Chapter Forty-One
Elio
Zahra Faizan’s body was equivalent to a serum created to ignite a strong dose of fever into a healthy body.
Warm, soft, and ready, this woman was mine for the taking. She was mine to own and claim tonight and as many nights as I saw fit. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d signed away a lot the moment she agreed to my rule break.
My addictions had always been centered on want, and at first, I wanted Zahra—to be close to her, to hear her speak to me—but now, the need to touch her played with my reasoning.
She had me daring myself to act without thinking.
To be careless. I had never been careless, but she made carelessness seem like the new carefulness.
I was blinded, and I was aware that my indifference towards this was reckless; but this, this moment, here and now, was worth every risk of recklessness.
Her eyes were as bright as my desperation. Her brows, shaped to perfection, had me admiring the smooth sweep of the hair lining them. An uncertain smile tugged at her lips. “You … like me,” she stated.
“Have my actions or my words shown anything otherwise?”
She chortled. “You having a fantasy of slitting my throat doesn’t exactly spell out how much you like me, sir.”
Sir.
I had been addressed that way often, but it had never made me feel so … desperate.
“I like it,” I stated, watching her face go from smug to interested.
She raised a brow. “Like what?”
“Sir. I like how you say it.”
She raised her hand, her fingers disappearing into my hair, the feeling as exhilarating as the first time she performed that very action. “And I like how transparent you are with your emotions. It’s new. Men are always—”
I shook my head. “I don’t care about what men always do. I feel it; I say it. Like I once told you, beating around the bush is for children.”
She smiled, eyes softening, fingers caressing my scalp. “The world would be chaos if everyone had the same reasoning as you.”
“I know.” I leaned close to her until my nose was buried in the crook of her neck, my tongue strutting out to lick her warm skin before my lips sucked on the tender spot.
I felt her body arch slightly from the bed, shuddering breath leaving her parted lips.
Pride filled me. “I’m mostly this way because I crave the chaos,” I muttered before moving higher, my tongue exploring before I left a bruise.
There was an aching strain against my briefs, bringing the annoying realization that I still had my slacks on. But I loved the pleasuring pain created from the anticipation of making her moan and writhe beneath and atop me, making her brand this moment to memory for as long as she breathed.
“You keep leaving hickeys like that, some people might put two and two together,” she said, voice breathy.
“Their funerals if they have enough courage to voice their suspicion,” I mumbled as my hand brushed the side of her thigh, up to the curves of her hip, and then settled on her waist, her nightgown creasing and lifting, exposing skin, and fueling my addiction.
I loved the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the little breaths that kept escaping her lips, the soft tugs she gave my hair when my lips traveled down her neck to her collarbone while my hand fisted the hem of her dress, pushing it up until her bare chest was left on full display for me.
I allowed my eyes to trail down her body, wondering how the fuck I had seen her for the first time and had zero attraction towards her.
Something changed. Maybe it was her smart mouth or those freckles scattered here and there on her skin, some covering scars, some forming constellations, some just being alone, waiting for a lover’s kiss.
Her body was meant to be worshipped—a religion to remain unseen to all but me.
The red thong she wore was begging to be carelessly handled and ripped apart by me, but a light glint of metal drew my attention to her perky nipples, and my need to rip off her underwear was halted when I wrapped my lips around one pierced nipple.
The metallic taste condemned me to a subject that answered silent commands from her moans of pleasure.
I fucking loved the sounds she was making; they did unsanctified things to me.
My tongue swirled around the metal, sucking and drawing out a moan and a tug of my hair from her. My other hand moved from holding her gown to cupping her other breast, my thumb teasing her nipple as she held the dress up.
I gave her nipple a punishing suck, and she hissed after I released her. I watched her lust-filled eyes regard me with flimsy malice.
“Motherfucker.” She cursed me.
I squinted. “That’s a far cry from sir or Dad.”
“It’s not a far cry from asshole.”
My gaze moved to her shoulder, settling on the scar from my bullet on her skin. “That’s a fine-looking scar,” I reminded her.
“I’ll be sure to return the favor in the near future.”
“I like the way you keep making me look forward to the future.”
