“Does it hurt?”
He shook his head.
“I want to do something.”
He blinked, fear and uncertainty, then resignation. And then he said four words that would make her wait for him not for one or two years but for the rest of eternity.
“I am all yours.”
Amaal put her mouth on him and his hand instantly bunched in her hair. “Amaal!” It was a gasp, a pleasurable gasp.
She smirked, sitting back — “I told you I’ve learned to stroke well.”
His hand grabbed her hair and wound it in his fist. She gasped. He tugged her head back — “And I told you that when you learn to stroke mine, you will unlearn everything else.”
He used his other hand to circle hers, tightening her hold on him. He squeezed, and pushed her fingers roughly up. Amaal felt her mouth pool with saliva, the movements of their hands rough and hard and jerky, his black eyes beady and commanding and controlling as he set the rhythm.
And then he pushed her head back down and she had never loved anything more. He wasn’t there yet, his erection didn’t stiffen like it should have, but he opened himself and let her see this side of him that most men would die before showing a woman. And Amaal remembered why she fell in love with him in the first place. Because his commitment was always complete, never half. His loyalty was always unending, never expired. Because his surrender was always in his domination.
She felt him harden and he pulled her head back, their eyes catching again. Amaal smirked — “Lesson over?”
“Don’t force me,” he gritted. “I won’t last.”
“Then don’t.” She gave him one firm stroke just like he had taught her, flashing him her dimpled smile. And he was coming in her hands, folding over until he held himself with one palm on the sofa behind her and kissing her like his life depended on it.
“Fuck, you can end me.” His knees straddled her as he took his breaths in her neck. Amaal panted with him, turning her head and pressing her lips into his neck — “Happily, when your time is up.”
She could feel his smile. And then he was turning them over, pulling her top off and making her straddle him — all in one moment.
“Hey! You are still building muscle.”
“Quiet.” He unsnapped her jeans button and thrust her over his softening groin. “I can lift one of you.”
Amaal burst out laughing and he thrust up. She stopped. His fingers went inside her and slipped right through. She stopped breathing.
“Oooooh!”
“Quiet.”
“You can’t do that and ask me…” he pushed her head into his neck and thrust his fingers up again. Her teeth bit into his skin as he pressed harder, pushing her head harder. Her body didn’t remain in her control, like it never had when he was around. Amaal jerked and swayed in a wave over his hand, gasping, panting, biting into his shoulder. And burst out of her own darkness into bright light. She was scared she’d draw blood. But that was just a passing thought as he gripped her head and held it against his shoulder. And she rode the waves on his fingers, feeling every muscle in her body go limp. Then jerk. Then go limp again. But it never quite relaxed. Even after a long time had passed, her stomach kept jerking, like electric currents popping.
“What is happening…” she breathed, finally feeling the dent in his shoulder under her chin. The skin was already melted, the scars wrinkled. And she had bitten into them.
“Samar!” She pulled back, running her fingers over the marks. She couldn’t even make out where she had bit in her madness. “You should have stopped me!”
When he did not say anything, she looked at his face. He was smiling. His specs were still on, and he was smiling at her through them.
“The skin must still be tender… even if you don’t have sensation.”
“I have sensation.” He caught her hand on his shoulder. “And I felt every edge of your teeth.”
She glared.
“Just not as deep as you think.”
She sighed.
“Come here now.” He toppled her again until she was curled in his lap and resting her head on his chest. There was a mess between them. But she would worry about that later. His sofa… much later.
