"Sir,
there's a woman here to meet you."
"Who
is she?"
"She
won't give her name, just keeps saying that she will only speak with you and
that it's private and very urgent."
"Just
handle her Prasad."
"Sir,
she is speaking loudly and creating a scene."
He
sighed.
"Ok,
send her in."
He
rubbed his brow in frustration. What was this about? He didn't have time for
any crap. There was too much going on already and his brain was fried.
He
heard heels clicking sharply on the floor and looked up to see a slender woman
covered in a burqa marching up the hall.
She
barged into his office, slammed the door shut and planted her hands on her
hips.
"You!"
she growled and stabbed a finger in the air pointing at him.
"Yes,
how may I help you?"
She
burst out laughing.
Zoya?
What
the hell?
"Ms.
Farooqui," he pretended annoyance, ignoring his accelerated heartbeat. He got
out of his chair to stand by the desk with his arms crossed forbiddingly,
"what's the meaning of this?"
She
lifted the veil and his heart constricted looking at the cherubic face framed
in black.
"Why
are you in this get up? What are you planning?"
Ignoring
him, she untied the strap under her chin and swung her hair free.
He
uncrossed his arms, restlessly balled his fists and then crossed his arms again and waited.
He knew there was no point asking her questions. She'd answer only when she was
good and ready.
Not
even then may be.
But
his interest was piqued. What the hell was she up to?
She
started to undo the front of the burqa and his pulse leaped.
She
shimmied out of it and let it fall to a puddle at her feet.
His
mouth went dry.
She
was wearing that damn mini-skirt! He groaned and moved to position himself
behind the chair casually resting his elbows on the back.
"Ms.
Farooqui, what is wrong with you!" he growled and grabbed the remote to swing the
blinds shut on the plate glass wall behind her.
That
day he had blown a fuse seeing her in the mini skirt when the Maulvi sahib had
come. Lack of decorum had been his primary focus then, but now he couldn't look
past those creamy legs.
In
heels they looked elongated ... neverending. A vision of them wrapped around his
waist came leaving him hard and breathless.
That
skirt was too damned short and it even had a slit up the side exposing more
skin! How did he miss the slit that day? Oh, that's right, because he hadn't
dared look below her eyes. Because he knew if he looked lower he would be
undone.
Like he was right now.
She
kicked her leg up to swing the puddle of black fabric into her arms and his body
jerked. That flash of extra skin made his mouth water and body harden. He
nearly moaned aloud.
She
flung the material on the sofa and sashayed up to him. Was he seeing things or
was there a definite jiggle to her breasts. Standing in front of him with her
hip jutting to the side, she purred, "like what you see?"
He
swallowed. He couldn't take his eyes off her breasts and suddenly he saw two
peaks jut out against the fabric of her shirt. Oh dear god, have mercy! Was she
not wearing a bra? He swallowed harder.
Zoya
looked at his adam's apple bob and felt a rush of relief and heat. She didn't
know what type of guts, gall and gumption had carried her all the way here to
be standing a mere three feet away from jahanpanah offering up herself like
this.
But
she was just so mad and frustrated with him. She knew he cared for her, felt
something for her but never said anything. He tried to, but never once got
beyond the "voh ... actually ... main" part.
Today
she was going to make him say it. And no matter what bizarre tricks she had to
perform or play, she'd die before she left his office without him having said
what he really felt about her.
He
saw the pulse at her throat pound and her breasts rise and fall and knew that
she was affected by that zing of awareness between them too.
"What's
going on Ms. Farooqui?" he asked huskily.
She
swallowed, "you tell me."
He
leaned in straining to hear her. He didn't miss her gasp.
He
slowly smiled and it infuriated her. Oh, so he knew that she was a mess of
quivering nerves, did he? She licked her lips nervously and missed his sharp
intake of breath.
She
walked around his desk and slithered up to sit on it, crossing her legs, and
letting the spiky mule dangle and lazily swing on her toes. His eyes were
riveted to that silver strap over her toes painted a mouth-watering blush pink.
He watched, hypnotized, the heel swing from its weight ... back ... and ... forth, back ...
and ... forth.
Her
heart was hammering with fear and desire. And her hands were clammy. But dammit to
hell, it was do or die at this point. She had had enough of his dithering and
if this provoked a response, then so be it.
He
shook himself from his trance and groaned loud and clear.