Before she could comment, I kissed the underside of her breast, feeling the fast beating of her heart as I pressed heated but feather-light kisses down her stomach. The moment I heard the hitch of her breath and felt the flex of her stomach when my lips explored, my hand traveled ahead of my mouth.
Softly, I traced my finger along the hemline of the thong. I licked and pressed my lips into every contour of her stomach.
An overwhelming desire bellowed through me. I couldn’t stop my hand from disappearing between her legs, touching her soft heat that begged for attention, attention that I was eager to give … then take away … and then give.
You wouldn’t blame me; I was curious to know what other names she would call me aside from “motherfucker” and “asshole.”
My fingers took time to explore her waist before they trailed down to her middle, cupping her soaked underwear, while my lips kissed down her navel and to the line of the red material covering her from me.
I lifted myself a little, reaching to pull it off her, and she helped, rising as I dragged the thong down her legs and threw it to a corner.
Zahra was quick to take off her robe and then the nightdress. “You really love being naked,” I observed.
“And you have too many clothes on.”
I went above her again, my eyes soaking in the brownish bruise on her neck, before dragging my gaze back to hers. “Would you love to see my tattoos while we do this?”
She smiled. “I don’t have a problem with your tattoos.”
“You don’t?” I asked. “The first time Casmiro saw them, he screamed like a girl. And don’t think I didn’t see the disdain in your eyes when you first saw them.”
“I didn’t know what they meant,” she said, her hand raising to stroke my cheek. “Now that I do, I want to study every stroke, every ink; I want to see it through your eyes, and aside from the tattoos, you have a good physique. Who wouldn’t want to see that?”
“Grace. She hated it.”
The immediate frown that touched her brows had me wondering what I had said wrong, but it was gone as soon as it came, replaced by a more sadistic smile as she rose a little on one elbow, cupped my chin, looking straight into my eyes.
“Never speak of another woman when I’m naked and beneath you.
My rule.” She smiled, tilting her head and tugging me down to her, our lips nearly touching. “Is that clear … sir?”
My cock hardened at the domineering tone of her voice, and I felt the urge to take control but, at the same time, let her have it so she could wield the knife and stir this.
My knees drew up, separating her legs as I responded, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.”
“Hm.” My palm pressed flat on her stomach, pushing her back down gently. “Now relax.”
Her teeth clamped on her bottom lip. “Why? You wanna take care of me?”
“Whatever gave you that notion?”
This time, the frown that touched her brows was plagued with confusion, which I reveled in as my hand traveled down her stomach to the wetness between her legs.
I rubbed slowly at her swollen clit, wet and fucking soft to the touch; I knew for a fact that I could play with her all day if for nothing but to feel her softness on the pads of my fingers and to hear her breathy moans now erupting with a lust-filled voice.
If my mind had a face, it would be grinning right now.
I tapped her clit, and she gasped, eyes widening in surprise at the impact. I could only begin to imagine the pain and pleasure she got from that action.
My gaze locked with hers, dropping to those lips, the bottom one swollen and red due to how hard she had bitten it. I wanted to suck it, kiss her, and feel her tongue against mine.
I moved to stroke between her slit, spreading her wetness all around her core, basking in the way her thighs shook. I allowed my mind to drift off to how wonderful it had felt to kiss her, how intimate and connected I had felt to another person.
The moment that sealed the deal for me.
The moment she ruined afterward.
I massaged the pulsing bud of her clit, earning small moans and whimpers from her, teasing and making her squirm in waiting to be filled up. I slipped a finger into her, and her walls immediately stuck to my finger, tight and pulsing.
“Fuck,” she let out, her head pressing further into the pillow, eyes almost shut but still in a heated daze, looking at me while my finger worked its way inside her, curling and freeing, searching, seeking, and finding. She felt so good.
I pushed in another finger, and she lifted her hips, her hand fisting my shirt around my shoulder, her walls clamping to my fingers immediately.
This woman was naked before me, and I was still thinking of the next opportunity I would get to fuck her. It felt like the first time all over again.
I hated how my body had never longed for anyone as much as it did for her. It made it seem like a first. I already had so many firsts with her. Things might not end well if we kept going at this pace.