Chapter Seven
Zahra
I am in trouble.
Elio was kissing me, and my limbs, my fight, all my fucking resolve had melted with that single buzzing connection. I was standing, but it didn’t feel like I was standing; my brain cells felt nonexistent, my bones were no longer erect, and breathing … what even is that?
Was I breathing before he pressed his lips to mine?
When was the last time I was conscious? Where the fuck am I?
I felt his hand come up to hold the side of my face—gently—as if he was afraid he would break me—and then, he pulled away, and I couldn’t see; I could breathe air back into my lungs, even with how rapidly my heart was racing, but for some reason, I couldn’t see—
Oh, wait.
I opened my eyes, catching the intense gray of his stare, now dark and filled with so much emotion that it had my stomach flipping without warning, watching me like I was his most prized possession—like I was the reason for his existence.
I might be exaggerating it, but goddamn, if that wasn’t the message his eyes sent, I didn’t know what it was. It was too much for me to handle; it was contagious—so contagious that I wanted to push him away and bolt out of this room, off of this cruise ship, out of fucking Mexico.
But my feet were pinned to the ground, my heart was beating in the same rhythm as his, my body was warm all over, and I was a fucking goner.
If my disgusting behavior with texting him didn’t show me how bad I had it for this man, this kiss just ripped the veil from my eyes.
“I vowed never to do that,” he said, his thumb stroking down my chin to the pulsing vein in my neck. “I vowed to never kiss you or anyone ever again.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“You didn’t like it the first time I did it.”
That was enough to bring a frown to my face. “I never said that—”
“Your actions afterward spelled it.”
Watching him carefully, I brought my hands to his firm chest, feeling his heart slam against his ribs and then my palm, so fast, so strong, so alive. I got onto my toes and snaked my arms around his shoulders and neck, my eyes searching his. “Did you lose your ability to spell?”
“I do—”
I lifted myself with a small jump, his shoulders supporting my movement as my legs went around his waist, and on reflex, his strong arms caught me in a secure grip.
“I loved it, Elio,” I confessed, my hold tightening around him. “I loved it so much it scared the hell out of me.”
His grip on my hips tightened. “You scare the hell out of me,” he whispered against my lips.
“I know”—I gulped—“this is not good.”
He nodded in agreement. “Is it bad that I want it anyway?” he asked.
My gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips. “No … because I want it too.”
There was a silent agreement between us that made me feel like I was levitating.
I wasn’t the only one feeling these all-consuming emotions; I wasn’t the only one confused by them; we were in it together, so I joined our lips, and he kissed me back, indulging me by parting his lips while my tongue found his—I knew there was no way in hell I was denying myself the bliss that seemed to come with him.
My fingers softly moved into his hair. One of his hands held me steady, and the other rubbed up my back to the back of my head, inside my hair, keeping me in place as he moved.
I didn’t look, too riled by every tingle from places our bodies brushed together, but I knew he was carrying us away from the living room.
Without breaking the kiss, he opened a door and closed it, setting me on my feet while my hands left him, and he broke away; I was removing the costume I wore until I was bare-chested, while he was pulling his shirt over his head, and within seconds he was kissing me again, his hands exploring, touching, feeling, supplying me with a feverish effect I never thought my body could produce.
His lips left mine to go to my chin, kissing down my neck. I closed my eyes at the warmth of his kisses, baring my neck for him as his hands helped me out of the thin material of the skirt, leaving the chains around my waist; while I undid his fly, his need for me was prominent against his slacks.
“You almost killed me out there.” He breathed against my ear, his voice a fever’s whisper away from sounding like he was shivering. “I have never felt so many emotions at once; it was exhilarating.”
I smiled, opening my eyes. “So it wasn’t … ‘good’?” I repeated his word from earlier.
“No. It was brilliant. I wish you could see how I feel, Zahra.” His hand fell to my waist and then over my hand on his fly as his eyes locked with mine. “Words are too little to describe it.”
While I was still lost, staring at him, he helped me by zipping down and taking off his pants before following through with his briefs and giving me a view of his thick, veiny length.
This man was perfect in every sense of the word: sexy, charming, dark …
I didn’t know I had a type until him, but would I even consider him a type?