"What
happened Mr. Khan?" she asked innocently.
"Stop
playing these games Ms. Farooqui!"
"What
games? And when will you stop calling me Ms. Farooqui? We are engaged for god's
sake!"
He
glared at her. "Get down and go home!"
Her
heart pounded with the fear of having bitten off more than she could chew on. She felt an icy stab at his rejection.
But
she wouldn't let him see it.
He
saw her mouth droop slightly and her lashes sweep her paled cheeks for a flash.
A fist squeezed his heart.
Swallowing
hard and clearing her throat she asked firmly, "why do you only say my name
when ... I'm in trouble? Why do you always go back to calling me Ms. Farooqui
when ... I'm ... fine." God, she couldn't even find the right words to say
something as simple as that.
He
said nothing and turned his back to her, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"I
said go home, Ms. Farooqui," he ground out tightly through gritted teeth.
She
slid off the table and wobbled. She smoothed her skirt down nervously.
"Why
are you marrying me, Mr. Khan?" she asked out of nowhere. Her voice had a
hollow ring that slashed him.
"What
kind of a question is that? You know the answer. Ammi wanted it."
"Are
you only doing it for phuphi?" She was grateful to be posing her questions to
his rigid back. She didn't know if she could look into his eyes. She didn't
know that she was digging her nails in her palms.
"Yes,"
he answered after a long time.
Her
eyes blurred.
"But
why me?"
"What
do you mean?"
"I
mean you could get married to anyone you wanted to. Why not someone like
Tanveer who is more the type of woman you would have wanted your wife to be?"
She
waited for him to answer but he remained silent.
She
dashed the lone tear away but grew bolder.
"Why
did you say yes to marrying a musibat and misfit like me? You keep saying I'm
so different from you, and have no tehzeeb or ... or ... or lihaaz for relationships?"
Her voice broke miserably at the last words and he turned to step toward her,
his hands beseeching.
"No,"
she held out her arm in protest. "I don't want your pity."
She
felt exposed and cheap suddenly. What was she thinking? Why had she come here
dressed like a trashy sl*t? She wished she could disappear into thin air.
She
ran toward the sofa to grab the burqa and fumbled with it. She had her back to
him. The more entangled she got with it the harder she sobbed.
"Zoya,"
he moaned her name. She turned slightly, looked up sharply through her
streaming eyes and saw him coming towards her.
"No,"
she held out her hand to ward him off. She caught sight of the ring on her
finger.
"You
know what, Mr. Khan," she sobbed, "I don't think we should get married. I'm not
the right girl for you. You've said as much so many times."
She
started to tug the ring off her finger. His hand clamped down hard on hers,
"Zoya, no!"
"Let
me go," she shrugged off his hand.
"I
have no family, no manners, you don't like the way I dress, or speak, or act,
so I don't understand why you would want to marry me."
She
scrubbed the tears off her face. "You should marry Tanveer. She's perfect for
you. She knows you well and behaves like a good Indian woman and wife should."
"Zoya,
please stop," he tried to hold her by her forearms.
She
continued babbling, "she's beautiful, phuphi thinks of her as a daughter, you
treat her so nicely."
She couldn't go on and broke down to collapse on the sofa,
the burqa still clutched in her hands. She remembered all the times he had
glared at her disapprovingly and yelled at her for being irresponsible. She hid
her face in the fabric miserably. Oh god, what was she thinking? Why did she
come here and make such a colossal fool of herself?
He
knelt by her side. "Please don't do this."
"Why?"
she lashed out. "I know I'm not right for you, you've told me so a thousand
times. She's not clumsy or annoying or scarred." She remembered that she had
intended to give him the ring and went back to yanking it off.
"Zoya!"
he grabbed her hand, "stop it!"
She
looked at him in alarm.
"I'm
sorry. I'm so stupid. I don't know why I came." She got up hurriedly and tried
to slip the burqa on.
He
grabbed her arm. "What do you mean scarred?"
She
covered her trembling mouth and looked away.
"Nothing,"
she said in a small voice.
"Zoya."
"I
have a burn scar on my arm," she mumbled. "Are you happy now? I'm sure your
precious Tanu is unblemished."
"Will
you forget about Tanveer for a minute! What does she have to do with anything?"
"Because
she is right for you and I don't know why you agreed to marry someone defective
like me!" She yelled back.
"What
the hell are you talking about? And will you stop taking that ring off,
dammit."
