Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!
This week’s tease comes from my current WIP, the erotic romance A Thorned Rose in the Sand. To place you in the context, Ragab and the fiery rally racer Stevie are driving home after fetching water in the desert.
She called, “Ready?”
He risked a glance in her direction.
Wearing one of his sisters’ dresses and looking divine with her red curls floating behind her—and her face white and clean! she strolled to the motorcycle carrying a bag and her leather clothes. She stuffed everything on top of the fuel tank, got up, lifted the dress to her knees, and started the motor.
Not once looking at him.
Swallowing a deep breath, he spun and joined her, thanking the heavens his large tunic concealed the erection that tented his pants. He attached a strong rope to the handles of both ten-liter jerrycans and hung them across the motorcycle saddle. After just barely managing to climb up behind the girl without touching her, he sat on the hard-plastic rear seat, which was higher than her leather driver’s seat, and held on to it with both hands behind him. There was no place to put his feet, so they hung freely like the jerrycans. “Okay, I’m ready.”
She gave gas, the engine roaring like a lion and the motorcycle lurching forward.
Despite his efforts not to come near her, the high speed, the motor vibrations, the uneven terrain, the lack of leverage for his feet, and the height of the slippery seat combined made him glide toward her—toward her perfect butt. He kept pulling himself up and sitting back, but the rocks she drove over made the motorcycle jerk so he lost his hold. And each time he slid against her, his hard-on stuck itself in the crack of her ass. Desperate, he held the plastic seat for dear life and tried moving back again and again, but kept being projected back to her.
About a half hour later, when they finally arrived at the camp, he’d given up the impossible struggle and sat plastered against her, stomach-to-back, his thick erection lodged between her butt cheeks…and he’d never felt so embarrassed in his whole life.
As soon as she stopped near the first tent, he pulled backward with a groan of pain, climbed down, and busied himself lifting the jerrycans from the motorcycle.
She took off her helmet and spun toward him like a whirlwind, green eyes ablaze as if he’d committed murder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, rubbing against me like that?”
Ugh, as if he wasn’t feeling bad enough! Face heating, he barked, “You know, between your crazy speed and the bumps in the track and the height of that stupid plastic seat, which all made me glide toward you against my will”—he pointed to the saddle—“and the understanding of how a man’s anatomy works when there’s…friction…” He paused, fuming, glaring at her. “It’s not my fucking fault, as you would so properly say, and I’m very sorry it happened. I would never do anything like this on purpose. I’m not that kind of man.” He pursed his lips and glowered. Would she go home now believing all Arab men were sexual predators?
She stared for a moment, studying him with a frown across her face.
“What?” he snapped. He’d explained, apologized. What more did she want from him?
He boiled inside. Normally, he was a posed and reflected man who didn’t blow up, but since the first time he saw this girl, she kept pushing his buttons and bringing out the worst in him. She made him explosive.
“Show me who you are,” she said, calm.
“What do you mean?”
“Take off that thing.” She nodded to the part of his turban that protected his mouth.
What was she up to? She looked serious, though, really wanted to see his face. “Why?”
“’Cause I’m sick of talking to a scarf, that’s why.”
Well, if somehow it could help convince he wasn’t a sexual offender… Sighing, he unwrapped the many layers of blue fabric from around his head until the sun stung his nose, lips, and chin.
She widened her gorgeous greens, and in them he read attraction. He knew it, he’d seen it many times in London.
Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen
After his studies in London, Ragab has returned to the nomadic lifestyle of his Bedouin family and the majestic silence of the Sahara. His days are spent herding camels and dreaming of the perfect wife, until a beautiful but annoyingly feisty bike driver stuck in a sand dune turns his quiet world upside down.
When the rat-race of life in a big U.S. city becomes too much, Stevie Jones decides to change track and live her wildest dream – compete against the tough guys in a thrilling motorcycle rally across Morocco. But to her surprise, the real excitement is to be found away from the race track, in the shifting sands of the desert…
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Disclaimer: I borrowed this photo of handsome model Alexander Uloom to illustrate the book excerpt.