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Her nipples tightened, and she knew without a doubt the moisture between her thighs had more to do with lust than the temperatures outside. Rough fingertips of a tomboy touched a breast, lifting its weight, tugging at a sensitive nipple.
Kadir would be a gentle lover. There would be no pinching, no biting. Then again, in her fantasies he could be either--or both. She thought of him, fierce and male and crazy with need, pounding into her sex while she gripped his horns for dear life.
Her free hand caressed her hip and passed over the sway of her belly as if she had all day. And she did. Kadir never took a break. Hell, he would probably dig all night if his body could stand it.
She pictured the muscles of his back rippling with exertion while he swung his axe. The fingertips so tender with each new find. Her hand twisted in her curls and found the center of her core. Wet fingers retreated, then brushed her clit in teasing circles.
The wind taunted her with prickles of sand. Little stings assailed her calves and burned into the tender flesh of her breasts. When her finger hit the right spot, she moaned with the open mouths above her and felt her pleasure mount. The feeling peaked, and a cry broke from her throat that startled her into awareness, into bliss.
And into the arms of a very real Kadir.