by Donna Alam
I did all that and more, even going as far as to style my hair into effortless waves, if effortless results in arm cramps.
But the whole time, through the afternoon light, through dusk until now, the darkness of the evening, I’ve been a mess. A yearning, hot mess. Our last time together may have ended awfully, but the lead up? I can’t begin to explain how he made me feel. The glimpse at his dark side, his jealousies. How he said I was his obsession, how he’d never be able to get enough. His spanking me to the edge of orgasm, the agony and the ecstasy, his fucking both my body and head. How can just thinking about it make me feel empty with need?
And this afternoon, though I’ve tried, I’ve thought of little else because, God help me, I’d let him do it all over again.
‘You’ve gone a delicious shade of red,’ he murmurs, amused, lifting me from my sensory marinade. ‘I must’ve interrupted a particularly torrid chapter.’
‘I’m deeply offended,’ I reply, albeit a little breathlessly, uncovering the butt-crack cover of the book in question. ‘This is a historical romance. Very tasteful, I’ll have you know.’
Okay, so I might be stretching that genre a bit. And it probably wasn’t a good idea to try and distract myself with erotica and wine. I’d opened a bottle from Kai’s extensive collection as dusk fell, and after two glasses, convinced myself I should greet Kai draped across the sofa wearing nothing but high-heels and a smile. My Dutch courage lasted as long as it took for me to shimmy out of my poshest pyjama pants. Besides, what would’ve happened if Rashid had walked in first?
‘It’s all beginning to make sense,’ he says, grinning. ‘We’re back to coats over puddles and courtly gentlemen making a leg. I could work with that. Heaving bosoms encased in tight corsets and—’
My interjection is several octaves higher than I’d like. ‘Bosoms! Where are you, like, way back in the day?’
‘I like corsets,’ he answers simply. ‘I’d love to see you in one.’ His gaze flits over my body, skin burning from just his glance. ‘Corsets compliment all figures, but yours . . . you’ve got that starlet from another era look. Sweater girl-chic.’ A slow blush heats my face as his finger trails between my breasts, my mind a mixture of longing and wondering. More specifically, wondering if I can get a corset in Dubai.
‘Read some to me.’
I blink heavily, my mind on delay.
‘Your book,’ he prompts, staring at me with those intoxicating eyes. He brings my glass to his plump bottom lip again, and as he swallows, I shake the daze away.
‘Sorry, what was that?’
‘Where you left off. The next paragraph. Read it to me.’
I slide my hair behind my ear, the words on the page unseen as I glance down. After a moment, I begin.
‘ “There was something about the chain she wore around her neck. It was nothing of startling worth, though he’d known many a man adorn a woman in fine jewels in the quest to possess the ruby between her legs. No, the piece was ornate but . . . intimate. The way the small brilliant lay in the hollow of her throat. Someone had enjoyed fastening the gold links beneath the weight of her hair, lips following fingers to close. Cover a woman in fine cloth and jewels. Some do so as a show of wealth, others as an inducement to bed, but mostly, jewels are about possession. Lay a woman captive, wreathing her in chains of silver and gold. Drape stones of colour between her breasts. This woman belonged to someone. This woman had known possession.” ’
I busy myself for a moment, placing my bookmark between the pages before closing the book in my lap. All the while, I’m aware of his eyes on me, aware also that it could have been so much worse. If he’d arrived home while I was reading the previous chapter, I’d be describing to him, in detail, how the gentleman rode the serving wench like a horse.
‘It’s an interesting concept, don’t you think?’
Being rode like a horse? I raise my head and his cognac-coloured eyes are as intoxicating as his voice is low and rich.
‘Every woman wants to be desired.’ My own voice is a bare whisper as I try not to read between the lines.
‘Desire is the longing for something. Possession is infinitely more complicated than that.’ His quiet laugh is rueful, his gaze moving to the study of the glass he holds in his hand. ‘Erotica turns you on?’
His eyes lift as I place the book on the table. Leaning over, I slide my mouth against his and I whisper, ‘Not as much as you do.’
