Chapter Seven #2
A slow build formed in my stomach, and I wanted to drag this out.
I didn’t want to come, but it was apparent he had something different in mind because his lips covered a nipple, and his hand went to my clit, rubbing at the swollen bud.
At the same time, he fucked me at a pace that could be considered inhumane—and I was coming, writhing, fucking convulsing as the feeling blinded me, took my senses, and threw them out into the ocean; the orgasm could have lasted forever because while his pace slowed, his hand still worked on my clit, the silver coldness of his rings making my thighs quiver.
My trembling fingers went around his wrist to stop him from further stimulating me, but his other hand removed my hand, intertwining our fingers and pinning them to the space above my head.
“You disrespected me,” he breathed, slipping out of me.
“What?”
“Earlier tonight?” His eyes searched mine. “Sitting on another man’s lap in front of me, letting him touch you…” Two ringless fingers drove into me in a violent thrust, and my walls clamped tightly around them immediately. “In front of me.”
“K-Kareem?”
“And Vit-idiot,” he whispered against my lips, his fingers thrusting harshly in and out of me, sending overwhelming sensations to my nerve endings, my toes curling. “Kareem will be spared, but the other one…”
“Hm … fuck,” I moaned, clamping my teeth down on my bottom lip, my head pressing farther into the pillow, back arching from the bed as his fingers found my G-spot, and he made sure to hit me there with each thrust, curling around it, brushing and rubbing.
His thumb flicked my clit in pace with the thrust of his index and middle fingers, his hand squeezing mine against the mattress in a firm hold. “I will skin him alive and make it last the exact hour, minute, and second that bruise lasts on your arm.”
He pumped faster, wilder, the sloshing sound of my wetness filling up the space between us.
Dirty, so fucking dirty.
My breathing came out in a gasp of moans, my stomach clenching, my thighs twitching open and closed around his body, which he somehow used to maneuver my thighs to remain open.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I was coming, and coming and squirting all over his fingers, my thighs, his body, his forearm.
There was no biting my tongue to stop the short scream that left me as the wave took over my body, so suddenly; my other hand dug fingers into his shoulder.
I was trying to push him off and, at the same time, pull him in.
It felt so good; I didn’t want it to stop. His thumb rolled against my clit, and my hips twitched in pleasured shock.
I was coming down from my high when he removed his fingers, pressing himself down to whisper in my ear, “I like the way you come undone, querida.” He softly kissed my earlobe.
“But we’re not close to being done,” he said, and there was a wickedness to his voice that made my stomach jump.
“You touched Kareem on his chest. In front of me,” he said.
“You danced like that in front of everyone, strangers and acquaintances alike.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I managed, but didn’t recognize my own voice.
“I know…” he said, raising his body so he could look at me. “You’re free to enchant people with your charm and aura all you want, but you do not do it in front of me.”
My lips tilted upward. “Why? You get jealous?”
“Hm.” He nodded, brushing the head of his cock against the sensitive flesh of my clit; I shivered. “I find the feeling of jealousy … inconvenient.”
“De verdad?” Really?
“Sí, Zahra,” he responded, pronouncing my name with its actual traditional intonation. “On your stomach, now.”
He lifted himself, and though I was fucking done, and my thighs were weak and aching, I couldn’t do away with the excitement inside me, and I also wanted him to experience his existence shattering around him just like mine had a few minutes ago.
So I turned over, brushing my hair back from my face, getting on my knees when his hands came around the globes of my ass and up my waist as he pushed me down, one of his hands going to the back of my head, pushing it down against the pillow, not too hard, but just enough so I couldn’t move or look at him.
My heart thundered, my body buzzed, and I was anticipating. Waiting.
Both his legs came beside my knees as he supported me, relieving me of the stress of keeping myself up with half my stomach, my whole chest, and my head pressed to the bed, and my ass in the air, my back arched perfectly.
I felt him behind me, his length between my ass cheeks while his hand rubbed up and down my slit, tantalizing me, making me forget that this was the first time in a really long time that I was going into this position for any man, that this was the first time doing this of my own free will.
