He closed his eyes as she kissed his pecs, as she lowered and laved her tongue across his left nipple, then his right. Electricity arced through his body, shot into his groin, made him harder than he was sure he’d ever been.
“Do you like this?” she asked, trailing hot, wet kisses down his abdomen. “Do you like my mouth on you?”
Allah, did he. “Hayaati—”
She moved lower, pushed her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. Then tipped her gaze up so seductively, a wicked shot of desire made him lift his hips and rub his aching cock against her breasts. “I want to taste you, Tariq. I want to feel you harden against my tongue. Is that okay?”
Okay? Okay? She wanted to know if that was okay?
He ground his teeth against the raging need but couldn’t stop himself from pressing up on his elbows so he could watch while she slid to the floor and maneuvered between his legs. Somehow, he found the strength to say, “I am yours to do with as you wish, Mira. Anything. Everything.”
Confidence burned in her eyes. A confidence that hadn’t been there before. She popped the button on his jeans. Slid the zipper over his erection. Looked up again with that sinful, sexy, seductive expression. “I want you to tell me what pleases you. Right now, I want to learn how to make you come.”
Just her words was enough to make him do nearly that. His erection twitched as she pressed her hands inside his jeans, ran them down his hips, pulled the garment from his legs, and let it drop to the floor.
She sucked in a breath when his cock sprang up, hard and pulsing and hot. Then licked her lips as if in anticipation of a wicked taste. “Commando. I like that. Tell me what to do, mu’allim.”
The word sounded dirty on her tongue. Nasty. Hotter than hell. His pulse grew faster.
This was about her, he reminded himself. About letting her have control, letting her take what she wanted. It wasn’t about him.
“Touch me,” he managed.
When her hand closed around his length, he nearly jumped. Her fingers were so dainty, her skin like silk. She moved her hand up, tightened at the head, then stroked him slowly.
“Do you like that?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Do you want more?” she said as she circled the head again, and tremors ran through his flesh. When he nodded once more, she added, “Tell me.”
He was in so much trouble here. He pushed his hips against her hand, groaned as her fingers slid down his length. “Taste me, hayaati.”
She smiled again, that Cheshire-cat grin he was growing to enjoy. And pleasure gathered in his groin as she leaned close, as her tongue flicked out to lick the tip, as the warm wetness of her mouth closed around his cock.
His eyes slid closed. He dropped his head back. Shuddered as she lowered and drew him deeper. Her tongue stroked the underside of his cock, her lips closed tight around his length. And when she suckled, he saw stars. He didn’t have to show her what he liked; she instinctively knew. Her hand stroked the base while her lips and tongue drove him completely mad. Then she drew him so deep he brushed her throat. He groaned in pure ecstasy.
“Allah, Mira. Just like that. Deeper.”
Her mouth was like nothing he’d ever felt. And the fact she was doing this for him, when she didn’t need to be, only amped his arousal. Her free hand brushed his thigh while she suckled, moved to his lower belly. The touch sent shards of electricity racing along his nerve endings. His balls tightened, and pleasure zinged down his spine. And when she groaned around his cock, sending vibrations through every bit of his flesh, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.
“Mira…” He threaded his fingers in her long hair, rubbed her skull as she continued to push him closer to the edge. Her free hand slid down his hip and brushed his inner thigh, then gently squeezed his balls.
“Mira—”
He tried to pull free of her mouth, but she clamped on tighter with her lips, sucked harder. And then it was too late. He couldn’t do anything except shudder and groan as pleasure slammed into him and stole his breath.
The pressure eased around his cock. She continued to stroke him slowly as he came down the other side of the best orgasm of his life, her teasing tongue flicking the head, making him shudder all over again. When she finally let go, he blinked several times, looked up, and watched as she swallowed, then grinned with the wickedest of smiles.
“Did I do a good job? Did you like that?”
He answered by levering up off the bed, closing his arms around her, taking her down to the mattress, and kissing her flushed, swollen, insanely erotic lips.
She groaned as she opened to him, as she wrapped her arms around his back and eased her legs apart so he could sink against her body. He tasted himself and the wine she’d sipped earlier. And a hunger like nothing he’d tasted before.
Thought fled. Need consumed him. He pushed her shirt up, palmed her breast. Loved that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the thin cotton T-shirt. She arched her back, kissed him harder. But she was wearing too many clothes. There wasn’t nearly enough skin.
“Mira.” He pulled back, dragged her torso off the bed, and stripped the shirt over her head, then threw it on the floor. “Need you naked.”
She giggled, reached for him as soon as her shirt was gone, and brought her mouth back to his. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips, lifting her hips as he pushed his hand into the waistband of her jeans and slid it around to cup her ass. “Naked.”
He kissed her again and again, squeezed her ass, pressed his renewed erection against her mound. He wanted to draw out the foreplay, to make her writhe as she’d made him writhe, but all he could focus on was getting inside her. Finding out if she was as tight and wet as he knew she’d be.
He dragged his mouth from hers, kissed her ear, her throat, breathed hot against her breasts as he flipped the button on her jeans and dragged the denim from her legs.
She was as beautiful as he remembered. Pale, soft, her hips flared just right, her waist trim, her breasts the perfect size for his hands. For his mouth.
He closed his lips around her right breast, suckled the tip. Shuddered when her fingernails scraped his skull and she dropped her head back, arching toward him and groaning all over again.
“Have to be inside you, hayaati.” He moved to her other breast.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Want to feel you come around me.”
“Oh yes.” She lifted her hips.
“I want you on your hands and knees, offering yourself to me.”
She trembled, groaned, squeezed her knees against his sides. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He was too far gone to think. To stop. To wonder why she was willing to do anything he wanted. He eased away, flipped her to her stomach. Brushed her hair to one side and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.
She shuddered, moaned. Pulled her knees up under her and pushed up to her hands. And when she looked back over her shoulder with nothing but lust in her eyes, the last of his resistance broke.
He knelt on the bed behind her. Trailed his hand down her spine. She closed her eyes, pushed back against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her upper body back flush with his. His cock pressed against the cleft of her ass as she gripped the wrist at her waist to balance herself. He kissed her ear, nipped at the lobe. Whispered, “Spread your knees.”
She did as he asked, and he skimmed his free hand down her stomach, into her curls, then finally brushed his fingers across her sex.
He’d given lots of pleasure during his years in prison, but this was the first time giving pleasure brought pleasure to him. He felt every wicked burn of desire as he slid his fingers along her wetness, circled her clit, then dipped lower to press inside.