Page 91 of Trapped By the Maharaja
He was leaning against the marble counter, shirtless, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made the air inside the large bathroom feel warmer. The muscles across his chest and shoulders flexed lazily as he adjusted his stance, the injury on his back somehow making him look even more powerful and dangerous. She intended to keep her gaze high, but her eyes moved lower. Her cheeks burned when she saw his large, thick arousal boldly outlined against the silk pants.
She cleared her throat, determined to focus.Doctor mode,she told herself firmly.
“Turn around,” she said.
Ram obeyed, though there was amusement in his eyes as he moved.
She soaked a cotton pad in antiseptic and pressed it lightly against the cut. He didn’t flinch, and continued to watch her in the mirror.
“It’s shallow,” she murmured, examining the injury. “But it needs to be cleaned and dressed properly.”
“What about the other scratches?” he asked. “They stung during the morning shower.”
Her face burned, knowing he was referring to the scratches and bite marks she had left on him in passion the previous night.
She bit back a retort and kept her eyes on the wound, but being this close to him was beyond distracting. His skin radiated heat, the faint scent of his musky cologne pulling at her senses. Her fingers brushed his skin as she worked, and she felt the tautness of muscle under her touch.
Focus.
But it was impossible to forget who she was touching.
She reached for more antiseptic, trying to steady her breathing. “You’re lucky the knife didn’t go deeper,” she said. “Or that you weren’t trampled under the hooves of the bulls.”
His head tilted slightly toward her voice, his tone darkly amused. “Worried about me, my maharani?”
Her face burned at his endearment. She pressed the pad against the wound a little harder than necessary. “I’m worried about infection,” she snapped.
She felt rather than saw his dark smile. “Of course.”
Once the cut was cleaned, she reached for the gauze. “Hold still,” she said, circling the white bandage around his shoulder with practiced hands. Her fingers grazed the curve of his collarbone as she fastened it in place, and she knew he could feel the quickened pace of her breathing.
When she stepped back, she kept her eyes firmly on the supplies she was putting away, not on him. “Done,” she said, her voice slightly breathless.
Ram turned to face her fully now, his eyes dark and intense. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The heat from his body rolled over her, his warm and masculine scent wrapping around her senses. Before she could think of stepping away, his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, and his mouth claimed hers.
It was a hungry, deliberate kiss that said he knew exactly how to break down her resistance.
Her breath hitched against him. She should have pulled away. Shemeantto pull away. But instead, her fingers curled into his thick hair.
His mouth was hot and demanding against hers, his tongue sweeping past her lips with a possessive urgency that stole her breath. She felt the hard edge of the marble counter pressing into her spine as he crowded her against it, his body a solid wall of heat and muscle. One hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss, while the other gripped her hip, fingers digging into the thin fabric of her nightdress. She gasped against his mouth, a sound he swallowed as his hips ground against hers, leaving no doubt about his intent or his hard arousal.
With a sharp upward tug, he removed her nightdress, baring her to the cool air and his heated gaze. Her cheeks burned, and she felt utterly exposed. His eyes, dark and predatory, raked over her with undisguised hunger.
His hands gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the cold, hard marble countertop. The sudden chill on her bare skin made her gasp, but it was instantly overwhelmed by the heat of his body pressing between her thighs. He lowered his head and bit the swell of her breast, and she arched into him, a moan escaping her lips.
She felt him tugging on his pants and yanking away her panties. Her heart thudded when she felt his hard arousal brushing against her wet core. And then, he raised his head. His dark gaze locked onto hers, and with one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt.
She cried out as he filled her completely, stretching her, and claiming her. The cold marble beneath her and the searing heat within her created a dizzying contrast.
He began to move in a raw, punishing rhythm. Each deep thrust forced a gasp from her throat. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, and anchoringherself against the force of his possession. His hands gripped her hips hard, fingers bruising her flesh as he pulled her onto him with each powerful thrust. Raw, animalistic sounds filled the large bathroom along with the wet slap of skin on skin. His gaze never wavered from her face, watching the play of agony and ecstasy, defiance and surrender that warred inside her.
Her nails dug into his back as she tried desperately not to surrender to the storm.
His dark eyes flashed, and he leaned over her, his chest brushing her peaked nipples, his mouth finding her ear. “Come for me,” he commanded.
The coil inside her, wound impossibly tight by anger and undeniable pleasure, suddenly snapped. A sharp cry tore from her throat, raw and ragged, as her body clenched violently around him. Her back arched off the marble as wave after wave of intense, almost painful ecstasy ripped through her. She trembled uncontrollably, her legs tightening convulsively around his waist, pulling him deeper as she shattered against him.
