Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [102]
“You’ve already apologized for that, even though you didn’t need to. You had a right to be upset. We both did. Nobody should ever have to see what we saw.”
She closed the door behind her now, then moved to a small television in the corner and turned it on, tuning it to an Arab station, which was playing only Arabic music at the moment. Jack wasn’t sure what she was up to but he didn’t protest when she came over to the bed and lit the scented candle that was sitting on the nightstand. Her long brown hair was highlighted against the window and he saw a light snow falling outside.
He didn’t know if he should trust this, or her motives. It didn’t matter. He instantly felt himself stirring.
“I don’t want to be alone right now,” she said, then reached a hand under the back of her T-shirt and unfastened her bra, dropping it to the floor. Her breasts shifted, reacting instantly to the brush of the fabric.
He didn’t look away this time. “Neither do I.”
“I want to forget for a while, Jack. Can you help me do that?”
“You have no idea how much I’d like to try.”
He hadn’t bothered to take off his clothes before lying on top of the bed, and she came to him, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it. She unfastened his pants and pulled them away, freeing him, then took him in her hand, gently kneading him as she leaned forward and kissed his lips.
Then she pulled away, whispering softly against his cheek. “Make me forget, Jack. Please make me forget.”
As he drew her nearer and removed her T-shirt and panties, she began to moan deeply and loudly. Loudly and deeply. In the midst of their heat, such a state of abandon was reached that the normally voyeuristic Jack, who liked to watch himself make love, actually fell from the bed onto the hot radiator. But, like the Indian fakirs who can be on a bed of nails without later showing puncture marks, Jack did not scorch or burn, nothing visible remaining except a small soreness days later.
Once he was inside her, she began to cry and shudder in a series of small convulsions. He had never been with a woman who reacted like this and was both surprised and excited by her abandon.
Her cries became veritable screams as she moaned, and her eyes became glassy with passion. As Jack continued to bring Sara to an increasingly greater state of tension and release, tension—a violent begging for release and then the convulsive wave—her screaming became threatening.
He tried to quiet her by putting his hand over her mouth while continuing to stroke with his loins and lips.
“Quiet, quiet,” he tried to command hoarsely. “Faisal will hear you.”
He reached for her T-shirt and couldn’t believe himself as he pressed it over her mouth, holding it down hard against her lips by pressing it against the sheets, one hand on each side of her face.
Their hips were in perfect synchrony and she continued her cries and screams, now muffled beneath the shirt, as Jack made love to her as he had never made love before. Sara bucked and arched and was in a world he could never see.
Then it was over and they collapsed onto the bed, sweating, chests heaving. Sara rolled toward him and snaked a hand across his chest as she nuzzled his neck.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”
She smiled, kissed his neck. “It couldn’t have been that long. We barely know each other.”
“This’ll sound crazy,” he said. “But I think I’ve wanted you most of my life. Even before I knew who you were.”
“Well, I’m here now,” she said, then moved atop him, reaching a hand down to take hold of him again. He put his arms around her, running his own hand along her spine, brushing his fingertips across her flawless skin—
—until he felt something there and suddenly stopped: the long thin puckered flesh of a scar, just above her right hip. He hadn’t seen or felt it before, had somehow missed it in the darkness and the heat of the moment.
“What’s this?” he said, before he realized the words were out of his mouth.
She stiffened against