I am not walking but flying down the stairs as if sprouting wings to reach him quicker.
The door opens, and I jump into his arms, not caring that anyone could see me. “You came,” I say breathlessly.
He glances at his watch, narrowing his eyes at it. “I’ll have to leave in twenty minutes.”
I blink, and my mouth opens in a surprised gasp. “You came here just to see me?”
He cups my cheeks, eyeing me as if he would walk a thousand miles for a glimpse of me.
I gulp, my throat suddenly dry. “Hungry?”
He casts my way a heated look, promising to ravish me. “Starving.”
I giggle. “I meant food.”
“Me too, because your pussy nourishes me.”
I slap his chest playfully, gazing into his eyes that appear like my personal sky. “You’re crazy.”
“About every inch inside and out of you.”
He lifts me up and carries me into my bedroom, where boxes lie haphazardly around the room, halfway done with packing.
He remains rooted in place with me in his arms. “It’s happening,” I hear him whisper. “Finally.”
The ease in him is clear, making me believe I am the only one who can soothe him—his personal source of comfort.
Slanting his hot mouth on mine, he makes me forget my line of thoughts. Kissing me hard and passionately, he steals the breath from my lungs and breathes flames inside of me, burning up for him.
In a rush, we discard our clothes. My back hits the mattress, and he climbs on top of me, our bodies colliding in the throesof passion––mirroring each other’s unbound need. Skin on skin. Mouth on mouth. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
It’s a sweet reunion, a blissful embrace of oblivion, a surge of maddening sensations––bodies and hearts joining on every level.
Every thrust brings me higher. Every pull makes me grip him harder. Every breath ends on a shaky moan––lust mixed with endless desire. Teeth and nails biting, marking––a beautiful dance of claiming and surrender.
When it ends, we fall on our backs, catching our breath.
“How many minutes left?” I ask and roll to his side.
He glances at his watch, spearing it with an angry look. “One.”
We spend the next sixty seconds kissing and touching, each nibble a testament of craving, each touch a display of devotion.
As I watch him dress, ogling unabashedly my personal work of art, he smirks, fully aware of his effect on me as he buttons his shirt.
I move into a cross-legged position and tilt my head, sending him a flirtatious look. “A problem, husband?”
He stares me dead in the eye. “A big one, throbbing in my pants.”
I burst out laughing, loving the playfulness.
Grabbing a pillow, I puff it on my lap and rest my elbow on it. It dents just like my heart will when he departs.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans. “Or I might just bring you with me.”
“Even if I say no?” I bite my lip, wanting to test him even though I know.
“Zara, I think you’re well aware of whom you married.”
