Free Double Down by Gabra Zackman Page B

well. She was pressed up against the door, her hands on the shelves as she moaned his name. Pushing her legs as far apart as he could within the constraints of the space, he slid some towels out of the way, giving them a bit more room, and fell to his knees before her. He moved to the center of her with abandon, devouring every inch.
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    Tyka was pressed up against the door, Mahmoud’s face between her legs. The pleasure was nearly unbearable, all the tension of the past few days streaming out of her down her thighs. She fisted his hair in her hands and softly moaned his name over and over and over again. She could hear the sounds of something frying in the kitchen, smelled oil and garlic, heard the jazz playing loudly through the house. This experience with Mahmoud was so different from the few they’d had thus far; the way he was touching her, the way he’d looked at her, it was all so very sensual, so passionate, so deeply from the heart. It turned her on and scared her in equal measure.
    But it was this—the way his tongue, his lips, his hands were touching her now—that was leaving her without the capacity to think. She was losing control, losing her ability to stand upright, losing any sense of time or place. He was lavishing every part of her center with his tongue, his lips, devouring every piece of her, like he was in the desert dying of thirst and she was his oasis. She’d never had a man want her quite like this, inhale her body so completely, and it was driving her wild. As his tongue continued to explore, his lips teased, his teeth gently scored her most sensitive places. He slid a finger inside her, coordinating his explorations and driving her to the peak of ecstasy. Suddenly, when she thought she couldn’t possibly take any more, he inserted a second finger and worked her into a shattering orgasm. She had to bite her tongue not to scream out; instead she pushed his face farther into her, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and thrust against him over and over again. When he stood back up to face her, she could see the look of desire hot in his eyes.
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    Mahmoud was so turned on he could barely catch his breath. The way Tyka had surrendered to him, how she had let herself go and finally allowed him to take care of her, drove him to the brink. They’d had great sex before, but it was all physical chemistry; now there was a connection he hadn’t known existed. He could feel himself straining against his pants and stood up, kissing her deeply as he freed himself. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his face close; they shared another kiss, this time deeper, more passionate, filled with surrender and challenge. She pulled her pants all the way off and wrapped her legs around him. Her thighs were slick around his own, and it didn’t take much to guide himself into the hot, sweet center of her, which he felt tighten and pulse around him.
    Their lips met again, and she whispered against him, “Take me, Mahmoud. I’m yours.” Their low moans intertwined as he slowly thrust into and out of her, pressing her softly against the door, keeping an ear tuned toward the kitchen. He could feel that they were both attuned to their mark as well as to each other; they spoke in a silent language that felt newly coined and all their own. Gently and passionately Mahmoud brought them both to climax. They continued to kiss afterward, still wrapped around each other, still tangled in their clothes. This kiss was still different; now Mahmoud thought he felt a whole new level of surrender, of engagement, of vulnerability. It made him want more and more and more of what this woman had to offer. He was lost in her now, lost . She was all he wanted.
    Suddenly the music turned off, and they could hear footsteps coming their way. Perhaps Birdsong had finished eating, or was taking his meal upstairs. Regardless, they stopped what they were doing and stayed