She
took a deep breath and wiped her face clear of tears. "Look Mr. Khan, I know
that you fake proposed to me to stop me from leaving India. I appreciate that,
and I also know that you got trapped into continuing it because of phuphi's
health."
"But
this is your whole life. You shouldn't throw it away on someone like me."
"Just
shut up Zoya!" He grabbed her by her upper arms and almost shook her. "What's
gotten into you? What nonsense are you babbling on about?"
"Oh
really? I'm talking nonsense? Here I am trying to give you a way out of this
fake nikaah and all you can say is shut up with this nonsense?" She threw back
at him.
"Who
said I want out of this nikaah?"
"Haven't
you been paying attention to what I've been saying? You want out of this."
"Funny,
I don't remember ever saying it." He drawled.
Fresh
tears pooled in her eyes. She dashed them away furiously. "Then what have you
been trying to say for so many days? You keep talking of how different we are."
She hid her face in the burqa again. He yanked it from her hands and threw it
away.
He
saw her lips quiver. "Don't you think I know that and know how you think I'm
not good enough for you?"
It
broke his heart to keep hearing her bash herself. He had always thought her so supremely
self-confident. Had he broken that in her with his anger first, and then his awkward
silence?
He
held up his hands. "I know I say that we are different, but I don't mean that
you are deficient or defective."
"Then
what do you mean?" She shouted.
"First
stop pulling that ring off your finger. It's there to stay! I didn't put it on
your finger to have you yank it off."
She
took it off and tossed it at his face.
He
glared at her breathing hard. He yanked her to him and she slammed into his
chest. Her eyes skittered up to his in alarm.
"Zoya!
Pick it up," he growled dangerously.
"No!"
"Why
did you do that, damn you?" He shook her.
"Because
it's a ring for a fake engagement. And, I won't fake marry you!" She snarled
back.
"There's
nothing fake about any of this," he roared and crashed his lips on to hers. Her
eyes popped and mouth parted in shock. He slid his tongue in and she moaned.
His hands stroked her jaw and throat as he sucked her lower lip. His hips ground
into hers.
Her
eyelids drooped in surrender and her hands crept up his neck.
"Zoya,"
he breathed.
She
clung helplessly to him. He brushed her lips with his thumb and swooped
in again to suck her lips and thrust his tongue in to find and dance with hers.
His fingers dug into her waist as he drew her into his heat and hardness.
"Don't
you know what you mean to me? Can't you feel how real this is?" He framed her
face in his hands.
"Mr.
Khan?"
He
put his finger on her lips.
"You
know I'm not good with words. At least not words that express my feelings. You
are the one who calls me emotionally challenged." He kissed up her face to her
ear. "Don't ever say that you're not good enough for me. It's me who's not good
enough for you!"
She
opened her mouth to protest and he bent to kiss her again. He backed her into
the wall and ravaged her mouth and then trailed kisses down the pulse throbbing
in her throat. He sucked and laved the arch of her neck. "Zoya, why do I have
to tell you how I feel? Can't you feel it? Can't you tell what I feel for you?"
He kissed her again, "tell me that you love me too."
She
was dazed with a sensation overload. Her body was jolted into a heated response
but his words made her heart sing.
It
was her turn to frame his face in her hands. "Mr.Khan, you crazy stupid man, of
course I love you! Do you think I would have said yes if I didn't?"
He
crushed her in his arms.
"Oh
god, when I saw you in that skirt!"
He
trailed his hands over her bottom and gripping it, rubbed her into him.
He
continued to rain tiny kisses on the side of her neck making her breathless. "You
want to know why I call you Ms. Farroqui? I've fought my feelings for you from
the start. If I said your name out loud, the whole world would have known that
I was head over heels in love with you."
His
hands crept up her waist and higher.
"Since
when?" she asked breathlessly, her heart racing and throat dry.
"I've
loved you since the first day I saw you crying at the dargah." He continued to
kiss her hungrily, "I didn't know how to say it, but hoped that my actions
spoke loud and clear."
He
lifted her in his arms and sat her on his desk. Then he went to find the ring
that she had flung at him. Locating it under the coffee table he came and knelt
before her. He looked at her, an eyebrow raised. She smiled and shyly extended
her hand.
Trust him not to say a word! He kissed her hand and looking up at her
said, "sit like you were sitting earlier."
