right then she couldn’t remember why it was so important to fight that.

‘I would mind.’

Had she growled as she’d said that? She couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t care, because Sharif had his hands on her waist again and was tugging her towards him. It was only when their bodies touched that she realised she was shaking from the need overflowing inside her.

He went still. ‘This doesn’t change anything, Liyah. We’re just letting our mutual chemistry burn out or else it’ll drive us crazy. But that’s all it is. It doesn’t change what this marriage is.’

Not a marriage. A business arrangement.

‘I know,’ Liyah said, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate. ‘That’s fine with me.’

She didn’t want anything more either. She wanted her freedom. Independence. She certainly didn’t want to risk her heart after a lifetime of learning that those who were meant to love you most either left you or rejected you. Or asked you to sacrifice your freedom for theirs.

This had nothing to do with emotions. It was desire. Physical. She could handle that.

To make sure he understood, she said, ‘I want you, Sharif.’

As if a switch had been flicked, he muttered something guttural and dug his hands into her hair, clasping her head, tipping her face up to his. Liyah gripped his arms and his muscles bunched under her palms. Her legs nearly gave way and she had to lock them to stay standing.

When his mouth covered hers electricity shot into her veins and straight to every erogenous point. She was suddenly ravenous, reaching up and straining to get closer. There were too many clothes in the way. She scrabbled for Sharif’s waistcoat, pushing it off, dislodging his hands. Then his bow-tie and shirt.

When his chest was bare she pulled back and put her hands on him. He was warm and vital. The hair tickled her palms. His heart was thudding heavily. She felt drunk. Even though she’d barely touched her champagne earlier.

‘You... I want to see you, Liyah.’

She turned around and pulled her hair over her shoulder, presenting him with her back. He pulled down her zip, his fingers stopping just above her buttocks. The dress loosened around her chest. Sharif came close behind her. She shivered when his bare chest met her back and his arms went around her, his hands cupping and measuring the weight of her breasts. She moaned with need, her head falling back against his shoulder.

He caught her jaw, tipped her face up so that his mouth could meet hers as he found and caught a nipple between his fingers, lightly pinching and rolling it until Liyah couldn’t breathe with her need. She twisted in his arms, facing him again, her hands scrabbling for his belt, undoing it, opening a button, pushing his trousers and briefs down over his hips.

They were still standing in the foyer of the apartment. They’d barely moved two feet. But she didn’t even notice. She took his rigid flesh in her hand, feeling the size and weight of him, hearing his sharp sucked-in breath, revelling in a momentary feeling of power.

He took her hand away. She looked up and quivered inwardly at the expression on his face.

‘No time to play. I need you now.’

He backed her up until her shoulders hit the door with a soft thud. The wood was cool against her heated flesh. He crowded her and she revelled in it, wrapping her arms around his neck, rubbing her breasts against his chest.

She felt curiously emotional in the midst of this onslaught of sensation. She’d thought she’d never see him again after that night at the oasis. And then there’d been the shock of discovering he was her husband, and the belief that he didn’t want her again.

But that was all incinerated to dust now, under his mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut to avoid him seeing anything of her feelings.

After a deep, drugging kiss, he broke away to press his mouth against her skin, her shoulder, her neck, and then down. He lifted her breast and cupped it so that he could zero in on her throbbing nipple, sucking and pulling the taut peak into his mouth, nipping with his teeth until Liyah was squirming, her every nerve-ending on fire.

Suddenly Sharif reared back and said throatily, ‘Put your legs around me.’

Liyah kicked off her shoes, and when he lifted her up she locked her legs around his hips. The centre of her body came into contact with his, the flimsy lace of her underwear no barrier. She bit her lip, fighting not to beg because she knew that he was going to ease the burning ache in her core right here, right now.

He reached between them and she heard a faint rip. Her underwear. She didn’t care. He guided the head of his erection to her centre, to where she was weeping with need. He looked at her as he teased her, lubricating his own body with the slick evidence of her desire.

And then, just when she thought she could take no more, he thrust deep, stealing her breath and her sanity. She was so primed that it took only a few deep, hard strokes to push her over the edge, and then her body clamped around Sharif’s as he found his own release, his hips jerking in the aftermath of a storm so fast and intense they couldn’t move for long moments.

Slowly Liyah began to put the shattered pieces of herself back together. She became aware of Sharif’s arm around her waist. His other hand was by her head, against the door. His face was buried in her neck, his breath uneven. Warm. Their hearts were pounding. Skin slick with perspiration.

Sharif lifted his head slowly. Liyah couldn’t look away. She was aware that she’d never been more exposed, but she couldn’t seem to care.

To her surprise, Sharif caught a piece of wayward hair and tucked it behind her ear. He said, ‘Okay?’

She felt emotional again. She nodded quickly in