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He understands, drawing me to the ground while lifting his mouth back to mine, kissing me to press me back against the sand-covered floor. His knee parts my legs and I make a whimpering noise in his mouth, impatience tearing through me even as I brace myself. It’s like an express train is rushing towards me – I know we’re about to change everything and there’ll be no turning back, but I don’t care – I’m incapable of caring or thinking now. I surrender completely to the urgency of this, waiting, bracing, aching.
His eyes find mine and there’s a silent question in their depths. In response, I reach up and wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him towards me, kissing him as I lift my hips. He swears in his native tongue, words that are guttural and primal and make me ache for him all the more, then he’s thrusting into me, not slowly, not gently; a single, powerful push, his arousal filling me, stretching me, pressing places I didn’t know existed. I arch my back and cry out: his name, then a string of words I can’t control, my fingers scraping down his back, curving around his bottom, digging into his flesh as he moves in and out of me, each thrust like nirvana, a paralysing sense of delight reaching all the way to my toes.
His tongue finds the indent between my clavicle then the valley between my breasts, tormenting it in the same way he did before so I’m almost incandescent with the building of my pleasure, a wave of desire crashing down on me. I dig my hands in harder, my nails scoring his flesh as I explode on a powerful orgasm, tearing me into pieces and spreading me through this ancient cave. Breath burns in my lungs; stars fill my eyes, but still he moves, giving me no time to recover from this feeling of sexual euphoria. None. I am in an agony of ecstasy, and he is making it so much better – or is that worse?
I can barely see, my blood is pounding through me so hard and fast, and then his hand is curving behind my back, lifting me off the ground, pulling me to sit on him, and he’s so much deeper like this, his body thrusting into mine as he holds me crushed to his chest, his hands in my hair rough and urgent, his stubble drawing across my chest leaving a burning sensation that only increases this visceral, soul-splitting heat.
I swallow a curse of my own as another orgasm builds, my teeth sinking into his shoulder as pleasure saturates me and my insides tighten, squeezing, demanding release.
He makes a gruff noise then finds my mouth with his, kissing me with the same rhythm as his cock possesses. Every single thrust is a mark upon my being. I push down deeper, welcoming him, needing him, something shifting within me so I am utterly, completely his.
The thought shocks me, and I mentally reject it even as I acknowledge its accuracy.
My orgasm is swift, driving through me like the same freight train I’d felt earlier. It is too much. I collapse against his shoulder, my breathing the same as if I’d run a marathon, my skin flushed and covered in moist heat.
He’s still, his arms around me like a vice, his lips gently kissing my shoulder, his tongue flicking my flesh, tasting my perspiration. He’s still so hard inside me, I brace for him to start moving again, already craving that specific kind of fulfilment.
“That was worth the wait.”
Surprised, I pull back, heat of a different kind flushing my cheeks now. “You’re not…you didn’t…”
He grimaces, his cheekbones flushed dark. “No.”
“Oh.” I blink away, mortified that for whatever reason he didn’t come – or doesn’t want to. It was the most amazing sex of my life but apparently for him, it wasn’t enough to drive him to completion.
Embarrassment has me pulling away, jack knifing off the ground and moving quickly to the opening of the cave, staring out at the desert, uncaring of my nakedness, welcoming the desert’s sun on my raw, tender body.
“I did not allow myself, habibti.” He’s right behind me, his hands curving around my body, his still-hard cock nestling between the cheeks of my ass, his fingers moving to my breasts, cupping them, stroking my nipples so I shiver despite myself. “Not because I didn’t want to. Believe me, I was fighting it with everything I am.”
Something like relief moves through me, his words easy to believe. Is that just because I want them to be true?
“Why? Why fight this?”
My breath is still tortured, the intensity of my orgasm having taken a toll on my body.
“You do not want to conceive our child yet,” he says quietly, and I gasp, shocked that I could have forgotten something as simple as birth control, shocked that the idea of an unwanted baby hadn’t even entered my head. Shock that when he refers to ‘our child’ I experience a rush of longing, a visceral ache for a baby that terrifies me. And the word ‘yet’, fills me with heat and hope.
His thoughtfulness, respectfulness and control are all qualities that make me think better of him – something I swore I wouldn’t do, damn it! Hating him is so complicated now, and as the freight train rushes past I’m left with the destruction of its aftermath, the realisation I’ve let desire cloud my thoughts and judgement, pushing me into something that is definitely not the wisest course of action.
And yet I don’t regret it. Even now as I feel the burn of that, the realisation of what I’ve done, I can’t regret it. One hand on my breast tweaks my nipple while the other traces a swirling line downwards, his fingers brushing my skin so lightly that I whimper, wanting more – needing him to press down on me, to do something. He brushes them over my sex so lightly, then finding my clit begins to move faster, his cock behind me throbbing as he rubs my most sensitive nerves until I’m close to exploding once more.
“Zahir,” I call out, tilting my head back. His hand moves from my breast to my hair, gripping it tight, holding my head where it is, holding me a prisoner even when that’s not necessary – I’m already enslaved to what he’s doing to me; I have no desire to escape. His fingers work faster and I whimper, a sound lost in my throat, as waves of pleasure douse me. His erection is what tips me over. He moves between my butt cheeks, his tip so close to entering me in a place that’s never been touched, and the very idea of that sends me over the edge, the intimacy of his possession spiralling through me. I explode and he holds me where I am, sliding a finger inside me to feel the pulsing of my muscles in their fervent release, his hand cupping me as he pushes deeper, no boundaries between us now – I am his, just as I thought earlier, and there’s no sense in fighting that.
Chapter 7
Amy
THE SUN IS LOW in the sky as he brings the helicopter down onto the helipad, the colours streaking over the capital city like blazes of orange and gold. I watch him, his effortless control of the instruments impressive. “Where did you learn to fly like this?”
“You mean without crashing?” He prompts, a lazy smile flicking across his lips, snaking heat through my belly. Goosebumps lift over my skin, and despite the fact I was thoroughly pleasured in the caves, I feel a rush of need for him flooding me to my core.
“Yep.”
His laugh is like warm treacle on my skin. “When I was fifteen, I spent a summer in the army. I enjoyed it, and decided to train with the air command branch.”
“Seriously?”
He cocks one brow. “You’re surprised?”
