Postcards From Paris. Sarah Mayberry
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He let out a guttural growl that arched her back, pushing her breasts towards him, inviting him to take her.
And take her he did. Cupping her naked breasts, one in each hand, he touched her hardened nipples with the pads of his thumbs, starting a rhythmic circular movement that had her writhing in front of him. Then, lowering his head, he took one nipple in his mouth, his breath scorching against her as he slathered her with hot, wet saliva before moving to the puckered peak, teasing his tongue against it with a slow, drugging forcefulness.
Anna groaned, her body on fire, dampness pooling between her legs, her skinny jeans suddenly unbearably tight, horribly uncomfortable. She wanted to take them off—bizarrely she wanted Zahir to tell her to take them off. But first she needed him to attend to her other breast before she died of longing.
A ragged sigh escaped her when he did just that, his attention to her second breast no more hurried, no less glorious. Anna plunged her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to increase the pressure, to hold herself steady. She stared down, her eyes glazed, trance-like, as she watched his head rock against her, his mouth still working its incredible magic. And when he stopped, pulling away, ordering her to remove her jeans, she had no hesitation, falling over herself to stand up, undo the buttons and tug them down, cursing as they clung to her ankles and standing, first on one wobbly leg and then the other, as she pulled them inside out to get them off, ending up all but falling into Zahir’s lap.
Strong arms encircled her, adjusting her position so that he held her, straddled across him, taking a second simply to look at her, his eyes raking over her like hot coals. She was acutely aware that she was virtually naked, whereas he was still fully dressed in rugged outdoor clothes, but for some reason this only increased her rabid desire. The scratch of his rough woollen jumper against her bare skin, the graze of the zips on the pockets of his cargo pants beneath her thighs, was something else, something so thrillingly erotic, that Anna couldn’t hold back a squeak of surprise.
Zahir’s erection, the enormous, rock-hard length of it, was like a rod of steel positioned between her buttocks, pulsing against her from behind. She tried to turn, to lift herself off so that she could find the zipper of his fly, her trembling fingers longing to yank it down, to release him so that she could see for herself, feel for herself, this extraordinary phenomenon. But Zahir held her firm, his hands around her waist gripping her so tightly that she could only move where he positioned her, which was squarely down on his lap again. She squirmed provocatively against him, the only small movement she could make. But even that was not allowed, as with a low growl Zahir lifted her up, the small space between them suddenly feeling like a yawning cavern of rejection, before he adjusted his position and sat her back down on him.
‘Do not move.’ The words roared softly into her ear from behind and Anna could only nod her acceptance as she felt one hand release her waist and move round to her front, where it trailed down over her clenching stomach muscles and slipped silently under the front of her skimpy lace knickers. The shock halted her breath, setting up a tremble that she couldn’t tell whether was from inside her, or out, or both. She found herself desperately hoping that this didn’t count as moving because she couldn’t bear to disobey him now—not if it meant he was going to stop what he was doing. Gingerly tipping back her head, she rested it against the ridge of his collarbone, relieved when he seemed happy with this.
‘That’s right.’
His fingers brushed over her until they met the damp, throbbing centre of her core. Anna waited, poised on the brink of delirium, as one finger parted her sensitive folds, then slid into her with a slow but a deliberately controlled movement that shook her whole body from top to toe.
‘Open your legs.’
The voice behind her commanded and Anna obeyed, parting her thighs, amazed that she had any control over any part of herself.
‘Now, stop. Stay like that.’
It was like asking a jelly to stop wobbling, but Anna did the best she could, and with her head pressed hard back against his shoulder she screwed her eyes shut. Drawing in a breath, she waited, ready to give herself over to him completely, to do with her whatever he saw fit.
It was the most glorious, astonishing, explosion of mind-altering sensations. As his finger moved inside her, it rubbed against the swollen nub of her clitoris until he was just there, in that one spot, stroking it again and again with a pressure that could never be too much and never be enough. With the agonisingly pleasurable sensation swelling and swelling inside her, it felt as if her whole world had distilled into this moment, this momentous feeling. She would trade her entire life for the concentrated pleasure of this building ecstasy.
But trying to stay still was an impossibility. Even with the weight of Zahir’s arm diagonally across her body she couldn’t help writhing and bucking.
With his breath hot in her ear, the rock-hard swell of him beneath her buttocks, there was no way she could stop her legs from parting further, her back from arching against him, her bottom from pressing down into him. And as he continued his glorious attentions the pressure built more and more until what had seemed just tantalisingly out of reach was suddenly there upon her, crashing over her, carrying her with it. And, as that wave subsided and Zahir continued to touch her, another one followed, just as intense, then another and another, until Anna thought the moment might never end and that she had left the real world for ever.
But finally his hand stilled and slowly, slowly the feelings started to subside, sending sharp twitches through her body as reminders of what she had just experienced. Anna opened her eyes to see him staring down at her.
She looked so beautiful. Never had Zahir witnessed such beauty, such wild abandonment. Removing his arm, he released her body, moving her off his lap so that he could stand up, rip off his clothes and devour her in the way that he had been so desperate to do for the past hour...for the past twenty-four hours...ever since he had first clapped eyes on her. He had told himself that he would wait until after they were married, that that would be the right thing to do. But now waiting was an impossibility. Now the right thing, the only thing, he could think of was to claim this beautiful young woman for his own. To take her now, for himself, to satisfy his immense carnal need in the only way possible. By having her beneath him and making love to her in a way that neither of them would ever, ever forget.
With his breath coming in harsh pants, his chest heaving beneath the sweater that he tugged over his head, he was down to his boxer shorts in seconds, his powerful erection straining against the black cotton fabric, swollen and painful with need. He knew Anna was watching his every move from the floor, and that only increased his fervour, fuelled the frantic craving that was coursing through him.
‘Lie down.’ He barked the order without knowing why he felt the need to be so domineering.
Primal lust roared in his ears as he watched Annalina do as she was told, stretching out on the animal-skin rug, her body so pale in the flickering light of the fire, so delicate, so desirable. Bending down beside her, he pulled the scrap of fabric that was her panties down and over her legs, screwing them into a ball in his hand. Then he removed his boxers with a forceful tug and straddled her body with his own, holding his weight above her with locked elbows on either side of her head. She seemed so fragile compared to him, so impossibly perfect, that for a moment he could only gaze down at her, the corded muscles in his arms rigidly holding him in place, defying the tremor that was rippling through the rest of his body.
‘You want this, Annalina?’ He ground out the words, suddenly needing to hear her consent before he allowed himself to take her, this most precious creature.
‘Yes.’ It was the smallest word, spoken in little more than a whisper, but it was enough. And when her hand snaked between them, tentatively feeling for his member, he closed his eyes against the ecstasy, lowering his elbows enough to reach her lips and seal their coupling with a searing kiss.
Lifting himself off her, he unscrewed his eyes to look down at her again. Her hand was circling his shaft and it was taking all of his control not to position himself and plunge right into her. His need was so great, unlike anything he had ever felt before, that his body was screaming at him just to do it, to take her