I feel the curl of his lips against mine. The low sound from the back of his throat could be amusement. Whatever; it still sends a shiver across my skin. We kiss with languor; soft, opened mouthed kisses, in no hurry to do anything but this. We’re like teenagers pashing on the babysitter’s couch, each silently daring the other to reach for that next base. Hands stroke, fingers link, and still, we kiss.
‘Have you eaten?’ His words are exhaled between small, nipping rioja-tasting kisses, his hand now at my waist as I lean awkwardly, half on the cushions, half across him.
‘Earlier,’ I murmur against the full softness of his mouth. ‘Are you hungry?’
Pulling his head back, he stares at me for three long beats, before whispering, ‘Ravenous.’
Without answering, I swiftly take the glass from his hand and place it next to my book. I turn back with the intentions of running my fingers through his luxurious hair. God knows, but somehow, I end up walloping his nose with the fleshy part of my palm.
‘Ah, fuck!’
‘Oh, God! I’m sorry!’ My hands cover his as they press the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m so freakin’ unco!’ Unco-ordinated and my seduction technique sucks. His eyes water involuntarily, wetness glistening against his dark lashes, a livid red scratch adding insult to injury under his eye where my nail has caught his skin. ‘You’re bleeding, just a tiny bit,’ I add, hurriedly.
‘Calm down,’ he says, now tipping back his head against the sofa and closing his eyes. ‘Maybe I’ll scar, be elevated to rugged good looks over urbane.’
‘I’ll take urbane any day,’ I mutter, still hovering.
‘I had to wonder.’ One eye cracks open as he tilts his head. ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to break my nose,’ he says, referring to our first meeting in the classroom when I fell into his arms. Then cracked my head into his face.
‘An accident! Then and now. And I said sorry, both times.’
‘If I recall, you said it served me right for dazzling you off the ladder.’
Both eyes open now, the soft radiance of the lamp highlighting amusement and glittering flecks of amber. I’m glad to be in the pool of its shadow as blood rushes into my cheeks. Embarrassment. Remembrance. Desire.
‘You can kiss it better, if you like,’ he continues quietly, the deep timbre of his voice making my skin tingle.
‘I suppose I could,’ I murmur, thick with pretence and playing his game. ‘Come a bit closer, I can’t reach.’
As quick as a flash, he has his rejoinder. ‘You’re closer to my other head. You could just kiss that one instead.’
‘You’re shameless.’ My eyes narrow despite my growing smile.
‘Guilty as I am hard. What are you going to do with me?’
‘The only thing I can, I suppose.’
I slide from the sofa, my knees landing on the Oriental rug. I bite the insides of my cheeks, not that what I have in mind is funny—not in the least—it just makes me a bit giddy knowing that I have the confidence to be so bold around him. And there’s the anticipation of making him dance to my tune for a change.
‘Oh, my, what have we here?’ My eyes are as wide as my tone is cheesy, fingertips teasing the bulge in his pants. Not participating in my idiocy, Kai drops his head back with a harsh exhale, the sound doing funny things to my insides.
Unfastening his pants, I pull slowly on his zip, drawing out the moment as, with a decided lack of patience, Kai lifts his hips to help.
‘You’re an eager beaver,’ I say with a giggle.
‘Wrong euphemism,’ he
rasps. ‘Expedience. Just desperate to have my cock in your mouth.’
My fingers still, my brain experiencing a small melt-down, absorbing the dirty deliciousness of his words. I think I like to hear him utter filth as much as I do Elizabethan porn. One moment static, the next I can’t get him out of his pants quick enough, hands grasping at his clothes until finally, he springs free, almost beautifully vulgar and very hard.
I just stare for a moment, mesmerized, my fingers grazing him lightly as he reacts in my hand. A pulse jumps in his neck, his chest rising and falling, but he doesn’t open his eyes. I lower my head to his lap, my free hand slipping under his shirt, the hard planes of his stomach contracting beneath my fingertips, muscles taut and warm. I want to lick him there. Instead, I wrap my free hand around the base of his shaft and lower my lips for the briefest of kisses. Kai’s stuttering sigh trails off into a hum as I lower my mouth. I lick the crown with the very tip of my tongue, his breath halting, his length twitching, as I run it along the underside ridge. Pulling back, my soft breath elicits another twitch, and I draw my mouth down further still. As low as I comfortably can go, I hold him there, deep in my mouth and lying against my tongue, before hollowing my cheeks for a slow return.
