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Soon all the royal couples were dancing behind them as they led the way, and before long, the whole guest roster had left the tables and were circled around the dance floor clapping or joining the collective dances.
As she danced with him and hugged him and kissed him and laughed until she cried, she wondered how only he could do this—change the way she felt about anything to its opposite. This night she’d wished would be over soon, she suddenly wished would never end.
But even when it did, life with Aram would only begin.
Twelve
Aram clasped Kanza from behind, unable to let her go for even a moment as she handed back the Pride of Zohayd jewelry to the royal guards at the door.
He had to keep touching her to make himself believe this was all real. That she was his wife now. That they were in their home.
Their home.
The fact that it was in Zohayd made it even more unbelievable.
He’d thought he’d lost Zohayd forever. But she’d given it back to him, as she’d given him everything else. Though she’d never loved Zohayd as he loved it, she’d consented to make it her home again.
After seeing her among her family, he now realized why Zohayd had never held fond memories for her. But he was determined to set things right and would put those people in their place. They’d never impact her in any way again.
Now he hoped he could make her see Zohayd as he saw it.
But at any sign of discomfort, they’d leave. He just wanted her happy, wanted her to have everything. Starting with him and his whole life.
She closed the door then turned and wrapped herself around him. “I just can never predict you.”
He tasted her lips, her appreciation. “I hope this keeps me interesting.”
Her lips clung to his as she kneaded his buttocks playfully, sensuously. He still couldn’t believe, couldn’t get enough of how uninhibited she was with him sexually. It was as if the moment he’d touched her she’d let him in all the way, no barriers.
“Don’t you dare get more interesting or I’ll expire.”
“You let me know the level of ‘interesting’ I can keep that’s optimum for your health.”
“You’re perfect now. You’ll always be perfect.” She squeezed him tighter. “Thank you, ya habibi. For the gift of your song. And every other incredible thing you did and are.”
His lips explored her face, loving her so much it was an exquisite pain. “I had to give you a wedding to remember.”
“As long as it had you, it would have been the best memory, as everything you are a part of is. And it would have been the best possible earthly event. But that…that was divine.” Her eyes adored him, devoured him. “Have I told you lately just how out of my mind in love with you I am?”
His heart thundered, unable to wait anymore. He needed union with her. Now.
His hands shook as he undid her dress, slid it off her shoulders. “Last time was ten minutes ago. Too long. Tell me again. Show me. You haven’t shown me in three damn days.”
She tore back at his clothes. “Thought you’d never ask.”
He shoved off the dress that he’d had ten dressmakers work on day and night, telling himself he couldn’t savor her beauty now. He had to lose himself in her, claim her heart, body and soul.
The beast inside him was writhing. This. This flesh. This spirit. This tempest of a woman. Her. It demanded her. And it wouldn’t have her slow or gentle. Their lifelong pact had to be sealed in flesh, forged in the fires of urgency and ferociousness. And she wanted that, too. Her eyes were engulfing him whole, her breathing as erratic as his, her hands as rabid as she rid him of his shackles.
He pressed her to the door, crashed his lips down on hers. Her cry tore through him when their mouths collided. He could only grind his lips, his all, against hers, no finesse, no restraint. The need to ram into her, ride her, spill himself inside her, drove him. Incessant groans of profound suffering filled his head, his and hers. He was in agony. Her flesh buzzed its equal torment beneath his burning hands.
He raised her thighs around his hips, growled as her moist heat singed his erection. His fingers dug into her buttocks as he freed himself, pushed her panties out of the way, and her breasts heaved, her hardened nipples branding his raw flesh where she’d torn his shirt off.
Her swollen lips quivered in her taut-with-need face. “Aram…fill me…”
The next moment, he did. He drove up into her, incoherent, roaring, invading her, overstretching her scorching honey. Her scream pierced his soul as she consumed him back, wrung him, razed him.
He rested his forehead against hers, completely immersed in her depths, loved and taken and accepted whole, overwhelmed, transported. He listened to her delirium, watching her through hooded eyes as she arched her graceful back, giving him her all, taking his. Blind, out of his mind and in her power—in her love—he lifted her, filled his starving mouth and hands with her flesh, with the music of her hunger. He withdrew all the way then thrust back, fierce and full, riding her wild cry. It took no more than that. One thrust finished her. And him. Her satin screams echoed his roars as he jetted his essence inside her. Her convulsions spiked with the first splash of his seed against her womb. Her heart hammered under his, both spiraling out of control as the devastating pleasure went on and on and on and the paroxysm of release destroyed the world around them.
