Authors: Jasinda Wilder
Wounded (27 page)
“No, please. Just wait.” Her voice is so gentle, so hesitant, so innocent.
I wait. While I wait, I kiss her. She seems to find some kind of courage, some kind of solace in my lips on her skin. I begin at her shoulder, the round arch where arm meets shoulder, and then move to her clavicle, her throat, the hollow between throat and chest. She whimpers but does not move, does not speak. I venture a risk, kiss the swell of her breast, one and then the other, then take her nipple in my mouth and tongue it erect, one and then the other.
Her arms slide around my neck while I kiss her breasts. Then I move up to kiss her lips, and her hands glide ghost-soft down my back to cup my ass.
“Look at me,” she says.
I look at her eyes. She is afraid again, but I see determination in her expression.
“Rania. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
She shakes her head. “Not to you. To me.” She caresses my ass, small, hesitant circles. “This was Sabah’s place, on her back. I want to make it mine, Rania’s. Ours. I do not want to let Sabah steal my pleasure.”
We share the silence for a long moment, and then she pulls at me, gently urging me closer. Her small, warm hands on my ass urge me into her. I pause before entrance.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes. Just…slowly. And kiss me.” She touches my lips with hers, and then says, “I need your kisses to make the memories disappear.”
This time, it’s me. I have to make this perfect, make it right.
I breathe in her scent and kiss her sweet lips. I kiss her with all the tenderness, all the bone-deep love, all the soul-shaking passion welling up in me for this woman. There is so much. I had no fucking clue I could feel this way, this much. It’s like some deep well opened up inside me, and now all the love in all the world is being poured through me into her.
She pulls at my ass, insistently now, and I adjust my weight, spread my knees slightly, and move into her. I enter her with a slowness at once excruciating and delightful, so slow it is almost not motion at all. She whimpers again, high in the back of her throat, and as I slip deeper her whimper is drawn into a moan.
Our bodies meet and her back arches as I bury myself to the hilt inside her, and now it’s my turn to groan. “God, Rania…you feel so amazing. I love being inside you.”
“Please, more,” she whispers. “More, more.”
I give her more, but slowly, gently. I try to make love to her as softly as I kiss her, not as if she’s fragile, but with tenderness. I go so slowly that each slide in, each slip out seems to take an eternity, an infinity of heaven.
She clutches my ass, pulls me against her, and I move a little faster, a little deeper. I alter the rhythm of my thrusts, a slow thrust in, a slightly faster withdrawal. She moans, gasps, and clutches me, breathing harder and harder. I feel a sheen of sweat slick across her body, mingling with my own sweat.
“Hunter,” Rania gasps, “I love this, with you. Don’t stop. It feels so good, so right. Please, give me more, a little more.”
Something about her words strikes me as unusual, and it takes me a few beats to figure out what: she used a contraction.
I don’t bother saying that I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I can only move with her, feeling her sweet, lush body slipping like yards of the softest silk beneath me, tasting her lips, her breath. God, I love her. Love her so fucking much it should be impossible, and I love her more with every breath I take, with every delve of my cock into the heaven of her pussy.
I love her more, and more, and I wonder how much I might love her in ten or twenty years. I try to imagine it, and my head spins.
Her nails claw down my back, and she whimpers, cries out, and now her legs curl around my ass and she pulls me in, and in, and in, harder and harder. It’s heaven, it’s sweet glorious perfection, angel of love made flesh, made woman, whose name is Rania.
Her breasts are crushed against my chest, firm but giving, and her breath is on my ear, erotic moans, the soundtrack of sex, of love. Her inner muscles are clenching around me, clamping down as I drive in, releasing as I slip out, and goddamn I didn’t know a girl could do that. It feels like her pussy is grabbing me and letting go, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking felt.
I slip my arms beneath her neck and kiss into her oblivion, into breathless abandon; I kiss her until she’s gasping for breath and bucking into me, flung by passion into wildness. She’s an animal suddenly, arching her back, clinging to me with her arms and legs, with her whole body, screaming my name as she comes, and I can’t hold back, can only come with her, and oh, my fucking god, it’s the most intensely purifying experience of my life, my whole body is plunged into fire, into ecstasy.
“Rania…” I gasp her name.
It’s the only word I know, in that moment. All I know is her. Her name. Her body, her love. Nothing else has ever existed.
The war, the goddamned awful memories, the death, Lani’s betrayal…it all is vanished, gone, subsumed in the river of Rania’s love.
She’s still holding tight to me, clinging to me like I’m a spar and she’s shipwrecked, her breath coming in long, deep, ragged gasps, breasts heaving against my side. Her palm rests low on my belly, inches away from my cock. Her leg is thrown over mine, and she traces circles on my skin with her finger, then reaches down to touch my cock, rubbing her palm along its length, toying with the tip.
We don’t speak, and she plays with me, and then I’m hard and she’s climbing astride me and riding me. She spears herself onto me and sits with me deep inside her gorgeous body, and she rises up and falls down and her long bottle-blonde hair is in her face and across her shoulders and brushing her nipples. I take her hips in my hands and lift her up, crush her down. I kiss her belly. I kiss her breasts.
I hold back, tensing, until she comes for the first time, and then I sit up and guide her legs around my back and move with her, sitting up, face to face, kissing, making out as we glide into each other, and I feel the river widen, deepen, her love filling me and making me love her yet more.
THE END
EPILOGUE
DYEING
DES MOINES, IOWA, 2005
A woman stands in front of a mirror fogged with steam. She has a robin’s-egg-blue towel wrapped around her chest. She wipes a streak across the mirror with a slim palm, cleaning a swath in which to see her reflection. She smiles, a sweet curving of red lips. She unwraps the towel and cleans the mirror the rest of the way.
She smiles at her reflection again, her expression surprised, almost as if seeing someone familiar, someone not seen in many years. She drags her fingers through her hair, cut to brush the tops of her shoulders.
A man enters the bathroom, murmuring in appreciation of her naked body. He slides his hands down her sides to her hips, then over her slightly rounded belly and up to her breasts, which he cups in tender hands.
He rests his chin on her shoulder and takes in her reflection with her. He lifts a hand to run a tendril of her freshly dyed ink-black hair through his fingers. “I love it, Rania,” he says.
“You do?” She turns to look at him, kisses his nose.
“Yes, I do. I really, really love it. It looks so perfect. So you.”
“So I didn’t look like me, before I dyed my hair?” Her voice holds a note of teasing.
The man just snorts. “You know what I meant.”
She laughs. “Yes, my love. I just enjoy teasing you.”
He chuckles with her, then moves his hand from her breast down between her thighs.
She smacks his hand away. “We don’t have time for that, Hunter. We have to be at the doctor in half an hour. Or don’t you wish to know if our baby is a boy or girl?”
He backs away, but not before giving her backside a playful smack. “Well, then, you’d best get moving, shouldn’t you?”
She snorts, turning to slap his arm as he dances out of the way. When he is gone, she turns to look at herself again, running her fingers through her hair. Her expression is distant, as if seeing a young girl in the mirror, young and innocent.
The woman shakes her head, and the girl is gone, replaced by her own face once more.
But for weeks afterward, she sometimes sees that little girl in the mirror, sees her in the flash of hair so black it is almost blue, in the wide, dark brown eyes that now hold love, happiness, and completion.
Jasinda Wilder
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