Desert Commander

32

Tara's heart raced from the intensity of her orgasm, her emotions a whirlwind inside her. Afterward, she slept deeply, completely at ease. Oman shook her gently, but she wasn’t ready to wake up.

How was he going to sleep when he was rock hard? His wife never cared for his desires. With that thought,

He sighed and did what he usually did. Ahem.

His hands were on his groin, and his eyes never left her beautiful face while he pumped his fist on his cock.

He couldn't help but feel a bit like a creep in that moment.

Later that night, Tara stirred awake, which was a bad move because the next moment, Oman lingered close, his breath hot against her neck.

His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder, slipping under the robe, caressing the bare skin beneath. Tara shivered, her breath catching as Oman's touch grew bolder, exploring the softness of her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts.

"Finally, you're awake," he murmured, his voice hard with need. "I couldn't sleep all night. You left me hanging."

His voice was sleepy but rough. His hand was teasing, while his lips brushed against her ear. "I am going to eat you, Tara," he whispered.

Tara's breath hitched at his words.

"Now?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his.

She couldn't believe this man was always ready to eat her.

"Yes, right now. I've been waiting all night for you to wake up so I can devour you." The look in his eyes, while gentle now, held a shadow of something darker.

Tara's gaze dropped to his chest, and she nodded shyly.

A smirk tugged at his lips. She was not resisting anymore. 

and he liked it. NO. He loved it. 

Oman's free hand cupped her face, turning it towards him as he claimed her lips in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. Tara melted into him, her hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch.

Oman's lips found her throat, kissing a trail down to her shoulder, while his hand continued to explore her upper body. The robe slipped further down, revealing more of her bosoms to his hungry gaze.

She could feel the hard rod pressing against hers. Oman's hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he pulled her closer, his intentions clear.

He jerked his hips into her.

His actions were abruptly halted by the faintest sound carried on the wind—a distant echo of hooves that shouldn't be there. Oman's body tensed, and his muscles coiled like a predator on high alert.

Tara sensed the change immediately, her head tilting in question, but Oman was already on his feet, pulling his robe tighter around her before grabbing his sword.

"What is it?" Tara asked, her voice trembling with worry. 

Oman didn't respond right away, his ears straining to catch any hint of danger. The desert night was eerily silent, but Oman's instincts, honed from years as a warrior, screamed at him to be cautious.

"I heard something," Oman replied, his tone a low whisper as he scanned the horizon.

The desert night was eerily quiet, but his warrior's instincts told him to be cautious.

"Stay here; don't make a sound," he instructed firmly, his tone brooking no argument. Before Tara could protest, Oman was already moving into the darkness, his steps silent and deliberate.