She
looked at him quizzically. He looked at her legs rakishly. She blushed and
crossed her legs seductively.
"Unhh,
so luscious!" Still on his knee he lifted her swinging foot and kissed her
ankle. He smiled as he heard her sharp intake of breath but missed the
goosebumps on her arms. Locking his eyes with hers, he trailed kisses and
little nips and bites up her leg to knee.
She
rubbed her thighs together as her skin tingled.
With
his hand he stroked the back of her knee and she shuddered. He half rose to
kiss her up her thigh. She was leaning back now, with her head thrown back
making soft moaning sounds.
She
opened her eyes. Wha ...?
He
had stopped.
She
looked at him and saw him removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie. His
eyes snagged on her nipples pebbling through her shirt. Her eyes widened with
desire. She hopped off and untucked his shirt from his pants gazing into his
eyes.
"Here?"
she asked.
"Right
here." He promised.
"What
if someone comes ... or hears us?" She blushed.
"Soundproof,
and I had just cleared all my meetings before you came."
"I
haven't come as yet," she breathed huskily. His heart raced and breath hitched.
He
put her back up on the table and widened her legs, to stand between them. His
hands stroked her bare thighs on the outside, snaking in under her skirt. He
bent his head and closed his mouth around one peek-a-boo nipple. Oh yes, no
bra. Damn she was hot!
She
felt dizzy with pleasure and her head fell back. With one hand he traced the
slit up her thigh and then bent his head lower to lick up her slit. She gripped
his shoulders arching her back, "Asad!"
His
blood leaped to hear his name on her mouth. He rose to kiss her swollen lips, "say my name
again." He stroked the tops and insides of her thighs with his thumbs and
fingers.
"Asaaad,"
she moaned.
"Tell
me what you want me to do you." He kissed down her throat and up again to her
ear. "tell me, Zoya," he growled.
She
felt shy. He licked the hollow of her neck and she jerked. "Tell me, show me,"
he urged.
She
grabbed his hands and forced them higher on her thighs. "Touch me," she
ordered.
He
slowly moved his hands up her thighs. She grabbed his face and directed his
mouth to the other nipple. "Suck me."
He did, hungrily.
His
thumbs now stroked her inner thighs, and she moved restlessly on the tabletop
urging him to be quicker and granting him more access by pulling up her skirt
and widening her legs. She grew frustrated that he would not go up higher.
"Asad,"
she pleaded. "Please!"
"Please
what?"
"Touch
me!"
"I
am touching you," he teased.
"No,
higher, please," she moaned.
He
laughed softly and it drove her mad. She pushed the papers and stationery on
his table aside, kicked off her heels and lay down with the balls of her feet
resting at the edge of the table. Her skirt had ridden all the way up to her
hips. He could see that she wasn't wearing panties.
"Oh
god, Zoya!" he moaned.
He
grabbed her legs to rest them on his shoulders and nibbled on the inside of her
thigh. She was swollen and wet with desire already parting and waiting for his
touch. Her hands blindly groped for his head.
"Please
Asad, stop tormenting me." She wiggled her hips on the table. "Touch me, lick
me, PLEASE! I need you!" She cried out harshly, thrashing her head restlessly
on the tabletop. "You want me to tell you what I want? Suck my c*nt!" She
sobbed with need.
His
body jolted with desire. Her raw words drove him to the brink. He swooped and
thrust his tongue to taste her as he used his fingers to gently part her moist
and heated flesh. Her body jerked and a harsh cry escaped her mouth. His tongue
hotly swept her up and down and in circular motions and she writhed under him
for release. With both hands he parted her more and dove in to tease the soft
layers with firmer strokes of his marauding tongue.
She grabbed his hair. "Oh
yes baby, that's the spot." Her hips swayed in a crazed response as he bit her
and soothed the bite with a firm tongue rub. "Oh, Asad, aah, AAHH!" She
clenched her muscles and keened desperately, coming in a rush as his tongue
strummed the tiny stud hard, moving back and forth against it feverishly.
He
lifted his head and rose, swiping the back of his hand against his mouth. He
looked punch drunk, and she half-rose to pull him down by his tie to taste
herself on him.
He
continued to stroke her intimately with his fingers now, and she jumped as she moaned
in his mouth. Her flesh was overstimulated and the rasp of his fingers against
it felt unbearably electric. She recoiled away, but immediately re-sought the
dizzying pressure and sensation. As they broke apart she still writhed from his
fresh ministrations. She took off her shirt so that he would end the sweet
torture and focus his mouth and hands elsewhere.
