The Sheikh's Impetuous Love-Slave Read Online Free PDF Page A

clean and spicy and warm. Male, distinctively male.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ To her chagrin, her voice sounded every bit as breathless as she felt.
    Khalid laughed, a throaty chuckle which made her toes curl. ‘I told you. Preparing you. You have beautiful curves, Juliette. You should not be ashamed of them.’
    He turned her round, prising her hands from her breasts, tracing the contours of them, running the sponge down the valley between them. The gentle abrasion made her nipples tingle. She felt them pucker and harden.
    â€˜ Belle,’ Khalid whispered.
    No one had ever called her beautiful before. But then no man had ever seen her naked before.
    â€˜ Très belle,’ Khalid said, as if he had read her mind. ‘See what you do to me.’ He pulled her against him, allowing the hard length of his erection to nestle against the gentle curve of her bottom.
    It was ridiculous to be so gratified, so excited by his response, but she was. He thought her beautiful, and for now, she chose to believe him. Inside her, warmth spread, as if she were a rock heated by some internal sun. The sponge stroked and soaped. Down into the dip of her waist. Round to the base of her spine, the slope of her bottom. His breath was sharper, faster. Her own, too, became more rapid.
    Down, over her bottom, before sliding round between her legs, the shockingly intimate touch making her gasp, causing a frisson of pleasure. Juliette bit her lip, but a small moan escaped her. She blushed deeply, feeling foolish. Risking a glance, she saw fierce concentration on Khalid’s face, his eyes dark and smouldering. His chest, under the clinging silk of his tunic, rose and fell sharply. The soapy sponge dipped between her legs. Another frisson, and a resultant tightening inside her, like a winepress being slowly, inexorably turned, releasing the heady juice of her passion.
    â€˜Stop thinking, just feel,’ Khalid whispered to her urgently. He nudged her against the side of the bath, encouraging her to use it for support. ‘See how beautiful you are,’ he said, nodding at the mirrored tiles now blurred by condensation.
    She looked, and saw a sensual creature who must be her, skin streaked with suds and bubbles, hair clinging in damp curls to her arms, her breasts. She, who had always been encouraged to think and talk and act like a man, was being forced to take on the role of a woman. A woman whose body looked more voluptuous than Juliette had thought possible. Her curves, in the steamy light of the bathing chamber, looked lush and ripe, blooming like the flowers in the overgrown garden. It all added to her sense of unreality. This wasn’t, couldn’t be happening.
    Instinctively, she arched her hips towards the sponge, where Khalid soaped between her thighs with long, languorous strokes. The tightening feeling inside her increased. Her nipples began to throb, a steady aching thrum that yearned for the same touch, too. The throbbing was taken up inside her. Another tiny moan escaped her as she braced herself against the tiles, eyes tight shut, wanting this exciting, excruciating feeling to go on and on forever, and at the same time wanting it to come to some sort of juddering conclusion, some aching crescendo. The water lapped tantalizingly at her thighs. She arched her back more, unwittingly thrusting her rosy-peaked breasts upwards, in the classic pose of abandonment.
    Khalid caught his breath at the sight. So devastatingly, innocently, wantonly beautiful. He had not meant things to go this far. He had not meant things to get so out of hand. Beneath the soaking wet tunic, his erection thrust itself upwards, engorged and insistent. He should stop. He would stop, but not yet. Not until she cried out for him. Not until she begged him. From the flush suffusing her breasts, from the hard darkening peaks of her nipples, he could tell it would not be long. He wanted to abandon the sponge. He wanted it to be his hands,