what I’ve been reading? I’ve been reading about psychopaths.’
‘In
She
magazine? Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I thought you were one. In fact I was convinced of it. But it says they dream in black and white.’
Noman did not care to dwell on his turbulent childhood and its after-effects. He did not like to speak of it. Not for the first time he regretted telling her about his dreams. Looking at her he felt murderous anger. He’d have happily strangled her without feeling an inch of remorse.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, suddenly playful. Nothing turned her on so much as making him angry. She shifted on the bed and her nightgown gaped, offering him a view of her massive breasts and their maroon nipples. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
Who would she tell? The only time she left the house was on her monthly shopping spree to Dubai.
‘Come here and kiss me.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘You’re fragile tonight, aren’t you?’ She looked sideways at him, her face almost gentle for a moment, before resuming its customary shrewdness. ‘Is it binLaden? Or is it Papa? Papa says you’re going looking for the House of War. You’re only going up there because he doesn’t want you to. You can be so childish sometimes.’
‘That was a private conversation.’
‘Silly.’ She nudged him with a painted toe, setting off a shiver of the bells on her ankle, the nightgown sliding back to reveal her thighs. ‘You know that Papa tells me everything.’
Her toes described slow spirals around his groin. He felt himself stirring, despite himself. She knew exactly how to play him. She could coax an erection out of him in even the most trying circumstances.
‘And do you tell him everything?’ Noman managed.
‘Everything, darling.’
She hooked a heel behind his thigh and pulled him towards her, rising from the bed so that she was level with his groin, her busy henna-stained fingers unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. She could move fast when the fancy took her.
‘I tell him that you are a man of vast appetite and uncommon desires,’ she said, scooping out his cock and balls. ‘I tell him you are a lion who must have red meat. I tell him that you will let nothing stand in the way of getting what you want. You’re not a psychopath, my love. You’re so much more than that. You’re an
afreet
. A demon!’
She tossed her head to throw her hair back and made her mouth into a humid jungle cave and he went barrelling in. He groaned and extended his hands under her nightgown and down her broad pale back. She was a magnificent woman. If he was a lion then she was easily a lioness. As she went up and down, she never lost eye contact; her flashing eyes a beacon of promise.
‘Yes,’ he said, urging her on, ‘Yes! Fuckin yes!’
Then he was gripping her hair, knotting the curls, while escalating spasms racked his pelvis and the backs of his legs, and his arse began to throb.
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
She didn’t let him come though. With a popping noise, like a vacuum seal broken, she abruptly released him. He staggered backwards, wild-eyed and stiff as a tightly drawn bow, his arse vibrating and his face flushed with blood.
‘What the fuck?’ He yelled.
Mumayyaz smacked her lips and wiped them with the tips of her fingers.
‘Your phone’s ringing,’ she said.
‘What?’
She shook her hair out.
‘It’s in your back pocket.’
He grabbed the phone and held it to his ear.
‘What?’
It was the duty officer in the watch room at ISI headquarters. He sounded terrified. He told Noman that the Americans had crossed the border in helicopters and killed bin Laden.
‘When?’ Noman demanded.
‘At least an hour ago.’
‘An hour! What the fuck? Why so long?’ He should have been informed within minutes of any assault on the Abbottabad house. ‘What about the bloody surveillance team?’
Silence.
‘Dammit man, tell me!’
9. The Abbottabad raid
They began amongst the debris in the
‘In
She
magazine? Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I thought you were one. In fact I was convinced of it. But it says they dream in black and white.’
Noman did not care to dwell on his turbulent childhood and its after-effects. He did not like to speak of it. Not for the first time he regretted telling her about his dreams. Looking at her he felt murderous anger. He’d have happily strangled her without feeling an inch of remorse.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, suddenly playful. Nothing turned her on so much as making him angry. She shifted on the bed and her nightgown gaped, offering him a view of her massive breasts and their maroon nipples. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
Who would she tell? The only time she left the house was on her monthly shopping spree to Dubai.
‘Come here and kiss me.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘You’re fragile tonight, aren’t you?’ She looked sideways at him, her face almost gentle for a moment, before resuming its customary shrewdness. ‘Is it binLaden? Or is it Papa? Papa says you’re going looking for the House of War. You’re only going up there because he doesn’t want you to. You can be so childish sometimes.’
‘That was a private conversation.’
‘Silly.’ She nudged him with a painted toe, setting off a shiver of the bells on her ankle, the nightgown sliding back to reveal her thighs. ‘You know that Papa tells me everything.’
Her toes described slow spirals around his groin. He felt himself stirring, despite himself. She knew exactly how to play him. She could coax an erection out of him in even the most trying circumstances.
‘And do you tell him everything?’ Noman managed.
‘Everything, darling.’
She hooked a heel behind his thigh and pulled him towards her, rising from the bed so that she was level with his groin, her busy henna-stained fingers unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. She could move fast when the fancy took her.
‘I tell him that you are a man of vast appetite and uncommon desires,’ she said, scooping out his cock and balls. ‘I tell him you are a lion who must have red meat. I tell him that you will let nothing stand in the way of getting what you want. You’re not a psychopath, my love. You’re so much more than that. You’re an
afreet
. A demon!’
She tossed her head to throw her hair back and made her mouth into a humid jungle cave and he went barrelling in. He groaned and extended his hands under her nightgown and down her broad pale back. She was a magnificent woman. If he was a lion then she was easily a lioness. As she went up and down, she never lost eye contact; her flashing eyes a beacon of promise.
‘Yes,’ he said, urging her on, ‘Yes! Fuckin yes!’
Then he was gripping her hair, knotting the curls, while escalating spasms racked his pelvis and the backs of his legs, and his arse began to throb.
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
She didn’t let him come though. With a popping noise, like a vacuum seal broken, she abruptly released him. He staggered backwards, wild-eyed and stiff as a tightly drawn bow, his arse vibrating and his face flushed with blood.
‘What the fuck?’ He yelled.
Mumayyaz smacked her lips and wiped them with the tips of her fingers.
‘Your phone’s ringing,’ she said.
‘What?’
She shook her hair out.
‘It’s in your back pocket.’
He grabbed the phone and held it to his ear.
‘What?’
It was the duty officer in the watch room at ISI headquarters. He sounded terrified. He told Noman that the Americans had crossed the border in helicopters and killed bin Laden.
‘When?’ Noman demanded.
‘At least an hour ago.’
‘An hour! What the fuck? Why so long?’ He should have been informed within minutes of any assault on the Abbottabad house. ‘What about the bloody surveillance team?’
Silence.
‘Dammit man, tell me!’
9. The Abbottabad raid
They began amongst the debris in the
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