Page 82 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

And it would have taken a will greater than any Sahir possessed not to lower his head and briefly kiss her.

The kiss was light, and yet she felt its soft weight. And although he did not linger, the contact lasted a second too long to be considered brief. There was just enough weight to his mouth that when he removed it she felt the little buzz of contact remain, and his kiss had allowed enough time to deliver its sensual intent.

His head hovered above hers and she stared into his eyes, trying to work out if they were a deep brown or a dark navy or were they both? Like a deep ocean that changed with each view.

His chest was above her own, not touching, but his hip was over hers and she wanted to arch, to feel the hair of his chest and the warmth of his skin. She longed for Sahir to kiss her again, but he just hovered, and waited, and looked down at her mouth.

She was not a petulant person—or she hoped she wasn’t—and she never complained. But there was a new Violet that Sahir allowed to emerge when she was this close to him.

‘I’m very sore,’ she reiterated. ‘In a place I’d rather not say.’

‘Poor Violet,’ he said, and gave her a sad smile.

She blinked, as if there were real tears in her eyes.

‘Can I help in any way?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know...’ She sighed bravely, gallantly. ‘I’m sure I’ll be okay...’

His eyes swept down her pink chest and his hand lightly brushed one breast as it moved to her stomach. Then his gaze returned to her face and met hers completely as that hand moved down to stroke the blonde hairs peeking from the top of her knickers.

‘Is it sore here?’

‘Not quite,’ she admitted. ‘But you’re close.’

‘I see...’

He was very serious, moving her aching thighs apart just a little—though she might have helped with that—and then he cupped her through her knickers, his hand warm and gentle, but really quite firm. It really was rather lovely.

‘How’s that?’ he asked, his voice gravelly.

‘A bit better.’

‘Why don’t I take a proper look?’

He slipped off her knickers and oiled his hand, and she almost cried out as he touched her swollen and tender body.

‘It will go.’

He stroked her inner thighs again, and then he cupped her—and, gosh, she hadn’t known how nice it was to feel the soft oil and his touch.

‘Distraction might help,’ he said, and now he kissed her, softly still, but not briefly, and her hands moved into his raven hair.

And he really was the most excellent distraction, for she was pulling him closer, encouraging him to move over her. And now she felt the bliss of his chest, and then he knelt, and she felt so fluid.

He moved her down the silk sheet and carefully took her. ‘Does it hurt?’

She did not know how to respond; she was sore, and swollen, but deep inside she was soaring.

‘Oh, please...’

She stared at his face as he looked down, as he refused to give her what she needed—what their bodies demanded, but what she would certainly regret.

For Sahir, the restraint was more than erotic. Here in the desert he was taken by her pleasure. Captivated, he watched her, and there was almost a physical shift within her. He did not change his slow, deep rhythm. Something important was building...something impossible to contain.

‘Violet...’

His voice summoned her from a dreamy delirium and she saw something new, something that told her the world as she knew it had changed...

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