Forbidden (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 1) (8 page)

His eyes drifted shut, as he wondered if—over the course of knowing her—it wasn't just Afia who was changing.

***

There wasn't anywhere she could go to escape the heat. Afia tossed and turned in her bed, knowing it wasn't the temperature of the house that was making it hard for her to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. He was right next door, so close she could almost believe she could smell him. After the day they had spent together, she couldn't ask for a more interesting and fun time. Well, she could...and that was the problem.

Afia sat up with a sigh. She glanced at the clock. It was only nine. They stayed up much later than that most nights talking on the phone. She eased out of the bed and tiptoed out into the hall in case he was already sleeping. Pressing her ear to his door, she listened for snores, but she didn't hear any, and she knocked tentatively.

"Yeah," came Sam's laconic response.

Afia took a deep breath and turned the knob. The door swung open to reveal Sam's room. Thick beige carpet covered the floor, and the walls were painted light brown. He sat on top of his bed in a t-shirt and lounge pants, reading glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. Sam looked up expectantly. "Did you need something?" he asked, putting the glasses aside.

She moved deeper into the room, smiling sheepishly. "Company," she answered.

He chuckled and set aside his e-reader, beckoning to Afia who casually climbed into his bed like it wasn't the first time in her entire life she had climbed into the bed of a male who wasn't a family member. He hid a smile at her dauntlessness. She was turning out to be quite a surprise.

It wasn't intended. Afia's hijab slid backwards enough for a lock of hair to escape. She gasped and apologized. Sam barely shook his head. "Don't hide," he found himself saying.

"I'm not hiding, I'm—"

"You don't have to show me. Just don't feel like you have to hide. Not from me." Sam's gaze was riveted to hers. Afia paused. She almost looked like she would bolt from the room, but she didn't. She stayed. She stared him in the eyes. She felt her heart, a Persian drum, pounding in her chest; her hands sweated; and her pulse quickened. There were rules. She had already broken so many, and suddenly all of them seemed pointless in the face of what she felt for the handsome American who was entirely different from any other man she had ever known. 

Afia flipped the hijab over her head, exposing for the first time her lustrous hair, the silky strands floating free on the ephemeral gust of desire. Sam lifted his hands and hesitated, fingers hovering a short distance from touching. She stared into his eyes, knowing she was supposed to say no, but Afia nodded, and he fondled her hair reverently. The tresses flowed over his palm. He pushed his fingers through and grabbed her angular face, and her head lolled back so the hair swished against her bare shoulder blades. The spaghetti strap of her camisole slipped from her shoulder as if to incite further flames.

His fiery gaze followed the light down the curve of her slender neck to the shadow at the hollow of her throat as Afia gulped, gasping to breathe. She dropped her head to stare at him.  His thumb smoothed over her cheek to her mouth. Her innocent lips caught the digit and drew him inside. He sucked in a breath; she sucked the tip of his thumb. Her tongue swirled along the whirls and patterns of his fingerprint, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, a man ravaged by self-restraint.

His eyes dropped lower to the dip of her shirt, her breasts straining against the fabric. Her unbound nipples protruded, hard nubs beneath the cotton.  Her flesh was the color of honey. He licked his lips, wanting to taste her skin. He was a starving man, and she was a land of nourishment.  When Afia nervously pushed the straps further down her arms, pulled her hands through, pushed it down her slim torso, he pulled away, not trusting himself to stay in control.

With her breasts bare, the heat in the room seemed to go up instead of coming down, and boundaries were being crossed that couldn't be reclaimed. There was a war going on in her head between what was seemingly right and what her spirit understood came naturally, and her womanhood was winning out.

Between her legs flowed a fountain that couldn't be contained. The wetness made her petals slick, and her thighs clench. Seated on the edge of the bed, her legs shifted against one another restlessly, and she averted her gaze from the limpid blue eyes that tried hard not to persuade her to transgress. She knew Sam was holding back and that under normal circumstances his virility would've demanded he take instead of ask, but he was patient with her.

She wished she could be as patient with herself. With every fiber of her being, she was bursting at the seams for release. Her hands flew to his wide shoulders, dragging him to her mouth, as if she knew no other direction to take him. When he kissed her, her exhale carried prayers. His tongue was a scripture, coating her tongue with holiness. There was something exquisitely divine in the kiss. He sucked at her sweetness, sipping at her spit. His tongue arced along her pearly white teeth, rubbed the roof of her mouth. She pushed against him without anywhere else to go but deeper into the feeling. His arms encircled her trembling body, bringing her effortlessly down to the down comforter of his bed, and Sam shook his head.

Reason—cursed reason—obliged him to provide her with an escape, even as his mouth refused to tear away from hers. He whispered feverishly against her lips, "Are you certain? Are you certain?"

"Yes," came her plaintive cry.

She tore at his shirt. Her nails raked down his abs. He hissed at the pain that reminded him he was incredibly alive and lucky to be there. Sam yanked the t-shirt over his head and pressed his body atop Afia's, groans filling his throat. Her hands pushed down his muscular back, and his body felt like hot silk beneath her palms. Her spirit cried mercy. Her womanhood called him by his name. She needed, she craved, and there wasn't anything to stand between them now. Here, in this place, the only thing that mattered was how they felt about each other.

Afia knew he cared for her. It was written in the way his brows knit in confusion every time he looked at her, like she was a wonder of the world. It was in how diligently he had stood by her in the face of the obstacles they faced to be together. She understood that what she was offering to him was a confession of her own unrelenting affection. It was a sacrifice she couldn't take back, and she had to be sure. He had asked her if she was certain. A thousand times,
yes
, screamed her being.

