She was doing what she felt she needed to protect herself, despite his assurances he wouldn’t hurt her. Him not hurting her, and her not getting hurt, were of course, two distinct notions, and he was only in complete charge of one of them. He understood her self-preservation techniques, but they bothered him for reasons he could not fathom.
Nonetheless, as the time drew closer for his flight to Athens and his weekend with Cora, Samir knew two things for sure: firstly, that he couldn’t wait to see her. And secondly, that it was time to start getting to know her better. He understood why she wanted to keep him at a distance, but Samir needed to understand her completely—he was confident they could delve a little deeper without putting at risk her desire to stay safe within their relationship.
* * *
She could have stayed thereall night and all morning, her head resting on Samir’s muscular chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the thwomp, thwomp, thwomp. She could have let her fingers trace lines over his chest, finding the ridges of his pectoral muscles, his abdomen, could have exulted in the power she had over him, even now, eight weeks after this had all started up.
She knew every single millimetre of him now, from the tip of his head to his toes, and everything in between. Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered the way they’d spent their time the night before, her mouth exploring his body, teasing him inch by inch until she found his arousal and rolled her tongue from his tip to his base and back again, then taking him deep in her mouth, until he hitched right at the back of her throat and she felt as though she was going to come then and there from the rush of adrenalin and power, from the heady, intoxicating sounds of meltdown that came from Samir as she bobbed her head up and down his length, each flick of her tongue making him spasm in her mouth until finally he gave a gruff warning, and his hands gripped her beneath the arms, to move her right as he lost himself completely, his control eviscerated by her mouth.
It had been incredible and powerful, but also disappointing, because she’d wanted to feel him convulse inside her mouth, to taste him against her back palate, to swallow him and know that she had driven him to that point.
Next time.
She could have stayed there all night, fantasising about what they’d done, what she wanted to do him and have him do to her, which was exactly why, as dawn’s light began to filter through the window, she forced herself to slide from the bed stealthily, to creep towards her bedroom door and slip through it, not exhaling until she reached her wardrobe—a room all of its own, more like a boutique than any domestic clothes storage solution. She pulled a pair of cotton pyjamas from the drawers and dragged them on, then pushed her long, dark hair into a messy bun on top of her head, before making her way to the lounge room, where her work folders were kept on a small desk near the window. She picked up the latest submissions, her heart clutching in preparation for the tragic stories she knew awaited her and began to read.
At least she could concentrate again. After their first night together, she’d missed him so much it had been impossible to focus. Now, because she knew he was a regular in her life, she was able to delineate what they were doing from her work. From her Real Life, as she thought of it. Becausethiswasn’t real. It wasn’t lasting, it wasn’t anything that she could describe. After all, no one knew about it, they’d been so careful on that score. But that also gave it a feeling of unreality, to know that whatever ‘they’ were, it existed in a bubble of their own creation.
It was also reaching the point of natural conclusion. Not because it was fizzing out. If anything, the intensity of their lovemaking was increasing each time—as though the nights spent apart made them hunger for one another in an almost unbearable way, so their first kiss was always incendiary. They rarely made it past the front passage before ripping their clothes off and losing themselves in each other.
Which was why it had to end. Cora was getting scared.
For all his assurances, Cora didn’t trust that there was any way to get out of this without being hurt. And it was logical to assume that the longer they spent doing this, the more their eventual separation would bite.
The risk of discovery was also increasing. She felt it each time he arrived, the way he looked over his shoulder, making sure he hadn’t been followed, the way he left in the small hours of the morning, when there were fewer people around to observe him. It rankled, even when she was as committed to their secrecy as he was.
Somehow, it made her feel…dirty. Unwanted. She knew what was at stake for him, how his conservative country would view someone like her dating their Sheikh, but that didn’t make it any less hurtful.
She lost herself in the files, reading about children who needed the charity’s support, the schools they worked with putting forward their submissions so Cora could appraise them. She always granted funds, usually more than was being sought.
“You’re up early.” His voice, as always, sent little shards of pleasure down her spine. She trembled but covered it with a smile as she turned to face him.
“I had to catch up on work.” She closed the files quickly, a part of her she kept private, and stood, walking towards him as if they were two magnets being pulled together.
“Some kind of deadline?”
“Something like that. How did you sleep?”
His eyes flashed with an emotion she didn’t understand but it was gone so quickly, she thought she’d imagined it. “Well. Can I help with your work at all?”
She felt his inquisition. She understood what was at the base of it. She was being secretive, and he didn’t like it. With a soft sigh, she moved away from him, coldness spreading through her as she put space between them. “I’ll get back to it after you’ve left. Coffee?”
It was a rhetorical question. They always had coffee first thing in the morning, usually while catching up on the overnight news. Even that, though, made her startle. How had they spent enough time together for there to be an ‘always’. Routines, habits—one of the things she’d liked most about the beginning of her marriage. Of course, their routines had revolved around cocktails and friends, but it had still formed a happy scaffold, so she’d come to count on the familiarity of their activities.
She started to make the pot, aware of him in the kitchen, his body taking up more than physical space.
“Did you live here, with him?”
The question caught her off guard. Her hand slipped a little, so she spilled some coffee. Cora moved quickly to pick up a cloth but he was faster, coming around to wipe it before she could. She stared at the bench, now clean, aware of Samir watching her, aware that she needed to find the ability to actnormallyeven when she had a strange, unfamiliar drive to tell him the truth, to open all of herself to him, even the wounds she liked to keep plastered over as much as possible.
“With whom?” She asked, eyes wide, going back to the coffee, pouring two mugs then handing one to him. He took it, but as she lifted hers to her lips, he caught her cup, holding his hands over hers, eyes steady.
“Alfonzo.”
It was a startling clashing of realities, to hear Samir say her ex-husband’s name. A squealing noise began to sound in her ears and she desperately wanted to sip her coffee just to break the mood that was weaving around them.
“Oh.” She licked her lower lip, buying for time. “No.” There. That wasn’t so hard.
“Where did you live?”