Chapter 23 Amara #2
Only then does he grab a condom packet from his discarded pants. The foil glints as he tears it open with his teeth, the muscles of his chest and shoulders rippling with the movement.
His eyes, dark and hungry, lock on mine, while his other hand slowly strokes his rigid length.
I watch, transfixed, as more pre-cum beads at the flushed tip.
He pinches the latex reservoir, rolling it over his thick crown with deliberate slowness. A sharp hiss escapes him when the cool material meets his heated skin, and his abs clench like steel cables, that perfect V above his hips flexing as he works the sheath downward with long, sure strokes.
I bite my lip watching him. The way his knuckles whiten as he fists himself, the way his biceps bulge with each downward pull, the visible tremor in his thigh when he reaches the base.
Every movement screams restrained power.
A billionaire used to commanding boardrooms now barely commanding himself.
“Fuck,” he grinds out, smoothing the last millimeter with a rough palm that makes him shudder.
His cock pulses visibly under the latex, the veins standing in stark relief.
When his eyes meet mine again, they’re wild with barely leashed hunger.
“Look what you do to me. Turn me into a goddamn animal.”
He doesn’t let me respond. In one fluid motion, he flips me onto hands and knees, doggy style in front of him. He climbs onto the bed and kneels behind me. His newly sheathed hardness slaps against my lower back, and his palm lands on my ass with a sharp crack that echoes throughout the villa.
Hopefully Ysela isn’t still home.
She definitely is.
“Mine,” he rasps against my ear, fingers digging bruises into my hip. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I reply.
The thick head of his cock nudges against my soaked entrance.
“This okay?” The question’s gritted through clenched teeth.
“Define okay.”
“Amara.” His voice is pure gravel, cock pulsing against me.
“Yes,” I manage. “It’s very okay. It’s—oh god.”
He sheathes himself in one excruciatingly slow thrust, stretching me, filling me until I whimper.
His forearms cage my ribs, his chest plasters to my back.
Every inch of skin contact burns.
He sets a rhythm. Deep, relentless pulls that scrape my inner walls, then brutal snaps of his hips that make me see stars.
“You feel... divine,” he rasps against my ear. “Squeezing me like a fucking vise. Greedy little cunt.”
Coherent thought evaporates.
Only sensation remains.
The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, his cock hitting that spot inside that makes my toes curl.
“C-Corin! There! Please—”
“Hell yes. Beg.” His hand reaches around, his fingers finding my swollen clit. “Cum when I say.”
“Can’t—!”
“You can.” His other hand reaches for something on the nightstand.
I hear a soft buzzing sound, and then oh my god there’s a vibrator against my clit while he’s still inside me, and I’m going to die.
I’m going to actually die from pleasure.
“I’ve dreamt... of this,” he grunts, pounding harder. “Watching you come apart. Knowing I’m the one doing it to you.”
The vibrator is small but powerful, and he’s controlling the intensity with some kind of switch.
High setting.
I scream.
Low.
I sob.
Teasing.
Tormenting.
Building me up and backing off and building again until I’m begging.
“Please. Corin, please.”
“Not yet,” he rasps.
“I hate you.”
He laughs, and increases the vibration. “No you don’t.”
He’s right.
I don’t.
I love him.
Which is why this is so devastating.
Because he knows exactly what I need, exactly when I need it, and he’s not giving it to me until I’m completely undone.
“Ask me,” he says. “Ask me properly.”
“Let me cum!” The words come out as a whimper. “Need it... please!”
His groan is feral. “Cum. Now.”
He switches the vibrator to max and jackhammers me.
My orgasm explodes.
My vision blanks out.
I convulse, scream his name, the juices gushing. “CORIN!”
I feel my arms giving way, but he’s there to hold me up, one arm supporting my chest from behind while the other keeps the vibrator in place, drawing out the pleasure until I’m sobbing.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl. Let go.”
Somewhere in the middle of my orgasm I hear him groan.
“Amara...” He pistons once, twice, before his hips stutter.
Hot pulses throb inside me as he empties himself into the condom, following me over.
Finally we collapse together onto the bed, both breathing hard.
After a moment, he carefully withdraws, ties off the condom, and disposes of it in the en suite bathroom. Then he’s back, pulling me into his arms on the bed.
“Man...” I begin.
“Was it good?” he asks uncertainly.
I lift my head to stare at him. “Good? Corin, you just rewired my brain. I saw God. Maybe several gods. There was a whole pantheon situation happening.”
He grins, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Good.”
“Also, where did that vibrator come from?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve had it for a while. Been waiting for the right moment.”
“You’ve been walking around with a sex toy in your leather card case all this time?” I press.
He laughs. “No. The toy was in the nightstand.”
I grin. “Why do I find that kind of hot?”
He kisses my forehead. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” I snuggle closer, my brain still fuzzy. “Although for the record, I’m going to need three business days to recover from that.”
“Noted. Want some water?”
I look at him, give him a quick peck on his left eyebrow scar. “Please.”
