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She freed him from his slacks, her palm hot on his erection. He couldn’t hold back the tortured sound that climbed his throat and escaped his lips.
“Do you like me touching you?” she asked. “No other woman has done this in a long time…” She squeezed him gently and he swore. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he said. “And yes. You’re right…it’s been a long time. It makes it… No, I don’t think it’s the time. It’s you. Because nothing ever felt like this before.”
She smiled, her dark eyes glistening. She looked at him as if he was a god. As if he was her hero, not her enemy. And he felt like the worst sort of bastard for stealing that moment. One he didn’t deserve. One he could never hope to earn.
And for what? Because he had given her shelter when she had none? Because he had offered her prison or marriage? He should stop her. But he didn’t. Instead he watched her face and soaked in the adoration. The need. He didn’t deserve it. Dammit, he didn’t deserve a moment of it and he was going to take it anyway.
Such was his weakness.
“I want to…could…” She slid down, her movements graceful, her knees on the floor, her body between his thighs. “I want to taste you.”
“Samarah…” He should not allow this.
“Please.” She looked up at him, and he knew he couldn’t deny her. What man could deny a woman begging to allow her to take him in her mouth? Certainly not him. He had established that he was weak.
Maybe for the moment he would let his guard down fully. Maybe he would let her see it all. He forked his fingers through her silky hair, curling them inward, making a fist. Holding her steady.
She lowered her head and he allowed it, holding her back only slightly so he could catch his breath. So he could anticipate the moment she would touch him.
But when she did, it was nearly the end of it. Because there was no bracing himself for this. For the sheer, blinding pleasure of her hot, wet tongue on his skin. For the unpracticed movements she made, so sincere. Only for him.
She dipped her head and took him in deep. His hold tightened on her hair, his other hand holding tight to the bedspread. Trying to anchor himself to earth. To something.
“Samarah…” He said her name like a warning. A curse. A prayer. He needed her to stop. He needed her to keep going. He needed this because it made the past feel like less. Made it feel like maybe this need wasn’t so wrong. Like maybe he wasn’t so wrong.
Pleasure rushed up inside of him. Hot. Dangerous. Out of control.
He tugged her head upward and tried to catch his breath, tried to get a handle on the need that was coursing through his veins like fire.
“Not like that,” he said, his words harsh in the stillness of the room. “I want to be inside you. Just like you said. You said you wanted that. Wanted me.”
“I do.”
“Show me, habibti. Show me.”
She rose up slowly, her hands on the beaded band of her skirt. She pushed it down her hips slowly, then stepped out of the fabric, leaving her bare to him.
“You are water in the desert,” he said, pulling her close, his face pressed against her stomach. He kissed her tender skin, tracing her belly button with the tip of his tongue. “You are perfection.”
She put her arms around his neck, one knee pressed onto the mattress beside his thigh. Then she shifted and brought the other one up, too. “I want you, Ferran Bashar. You are not my enemy.”
Words he didn’t deserve. Words he would never deserve. And yet, he did not have the strength to turn her away.
She lowered herself onto his length, slowly, so slowly he thought his head might explode. And other parts of him. But if that happened, he wouldn’t get to see this through to the end. And he desperately needed to. If only to watch her face while it happened. When she reached her peak. If he could see that again…maybe he would put up the walls after. And carry that with him.
He watched, transfixed as she took him in fully, her lips rounded, her eyes closed. The pleasure there was humbling. More than he deserved. But he was of a mind to take it all, whether he deserved it or not.
He curved his arm around her waist, his palm resting on her hip. And he put his other hand on her chest bracing her as he thrust up inside her. She gasped, her eyes opening, locking with his.
“Yes,” he said. “Look at me, Samarah. Look at me.”
He shifted his hold, tightened the arm around her waist, cupped the back of her head with his other hand, his thumb drifting to her mouth. She turned her head and bit him. Lightly, just enough to send a short burst of pain through him, the sensation setting off a chain of sparks.
