Modern Romance May 2017 Books 5 – 8. Louise Fuller

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      She went to push it away at one point for he made her want to scream, but instead Gabi clenched her jaw. He spoke in Arabic and his words, though not understood, matched her urgent desire.

      He was passionate, sensual and far from cold as he coached her those final steps home.

      ‘Come,’ he told her, licking his lips, and she felt that if she did not then his lips would ensure that she did. Gabi succumbed to the pleasure, simply letting go.

      She was tight around his fingers as her thighs clamped and her bottom lifted. Watching her pleasure was intense for Alim, and he fought his urgent need to take her.

      Alim too was breathless as she lay there, temporarily sated, her hand over her mound.

      She had not lied as others had, for there was blood on his fingers as he removed them.

      Now they would retreat to the bedroom, yet still his hand roamed her thighs. Unwittingly, Gabi parted them for him, her mouth awaiting his kiss.

      He fought with temptation and lost.

      A little way, he decided, because he ached for her.

      ‘It’s going to hurt,’ Gabi said, torn between fear and desire.

      ‘A little,’ he accepted, but despite his size her wetness eased him in.

      It was nothing like her imaginings.

      In her dreams it was a seamless, tender dance as he gently took her while telling her he loved her. In reality it was the tearing of flesh and the rising of pain as he inched into her.

      Gabi found that she preferred the latter.

      ‘Gabi...’

      He had sworn just a little way in, but the grip was too inviting, the scent of sex urged him on and he thrust in deeply.

      She sobbed, loudly, and he cursed his lack of care. Alim stilled. It took a moment for her to acclimatise, to regroup, and then she begged him to do it again.

      Alim obliged.

      Over and over.

      They rolled and they kissed, they dragged from each other pleasure beyond imagining, and she, the virgin, pushed him to extremes, for he fought hard not to come.

      His life, his identity, even his seed was always protected.

      Yet his abdomen was tight and he was lifting.

      He did not withdraw and she did not resist. Instead, she coiled her legs tighter around his loins, and this time, when Gabi came, it was around his thick length.

      He felt the throb of her demand.

      ‘Alim...’ Her voice told him now, in fact it pleaded, and Alim bade farewell to restraint and rained deep into her.

      The rush of his release and the moan he made procured a tiny cry from Gabi that abruptly died, for she was back to his mouth, being consumed by his kiss and a slave to their bliss.

      They lay there a while, until both the room and their bodies were cool. But the fires of passion had not dimmed.

      ‘Bed,’ Alim said, and he stood and helped her up.

      For still it beckoned.

       CHAPTER SIX

      ALIM HAD ALWAYS been careful.

      Always!

      Until now.

      There was nothing about this night that compared with others, for they made love again and then, instead of sleeping, lay in his bed, talking, thirstily drinking iced sparkling water.

      It was refreshing.

      Even mistakes were forgiven.

      ‘Tomorrow I shall arrange for a doctor to see you,’ he told Gabi as they discussed the morning-after pill.

      ‘I’ll sort it,’ Gabi said, for she was not seeing a doctor here!

      ‘I apologise,’ he told her.

      ‘Please don’t.’

      She would not change it, or, if she could, Gabi would only have been better prepared and been on the Pill, but nothing could have forewarned her that on this night her dreams would come true.

      She had craved Alim from a distance for years. Now he was here and it was better even than she had dreamt.

      Gabi might be inexperienced but she knew enough about Alim to be surprised by their ease in conversation afterwards.

      She had known that he would be a brilliant lover; the surprise was that afterwards she felt like she was lying with a friend, for they chatted.

      And she had never imagined that might happen with Alim.

      Yet they spoke about their lack of thought earlier and made plans to remedy it later that day.

      ‘I will sort it,’ she told him. ‘Believe me, I have no intention of ending up like—’ She halted.

      ‘Like who?’

      ‘My mother,’ Gabi said. ‘I don’t mean that I don’t want to be like her, I mean I don’t want to resent...’

      Whatever way she said it made it sound wrong.

      ‘Tell me,’ Alim said, just as he had when they had spoken outside the ballroom, only this time she was wrapped in his arms.

      ‘I was an accident,’ Gabi explained. ‘One she still pays for to this day.’

      ‘Surely not,’ Alim said. ‘What about your father?’

      ‘I don’t know who he is.’ Gabi admitted. ‘It doesn’t matter, I don’t need to know...’

      But she did.

      Often, the need to know was so acute that she could not bear it, yet she played it down as she always had.

      ‘My mother had been accepted to study at university but had to give it up to raise me.’

      ‘It is not your fault that she did not follow her dreams.’

      ‘It feels like it,’ Gabi admitted. ‘If she hadn’t had me...’

      ‘Then she would have found another excuse.’

      ‘That’s harsh,’ Gabi said.

      ‘Perhaps,’ Alim conceded, and he smiled as she looked at him.

      ‘Are you always so direct?’

      ‘Always.’

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