He gets up, returns with two bottles of water and a small jar. I watch as he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Taking care of you.” He opens the jar, scoops out some kind of balm. “You have marks. From earlier.”
I look down and realize he’s right. There are faint red lines on the juncture between my neck and shoulder. I don’t even remember—
Oh.
Right.
The mirrored smart glass. He bit me. Claimed me. I’d been so lost in the moment it hadn’t even registered.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, gently massaging the balm into my skin.
“No. I didn’t even notice.”
“I noticed.” He finishes. “I always notice.”
Something about the tenderness in his voice makes my chest tight. “Corin.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For staying. For not running.”
He looks up, meets my eyes. “Thank you for letting me. Thank you for not running as well. Thank you for staying after New Year’s Eve. Thank you for the second chance.”
We stay like that for a moment, just looking at each other, and I can’t believe I almost walked away from this. From the man who uses balm on my shoulders and lets me see his vulnerability and fights for me when I’m too scared to fight for myself.
Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare cry right now.
Too late.
I feel the tears pooling.
“Hey.” He sets the balm aside, cups my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I laugh, wiping at my eyes. “I’m just really happy. And that’s terrifying. Because what if it all falls apart again? What if Xavier wins? What if—”
“Amara.” He kisses me, soft and slow. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“You keep saying that,” I point out.
“Because it’s true. And because you need to keep hearing it.” He pulls me closer, settling us both back against the pillows. “Now stop worrying about everything and let me hold you.”
“I’m a lawyer,” I remind him. “Worrying about everything is literally in my job description.”
He rests a gentle thumb on my chin. “Then consider yourself off the clock.”
I burrow into his chest, breathing in his scent. “Corin?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.” The words still feel weird coming out of my mouth.
Like I’m admitting to a crime I committed but hoped no one would notice.
It also makes me feel really vulnerable, because what if he doesn’t say it back this time?
What if he’s having second thoughts? What if in his post-sex clarity he’s realized I’m actually a walking disaster in disguise who—
His arms tighten around me. “I love you, too.”
Oh.
I relax completely against him.
“Say it again,” I insist, because I can never hear it enough.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and there’s so much tenderness in his eyes I can barely stand it.
“I love you, Amara Khan. I love your brain and your sarcasm and the way you annotate legal documents like you’re solving a crime.
I love that you take your coffee black and fold your arms when you’re scared and leave your sandals everywhere except where they belong. ”
“I was trying to be symbolic with the sandal thing,” I explain.
He nods, smiling. “I know. It was adorable.”
“I’m not adorable,” I insist. “I’m a competent legal professional.”
“You’re both.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my mouth.
“And I love every contradictory part of you. I love every curve that makes me forget how to think straight, every soft line that fits against me like you were designed specifically to undo me. I love the way you look in the morning light. I love these hips.” His hands slide down to touch them.
“The ones you don’t think are perfect but make me lose my mind every time you walk past me.
I love watching you move, watching you think, watching you exist.”
Oh my god.
Is this actually happening?
“I love the freckles on your shoulders and the scar on your knee from when you were seven. I love that your hair does whatever it wants in humidity. I love your hands and the way they feel on my skin. I love every single part of you that you’ve ever doubted, because those are the parts that make you real. Make you mine.”
I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.
“In summary, I love you, Amara,” he finishes.
I’m crying again, which is ridiculous. Tears of joy. “I love you, too. So much. I don’t think I ever stopped those five years ago. Ever stopped loving you.”
His breath hitches. “Amara.”
“God, I tried,” I tell him. “But you were always there. In the back of my mind. In every case I took. Every decision I made. I kept asking myself what you would do, and then I’d get angry because I wasn’t supposed to care anymore.”
I look up at him, my vision a blurry mess. I don’t know what I expect him to say.
“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, either,” he says simply. “Not for a single day. When you came back, I was conflicted, couldn’t understand why I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But then it slowly dawned on me. You were always there, too.
“Every time I reviewed a contract, I’d imagine you picking it apart, finding the loopholes I’d missed.
When I built the transparency programs at the foundation, I kept thinking about what you’d say, whether it would be enough to meet your standards.
And moving to Eleuthera wasn’t just about exile or penance or even PR.
“It was about trying to become the kind of man you could respect again. The islanders, the clinic, all of it. I kept asking myself if this would matter to you. Just in case someday I’d see you again.
And then when you showed up on New Year’s Eve, basically dropping into my lap, I couldn’t believe it.
Here was the second chance I was waiting for.
But I just didn’t know it. I suppose a part of me did, though.
Otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now. ”
I smile brightly. “Oh Corin.”
I have no more tears or words left.
We kiss then, slow and deep and tasting salty from my tears. It’s not desperate or urgent. It’s something that feels more like... a promise.
When we finally pull apart, I’m smiling through the tears. “So. We’re really doing this.”
“We’re really doing this,” he echoes.
“No more running.”
“No more running” he agrees. “For either of us.”
I settle back against his chest and listen to his heartbeat.
For the first time in five years I feel like I can breathe.