He is leaning not quite against me, but close enough that I can feel his manhood nudging my hip.
“I want to touch you,” I say. “I want to make you come.”
“You will,” he whispers, his mouth around my nipple. “I promise, you will. First, just let me kiss you.”
And he does. He spends an eternity just kissing me. He kisses every inch of my body, my arms, my hands, my fingers, my knees, the soles of my feet; he rolls me to my stomach and kisses my spine, my bu**ocks, the backs of my thighs. He kisses me until I cannot bear it any longer.
I stop him, push him to his back, and strip his boxings off him. I am not sure that is the right word. Before I toss them to the floor, I hold them up.
“What is the word for this kind of underwear?” I ask. “Boxings? Something like that? I cannot think of it.”
He laughs hard. “Boxings? Oh, god, Rania. That’s funny. Boxers. They’re called boxers, sweetheart.”
I frown at him. “Are you making fun? I do not know all the right words yet.”
He takes my face in his and draws me into his embrace, still laughing. “No! No, baby. No. I’m not making fun of you. It’s just funny. I mean, ‘boxers’ is a funny word now that I think about it, but for some reason, ‘boxings’ is funnier.”
He stops laughing, and suddenly we’re gazing at each other. His eyes, the thing about him that first arrested my attention, they are impossibly blue in the light from the bathroom.
He puts his palm to my cheek. “I love you, Rania Lee.”
I gather my courage once more, and tell him what I want. “Make love to me, Hunter.”
I touch his manhood, find it hard as stone and leaking fluid from the tip, yet when I grasp him in my hand, he is softer than soft, and I love that wonderful contradiction, as I love the way he arches his body when I touch him like this. As I love his lips on me, as I love his voice when says my name.
I love him.
It is so unbelievable, even still, in this impossibly luxurious house he calls a “condo” that a man such as Hunter could love me, a whore.
But I am not, am I? He would be upset with me for thinking that. I must not think it. I am not a whore.
I am not Sabah.
I am Rania Lee, and I am Hunter’s wife.
Hunter kisses me, and I lose myself in his lips, his body hard and strong next to me. I am ready. I settle onto my back, such a familiar position, and ready myself for him. He kisses me, plants his hand next to my face, moves slowly above me.
I cannot help the panic that hits, the feeling of memory overtaking me, of so many other men moving above me. My fingers curl into claws on his shoulders and I fight it, fight so hard, but I cannot, and my breath comes in short sharp gasps. My eyes are squeezed shut tight, my knees pressed together, and Hunter is whispering in my ear, but I cannot hear him, cannot understand him.
Then, motion. Hunter’s hands are on my waist and I am rolling, lying on top of him. I bury my face in his shoulder and weep.
“I am sorry, Hunter. I—I cannot. I thought I could, but—”
He touches my lips. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think, I didn’t know it would have that effect on you. It’s fine.”
I cannot stop crying. I have let him down, and I cannot do what so much of me wants to, what I know he wants. “I am sorry, Hunter.” I move to get off the bed, to get away from him, from his disappointment.
“Hey, wait a second,” he says, and does not let me move. “Look at me.”
I lift my face, and his thumb brushes away my tears. He kisses me, and for a moment I am lost once again in the heaven of his kiss. I begin to forget myself, and grow hungry for him, kiss him desperately.
He pulls away and meets my eyes. “That’s not the only position, you know.”
“What?” I am not sure what he means at first.
“I mean…look, I’m not trying to rush you or pressure you. If you can’t, if you’re not ready, that’s totally fine—”
I shake my head. “I want to. But…that just was so frightening. There were so many things in my head and heart that I could not breathe. But I do not want to let you down.”
He takes my face and draws me close. He moves me up higher and now I am sitting on top of him, straddling his waist like he is a horse and I am a rider.
His eyes blaze. “You could never, ever let me down, Rania. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. I want this to be something you want. When you want. How you want. Only what you want. Do you understand? You can’t and won’t disappoint me. Don’t ever think that.”
“I do want this. It is confusing, Hunter. So much of me wants this, wants you. But…another part is afraid, and that part feels afraid when you are above me.”
He smiles and rubs my thighs. I sit straighter at his touch. His hands slide up my legs, closer to my core, and my desire burns hot. I can feel the liquid evidence of my need for him heating up within me, filling me.
“I don’t have to be above you,” he says.
“No?”
“No,” he whispers back, smiling.
He runs his hands up my torso, fondles my br**sts, slips his hands over my shoulders and down my back before sliding his hands beneath my bu**ocks and lifting me up. I lean forward and brace myself with my hands on his chest. My privates are hovering above his body now. He moves, shifts slightly beneath me, and then I feel the soft, thick tip of his manhood probing at my entrance, just touching, just brushing.
I gasp in a sharp, surprised breath. “Like this?
He rubs his hands in comforting circles on my back. “Just like this, my love.”
My love. The words hit me deep in my heart, spearing into the most secret places in my soul. I am his love. How can that be? How could I be worth his love?
He waits. Watches me. Hunter never does anything unless he is sure I want it. He is straining, tensed, needing me. I can feel it in him, taste it the air. I kiss him, taste his need on his lips, in his saliva, on his breath, on his tongue.
Does he feel my need? I need him. I want him. But he is not moving, just waiting, and I think he will not do this for me. I must do it.
My throat is clenching tight, so dry, and I am sweating, trembling on him. My thighs are around his hips, and his taut, muscular stomach is beneath my core, and his arms are around me, his hands on me.
“Kiss me, so I can do this,” I say.
He closes with me slowly, eyes on me until the last moment. I watch his eyes slide shut as our noses nuzzle against each other and our lips touch, and then I am lost, so sweetly lost. I reach between our bodies and grasp his manhood, guide him to my entrance and in, then pause.