Wounded (19 page)

My thighs are far enough apart now that he is able to turn his hand so his palm cups the mound of sensitive flesh. My breath is coming in short, panicked gasps. Heat is billowing through my body, centered on my core. He moves so slowly, like a creeping sand dune. His middle finger traces up the crease of my womanhood, not parting the lips, only touching. I lick my lips and grip his shoulder, turn my face to press against the column of his arm.
 

I feel shame rising in my throat like gorge. How can I be letting this happen? I should not. I should stop this. But I do not want to. His touch feels good. His middle finger tracing the crease once more sends lightning shooting through me. I slide my legs farther apart, nod my head against his arm.

He hesitates, though. He nudges my forehead with his lips, pushing my face away from his arm so I am forced to look at him.
 

“Do not feel shameful,” he says in mangled Arabic. “You want this? I will make you feel nicely, if you want me.”

His words are confused, but I know what he means.
 

I kiss his lips, summon my courage, and meet his eyes. “Touch me,” I say in his language. “I fear, but I also want.” I am aware that I mangle his language as he does mine, but I do not care, as long as he understands what I intend to say.

He kisses me, gently at first, sweetly, chastely, then with intensifying heat. I give in to the desire, stop fighting it and kiss him back with all the need I feel raging inside me. I kiss him hard, curl my hand around the back of his neck so he cannot break the kiss, crush him closer, taste his tongue and his teeth. My legs fall open wide, my heels drawn slightly in so my knees lie flat on the ground.

He takes this as the invitation it is, and his finger slices up the line of my privates and back down, pushing in ever so slightly with each motion up and down. I feel at once hot and wet down there, as if wanting him has set loose a flood inside me. I worry that he will feel the wetness inside me and think it is gross, and almost clamp my legs closed, but do not.

His finger slides into me, and I hear his breath catch. I force my eyes open so I can watch for the disgust on his face, but instead I see only desire, pleasure, a smile of delight, but concern touches his eyes.
 

Then something wild and magical and terrifying happens. He curls his finger upwards and brushes the small nub of sensitive flesh near the top of my privates, and when the tip of his finger touches me there, my universe explodes. I hear a moan, loud and shamefully wanton, escape from me.
 

I thought I was awash with heat and damp desire before, but in the instant of his finger’s contact with my clitoris, a flood of fire and liquid shoots through me, drenching me. My cheeks burn with shame. I can smell myself, my desire, and I know he does, too. Surely that scent will turn his desire to ashes, cause his face to wrinkle in displeasure. Surely. I watch his face, but all I see is his blue gaze burning into mine, and there is nothing in his eyes but concern for me, and a need so intense my breath catches.

He
likes
this. His nostrils flare and he draws in a deep breath, pulling in my scent. His head falls onto my chest between my breasts, and his chest heaves. His finger curls against my clitoris once more, as slowly as the shifting of desert sands. My throat betrays my pleasure with a long, high-pitched whimper, and my body arches clear off the ground as lightning strikes my core.
 

What is he doing to me? I cannot take this. It is too intense. Too much. My heels scrape the dirt as the wave of ecstasy rolls over me. He waits until my back returns to earth, and then he does it once more. This time, however, he circles the little button of flesh with his finger, slowly still, but without stopping. My breath scrapes past my throat, and a moan hits my teeth and forces my mouth open wide. I can feel my face contorting, my eyes clenching shut, my face lifting to the ceiling as sensations I never knew were possible shoot through me. Such intense pleasure it is nearly painful bolts through me, lightning at my core. Quivers of ecstasy lance through me as his finger swirls around my clitoris.

Now he moves away from my button and his fingers, two of them, descend and thrust gently into my womanhood…my vagina. I know there are other words; I have heard them all before, but I do not want them in my head. I am fighting enough shame as it is. The sounds I am making are wanton, loud and shameless, even though my mind keeps trying to tell me to be quiet. I cannot. I have no control over my body now. I am a puppet, and Hunter’s fingers within me are controlling me.
 