He was a rarity, someone I was lucky enough to have this effect on.
He stepped back slowly, watching me like he was trying to soak in the view of me, like he was trying to plaster every curve, every scar, and every imperfection onto his memory.
“Go bare for me,” he rasped. “I want to see you.”
I would have never done that. Given him control. But I’ve always had it all my life; one night, letting go wouldn’t hurt to try.
I didn’t take my eyes off him when I took off my underwear, which was my last piece of clothing, save for the chains around my waist; a chill traveled down my spine as he slowly looked at me, from my calves to my thighs to my stomach, my shoulders, and my face.
I wouldn’t lie and say I wasn’t vulnerable in this moment. Everything was on display for him, every pain I’d received, every memory I had held with a tight fist, every fear I’d felt, every slap, every blow, every cut, and every burn.
But there was no judgment in his eyes; nothing changed into a negative light; he just looked at me like he always had, but this time, it carried a more profound weight, like he was reading me, affirming to himself that this body—my body—would be it for him.
Maybe I was reading him wrong or in over my head, but there was nothing unserious about this moment—and scared didn’t come close to describing how I felt; terrified was more like the word I would use.
“Come here,” he said softly. I shifted a little on my feet, and the moment I started stepping forward and into his reach, his arm curled around my waist, pulling me to his body, his cock pressing against my stomach as he took a kiss, shutting my airway, stopping my heartbeat, igniting my need.
The wetness between my legs gave way to the aching thump from my clit to torture me; my nipples were hard against his body, my piercings intensifying the painful pleasure.
A moan left my lips when he lifted me and carried me to the bed, his teeth biting my bottom lip as he laid me down, with him atop me, his cock right at my entrance; a little teasing brush of him against my slit pulled another moan from my throat, and a groan from his.
He was driving me crazy, but he was still kissing me, his tongue rubbing, lips sucking; he was taking his time, wanting us to taste alike.
His hand went down to lift my left leg while I took the liberty to lift my right, giving him enough room to rub his cock against my slit up to my clit—it felt so good my heart was about to burst out of my chest. He didn’t enter me; it was almost as if he was trying to coat his length with my wetness while he kissed me.
Sucking and licking and rubbing and teasing, building up my anticipation, leaving me a wet, needy, and moaning mess; the buildup around my clit was criminal.
The room wasn’t overly warm—the man wasn’t fucking me, but I was sweating, I was delirious, not existing as myself; he was owning me now, pushing me to the edge but not letting me go.
His lips left mine, traveling down my chin to my throat, but he didn’t stop his hips’ movement; the sound of my wetness getting familiar with his cock was setting my stomach ablaze. It was dirty, it was intimate, and I was feral with a need for him to be inside me.
“I won’t tell you you’re beautiful,” he whispered against my burning skin.
“I won’t tell you you’re perfect; you already know that.
” He licked and kissed back up my throat.
His eyes, a sexy smoky gray, filled with lust and admiration, stared at me.
“You already know that I know that,” he whispered, swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“What I will tell you, though, is that I see you, and I appreciate you sharing this part of yourself with me.” He kissed the left side of my lips.
“I will cherish it.” He moved his lips to the other side.
“Keep it.” He kissed my nose. “Adore it.” He placed a lingering kiss on my lips before breaking it and finishing, “And worship it.”
He didn’t let me digest his words before he pushed into me with a hard thrust that shoved a breath of his name from my lips.
He kissed me as he pulled out and gave another hard thrust, and my hips lifted with it, my back arching at the sensation that traveled through every vein in my body, every hair on my skin rising to attention.
Without seeing myself, I knew I was flush with need, just like the man above me, a fucking painting of pleasure.
He fucked me like he was trying to stamp in every word he had just let out of his mouth, like he wanted me to believe him. His pace increased from hard, slow paces to hard, fast paces.
I was a mess of moans, his name a chant upon my lips, his grunts and little deep moans a drive to my ego; I memorized each sound, how low his tone was—like he could barely contain himself, like he was on the brink.
The sound of his cock pumping into me was my official damnation. I would never want anything or anyone else like him or this.