“No.” He continued to stroke her while he tangled his free hand in her hair, tugging just hard enough to pick up her head. “Let me hear you. We don’t have to bite our lips anymore.”
“Someone will come.”
“We both will,” he assured her smokily.
“It’s too much,” she whispered, growing taut all over as her climax approached.
“I never told you how good it was that night,” he said as he shifted to lean over her. His naked body brushed the exposed skin at the backs of her legs, her bottom and the small of her back. He rubbed his shaft against her sex in a way that was deliciously familiar and not enough. Not anymore. Not now she knew how it felt to have that thick pressure inside her. “You took me apart with your heat and tightness. You’re so wet for me again. You make me insane with desire, Fern.”
“Don’t tease, Zafir,” she begged. “Please.”
He was shaking as he entered her, passion barely restrained.
She cried out, pressing back to make it happen faster. Deeper. She was shattering and he was barely touching her, sliding his hand around to caress her as he made gentle, shallow thrusts.
He pinned her right on the cusp of climax and held her there. She arched, letting her moans of enjoyment fill the room, clutched in a storm of such magnificence she could only shudder and release ragged cries of joy. It was intense, her orgasm so close that when he decided they were ready, it arrived, swift and powerful. She feared she wouldn’t survive it, but didn’t care, crying out with abandoned ecstasy.
Dimly she was aware of him holding himself tight and deep, biting through her dress at her shoulder. His fist covered hers on the cushion and crushed her hand as he convulsed, bathing her in heat, inside and out. They were like a star exploding, so perfectly attuned they were one being melded soul to soul as the waves of climax overtook and drowned them, taking a long time to recede and let them come up for air.
His body branded her where his damp skin adhered to hers. She became aware of him braced over her, still shaking. His heart was pounding against her back. Her own pulse was trying to find a resting level along with her lungs. She remembered what they’d sounded like, how guttural his shout had been over her abundance of ragged cries.
She blushed.
He chuckled and kissed the back of her neck, then stroked her hair off the side of her face with a trembling hand. He touched his lips to the side of her face. “Okay?”
“Just trying not to die of embarrassment. That was rather...” She didn’t have words.
“It was,” he agreed with a nuzzle of her ear. “Worth waiting for.”
She turned her hand under his, wanting to link her fingers with his, but he picked up her hand and kissed the backs of her knuckles before carefully withdrawing.
She settled onto her hip, still trembling, not sure where to look as she attempted to regain her modesty, trying to tug her dress into place and not reveal that as satisfied as she was, she was also still aroused and responsive.
He leaned back on his hand, his other wrist propped on his bent knee. He ran his gaze over her, possessive and impenitent. He was gorgeous. Sexy and comfortable in his nudity. The light gilded his skin to warm polished oak. The way his mouth relaxed in a smile of smugness and his eyelids blinked with heavy satisfaction sent a ripple of warm delight through her.
“You look like a sultan who just enjoyed his concubine,” she teased, pleased that she felt confident enough to say it, even though she couldn’t help primly tugging her dress into place under her bum and down her thighs.