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Hamid paused, then turned to face the crowd of reporters, journalists and cameramen. “It will be held this Friday in the recently built ballroom. Invitations will be sent out tomorrow.”
Hamid twisted away to pull open a door and draw her through it. He shut it behind them, and she was only vaguely aware of a big oak desk with a computer, of the musty scent of aged, leather bound books inside their shelves as she looked up at him. Her stomach fluttered and her heart was fit to burst through her chest. But if she was expecting an explanation she couldn’t have been more wrong.
He pushed her back against the door as he bent and his mouth crashed onto hers. That a crowd of nosy reporters might still be on the other side of the doorway quickly faded into obscurity.
Nothing mattered but the hot, demanding pressure of his lips on hers, the hard, adept touch of his calloused hands as they slipped under her wrap to the skimpy outfit beneath, caressing the shape of her, tracing every dip and line while goosebumps flared over her skin.
He pushed her hair aside and kissed the vulnerable side of her throat. Sensation poured through her like a tsunami. God, she was drowning in his skilled lovemaking, lost to him—
He pulled back, his glittering eyes full of need and a whole lot of pent-up desire. “Take off your wrap.”
“Wh-what?” She was too dazed to comprehend anything outside the sphere of lust surrounding her.
“I’ve been aching to see exactly what you’re wearing.”
The heat inside her skyrocketed to scorching, her hands shaking as she pushed off her wrap and bared her outfit beneath.
But then a sudden tide of self-doubt hit her. She was in a harem outfit, but she was no harem girl. She was Holly fricking Petersen. She didn’t do sexy.
Except all doubts lifted like mist on a baking hot day as his eyes darkened and a muscle ticked to life in his jaw, not to mention the massive erection he sported inside his pants. “I love it.”
“I love your suit, too,” she admitted.
There was something unreservedly hot and decadent about seeing him in the finest tailored western clothes, the suit highlighting his wealthy sheikh status while reminding her of the man beneath…the desert rat who knew exactly how to turn her on.
“Dance for me,” he said hoarsely.
She could no more disobey his request that a bee could deny its instinct to collect pollen. She wanted him to always remember her, wanted him to think about her as much as she knew she’d think about him.
He took a step back to give her space and she lifted her arms above her head and swiveled her hips from side-to-side. She didn’t need music. The beat was their shared pulse that synchronized them as one, a silent harmony that allowed her to shimmy and sway.
The tiny priceless diamonds on the bodice twinkled and shook, the barely there skirt with its train at the back swishing with every movement. “Am I a good little harem girl?” she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes.
His stare blazed with need. “If you’d been a part of my harem I would never have let you go.”
She smiled, empowered by his words. She might have been a small, powerless girl quivering with fear and uncertainty when her parents had fought, but right now she quivered with a far different emotion.
“You’re a goddess,” he said huskily. “One I want to worship.”
There was no more dancing necessary, except the gyrating against his tongue once he’d undressed her and he knelt at her feet with his head between her thighs. His first few licks sent heat straight to her core. The next dozen left her weak and helpless against the door. The finale sent starbursts fizzing and exploding behind her eyelids.
She was still dazed and mindless with pleasure when he pushed to his feet, released his cock from the zipper of his pants, slid on a condom from the pocket of his pants, then lifted her high, one-handing his shaft to guide it to her center.
She gasped at his entry, caught between pleasure and pain even as she was vaguely aware of the muttering of voices behind the door. The reporters were still there?
The knowledge sent her inner heat factor to a whole new level of inferno. And as Hamid began stroking inside her, his hand had to cover her mouth and muffle her cries of ecstasy as he filled her, pushing in and out, faster and faster, his strokes hitting a spot that sent her tumbling headfast into an abyss of pleasure so intense she lost her voice, her scream all on the inside.
Hamid’s eyes rolled back as he too succumbed to ecstasy, his whole body convulsing as he emptied his seed. It seemed like forever before they both got their breath back, her legs still wrapped around Hamid’s hips as he leaned his head against hers.
“Incredible,” he said hoarsely.
She couldn’t have agreed more.
“Do you think anyone heard us?”
“I’m not sure.”
“If they did, let’s hope they didn’t record it.”
