Grasping her hips with both hands, he pulled her down and forward until he gorged her very womb.
'I did not know a woman was this small,' he gritted.
'I…' Megan desperately tried to compose her thoughts when all she could think about was the long, hard, thick, rubber-sheathed flesh that impaled her very heart. 'You are penetrating me very deeply.'
Hot, almond-scented air gusted against her cheek. 'Does it cause you pain?'
'No.'
But it sounded as if he suffered.
She had forgotten how physically close a man and a woman were in conjugal intercourse. Or perhaps she had never really known.
Her breasts molded his chest; her thighs saddled his hips; her groin locked with his groin.
One breath.
One body.
One heartbeat.
'I have never…' Her internal muscles convulsively clenched around him. 'I cannot… move. I do not understand how it can be done in this position.'
'Grind your pelvis against mine.'
He ground her body down onto his. At the same time he thrust his pelvis up.
He gasped.
She gasped.
The surge of heat that shot through her was far more agonizing than pain. Far more intense than pleasure.
Her nether lips were flattened against smooth skin-he had no pubic hair. The hardened bud of her femininity rubbed bare, naked flesh.
Megan impulsively spanned the short inches that separated their mouths and kissed him.
Lips closed. Eyes open.
He froze.
His lips were dry. Firm. Softer than a sigh.
The heat radiating through her pelvis leaped to her mouth, her breasts that stabbed his muscled, hairless chest, and bolted back down to her vagina that milked his rubber-sheathed manhood.
She jerked back, breathing hard.
'I have never kissed a woman,' he said stiffly. He, too, breathed hard.
'Did you like it?' she asked, feeling invaded, feeling vulnerable, feeling as if she were far younger than a woman her age had a right to feel.
'Yes,' he said shortly.
Megan was not deterred by his shortness.
Releasing his shoulders, she cupped his face in her hands- his skin felt as if it had been freshly shaved-and deliberately pressed her mouth to his.
His lips clung to hers. And then they possessed hers.
Shocked pleasure washed over her.
He was-probing the seam of her lips with his tongue. As if he wanted her to open her mouth.
Megan opened her mouth.
He touched the tip of his tongue to hers, simultaneously piercing both her upper lips and her nether lips.
A wave of heat ripped through her.
Megan climaxed, mouth sucking in his breath, vagina drawing on his manhood.
When she moved to jerk away, to escape the unexpected jolt of sensation, Muhamed grabbed her by the back of her head and held her in position. A sharp hairpin jabbed her scalp, a distant pain.
He licked her as if he could taste her pleasure, underneath her tongue, the roof of her mouth.
Light exploded inside her head.
Gripping her behind with his left hand, he ground her against him, making her ride out her peak of enjoyment until she could not distinguish between pain and pleasure, or even between an Arab man and an Englishwoman.
She tore his mouth away and rested her cheek against the hot slipperiness of his. Gasping. Still spasming.
'
Without warning, Muhamed stood up in a crouch, taking
Megan with him. The motion drove him deeper inside her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Then he turned, and he was slipping out of her, and she was falling…
The bed creaked and groaned. Coarse wool bit into her buttocks; her head sank into a pillow, unmercifully driving hairpins into her scalp. Megan blindly clutched-with her hands, her knees, and then she had him. Muhamed's hips sank between her thighs; at the same time he surged hard and deep inside her.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The creaking of the bed matched the rasp of his breath in her ear. Their bodies were slick with perspiration. For a terrifying moment she could not tell who possessed whom.
She arched her hips, demanding more.
He gave her more.
A series of feminine cries randomly penetrated her consciousness: 'Oh.' 'Please.' 'Oh, God.' 'Love me.' 'Harder.' 'Love me harder.' 'Oh, please.' 'Don't stop.' 'Please don't stop.'
Muhamed gave Megan her third orgasm. Her forth orgasm. Her fifth orgasm. When he gave her a sixth orgasm, he gasped words she did not recognize. 'Allah.
She dimly realized that it was not all sweat that dripped down Muhamed's face and splattered onto hers; his tears mingled with their combined perspiration. When he bonelessly collapsed on top of her, she held him as tightly as she could- as tightly as she wished she had been held twenty-two years earlier when she had cried in the night.
Chapter Three
The smell of Megan's sex permeated the air: it was more potent than the most expensive perfume.
Light filtered through the drape covering the window, turning faded cloth to luminescent green. Beside him, dark hair threaded with silver peaked out from underneath the covers.
His lips burned in memory of her kiss; his body burned from the contact of hers, shoulder to ankle.
A long, thick braid snaked across his pillow; metal pins glinted in the dim light. Her hair had been secured on top of her head when she straddled his lap; it had come undone during the night.
He thought of the discomfort she must have experienced, sleeping on sharp pins. He thought of the tightness of her vulva, clasping his sheathed verge.
His chest constricted in memory.
She had kissed him, this woman whom he had accused of being too old to be a whore.
She had cradled his head, while he learned the taste a,nd texture of her breast.
She had shared with him the miracle of a man and a woman's joining.
Mingled wonder and shame coursed through him.
He had never felt more like a man than when he had been buried inside her body. He had never felt more vulnerable than when confessing four decades of fear: that he could never please a woman; that no woman could ever please him.
In the end, it had been she who had taken his life in her hands.
Megan's leg rode his upper thigh; her head was pillowed on his shoulder. Flyaway hair snagged his chin.
