I have never needed anything but money for food and somewhere to sleep.
Now, I need this man.
“I need you,” I whisper in Arabic. “That is why I am afraid.”
He does not answer. He sits up, swings his long, thick legs off the bed, and frames my knees with his. He puts his hand on my thigh just beneath the edge of the towel.
“I need you, too,” he says in Arabic. “And that is why I am afraid.”
The knowledge that he has the same fears I do comforts me, erodes the paralytic grip on me.
Now I can smile at him, a true smile. I am not trying to be seductive, because I know he wants me. His hands are curling around the backs of my thighs, pulling me closer. I look down at his soft, loving blue eyes and find the courage to tug the end of the towel free. His eyes widen, and he licks his lips. His hands tighten around my thighs.
I think he can hear my heart beating so hard my ribs shake.
It is done. The towel is billowing open around me, falling to the floor, and I am naked before him. There is no going back now. I could hyperventilate, but I do not. I keep breathing, forcing myself to take long, slow breaths, lift my chin, and gaze down at him.
His chin brushes my navel as he looks up at me between my br**sts. “Tell me what you want, Rania. Tell me what you want, so I can give it to you.”
I can only shake my head. “I do not…I do not know.”
“Yes, you do.”
He is right. I do know. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull his handsome, rock-chiseled face against me, against my belly. I back up a little, and his face is lower. He turns his head sideways slightly, looks at me, grins.
“Say it, Rania. I know what you want, but I want to hear you say it.”
“Why? I am embarrassed. I cannot say it.”
“Yes, you can.” His voice is soft and confident.
His lips touch my belly, hot and moist on my flesh, which pebbles with need. Between my legs I am wet and warm and trembling. I know now how his lips and tongue feel, pressed there, moving there, and oh, by Allah and Mohammed his holy prophet, I want it so badly. I feel a rush of guilt for swearing so, but then I no longer care. Blasphemy or not, I no longer believe in Allah. He did not rescue me; Hunter Lee did.
And I want Hunter’s mouth on my privates.
“I want you to kiss me…down there.” My words are whispered so low, so soft and hesitant I can barely hear myself.
Hunter hears me. His mouth touches one of my hips, the right one, tongue tickling and trailing heat. Then my thigh, the crease of skin where my leg joins to my hip. I widen my stance, legs spreading farther apart. His kisses trail down my leg, and his arms wrap around my waist so his strong hands can cup my bottom. He pulls me closer, and I gasp when his tongue laps against my entrance.
“Oh, god,” he says, “you taste so f**king good.”
I blush furiously at his words, but cannot speak my embarrassment. My back arches and my head falls back. He does not give me immediate satisfaction, but draws it out. Oh, what excruciating joy his game gives me, his tongue darting into me, lapping at my flowing juices, flicking at my sensitive little nub of nerves.
One of his powerful hands stays cupped on the half-globe of my buttock, and the other roams around, caresses my thigh next to his face, and then I am gasping again because his fingers are probing into me, moving into the soft wet folds, then farther in, curling to graze that sensitive little spot inside me.
My legs do not want to hold my weight, but Hunter’s arm curls under my bottom to hold me up, and I am gripping his hair so hard it must hurt, but he does not protest.
Fire billows inside me, centered on my hot, quivering feminine core. Oh, this feels so good. This is heaven. His fingers sweep inside me, his tongue brushes my clitoris, and then he presses his lips around me and sucks, tonguing me. I cannot stop my moaning and do not try to. I do not care who hears me. My legs continue to give out beneath me, and then I find my strength again and stand up. This turns into a rhythm as he licks me, kisses me, fingers me.
I am on the edge of the abyss again, and this time I go willingly into abandon. A storm overtakes me, sweeps me into shivering ecstasy.
Hunter pulls away at the peak of pleasure, and I look down at him in panic.
“Please, do not stop now,” I say. I am begging, and I do not care. “Please, do not stop.”
Hunter licks at me, but it is not enough to drive me over the edge. “Say something for me, baby.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to say ‘I’m going to come.’”
“Come?”
“It’s the word we use in English. It means orgasm.” He licks me again, slowly, so slowly.
I sink down almost into a crouch at the glacial slowness of his tongue against my womanhood. “Please, Hunter. I am going to come. Please, make me come.”
He growls against my folds. “Fuck. I’m gonna make you come so hard, Rania.”
He moves his fingers inside me, brushing that special spot swiftly now, and his tongue circles my clitoris and I am bowing my legs to get closer to him. I do not know when, but at some time he sank to his knees in front of me. He is on his knees in front of me. This makes me want to cry, although I do not know why.
I explode without warning. I am on the edge, wavering, closer and closer, and then I am falling against him, unable to support my weight. I am gasping, making high-pitched whining noises as he sucks and licks and flicks my clitoris, driving me into explosion after explosion.
Then I know I cannot stand any longer. “Please, Hunter, catch me. I cannot stand up anymore.”
My legs give way, and his arms are around me, under my neck and my bottom. He lifts me effortlessly. I could be held by him like this forever. So content, so safe in his arms, against his chest so I can feel his heart beating. He lays me down on the bed and leans next to me. He does nothing but look at me for a moment.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers. “Do you know that?”
I shake my head. “I know that men think—”
He cuts me off with a kiss. “Man. One man. Me. I’m all that matters. No one else can have you. You’re mine.”
I shiver at his words. “Do you promise me?”
“Yes, my love. I promise.” He kisses my jaw, then my neck, and I am still trembling from the force of my orgasm.
But he is not done with me. He kisses my shoulder, then my chest, then the underside of my breast. One of his hands is roving my body, brushing my waist and my belly and my other breast, grazing my face, then down to my leg and up my thigh.