My hands gripped the sheets as he positioned his cock at my entrance—Fuck, I wasn’t sure I still had another orgasm in me to give, but I could feel a dull throbbing in my clit, a tiny flipping in my stomach; I was still getting wet, glistening for him, aroused by him, his grip on my hair, the hotness of his skin on my thighs.
When he slowly entered me, I pressed my eyes closed, a whimper falling from my lips as I clenched around him.
He was so damn deep inside me, so fucking thick and warm, so good; he felt so good I wanted to cry.
His hand caressed my waist before holding me firm, pulling back a bit and thrusting into me again, dragging out another moan and a grunt. His pace was fast and slow at first, his pelvis slapping against my ass, the sound making the pleasure feel erotically painful.
I wanted to come, but I knew I couldn’t. I cried out moans as his pace grew faster, his cock stretching my walls, going deep, hitting me where I always came undone, sending waves of pleasure up and down my spine, causing a small tear to fall from my eye, which fought to stay open.
His cock was like sugar, too fucking sweet to comprehend. He was too much but I couldn’t bring myself to complain because I liked it; I liked him, I liked the pleasure and the pain that he supplied me, I liked the way he handled me and owned me, I liked it too fucking much.
His grip tightened on my hair, and my nipples brushed against the mattress, a stimulation of its own making.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck…” Words like sobs were leaving my lips, and his name was falling from my tongue like water. I was pulsing, my eyes filling up, my heart racing as I felt it, another orgasm tightening my stomach, driving in a shiver.
“Zahra.” He breathed my name like he was worshipping every syllable with a moan. Drawled to show how much he loved being inside me.
I was falling deeper and deeper as his pace grew harder and faster, falling sloppy and shorter.
I knew he was close—and after four hard thrusts, hot cum coated my walls, triggering another orgasm from me, the third one tonight.
Even with his support, my thighs gave out, and my breathing became gasps; I was weak everywhere, my bones were no longer bones, and sleep clouded my vision as he slipped out of me.
I felt his lips on my neck. He turned me over, his palm running up my stomach, past the swell of my breast, and then to the side of my face as he brought his lips down to mine.
I kissed him back just as softly as he kissed me.
When we broke away, his eyes searched mine as he said softly, “Hello.”
I smiled. “Hi.”
His thumb tenderly brushed the corner of my lips. “You did very good,” he said, wiping the sides of my eyes.
“I think you broke me,” I said with a lazy but sated grin.
His thumb moved to my bottom lip, brushing softly. “A good kind of break?”
I nodded.
He smiled—or I think he did; sleep was within my reach.
He dropped to my side, but his elbow remained on the bed, propping himself up, his fist to the side of his head while his other hand came to my stomach; he dragged his knuckles slowly to the side. The softness in his touch gave me goose bumps.
When his fingers settled on a scar I knew all too well, I shut my eyes.
“Who did this?” he asked. “Someone cut you?”
“Yes, training. Vitale. I was sixteen, and it hurt like a bitch.” I chuckled softly, and his fingers trailed to another one; I knew what it looked like, a small round scar from a burn. It mainly looked like my skin now, but odd.
“What about this?”
“Fifteen, the man I was sold to … I didn’t really last long as a sex worker before I was sold … roughly two years.”
“How did it happen?”
I kept my eyes closed. “He only arrived on certain nights—mostly he would just want me to blow him; he didn’t have sex with me—well, until that night …
When he was done, he lit a cigarette, asked me to stay there while he blew it into my face for some sick reason, and then he pressed the lit end to my skin and said it was a mistake, he’d thought he kept the ashtray somewhere close. I only winced, even though it burned.”
“And this man, what was his name?”
I managed a shrug. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Manuel killed him the day he rescued me.” I sighed. “It was my first time seeing a massacre of that magnitude.”
Elio’s hand brushed the surface of my skin. “Did Manuel cause any of these scars?”
A sad laugh took over me. “He would never hurt me … at least not physically. He’s mostly responsible for the emotional and mental scars no one can see …
well, except you, for some weird reason.
