Crush Read Online Free Page B

jeans.
    —Don’t touch me! he threatened, stressing each syllable.
    Taking his virulence for a compliment, Amélie went on talking. Conscious of the sensuous motion of her lips, of the outline of her breasts under her blouse, her languid thighs upon the seat, she became an exhibitionist, for the sole pleasure of watching David engrossed by her least significant gestures. However, his stare was as disquieting as a clock that had suddenly stopped ticking, when he interrupted her again:
    —I’d like to spread your legs, lick your cunt. I’d bare your clitoris with my tongue, roll it between my lips.
    He was speaking in an almost inaudible voice. On purpose. Amélie had to lean forward in order to hear him, picking up the scent of his desire, feeling his breath upon her skin. He wanted her to discard her liveliness close to indifference, needed to hold her attention, to make her yield to his will. Amélie’s nostrils were palpitating; she had stopped smiling. He knew he had won.
    —I’d like to feel you come in my mouth, hear you cry out, see your eyes roll back, and penetrate far into you, for a long, long time, until you come again. Would you like that?
    Reassured at the thought of being desired with such intensity, Amélie allowed herself to experience the tumult of her senses. David’s raw desire aroused her. She cast a furtive look in the direction of the airline hostesses sitting at the back of the cabin, next to the facilities.
    —Let’s go, she suggested.
    —No, wait. I want to take a long time fucking you . . .
    As soon as they landed, David started speaking Arabic. Amélie began to feel she did not know him. These eructatingand caressing inflections were like the lovemaking of a stranger. He had taken hold of both their passports, answering for her the customs officer’s questions, checking that nothing was missing from their luggage, and that the driver sent by his friends had arrived. She would have to get used to de pending on him.
    The hotel was not far. She gazed at the Atlas mountains, taking in the scenery through the car windows. But what really worried her was the thought of running into an acquaintance in the hall of the newly renovated and fashion able hotel where he was taking her. Her hat and sunglasses could hardly ensure her anonymity. She was too well aware of the pleasure of gossip, the sense of power it gave those who detained a secret and passed it on. She had to be wary of a possible witness.
    They walked up the steps of an ocher-colored building, framed by a white sugar-like glaze, entered the central hall where the reception desk could be observed by each and every one. The desk clerk suggested that Amélie sit down, probably judging the formalities to be too masculine or tiring for her, She spurned this suggestion, her eyes sweeping the vestibule as for a wide-angle shot.
    David was enumerating the names of his illustrious Moroccan protectors, stressing his own prominence to a visibly impressed desk clerk. Amélie took in this scene with growing amazement, disillusioned by the tasteless lack of manners that prompted her lover to blow his own horn in front of an employee.
    Embarrassed, Amélie would have liked to distance herself from her companion. Not to mention that the longer they lingered at the reception desk, the greater her risk of runninginto an acquaintance. However, her next thought was one of self-criticism: Her reaction was snobbish, conventional, contemptible! David had a curious sense of panache. So what? Didn’t she have the guts to acknowledge who and what he was? Taking up the challenge, she snuggled up to him with partisan defiance, ready to shoot anyone who might judge him as mercilessly as she had just done.
    Actually there was no guilty party, quite the opposite. David’s method was efficient, perfectly in keeping with his country’s code. The hotel’s director materialized instantly from his office, as though summoned by this client’s importance. He shook