Plunge, hollow, twist and repeat. He lies pliant beneath me, almost hissing as I suck down particularly firm. My nails graze his chest as I work my mouth. I want him under me, compliant. I want to hurt him, almost.
‘Kate . . .’
My name is a shallow moan and I sense him restraining movement, his hands touching the ends of my hair. The thought strikes me quietly that I must be fairly adept at reading his body now, too, as I place my roaming hand on one of his, bringing it to my head. His other follows of its own accord as with one, grating breath he accepts the invitation on the exhale of a hissed, ‘Yesss.’
Mouth still pressed low, my gaze edges up his body until it rests on his. His eyes blaze fire-bright, and at this moment, I want nothing but to burn: I don’t want to wave my fingers over this flame, test his ferocity. I want to throw myself onto the pyre until only ash remains.
Hands against my head, he eases himself further into my mouth, hips shifting tentatively as I move my mouth down. Explorative movement becomes firmer on his next thrust, fingers tangled in my hair as he pushes his cock so deep it briefly touches the soft skin at the back of my throat. I try not to gag, surprise tears teetering on my lids, but despite the discomfort, I find myself moaning with each upward thrust, the seam of my pyjamas riding hard against my clit as I move with a total lack of inhibition, hot and urgent.
With each thrust, his movements become more demanding. I’m torn between my current physical discomfort and how I actually feel. From my buzz of holding the power, making him hiss and twitch, to how I feel now, here, on my knees. Despite the shift in our dynamics, the thrill is comparable; maybe even greater right now. The sounds he makes through his abandonment, his lack of concern for my comfort—his using me as a mere means to his pleasure—is cause for further arousal, and that in itself is utterly profound.
Mascara burns my eyes, tears rolling down my face as he suddenly eases backwards, fingers loosening from my hair. A hand threaded under my arm, he pulls me up from my knees, releasing himself from my mouth with a wet pop.
‘Get naked,’ he rasps on an exhale. ‘Let me see all of you.’ I stare at him for a long, loaded beat, standing between his legs. ‘If I have to do it, these won’t be wearable anymore.’ His finger and thumb loosely tugs the hem of my camisole.
It doesn’t take me long to shimmy out of my pyjamas until I’m naked, standing before him, once more at his command. He, almost fully dressed and me, totally naked, as the central air does its best to cool my fire-hot skin.
‘Inti amar,’ he murmurs. ‘Just look at you. You’re so beautiful.’
I bend forward when he grabs my arm, the other clasping my chin and bringing my mouth hard to his. His tongue invades my mouth in an instant, the thrusting motion mirroring the earlier movement of his cock between my lips. I’m awkwardly balanced on the chair, one knee between his legs, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
‘Touch yourself,’ he whispers against my mouth. One extended finger runs delicately between my breasts. ‘Slide your fingers inside. Let me watch.’
The power of his low-spoken words ignites inside as I follow the path of his finger, mine travelling further still over my stomach to the neat strip of hair between my legs. My spine arches instinctively as I trail a finger over my damp flesh.
His gaze is avid and devouring, torn between watching my face and my hand between my legs. ‘Tell me how it feels,’ is his caressing command.
‘Wet,’ I whisper, my voice tremulous. ‘And hot.’ Then bolder still, ‘desperate to be filled.’
‘Ah, Kate,’ he groans, his hand covering mine as my fingers caress the slickness inside. ‘Just there,’ he whispers positioning my fingers over my clit.
My body jolts at the contact, the combination of my fingers coaxing and petting as two of his own slide deeply inside. My insides tighten as he entices and beckons me on, the familiar sensation building in my core, my thighs beginning to twitch.
‘There, oh God, there.’ I whimper, my free hand grasping his shoulder for strength as his fingers stroke my insides.
‘Stop,’ he growls and my fingers still, my mind clouded with lust, my clit pounding hotly against my finger. ‘I said stop. Khallas.’
