Page 75 of Claimed By the Maharaja
In one smooth move, her thick toweling robe was pushed open.
His eyes swept over her for a long moment, and then his mouth met her skin.
His tongue dragged up the column of her throat in one slow, deliberate swipe as though he was savoring the taste of her skin. The sensation was hot, wet, and lingering.
She moaned, the sound escaping her throat before she could stop it.
She arched beneath him and dug her nails into his bare shoulders. But he didn’t flinch. His teeth grazed her pulse point, sharp enough to sting but not break her skin. She shuddered in pleasure.
His breath was scorching hot against her throat while his hand slid between her legs.
She gasped, her nails digging into his back, bracing herself.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. But the silent command in the way he gripped and then parted her thighs while his mouth moved lower was unmistakable.
She wanted to snap her legs shut, to shield herself from his golden-brown gaze, but her body refused to obey.
She gripped the bedsheets and then his shoulders, telling herself it meant nothing and that her response was purely physical. But the thought disappeared soon, and she lost the ability to think entirely.
He was in complete control. While she lost all of hers.
She climaxed the first time from his mouth. The second time, when he pinned her wrists above her head and took her with deep, near-punishing thrusts while his thumb stroked softly on her wrists.
The third time was when he commanded her, “again.”
She came screaming his name as her body shattered in helpless pleasure.
His golden-brown eyes held hers, watching her come apart.
And then, he pulled away. With a low growl, he came on her quivering dusky stomach.
When he moved back, she felt boneless as she lay shuddering. Once again, he wiped her quivering stomach clean with the tissues and discarded them.
Then he stood.
He was still shockingly aroused. But she watched him putting on his robe, his handsome face appearing completely unaffected.
The clock on the nightstand read 1:17.
He turned away and went towards the connecting door.
At the threshold, he paused.
“Breakfast is at nine,” he said. “Don't be late this time.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
She lay still for exactly three seconds.
Then the words penetrated her pleasure-addled mind.
“You arrogant—” She grabbed the pillow beside her and hurled it at the closed connecting door with everything she had.
It hit with a soft, deeply unsatisfying thud and slid to the floor.
She wanted to throw another pillow, but she was too boneless and exhausted to drum up more energy.
Don't be late this time.
