She wiped her mouth with the edge of her thumb, stood without wobbling once, and turned back to the screen. Unbothered. Undone and still completely composed. Her robe open. Her thighs still slick. Her pussy still clenching air.
“Yes,” she said calmly into the mic after unmuting. “Confirm the piece. And notify the Geneva buyer that we’re out.”
I stared at her. This woman.
Sanaa didn’t look back right away. She stayed in her lane—controlled, precise, brilliant. Still tasting me on her tongue while she handled million-dollar bids like nothing happened.
I’d run into burning buildings for this woman. And she could still take me apart squatting between calls.
When she finally closed the laptop, she leaned back against the couch and looked at me.
“You’re early,” she said softly.
“Baby, after what you just did to me, I’ll be home early every night.”
Something flickered across her face at that.
I stepped toward her.
The robe had slipped again—one shoulder bare, one nipple peeking through silk like it was begging to be sucked. I didn’t hesitate.
I slid behind her, my hands finding her waist, my mouth pressing to her neck. She tilted her head without thinking, already surrendering more.
“You taste like me,” I murmured.
She smiled faintly. “You sound pleased about that.”
“I am.”
I turned her slowly and walked her backward toward the kitchen. Two steps. Three. Her thighs hit the edge of the small table and she braced her hands behind her.
She knew what was coming.
I removed her robe and touched the part of her weeping for me. I dragged a finger through it, watched her body twitch. I reached around and let my palm fall against her ass.
The slap echoed.
“Tariq,” she gasped.
I did it again.
She arched. Pushed back into me like she wanted more.
“You like that?” I leaned down and breathed into her ear.
“Don’t stop.”
That’s all I needed.
I bent her forward over the table. A candle tipped and rolled. Something ceramic shattered on the tile. Neither of us cared.
I bent my body to position myself perfectly and pushed into her in one slow, hungry stroke.
She moaned—deep, guttural, almost broken.
Her body welcomed me like it always did. Tight and wet. Familiar and new. I gripped her hips and pulled out, then thrust back in harder. The table scraped against the floor. The sounds of our bodies collided—slap, slide, gasp, moan.
I watched her take every inch. Watched my dick vanish into her again and again, gleaming with her arousal.