I realise my fingers haven’t stopped at all as his hand covers mine. I’m confused. And not bloody happy. I think that much is apparent to him as he pulls our entwined hands away. Glistening fingers slide into his pocket. Wordlessly, he hands me a condom.
‘Put it on,’ he growls. ‘I want to fuck you now.’
Not exactly an invitation wrapped in tinsel, but somehow I’m thrilled all the same. My fingers tremble as I tear the foil and slide it inexpertly over his satin-sleek length.
‘Aren’t you going to take off your pants?’ I look down stupidly. ‘I—they’ll get messy.’ I try not to pull a face.
His eyes blink once, slow and unhurried, a smile growing on his kiss-swollen lips. Lying low on the couch, pants opened, his hardness standing out, he looks sinfully illicit. And a little amused.
‘I expect nothing else. Maybe I’ll wear them tomorrow, wear them covered with your come. Turn around.’
That accent and those words do it for me every time. My insides start to pulse and as he pulls his legs together, I’m forced to step over his thighs, and end up facing the other way.
‘Put your hands behind your back.’
The pulsing increases as I turn my head to look over my shoulder. He begins tying his discarded neck-tie around my wrists. I turn away from his sudden smirk as he catches my eye, my heart beating like it would break free from my chest.
‘I love that expression,’ he murmurs. ‘That first flickering of doubt.’ Fingers trail to the cheeks of my arse before, grasping my hip, he coaxes me lower. Instinctively I resist, but my balance isn’t quite firm. ‘The impulse to pull away, almost like you don’t want this.’ He still sounds entertained, right before he swats my arse with the palm of his hand.
‘Hey!’ I turn my head and look at him, eyebrows drawn in.
‘That expression, too,’ he rasps. ‘I can almost believe you mean it. Almost.’ His hands grasp my cheeks, thumbs uncomfortably close to the crack of my butt. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful.’
His breath is more groan as he bends forward, his teeth digging into my flesh in a sucking kind of bite. I hear myself moan; my legs becoming almost liquid as the momentum of his hands and words pushes me forward and down.
I tremble . . . desire, distrust, and filled by desperation as my heat touches his tip.
‘And so wet,’ comes his whispered admiration.
He slides inside.
There’s no loving connection in this position as we begin to move. This is fucking—hard and fast. Our positioning is tight, skin slapping against skin, my hip
s caught firmly in his hands as he controls our rhythm. Skin smacking and sliding; the noises might be embarrassing if I wasn’t wholly focused on the moment. Despite the ache in my shoulders and the burn in my thighs, I unconsciously chase the quicksilver beat rolling through my insides.
‘I can’t ever get enough of you.’ His words are a low growl. ‘I want to fuck you always, feel you turn molten in my hands.’
His voice, the razor-sharp scent of our desire, the sound of my wetness, the feeling of the zips teeth against the skin of my arse; with each powerful stroke, the sensations amplify, building until I’m balanced on the knife-edge of climax.
A strangled noise stems from deep in his throat, like this hurts him a little him, hurts in the right way. It washes over me. Surrounds me.
‘God, don’t stop, don’t stop!’ I cry as I’m pushed over that edge.
‘Never,’ he growls, fingers ploughing possession into the flesh of my hips. Holding me down against him, he moves no more himself, beyond the pulsing jolts of his release inside.
It’s still dark when I stir, reluctant to leave the very erotic dream filling my head. Cognisance muddied, it takes me a moment or two to recognize the weight of him lying against my leg. Not my subconscious, but reality.
‘You’re awake. Good,’ he whispers against the flesh of my shoulder, his hand moving to stroke between my legs. ‘Makes me feel less debauched.’
‘I thought I was dreaming.’ I rub my protesting eyelids, gasping loudly as he parts my already slick and swollen flesh.
‘You were, eyes flickering behind closed lids, an internal viewing for one.’ He presses delicate kisses against my neck, my hips tilting upward in reflex. ‘I was envious, wanted to know. And you looked so innocent, all curled up. But then your thigh draped against mine and you were wet. So wet,’ he says, half growling. ‘I want all your pleasure, sweetheart.’ His finger strokes my nipple, exposed by his dragging on the sheet. The tip of his finger caresses in circles, the bud rising and stiffening. ‘Let me better your dream.’