trying to prove that she was a match for all those women who had preceded her—by playing with her breasts and biting her lips, her eyes closed as if she was indulging in some wild and secret fantasy?
Whatever it was, it seemed to work because he went crazy for her. Crazier than she’d ever known him. He splayed his dark hands possessively over her hips as he made the penetration deeper still. And each time she was close to orgasm, he stopped. Stopped so that once she actually screamed out loud with pent-up frustration, because he made her build it up all over again.
He did it to her over and over again. Until she begged him to release her and then at last he slid her onto the floor and drove into her, as if it were the very first time all over again. She felt her body shatter with the most powerful orgasm she’d ever known but once it began to recede, she felt a sudden sense of unease.
An unease which grew stronger with every second. Because that had been all about power, hadn’t it? Suleiman was a man who was used to getting his own way and by refusing to conform to his wishes she had taken control of the situation. She had taken control and he would use whatever it took to get it back.
Sex.
Power.
Palaces.
Even words of love which sounded wonderful, until you wondered if he actually knew what they meant. Were they just another lever to get her to see things his way? she wondered.
He’d never even seen her in her usual environment. He didn’t know that very important side of her personality.
‘I want to go back to London,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Do you want to come with me or not?’
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