When he licked the fingers that had been inside me, I nearly died of shame. The smell is embarrassing enough, but when he licked the wetness off, the moisture that I could see glinting on his fingers, that was mortifying. And now…and now he is moving as if to put his mouth on my vagina. I have heard of this, of course. Soldiers are vulgar beasts, and they tell vulgar jokes, suggest vulgar things. They suggest this very thing, but when they visit me with their greasy, folded dinars, they do not follow through. Not that I would have let them. I have to retain some sense of power if I am to survive. I dictate what they may do, and to let a man do what Hunter is about to do, that would be giving up the little vestige of power I actually have. That would be vulnerability.
Except I am letting it happen. His mouth leaves my breast and I feel his breath on my stomach, and now it is hot on my privates, burning me. I know I am panicking, truly panicking now. My breath is ragged gasps, and my heart is thundering like the hooves of a thousand horses. His fingers continue to move, and the diversion of pleasure centered powerfully on my core is enough distraction that I do not go completely mad.
And then his tongue laps at my core, and I am undone.
HUNTER
My god, she tastes so good. Her strong soft thighs rest on my shoulders, trembling like a leaf in the wind, and I can’t believe she would let me do this, but she is. Her whole body is shaking, quivering. Her breathing is panicked, each inbreath a whimper, each outbreath a moan.
This position, on my stomach, is excruciating. It’s too much weight on my healing ribs, and I can barely breathe for the agony, but nothing—nothing—matters except Rania in this moment.
She’s closer now. I swipe my tongue up her slit and she groans low in her throat, shaking her head, denying I don’t know what, and her hips lift, fall. I lap my tongue against her clit, an upward thrust with the tip of my tongue, and she gasps a shriek. I do it again and again, and each time she makes a sound so impossibly erotic that my c**k jerks and I nearly lose it again. I have to clamp down with every muscle in my body to keep from exploding right there, as if I was fourteen and a virgin again.
I lick her clit in a rhythm, and now her hips go wild, and yes, god, yes, her fingers clutch my hair. She doesn’t seem to know whether to push me against her pu**y or push me away. She settles for just tangling her fingers in my hair tightly enough that it hurts, but that pain is a mere drop in the bucket compared to the fire in my ribs, the burning in my lungs. I mean, f**k it hurts. I don’t stop, though. I’ll stop when she comes. She’s close, so close.
I want to feel her shatter around me. Her legs are clenched so hard I’m almost worried she’ll pop my head like a grape, but then she remembers on her own and lessens the pressure.
I slip my fingers beneath my chin into her pu**y, focusing my tongue on her clit in ever-faster circles, and I rub her G-spot with my fingers to match the rhythm. I take her clit into my mouth and suck on it, flicking it with my tongue like La—no, not going there, not even thinking her name—she liked it like this.
Rania screams past gritted teeth, her body arched off the ground, fingers tangled in my hair.
Yes, now…
RANIA
Oh, God, oh, Allah, oh, sweet Heaven…
I call on the Christian god, on my parent’s god. Words are ripped from my lips, actual screams. I am past feeling shame at the noises I am making. His mouth does things to my body that I cannot fathom, cannot understand, cannot bear. It is too much, too intense.
I want to shove his face away from my privates, but I cannot make myself do it, because it is too much to stop. His tongue flicks my clitoris and I nearly sob, but gasp instead. His fingers slide into me just as I begin to think it cannot feel any more impossibly intense, and I could die from the storm of fire in my belly.
How can this keep going? How can he do this? I can hear the grunt in his chest, the stubborn refusal to capitulate to the pain, and I cannot believe he is able to move at all, let alone give me such incredible pleasure.
This is a gift, I realize. I will treasure this all my life, whatever may happen once this is over.
My body is writhing like a serpent, my back undulating, my hips lifting and falling. My hands are on his head, my fingers in his hair. I am still torn between conflicting instincts to push him away and pull him closer.
When his fingers go inside me again and find that spot unerringly, I lose the fight. I clutch him, pull him wantonly, selfishly against my womanhood. Then his mouth forms a suction around my button and I scream.
The fires in my belly, the pressure, the storm, it is about to break.
He slows, just at that moment, and I moan in protest.
“Hunter…” His name comes out of my mouth, torn from me.
I tighten my fingers in his hair until I know it must hurt him, but I am past the ability to care about anything. I pull him against me, push his face deeper into me, my legs around his shoulders. It takes all my power to not crush him with my legs.
And then…
And then it happens.
“HUNTER!” I scream his name as I explode, coming apart at the seams.
Every fiber of my body is on fire and I am helpless, caught by the lightning, every muscle clenching and releasing, lights bursting behind my eyes, my hips thrusting against his mouth crazily as he sucks and licks and flicks with his tongue, driving the detonation inside me into ever more furious waves of orgasm.
I cannot sustain this and go limp, unable to move, wrung into exhaustion. Hunter stops then, when I collapse. He rests his face against my hip, and I can feel the sweat smearing on his forehead. His body trembles.
I lean forward and pull at his arms. He crawls slowly back up next to me and then crashes to his back. He is gasping; sweat is pouring from his face, and his eyes are shut tight. His hands are fisted into the blankets.
I touch his chest. “Hunter? Are you okay?”
He nods. “Fine. Just…need a minute,” he answers in English.
I can barely breathe, and I feel my eyes burning. I am still trembling, and even as I lie worrying about Hunter, an aftershock hits me, a mini-explosion rocking through me, and I curl against Hunter’s side until it abates. His arm wraps around me, pulling against him. We shake and tremble together for long minutes.
My gaze roams his body, his thick muscles slack as the pain recedes, his stomach no longer heaving with every breath. My eyes catch on his groin. I can see his manhood outlined behind the buttons of his pants. He is huge and hard. He adjusts himself with his hand, pushing at his manhood through his pants, shoving it aside, one way and then the other, as if seeking comfort that will not come.