And she put down her phone, grinding her teeth through the visceral ache for Samir, reminding herself that nothing mattered quite so much as protecting herself.
The knock at her door startled Cora out of her revery. She blinked, looking down at her watch. It was only eight—not so late. Her eyes drifted to the motorbike as she stood. The rider was gone now, and even though she knew it hadn’t been Samir, that didn’t stop her stomach from doing a little tremble of awareness.
At some point, she’d be able to get through a day without feeling like this. Surely.
She slid her phone into her pocket and weaved through the lounge room. Memories of the sofa. His touch. His hands on her knees, her thighs, his mouth on her breast, seared her as she crossed that spot. She kept moving, cheeks a little pink now.
Chain lock in place, she opened the door a crack, and a soft, slow gasp escaped her.
This was no fantasy. No phantom created from the relics of her memories, the strength of her desire. Standing in front of her, separated by a barely opened door, was Samir, dressed all in black, motorcycle helmet in hand.
Her heart leaped right into her throat, practically assaulting her with the force of its beating. She gripped the door handle, staring at him and replenishing her greedy, hungry, aching soul. For night after night after night after night she had craved him and now he was here; she didn’t know how to react. She couldn’t think straight; she couldn’t speak.
“Would you open this goddamned door?” He growled, and for the first time, she saw the determination in his features, the darkness bordering on anger. With fingers that shook, she did exactly as he’d demanded, pushing it closed to release the chain then drawing it inwards. He moved with the door, stepping inside as soon as it opened, and without any warning, he swept her in with him, kicking the door shut as he kissed her, his mouth crashing down on hers, lighting fires in her blood, filling her with volcanic level heat. His body, big, strong, powerful, and commanding, pushed her back, against the wall, his knee nudged her thighs apart and stayed there, so she ground down on him in a wanton display of uncaring need, desperation, and hunger. Filled with the kind of ache that made everything else irrelevant.
His hands were rough, moving with urgency, an urgency she shared, a roughness she mimicked, pushing at his clothes angrily, breaking their kiss only so she could drag his shirt from his head, just as he tore her sweater off and threw it to the floor then pushed down her pants, his palms brushing her bottom and thighs as he dispensed with any fabric she wore, leaving her naked, pinned to the wall, panting for him, crying out his name until he drove into her, his strong, masculine frame lifting her and supporting her until she wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles in his lower back for support, and to hold him where she needed him, so deep inside her she saw stars and every single one of the universe’s secrets.
Her head tilted back, hitting the wall, but she stifled whatever noise of concern he’d started to make by kissing him, biting down on his lower lip, and rolling her hips until he swore into her mouth then dropped his lips to her breasts, reclaiming her nipples in the way he had before, in an act that drove her wild and made her feel more like an angel than a woman.
Everything about this was frantic and urgent. She bit his shoulder, he sucked her nipples until she cried out, his hands dug into her hips as her nails scratched marks into his back and all the while, he thrust into her until she was unravelling from the inside out, their guttural, desperate, euphoric cries filling the air as, in perfect unison, they came apart, him spilling his seed as she throbbed and squeezed his length, her body quivering between his and the wall, every breath spent in that last, frantic moment.
It was like the crescendo of a storm: thunder, lightning, storm clouds breaking, and then, there was the eerie silence as it calmed and blew away, out over the ocean. Cora blinked her eyes open to see the entrance hall to her home—a sight that was both instantly familiar and totally discombobulating. It was like she’d been blindfolded and taken into space and was now right back where she’d started, but somehow different—everything was different. Her, the room, Samir. She gaped at him, words not forming, eyes probing his, still finding it almost impossible to believe he was really there after having yearned for him for so long.
He dropped his head into the curve of her neck, his own breaths coming in rough exhalations and harsh intakes. His curse reverberated through Cora and around the room.
“It was not supposed to happen like that.” His voice, oh, his voice. How she’d missed it. Deep and spicy, exotic and accented, so seductive and addictive. She closed her eyes and let the words pour through her body like sun-warmed honey.
“Wasn’t it?” She asked, breathy and light. “Why not?”
He lifted his head so their eyes could meet and as if just realising he was still inside her, his body propping hers up, he shifted, gently easing her back to the ground.
They realised, at the same time, that he was unsheathed, their eyes meeting with panic and surprise.
“I’m on the pill,” she rushed to assure him. “It’s okay.”
“I am sorry,” he said, and she could see that he meant it. “That was incredibly out of character and inconsiderate of me.”
It was hard not to be moved by that kind of admission from a man like this—pure alpha, dominant and in control of all situations.
“I would have said something if I’d minded, believe me.”
“I believe you were as brainless as I, in that moment.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed. “But there’s no harm. You always practice safe sex, as do I, and I’m on the pill.” She brushed aside those issues. “I’m more interested in knowing what you’re doing here. And making sure you reallyarehere.”
“What do you mean?” He asked with a frown, obviously not able to so easily dismiss the matter of the forgotten condom.
Cora didn’t know how to admit how often she’d fantasised about him, how often she’d imagined seeing him, so she lifted her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
“That was the conversation we were supposed to have first.” He dragged a rueful hand through his hair. “Do you mind if I come in?”
She laughed at that, and even Samir managed a grin. “Isn’t that like trying to shut the gate after the horse has bolted?” Conscious now of her nakedness, she reached for her shirt but Samir’s groan stilled her.
“Do you have to put that on?”
She blinked up at him, eyes wide.
“I have been trying to fill my mind with this image, tormenting myself with not being able to perfectly recall every single inch of you. I really would like to just look at you for a while.”