"Zoya,
you are so bold, and so damn sexy!" he moaned and bent his head to take a perky
nipple greedily into his mouth. "This is better than any fantasy of mine." She
arched her back and moaned under the double assault. With his hand between her
legs he continued to rub her swollen and still throbbing bud. With his other
thumb he flicked and teased her nipple.
"You've
fantasized about us?" She gasped.
"Thousands
of times," he licked her other breast, tonguing and nibbling her nipple.
He
removed his hand from between her legs to hold her arm and stilled. His hand
brushed against her scarred and puckered skin.
He looked at her and she at him.
He bent to kiss the scar all the way down and her eyes teared. Still kissing
her scar and licking the insides of her arm he moved his hand back to stroke her all
over again.
Her
head fell back once again and her breath came in gasps. Oh god, that felt so
good. She desperately ground her pelvis against his hand. Her own hands tried
to reach his buttons but his head kept getting in the way. She dragged his face
up and kissed him hard. "Stay still," she ordered him. "Let me get my hands on
you." He laughed and continued to disobey her, driving her insane now sucking
hard on her nipple again.
"Mr.
Khan!" she scolded. "Stop it! Let me undress you right now!"
"What's
stopping you?" he taunted her.
"Unhhh!"
She roared, pushed him off her and grabbed his shirt with both hands tugging
the two ends apart to make the buttons pop. They wouldn't. She started raining
punches on his chest with both hands.
"You
are so cruel! I will make you pay!"
He
threw his head back and laughed at her frustration. Grabbing her fist he kissed
her knuckle.
"OK,
OK, tell me what you want."
"Rip
your shirt apart for me. I don't care if your shirt is ruined and this is how
you go home. I want you naked now!"
He
chuckled, and did as she asked. The buttons went flying.
"I
keep an extra set of clothes here," he teased.
She
was on him even before he completed the sentence.
"Damn
you Mr. Khan, always overprepared!" and she homed in on his nipple, raking it with her teeth and
then suckling him. She clawed his chest to punish him. He gasped as it was now his
turn to be plundered and pleasured. She kissed him along his collarbone while
thumbing his nipples. She moved lower, but saw him arch his back and neck and
moved up on her toes to kiss and suck his exposed throat. He molded her body to his to
grind into her.
She
laughed now.
"I have you just where I want you," she gloated. His breath hissed as she roved
her hands down and around his waist. She cupped his butt over his pants and he
surged into her. She wiggled her hips.
"Really,
Mr. Khan? You want me?" He grabbed her hair, dragging her lips to his.
"Yes!
I want you now," he spoke unevenly.
She
dragged her teeth over his collarbone and he hissed.
"Zoya,
please," he begged.
"Please
what, Mr. Khan?"
"Please
let me love you."
"No,
not till I've had my wicked way with you."
"Then
have your way with me, but hurry," he urged,
"you're so damn wicked," he murmured under his breath.
She
laughed. "Say something?" He shook his head no.
"Undo
your belt," she commanded.
He complied.
She
looked at the bulge in his pants and moved her hand to cup and stroke him, and
he groaned.
She
slowly ran her fingers along the waistband and let her hands rest in front over
the fly. His body jerked into her hands.
"Oh
god, Zoya, just touch me!"
She
undid the snap and lowered the zipper. His hand covered hers. She slapped his
hand away.
"Behave
yourself," she ordered.
He
writhed against her hand. "Just do it, dammit," he growled.
She
chuckled.
"Testy,
testy."
"Unnhh,"
he moaned impatiently.
He
tried to grab her against him but she resisted. She couldn't wait any longer
either. She hadn't realized that in tormenting him she was also punishing
herself. She hooked her thumbs and forefingers in the waistband of his tidy
whities and tugged. It wasn't easy, what with them getting caught in the
bulging obstruction. She was getting impatient too.
She
bent to help him out of his shoes and socks. And then in one swift pull dragged
his pants and briefs to his ankles. He kicked them off. She still hadn't looked
up at him as yet. Now she looked up and saw his straining erection still throbbing
and waving with surging blood. She reached out a hand to reverently touch him.
He jerked. His hand came to clasp hers.
"Zoya,"
he whispered. "Please, baby!"
