Page 55 of Savage Protector

“Thank God,” he mutters. “Pass me another condom.”

He does the honours this time, explaining to me about squeezing the end to expel air, then unrolling it. Practice makes perfect, I suppose, because his attempt is much tidier.

“Show-off. Have you finished faffing about?”

He grins at me and positions himself at my entrance. “Ready?”

I expect this to hurt, at least at first. Like the rest, I’ve read about it. I grit my teeth and nod.

I suppose I expected him to take it slow, to enter me gradually, give me time to adjust. But there’s none of that. He rocks his hips sharply and gives one powerful thrust. He fills me to the hilt, and the sudden stab of pain takes my breath away. I can’t contain my surprised yelp.

“There, it’s done now. The fun starts here.” He lowers his shoulders to bring his lips close to my ear. His words are whispered, his breath feathers across my cheek.

“Are you sure? Because if?—”

“I’m sure.” He rocks again, withdrawing his cock, then slides back in, slow and smooth this time. “See?”

And I do see. I’m still sore, but that sensation is fast diminishing to give way to a burgeoning pleasure. He repeats the gliding thrust. The friction is wondrous, sending waves of sensual delight flowing through my body.

“Oh my.” I can only gasp, clutching at his shoulders for want of something solid and safe.

His mouth is against my throat, suckling and kissing and mumbling the occasional incisive remark.

“Fuck. Fucking beautiful. God, you’re tight.”

Pleasure mounts. I’m soaring towards orgasm again, my feet locked together behind his back and my nails raking his inked shoulders. “Zayn,” I grind out. “Do it harder. Harder.”

He increases the tempo, and the bed knocks against the wall behind us. I let out a screech when the surge of intense sensation overwhelms me. Every muscle I have spasms, as well as some I never even knew about.

He growls something in Urdu under his breath, a phrase I do believe I have not heard before, but it refers to something obscene. And seems very apt to me. My thoughts exactly.

He lets out a guttural shout, drives his cock into me one final time, then goes still. His breath is as laboured as mine.

We lie motionless for several minutes before he shoves himself up on his elbows and withdraws. I’m sorry to lose that delightful sense of fullness but too exhausted to protest. He unrolls the condom, ties the open end in a knot, wraps the whole thing in a tissue, and drops it on the carpet.

He smirks at me. “That was hot, babe.”

I agree, but don’t want to stoke his ego any further. I settle for, “Might have been. I’ll let you know after you’ve managed a repeat performance.”

His grin widens. “That deals with my next question. You’re all right, then?”

“Better than all right.” I abandon my attempt at playing it cool. “That was…”

He waits while I formulate a coherent thought.

“Awesome,” I conclude. “Really, really awesome.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It was. Now do you want that coffee?”

13

Zayn

Professor Evans is notthe ogre I expected. Around forty, soft-spoken and polite, he thanks me for delivering Miss Mansour’s essay and hopes she will soon be well enough to return to his classes.

My new security uniform feeling somewhat tight, I assure him she just has a cold and will definitely make it to the toxicology exam. He seems genuinely relieved.

“Lucky for her you happen to live nearby,” he observes. “Please pass on my best wishes.”

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