A glimmer of contentment, that was what it was.
It was a gift, it burst through her like an explosion, a sight she gripped tight.
He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, and Zohra felt the tempo of his kiss change. His hands moved over her body, thorough and erotic but now, there was an urgency that shattered that iron-fisted control. When he settled between her thighs and probed her entrance with the head of his erection, every thought disappeared from her head. And Zohra was lost again.
* * *
Would it ever be enough?
The unrelenting question pounded through Ayaan, mingling with the desire coursing through his blood, reverberating in every cell.
It had to be, he threw an arrogant answer at himself.
Because this was sex, after all.
Zohra might be nothing like the women he had known, but his body was reveling in the pleasure, in the simple act of touching, of kissing.
Ayaan ran his mouth over the pulse at Zohra’s neck, the taste of her tightening the need drumming through him. Her thighs automatically fell away, making a place for him, cradling his erection, the rasp of her quivering thighs against him unraveling the last thread of his control.
She moved under him, a rasping sound from her throat. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and his arousal tightened into steel.
He licked one taut nipple, and she arched like a bow, her hands sinking into his hair. He pulled it into his mouth and she screamed his name.
It was a needy, throaty sound that ripped through him. “Please Ayaan...” she whispered at his ear, before flicking at his earlobe with her tongue. “I want to touch you, I need to...”
Shaking his head, he ran a finger over the swollen flesh between her legs. She dug her teeth into his shoulder. He plunged a finger into her sex and she bit him, hard.
Ya Allah, she was wet and ready for him. He wanted to pleasure her again, bring her to climax, suffuse himself with the taste and scent of her but the sight of her pink flesh, wet and ready for him, and his own hunger—selfish and relentless, rode him hard.
Pushing her legs wide, he rubbed at the entrance with his penis. Sweat beaded on his forehead, every inch of his body throbbing for possession.
“Spread your legs for me, Zohra,” he said, in a voice that was far from his own.
When her boneless legs moved farther apart, he kept his hands on her hips and entered her in one hard thrust.
Stars exploding in his eyes, she clenched him tightly. Heat poured through his muscles, pushing for friction, the walls of her sex stretching around his erection. He was about to pull out and ram back into her when the stillness of her body filtered through to his lust-soaked mind.
He looked into her eyes, and saw the truth reflected there. Shock poured through him. “Of all the things to be lying about, Zohra?” he said, followed by a vicious curse he hadn’t ever uttered before.
Regret punctured the pleasure, but only a little. His thighs quaked at having to stay still. He pulled back, inch by excruciating inch, his shoulders feeling like steel rods at the pressure he put on them to be slow, to be gentle, when she moved the tiniest inch beneath him.
He bent down and nipped her lips, not hard but not gentle either. “Stay still, Zohra,” he said through gritted teeth, his skin sweaty, his hair drenched, and his body sliding out of its skin with the need to move.