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 c
heeks 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.
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?”
“Actually, no. I can totally buy you as GI Joe or Rambo or whatever.”
He grins. “Not quite.”
I don’t believe him. From the first moment I met him I felt as though I’d been punched in the gut by testosterone and I feel it emanating from him now. “I bet they loved you.”
“Who?”
“The people you served with.”
He lifts his shoulders. “There’s a strong sense of camaraderie in the armed forces. For someone like me – with no family – that was very important.” He brings the chopper down lower and guards emerge onto the roof, watching carefully. “I learned to rely on others, to support them. It was a turning point for me.” His hands are deft as he controls the instruments, like Chopin at a piano.
“How so?”
“Up until then, I’d been completely alone. I started to let people into my life.”
My heart squeezes on an unexpected wave of sympathy and surprise. “I have you pegged as a loner still.”
“Do you?”
I nod.
“Perhaps you’re right. I prefer not to rely on people, and yet I can if I’m forced to.” I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.