” I opened my eyes a little, watching him stare at me with a serene gaze.
I smiled and added, “Some weird, supernatural, gut reason.”
Elio raised a brow, going silent but still teasing my skin with his fingers; I closed my eyes, relaxing into the feeling as he spoke again, voice deep and soft.
“Do you want to know something?”
“Yeah, I can’t be the only one doing the revealing thing,” I said with a smile.
“It is not much of a revelation, just an observation.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Do you recall when you assumed I had the genes that do not exist? The serial killer ones?”
“Yup, when you proceeded to say words I’ve never heard before?”
“Hm. I figured if there were genes like that, I would have them.”
I frowned slightly but didn’t open my eyes. “Why do you think that?”
“I have peculiar thoughts on occasions when I shouldn’t have peculiar thoughts. It sometimes shocks me, and sometimes it makes me feel … more alive. Sometimes I have a strong urge to go through with them, to hurt someone because I like something about … them.”
I opened my eyes slightly, just enough to see him; his face was still relaxed, no frown, no smile, just calm.
“Like a serial killer’s victim type?” I asked.
He nodded.
I didn’t know why I asked what I asked next, but I wanted to understand what he was saying. “What would yours be?”
“Mostly women,” he stated. “With good hair. I feel like they would be my target.” His gaze met mine and held.
He didn’t say anything for a while, and I didn’t say anything either; his hand lifted, and his fingers fell into my hair, gently feeling the texture, his voice softening as he said, “Does that scare you, Zahra?”
“To be honest, yeah. A little … bit,” I answered.
He removed his hand from my hair and swallowed, and I could see that he was blocking whatever made him feel like he could reveal that to me. “That was not my intention; I won’t repeat it.”
“No, no, it’s—it’s, uh … it’s okay; I want to know what goes on in that head of yours, even though it’s weird—but as long as you haven’t—you know…”
“Killed a woman because of her hair?”
“Yeah…”
“No, I haven’t. I won’t. I will never. It’s just that sometimes the thought—comes and goes.”
I nodded. “Have you ever had that thought with me?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t like your hair at first. But your friend, though…”
“Milk?”
“Hm. She has beautiful hair.”
I didn’t know why I laughed. “Noted; I’ll ask her to stay away from you.”
His hand fell to my stomach again, rubbing with the pad of his fingers and grazing with his knuckles. “You do not have to do that; I won’t hurt her.”
I closed my eyes again, trying to snuggle into him. “I know. I’ll hurt you first before you think twice about it.”
And then it went comfortably quiet between us for a few minutes; I was already drifting off before he broke the silence.
“Shower?” he asked.
“Hm, no,” I mumbled.
“Hm, yes,” he countered.
I groaned in protest.
“Don’t worry, I will hold you.”
I gave a weak snort. “I can hold myself.”
“Oh yeah?”
My heart skipped a beat at how his voice dropped with those two words; I raised my head a little and peeked at him to see him hovering, lips curled slightly upward.
My head fell back on the pillow. “Fuck me, you really are something, Elio.”
“Come on.”
But my eyes were already closing; even as I was lifted from the bed a moment later and he took us to the bathroom, I still held onto him … I felt so fucking sore, and I wasn’t sure my legs were ready to start working again.
All through the process of cleaning up, with him making me brush my teeth and dry my hair, I was in a half-dazed state.
When I was back on the bed, with fresh clothes that were sizes too big for me and smelled like him, I felt like heaven was within my reach; I snuggled into the pillow with a contented smile.
He joined me without a shirt on, just sweatpants. He didn’t make a move to lie down entirely. It was as if he wasn’t planning on sleeping.
“I’m just gonna…” I started with a mumble. “I’m just gonna sleep for like … two hours … and then … I’ll go … no spending … night.”
His hand brushed my hair from my face, his warm knuckles brushing my cheek. “Want me to wake you?” he asked softly.
“Yeah … sure.”
“Okay.”
His okay sounded so far away … very far into a dark, echoing place … and I was out in seconds.