I crack my eyes open and glance down to watch him, seeing his hand, his middle and ring fingers pushing into my privates. He is inside me to the knuckle now. Watch it happen. Let it happen. Enjoy it. His palm faces my body, and now his fingers curl upward, explore my inner walls. My breath is coming short stutters, gasps, whimpers. His curling fingers brush me in a certain spot, high on the inside, and the lightning bolts shiver hotter than ever, send me into a writhing, helpless spasm, and he does not relent, but presses his thumb to my clitoris and moves it in swift circles, barely brushing me.
 

Pressure wells up inside me, and my hips are moving on their own, rocking up into his hand as he moves his thumb against me and his fingers inside me. The pressure is rising, rising, turning into fire, into earthquakes within me. I do not know what is happening. Fear is a cold wave in my heart, threatening to douse the fires raging in me.
 

I feel like a tea kettle about to boil over. His every touch makes me writhe and whimper. His head rests on my chest, on my shirt, and his breath washes hot against my neck. He, too, seems overwhelmed, barely holding on to his sanity or his control.
 

I touch his chin so he looks at me. The vulnerability I see in his eyes is what does me in. I am on a ledge, about to fall over into madness. I want to see his eyes, so I may retain some semblance of my self through it all.

HUNTER

My god, she’s so beautiful. She’s barely holding on. I can see how afraid she is of what lies beyond that edge. She’s so close, about to come, but she won’t let herself. She’s gazing at me, fear in her eyes, desire in her eyes, confusion, need, worry, shame.

Shame. She’s ashamed of this. I saw her blush when I first touched her. She is so wet, her desire a pungent aroma that has me so hard I could come if she’d only brush her thigh against my cock. Just the
smell
of her pussy is enough to make me lose control. I can’t take her eyes on me any longer. I let my head thump down against her chest. The thin cotton of her shirt is strained by the swell of her breasts, each mound pulled aside by gravity. Her nipples are beads poking the cotton, tempting my tongue.

Not yet. She’s not ready for that yet.
 

My fingers slide inside her channel, and her body is writhing against me. I touch her clit with my thumb and I feel her nearly lose it right then, but she doesn’t. She’s afraid. How do I make her forget her fear?

I kiss her. God, she tastes so good. Her lips drive me crazy, the way she nibbles at my lower lip, the way her tongue traces my teeth…I want to kiss her forever, but I can’t. Her clit is a hard little bump, intensely sensitive. If I so much as brush her clit, she whimpers. Her G-spot is a roughened, ribbed patch of skin, and she moans when I rub it with my fingers, her hips bucking against my hand.
 

I’m so hard, so fucking hard. I’m about to come in my pants just touching her, just hearing her moan for me. Thank fuck she isn’t trying to touch me, because I wouldn’t have enough self-control to stop her. I desperately want to feel her slim little fingers wrap around my cock, stroke me and touch me.
 

No. No. This is about her, not me.
 

She moves beneath me, sliding down so her knees rise up, her heels bumping against her ass, thighs spread wide as I drive her wild with my fingers. Sliding down made her shirt bunch up even more, and now the bottom swell of one breast is visible.
 

Fucking goddamn it. I can’t take it, can’t help it. I’ve wanted to kiss her breasts from the very first moment she accidentally flashed me while changing. I’ve seen them again since, but I’ve always forced my gaze away. To look was to want. Now I have my fingers in her pussy and her juices slathered on my hand, and all I want is to touch her breasts. Need to.
 

Fuck.
 

I give in, nudge the hem up with my nose so her breast is bared completely. My god…so perfect. A taut, round globe of silky sweet skin with wide, dark areolas and tall, rigid nipples begging for my mouth.
 

I swallow hard, working my tongue to produce saliva. My mouth is dry, my throat clenched up. I’m nervous, oddly. It’s not as if I’ve never done this. Not by a long shot. But this, with Rania…it’s different, somehow.
 

I glance at her eyes, and she’s watching me again through hooded lids. I slow my fingers inside her, and her hips lessen the wildness of their bucking. Her mouth is open, and her eyes betray her weltering emotions.
 

“Please,” she whispers.

