Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
sensitised core. Anna gasped, her muscles clenching around him, holding him firm as her legs drew up, her hands clawing at his back.
‘Annalina?’
‘More, Zahir. I want more.’
‘Oh, God.’ With a primal groan, Zahir obeyed, pushing more of his length into her with a slick, hot, juddering force. He paused again as Anna’s legs clamped around him, her nails digging into his flesh.
‘All of it, Zahir. I want to feel all of you.’ She had no idea who this dominatrix was—who had taken over her body—just knew that the control was intoxicating, banishing her fears. To have a man like Zahir obeying her commands was wildly exhilarating. Mind-blowing. And the feel of him inside her was indescribably, gloriously wonderful.
With one final, punishing thrust he was there, fully inside her, firmly gripped by muscles that pulsed and contracted with ripples of ecstasy. With a whimper of abandonment, Anna lifted her head and flung her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to meet hers, plunging her fingers into the thick mass of his hair to keep him there. With their breath and saliva mingled, their bodies sealed with sweat and joined in the most carnal of ways, Zahir began to move. Slowly at first, easing his length out of her, almost to the tip, before thrusting in again. But, as Anna urged him on with rasped, pleading words of need, he took over, the control now firmly his, pumping harder and faster, his breathing heavy and harsh, as again and again he plundered her body, each thrust bringing her further and further towards the oblivion of orgasm.
‘Zahir!’ She gasped his name as the tremendous sensation built and built until she could take no more, until she was at the very brink, hanging on with an agonising ecstasy that couldn’t last any longer. ‘Please...please...’
‘Say it, Anna. What do you want?’
‘You, Zahir.’ Anna let out a whimper that ended in a strangled scream. ‘I want you to come, now, with me.’
Her body started to shudder, trembling violently as she surrendered to the tremendous surge of sensation that flooded her from head to toe. She heard Zahir’s breathing grow hoarse, felt his muscles flex and jerk as he pounded into her with the final delirious thrusts, his beautiful face contorted with the concentration and effort. For a split second he stopped, holding himself rigid, and then he was there, his orgasm intensifying hers, taking them both to unknown realms of euphoria. Anna cried out, totally lost in the moment.
But it was Zahir’s primal roar that echoed round the room.
ANNA AWOKE WITH a start. The room was pitch-black and for a moment she had no idea where she was. Then in a rush she remembered: she was in Zahir’s bedroom, in his bed. They had had sex—more than that, they had made love. And it had been the single most wonderful experience of her life.
She let the memory flood over her, reliving the wonder of it, the incredible coupling they had shared. The intensity of feelings she had experienced had gone far beyond just sex, or losing her virginity, or proving that there wasn’t actually anything wrong with her, that she was a proper woman after all. In fact, it had gone far beyond anything she ever could have possibly imagined. Something momentous had happened between them, something very special. The floodgates had opened without permission from either of them, washing away all the anger and pride, the fears, resentment and battle for control that had been so painfully consuming them up until now. All gone on a tidal wave of unadulterated passion.
But something else had been washed away too. The pretence. The notion that what she felt for Zahir was simply infatuation or a wild obsession or a silly crush that she could somehow control. Because now she knew the indisputable truth. She was in love with Zahir Zahani. Deeply, desperately, dangerously in love.
Anna closed her eyes against the sheer force of the truth, powerless to do anything except accept it. She thought back to lying in Zahir’s arms, sated and exhausted, to the pure pleasure of being held by him, listening to him breathing, her euphoria keeping her awake long after he had surrendered to sleep. She couldn’t worry about the consequences of her love for him—at least not now, not tonight. She refused to let anything spoil this one, remarkable night.
Except maybe it was already spoiled. Stretching an arm across the crumpled sheets, she already knew that Zahir had gone. The fact that bed was still warm beside her was no consolation.
Anna held herself very still, listening. There it was again, the noise that had woken her up, a series of dull thuds coming from somewhere far away in the palace. Sitting up in bed, she pulled the covers around her shoulders. What was it? It sounded almost like a wrecking ball, a tremendous weight hitting something solid over and over again. She could hear voices now, muffled shouting, as if the whole of the palace had woken up. And then she heard the most frightening sound of all. A howl, like a wild animal, echoing through the night, and again, louder and more desperate. But what made it all the more terrifying, what made Anna cower back into the mattress, was the fact that the sound definitely came from a human.
Cautiously she got up off the bed. Now her eyes had acclimatised to the gloom, she could make out their discarded clothes scattered on the floor. She found her knickers, hastily pulled them on and was holding Zahir’s shirt in her hand when another howl cut through the air. It seemed even louder this time. Suddenly finding the right clothes didn’t matter. Getting out of here definitely did.
Hastily tugging Zahir’s shirt over her head, she stepped out into the unlit corridor. The sounds were coming from somewhere above, harsh voices, a thumping noise like furniture being turned over, and still that horrendous howling. She knew she had to find her way back to her suite of rooms which were somewhere on the first floor but fear made her hesitate. What on earth was going on? What sort of a mad house had she come to?
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a flight of stairs leading off the corridor to her left. They were narrow and dark but right now they seemed a better alternative to wandering into the main atrium of the palace and exposing herself to whatever hell was happening out there.
Stealthily climbing the stairs, she lifted the latch of the heavy wooden door at the top and it creaked open. She was in another corridor, wider this time, and dimly lit by wall lights. Hurriedly following what seemed like miles of passageway, her bare feet soundless on the wooden floor, Anna tried to figure out where she was, how she could find her way back to somewhere she recognised. When the corridor ended with another, grander door, she hesitated, listening for sounds on the other side. Nothing.
The howling had stopped now, along with the crashing and banging. All seemed quiet. Spookily so. She noticed that there was a key in the lock on this side of the door but the door opened easily on her turning the handle. She stepped into the room just as a strangled scream pierced the air. It took a moment to realise it had come from her.
She was standing in her own bedroom. And it had been totally trashed. The furniture had been reduced to firewood, an enormous gilt-framed mirror smashed to smithereens, glass all over the floor. The bed was in ruins, the stuffing pulled out of the mattress, the pictures on the walls punched through or hanging crazily from their hooks. Anna gazed around in speechless horror. The wardrobe was lying on its back, all her clothes wrenched from it and violently ripped to pieces, shredded by some maniacal hand. Dresses had been slashed and hurled to the ground. Tops, trousers, even her underwear, hadn’t escaped the vicious attack, bras and panties torn to bits and scattered in amongst the piles of debris. It was a terrifying scene.
And in the middle of it were the two brothers—Zahir and Rashid. Rashid was crouched down, his head in his hands, silently rocking. Zahir was standing over him, wearing nothing but the same loose trousers Anna had lowered from his body a short while ago. But, as he turned to look at her, Anna heard herself scream again. His chest was smeared with blood, deep, vertical lacerations that looked as if they’d been made by some sort of animal. There were scratches all over his arms too, on the hands that he held up to ward her off.
‘Get out of here, Annalina!’
But