18. Zara
ZARA
As if it’s not enough that he rearranges my insides with every thrust, he grips the headboard, driving himself even deeper, causing my eyes to roll back in their sockets. I might black out from the intense experience.
I came once, and I will come again. Some forgotten knowledge, instinct, but every moan of desire he draws from me, every bit of pleasure he coaxes from deep within me, rings with undeniable truth.
I feel him everywhere. In me. Around me.
Filling me. Surrounding me. His heady scent intoxicates my senses.
His hard body owns me. He takes me apart and pieces me back together into something different, molding me to him, shaping me as his own.
God, I am losing myself to him, and it feels liberating.
It’s pure completion, absolute insanity, yet I crave it all and more.
It’s too much, not enough. I might die from too much pleasure. What a lovely way to go.
“Vian…” I moan his name in surrender, clawing at the mattress not to slip into delirium.
“Just like that. Fuck you’re doing amazing, feel how you stretch around me, how your pussy grips me?”
“I do,” I moan, throwing my head back in sheer bliss.
“I’ll make you come so often you will lose count,” he says, burying himself to the hilt inside me.
Desire runs through me, heating my skin––delirious with lust. It’s like I’ve tapped into a sexual world where pleasure rules and gratification is an endless resource.
He slowly pulls out, and I feel every ridge as if he tattoos his cock on my pussy walls, causing a shiver to travel through me. Then he drives himself back inside with such force the bed thuds. I am shaking in the wake of this tornado of a man blasting through me.
His thumb comes into play, circling my clit, and he nibbles my neck, tearing me apart in the best way possible. I am not made of bones and flesh anymore, but of pure sensation.
I let myself fall, knowing he will catch me.
I might have lost everything, but I’ve gained him.
The knowledge echoes in my brain like a testament to us being fated.
Maybe that’s why we had to lose the people we loved, because what transpires between us is pure madness, raw obsession.
We were inevitable. I am sure of that, just like I am sure I was made to be his, to rule the world with him by my side.
The pleasure unfolds from within me, and I cry out, alerting the whole building.
I can’t stop trembling in the wake of my orgasm, but he’s not done with me. He rolls me onto my side, and instinctively, I know what he wants. I lift my leg, hooking it over his thigh as he enters me.
I don’t have a favorite position, desperate to just feel him inside me.
Gripping my neck, he applies just the right amount of pressure. My life is in his hands. It’s exhilarating and terrifying, making me even more wanton.
This man breaks me and rebuilds me into something else. I can’t do a thing to stop him. I don’t even want to.
He has mastered this maddening rhythm from hard to gentle, and as he alternates between them, I lose all notion of whether I am still alive or drifting into ecstasy, floating in sensation.
Then he switches me onto my belly, folding me––my arms stretched out with my knees tucked to my chest as he takes me from behind.
I grip the sheet, panting, a sheen of sweat coating my skin while he demands everything from my body and drenches me in pleasure. He wasn’t joking when he said I might black out, seeing entire galaxies burst in front of my eyes.
Tears well in my eyes as I fall into ecstasy, the experience overwhelming.
I come again, squeezing him, and that triggers his release. Filling me, he growls, sounding more animal than human.
Sated, boneless, and deliciously sore, he gathers me into his lap, kissing my flushed face and swollen lips. With a strength I didn’t know I still possessed, I wrap my arms around his neck.
It’s a sweet moment, the opposite of the carnal mating, before he hardens once again under me.
“How is this possible?” I breathe out as he enters me again.
I am so sensitive, I hiss, and he rubs circles on my skin but doesn’t stop. With every push, my addiction overpowers me, and I would do anything for another euphoric kick. Accept the pain for one moment of utter delight.
He made a mess of my pussy, sticky with my juices and his cum, stuffed with his trunk of a damn cock.
He’s relentless. I am insatiable.
The sun has long set as I drift between sleepiness and wakefulness with him gently pushing in and out of me.
He is a man of his word. As the day turns into night, it feels like I’ve ridden an endless orgasm without pause.
My hair sticks to my face, sweat covering me, and he gently tucks the strands back, brushing his lips on my forehead.
I am swollen. My breasts, my pussy, my lips. He kissed, licked, and nibbled every inch of my skin, yet he hasn’t had enough.
I am just a web of nerves. One touch from him and I light up, electrified with want.
Overcome by pleasure. For more. Simply more.