I don’t know what she’s asking. Stop? More? Make her come? I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her or scare her. I want her to experience this. The fear in her eyes tells me she’s never felt this before, and I’m not surprised. Sex for her must be an impersonal thing, a transaction. I can’t image anyone has ever taken the time or expended the effort to give her pleasure. This must be confusing and frightening for her, especially if she thinks I’m going to use her like she’s accustomed to being used. I can’t tell her I won’t. I don’t have the words, and I do want to. I want to be inside her. She’s so close to coming, and I want—
need
, so fucking bad—to move over her and push into her and feel her tight around me.

She is tight, too. I didn’t expect that, considering. Guilt and shame at the thought burn into me, but it’s true. I didn’t expect her to be tight, but she is.
 

“Please,” she whispers again, and touches my face so I look at her.

She arches her back and rocks her hips. She wants more.
 

She stares into my eyes, and then peels her shirt off so she’s naked from the waist up, glorious breasts bare to my touch, bare to my mouth. I let myself look this time, take in the expanse of skin and mounds of flesh.

Her breath is coming in shallow pants, and I can feel the tension in her muscles. Baring herself like this is taking effort, courage. I want to touch her breasts. I wish I could kneel above her so I have both hands free to touch her all over, but my wounds won’t let me, and I don’t think she’d react well to having me above her like that.
 

I take my fingers out of her, and she moans in protest. Her cheeks flame with shame as I lift my fingers to my nose to inhale her aromatic scent. I think she’s ashamed of the musk of desire from her juices. I put my fingers to my mouth and taste her essence, meeting her eyes all the while. Her eyes widen in pure shock and disbelief, perhaps even something like disgust. I can’t help a little laugh from escaping at the expression on her face. I swipe into her slit again, gather essence on my fingers, and lick it off again, just to prove the point. Her brow wrinkles, and she shakes her head.

I slide my palm across her ribs, and her expression smoothes out into pleasure as I cup the heavy weight of one breast in my hand. She watches me as I lower my face to her skin, kiss her flesh between her breasts, kneading it. I rub my palm across her nipple, and she gasps. When I roll it between my fingers, she bites her lip to keep from moaning out loud. I wish I could tell her how much I love the noises she makes for me. I can’t, don’t try. Words would fail me. Her beauty has captured me, imprisoned my capacity for language. All I can do is pay homage to the temple of her body.

I pinch her nipple again, delighting at the gasp that tears from her, and then I take her nipple into my mouth and suckle, and I feel joy rocket through me when she moans so loud it’s almost a scream.

I find myself wondering how mad with ecstasy I could make her if I went down on her. God, she would respond so beautifully. I can almost feel her thighs clenching my face as she writhes against my mouth. I can almost feel her fingers tugging my hair and hear her voice raised in pleasure.

I don’t know if she’s ready for that.

I lick her skin, flick her nipples, each one in turn, with my tongue, and I return my fingers to her pussy, slide them against her clit slowly, circling gently, mindful of her sensitivity.
 

She gasps and moans and whimpers, all control over her vocal responses shot to hell now. I love it.
 

Fuck, I have to stop thinking that word. That word isn’t possible.

She feels so fucking good. Her skin is flaming hot against me, her breasts softer than the softest silk, her hips rocking and writhing against my fingers. I have to fight myself to stay up here, to keep myself from startling her too much. She’s still skittish. But, dammit, I want to taste her. I know she would like it, once she got past the shock.

I really shouldn’t. It would freak her out.

But I want to make her come, want to taste her as she comes apart around me.

RANIA

Allah, I am so lost in the wilderness of ecstasy Hunter gives me that I have no control over anything I do. I hear my mouth making such shocking sounds, not faked now, but real. My knees are sticking up in the air, my heels against my backside, my hips moving as if they’re alive as Hunter moves his fingers against me.

His mouth is on my breasts, moving from one to the other frantically, nibbling, kissing, licking. Every once in a while he bites my nipple, just hard enough to make me insane, to send jets of pleasure whirling inside me.
 

I feel him moving, but I cannot fathom what he might be doing. I cannot think, cannot form coherent ideas. All I know is his fingers inside me, his mouth on my breasts. His fingers never cease their movement, and I am about to explode, but cannot. Not yet. I do not know why, but I cannot fall over the edge. I am afraid of what lies beyond, what that will feel like, but I also want it, more than I have ever wanted anything.