She
didn't want to tease anymore. She wanted to taste him. She let her fingers fan
over his shins, calves and knees. She stroked his thighs and snaked out her
tongue to lick her way up. He was breathing hard, his head still thrown back
and eyes squeezed tight. She touched his balls and felt their cool heft cupping
them.
He went rigid with anticipation.
She ran her tongue along his pulsating
length and rose higher to get a good grip on him. His hips were swaying, his
penis, thick and taut, sought the heat of her mouth. She rubbed her thumb over
the newly formed bead on the tip. With her thumb she stroked the eye dry. His
pelvis thrust wildly. She placed the center of her palm on it and then gripped
his shaft in her hand massaging it up and down and rolling it in her fist.
His
hands gripped her hair. "Please baby, have pity on me," he pleaded.
She
took him deep into her mouth and he went crazy. Sucking him in and out of her
mouth she mercilessly milked him. He groaned savagely with satisfaction and
frustration. Grabbing her hair roughly, he hissed and bucked as she grated her
teeth across his length and fisted him to the hilt. She would return her thumb
to tease the eye and swipe her palm to dry him while nibbling from the base up
or swirling her cruel tongue around the shaft. Then when he couldn't bear the
pleasure any more she would re-take him in her mouth and move him from cheek to
cheek and then her throat. To feel her hot wet mouth work on him was both heaven
and hell. He couldn't take it anymore. "Aah, Zoya, baby, you don't know how
good that feels."
"Tell
me."
"I
can't, I just don't have the words," and in one swift move, he lifted her off her feet
and placed her back on the desk. Aligning their bodies after draping her legs
on his shoulders he bent to quickly swirl his tongue over her once again,
gripped her hips and pushed himself into her. She cried out in pain.
He stopped
guiltily.
"I'm
so sorry, Zoya. Did I hurt you, baby?"
"No,
just give it me. Please, I want you so bad."
He
tried pushing in a little gently but she was too tight. He bent to lick and
dilate her to receive him.
"Please,
please, now, Asad, harder" she begged.
He
plunged in harder and found entry. She cried out and he tried pulling out but
she grabbed his tie to pull him to her, shaking her head no. He leaned his
hands on the table and then placed them on her upper thighs to get a better
grip. He pulled out and then re-entered deeper. "Ah Asad," she said through
gritted teeth.
Aanhh!" she moaned louder.
"Am
I hurting you," he asked with worry. "No, this is so good," her body moved in
rhythm with his as if guided by some primal force.
Her
moans got louder and her sex talk more erotic. He held her ankles and spread
her legs wide apart while still pounding into her. Her skirt was still bunched
around her waist. Her breasts jiggled with each thrust and drove him crazier.
Her hands were raised over her head gripping the edge of the table.
She
brought one hand down between their bodies and spread herself, touching him as
he pulled in and out of her.
"Zoya,"
he panted, barely in control, now rolling his hips to create better friction.
She rubbed herself and clenched her pelvic muscles to milk him.
Her
moans mimed his rhythm now, "you want me to tell you what to do?" she gasped,
going back to holding the table edge with both hands. As he gripped her thighs
hard and slid wetly in and out of her more urgently, she cried out hoarsely, "f*ck
me Asad!"
They
came together.
As
their breathing normalized, she looked up at him seductively, "next time, it'll
be your turn to tell me what you will
do to me! We need to train your vocabulary to match all that glorious action."
He
laughed, still breathless, and hugged her to him.
"Yeah,
baby, those training wheels are coming off!" She continued to gloat and razz
him.
"Oh
god," he groaned, "you have such a sassy mouth on you." He kissed her hard. "I
didn't know that being horny made you even worse."
"See,
you are already learning." She retorted smugly.
"Thank
god, you are sparing me the shayari, at least. I don't think I could have
survived that in this vulnerable state."
She
swatted him upside the head.
"Ouch!"
"Oh
really? In all your fantasies I was quiet?"
"What
fantasies? No more fantasies when I have the real deal." He kissed her
forehead. "And my imagination must be seriously limited because, all this," he
waved his arm about including their strewn clothing, the heels, her burqa, the
ring, "I didn't imagine even in my wildest dreams!"
"Mildest
dreams, you mean."
He
roared with laughter. "I'm never getting the last word in, right?"
"N--!"
He
shut her up.
Good.
PART II on page 3