My body has melted into clay he expertly molds to his incessant desire.
“So long… You don’t know how long I’ve been craving you. Dreamed about you, wished for you, prayed for you, and waited for a wonder.”
He fucked me mindless because I hear his words but can’t make sense of them, even if their impact is life-altering. My heart beats like a drum, echoing his name.
“Give me one more, baby.”
My head thrashes from one side to the other, whining. “I want to. I really do, but I can’t.”
He looks like a sculpture––male strength and carnal temptation in one.
“My good girl can do anything.”
I giggle, elated, feeling I belong with this conundrum of a man, this stranger who feels like a part of my soul.
“You have too much trust in me…” I breathe out.
He hits that exact spot that delivers me straight into bliss’s arms, and my eyes roll back, overcome by rapture.
Smirking, he tugs at my nipples. The contact sends a jolt through my body, rewiring me, and a wave of sensations floods me as he sucks on one nipple and twists the other.
I grind against him, a greedy woman turned into a needy slut craving more.
Could you die from too much pleasure? It sure feels like it as I fall, the abyss stretching before me, enveloping me like the quintessential lover.
He grips my ass cheeks, giving them a little squeeze before he pulls me down to his face and kisses me as he spreads my ass and rims the tiny hole.
“Vian,” I stutter out a breath.
“Do you trust me?”
Such a loaded question, yet the answer is at the tip of my tongue. “Yesss.”
Slowly, he eases his thumb in, then pushes his middle finger inside my tight hole, stretching me. Filled from both ends, the delicious pressure and snug fit do me in, and I come so hard, I crash onto his chest, done being conscious.
His hand moving gently up and down my side wakes me from a profound sleep, leaving no recollection of any dream or nightmare.
If sex with him is the cure, I will demand daily treatment.
The corners of my lips curve at my silly joke, and I pry my eyes open to find him propped on his elbow. Sunrays cast him in a glow that makes him appear even more handsome, if that’s possible.
He gazes at me as if I am the wonder of his life. Can two people look at you the same way? Either I am mixing them in my head, or I imagined my lost love.
The room smells of sex, sweat, and our combined scents.
My entire body feels sensitive, used, and pleased.
“Last night was…” Amazing. Life-changing. Something I didn’t know existed—unraveling me to my core.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, concern threading his voice.
His care for me is a balm, healing old wounds.
“Sore.” He frowns, and I add, “Deliciously sore.”
He rolls out of bed, and my heart clenches, yearning for him even though he’s still here. My feelings for him are getting out of control.
As if he can read my mind, including my insecurities, he says, “I’m not going anywhere. Today, you and I, wife, are going to stay in bed.” That sounds dreamy. “I’m just going to prepare you a bath.”
I nod, not knowing what to say. Everything is a mess in my brain.
He doesn’t take long to return, his body rippling with strength with every step toward me, as if carved from silky marble.
He lifts me with ease, and I cuddle into his chest, needing to feel close to him, to stitch us together. A nagging fear whispers that something bad might happen and I will lose him. The thought alone caves my rib cage in, stealing my breath.
Last night was so intimate it made me need him more than ever—closeness, assurance, and the promise that I am not alone in this beautiful madness.
He kisses my forehead and brushes his nose against mine, the sweet gesture going straight to my heart. Just plant a flag with your name on it. You conquered it. My heart is his. I am entirely his.
Inside the bathroom, bubbles float in the ample tub, and he climbs in while still holding me.
The water embraces me, soothing my sore limbs, and I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the relief.
He reaches for the shampoo bottle and squeezes some into his palm. Then he runs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. As he washes my hair, I relax further, loving his ministrations.
“I love this. I deserve some aftercare after everything you put my body through.”
He chuckles and whispers in my ear, causing a tremor to pass through me. “I didn’t hear you complaining. And I will always take care of you, regardless of whether we had sex.”
I feel the truth behind his words reverberate through me. “I…” I can’t bring myself to continue. I feel stupid. Women know if they had anal before.
“What is it, baby?” He urges me with such gentleness that it’s hard not to confess everything.
“Forget it.”
“I won’t. So please tell me before I start making scenarios in my head.”
“You’re an overthinker.”
“Is that the pot calling the kettle black?”
I giggle, and my nerves retreat. It feels unfamiliar to be shy in his presence. Another mystery I will probably never uncover.