Her curves, the dips and hollows, were places he wanted to explore, and his fingers glided across her naked chest, palming the globes of her breasts and making Afia cry out in pleasure at the rough texture of his touch. Her highly sensitized nipples hardened more beneath his fingertips. He squeezed. He kneaded the fleshy hills. His palms slid down to her ribcage, and he reached down between her legs. Again, she whimpered affirmations.

His fingers came away covered in her nectar, and Sam was lost. He couldn't stop. His mouth careened to her chin, bounced off the curve of her jaw and skated to her neck. He sucked at her jugular, and her pulse leapt beneath his tongue, and he bit into the softness. His nostrils filled with her jasmine perfume. His eyes squinched tighter shut. His hands moved to hers and shoved them above her head, and she stretched fluidly, her torso elongating like a river of perfection.

His kisses drifted lower and lower until he found the valley at her chest, and his nose flowed up to the peak. His tongue curled around her nipple.

Afia's back shot up from the bed, spine arched. The pleasure was like a gunshot. Her gasp of shock seemed to echo in the quiet room. Hands weak, she clutched at his dark hair with the curls springing from between her fingers, and she pulled. His mouth lifted but lowered again to the other side. Her legs came around his hips with wonder, her feet locked around him at the heels, and her pelvis brushed his with promise. Her heels slid down the back of his legs, hampered by their pants. His hips were a tide, rolling in and receding, each nudge pushing her closer to ecstasy. A thousand times, yes!

His knee drew up sharply against the V between her thighs, and Sam rose up to unzip his jeans.  His belt was snatched from the loops of his pants to be tossed aside like something unnecessary. He pushed the jeans down his hips, down his thighs. He rose to his feet and dropped them to the floor. Afia stared at him with eyes that had never seen a naked man, but she liked what she was seeing.

His tanned skinned covered a toned, buff physique. The muscles in his thighs bunched beneath his boxer briefs, but the area that drew the most attention was the imprint of his erection. Her fingers grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants and slowly, slowly eased them down her legs. She didn't stand. She stayed reclined and kicked the pants free of her bare feet, red toenail polish flashing rebelliously. He grabbed the sole of her foot and brought the delicate body part to his lips. His tongue flashed out and licked along the arch, and Afia trembled.

His mouth moved down her inner calf, down to her inner knee. The kisses were light as feathers and tickled, but the ticklish feeling receded to abject pleasure.  When he got to her inner thigh, she was ablaze. When his head dipped to her gateway to paradise, she opened for him. She closed her eyes. Her mouth flew wide. Her face registered alarm. His tongue darted out and traced her inner and outer labia, slipping into the crevices to make her womanhood sing. He pushed his tongue deeper and tasted what he had been craving.

Sam groaned hungrily and closed his mouth over her clit; her thighs spread wide and rested on his shoulders. His hands slipped beneath her buttocks. He dragged her flush against his mouth. His tongue swept up and down, licking as much of her as he could reach. She fell apart, crying senselessly in a language he couldn't translate but understood perfectly.

Her fingers tugged at his hair. He sucked her clitoris. His nose dove to her entrance, and he stroked her with the tip. He buried his tongue inside the hole. He knew what he was doing, knew what it take to distract her nervous thoughts from whatever pain she expected so that she would only experience the pleasure.

Sam brought his velvety pink weapon back to her most sensitive pearl and focused his attention to a swift flicker of the tip of his tongue, varying the pressure and persistence. She writhed. Her head tossed from side to side, and all that glorious brown hair flew in a frenzy about her beautiful face. Her stomach quivered so hard he put a hand just beneath her navel to hold her still. Her legs opened wider. Her hips jutted forward. She boldly rubbed her gratified womanhood in and out of his mouth until she couldn't stop what happened next. Her river transformed into a silky waterfall that splashed his lips and chin with the evidence of her climax.

Harder and harder, the pleasure tightened in her pelvis. It exploded from her core and washed her body in rainbow shades of ecstasy. Cries in a voice that sounded too ravaged by excitement to be hers filled the room, but it was her. It was Afia crying out his name. It was her drawing her thighs together around his head until he pushed up from in between and brought his steely erection to her pleased anatomy. She felt him probe but was too swamped by pleasure to do anything but receive him, and when Sam thrust hard and true into her tight virginal passage, her body swallowed him whole as if he belonged there.

Afia slumped back on the bed with sweat rolling down her face. Her dazed eyes opened sightlessly to stare at the ceiling as she felt the pleasure begin to build again. She didn't know how much more her body could take of the unfamiliar rush. Her shallow breaths panted past partially open lips. Her tongue darted out to wet them, and she closed her arms around Sam's shoulders as Sam began to slowly stroke in and out.

There was only the slightest bit of discomfort as her body accommodated him. By the time he dragged out for the third time and pushed back inside, she was wet with readiness. Her legs encircled his hips yet again. Her hips rose and fell, understanding more of the dance than her mind did, and she followed the instinctive movements. Where they connected at the hips sent up sparks from the fire. The thrill made her eyelids flutter, as she moaned and gasped his name again as the tempo increased.

There was only so much holding back that Sam could do. When her vagina tightened around him like a silken fist, he grunted and eased out of her hold. He held himself in shaking hands and tapped his thick member against her swollen clit.  He bowed his head and tamped down on his excitement. He had waited so long. He had wanted so long.

He rushed back inside of her with a growl of enjoyment, plunging into her wetness eagerly. His hips rocked back and forth, knees braced against the mattress, knuckles holding his weight aloft. She clung to him. He found himself slipping lower and lower into her embrace. He planted his forehead to the side of her neck and curved his spine to dip deeper into her sacrifice. The way she said his name made him whole.