“But a good death,” Anya replied, though her mouth felt like his, because he was all she could taste. “Isn’t that the point?”
“I have no intention of dying,” Tarek told her fiercely. His hands were busy, and she felt too limp, too ravaged by lust and need, to do anything but stand there as he stripped her of her tunic, her trousers, her silky underthings. “Certainly not before I had tasted every inch of you,habibti.”
And when he bore her down to the soft cushions behind her, they were both gloriously undressed at last.
Anya felt as if she’d been waiting a lifetime for this. For him.
At first it was almost like a fight, as they each wrestled to taste more. To consume each other whole.
She kissed his scars, one after the next, until he flipped her over and set about his own tasting. Each breast. Her nipples. The trail he made himself down the length of her abdomen, until he could take a long, deep drink from between her legs.
But even though she bucked against him, on the edge of shattering, he only laughed. That dark, rich sound that seemed to pulse in her. Then he nipped at the inside of her thigh.
“Not so fast,habibti,” he said, climbing back up her body. “I wish to watch you come apart. So deep inside you that neither one of us can breathe. So there can be no mistake that no matter what else happens in the course of my reign, no matter what we find in this practical arrangement of ours, we will always have this.”
And before she could react to that, he twisted his hips and drove himself, hard and huge, deep inside of her.
Anya simply...snapped.
She arched up, shattering all around him with that single stroke that was almost too much. Almost too deep.
She rocked herself against him, over and over, as the storm of it took her apart, shaking her again and again until she forgot who she was.
And as she came back, she was gradually aware that Tarek waited, smoke and gold and dark eyes trained on her face, as if he was drinking in every last moment.
He was still so hard. Still so deep inside her she could feel him when she breathed. He braced himself above her, that beautiful predator’s gaze trained on her. And the sight of all that barely contained ferocity above her while he was planted within her made the heat inside her flare all over again.
“This is not a hallucination brought on by a prison cell,” he told her, his voice no more than a growl.
“No,” she agreed, breathlessly. She wrapped her legs around him because she knew, somehow, that she needed to hold on tight. “This is who we are.”
And Tarek smiled at her, though it was a fierce thing, all teeth and sensual promise.
Only then did he begin to move.
It was like coming home.
He wasn’t gentle. She wasn’t sweet. It was a clashing of bodies, pleasure so intense it made her scream.
Tarek pounded into her, his mouth against her neck. They flipped over once and she found herself astride him. She braced herself against his chest as she worked her hips to getmore, to ride that line between pleasure and pain when it was all part of the same glory.
To make them one, to make themthis.
Then they flipped again and he was on his knees, lifting her so he could wrap his arms around her hips and let her arch back as she wished. She did, lifting her breasts to his mouth for him to feast upon while he worked her against him, over and over.
Until she couldn’t tell if he pounded into her or she surged against him. It was all one.
Finally, Tarek gathered her beneath him again. He reached down between them while still he surged into her, that same furious pace, and pinched the place where she needed him most.
Hard enough to make her scream.
And while she screamed for him, explode.
Anya sobbed as he kept pounding into her, again and again, aware that she felt like she was flying. Like she was finally free.
She felt him empty himself inside her with a shout as they both catapulted straight into the eye of the storm they’d made.
And shook together, until it was done.