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Her eyes were groggy. “What? Why?” She was shaking from the desire that was flooding her synapses.
“I want to see your body.”
She stood unsteadily and stretched her arms out. “It took an army of attendants to get me in this thing,” she said thickly.
He nodded decisively, and walked away from her. For one dull, terrifying moment, Phoebe thought he might be walking way for good. Panic and despair tore through her. But he returned, seconds later, clasping a pair of bejeweled scissors.
“What are you doing?” She squawked, staring in disbelief as he slipped the scissors between her breasts and cut the beautiful fabric down the center. “This … this dress was beautiful.”
His eyes were loaded with emotion. “You are beautiful. The dress is a shroud, to hide your beauty from all but me. When we are together, you do not need clothes. You are mine, and I want to look at you always.”
The pulse between her legs was throbbing hard and fast. She watched in disbelief and awe as the dress pooled at her feet, a puddle of shining orange destruction.
“Does that go both ways?” She asked, defiant despite her desire.
His mouth tilted in a small sign of appreciation. Holding her challenging stare, he removed his own clothes, and then pulled her body to his.
“It will be much harder to resist you now, minx.” His accent was thick, again, as it had been the last time they’d made love.
“Don’t resist me, then,” she pleaded, swaying her hips against him.
His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement she needed. “This is about improving your temperament, my Saleena.”
He surprised her by scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. This time, when he put her down, it was not gentle. It was swift, and it conveyed his desire more strongly than just about anything else could.
His mouth, his beautiful, skilled mouth, moved its onslaught to her breasts, leaving his hands free to pleasure her. Phoebe couldn’t stop twisting beneath him; her need for release was an actual pain. She didn’t know it, but her mouth was moving, making noises and cries, and her body was arching towards him, as the insanity of lust inhabited her completely.
He was skilled, and he delighted in tormenting her. Each time she felt that she was about to burst, he eased his sensual assault, so that, in the end, she was almost incoherent with her babbling cries.
“You are an incredibly sensual being,” he whispered against her cheek, as he teased her entrance with his fingers.
“And you are enjoying having such power over me,” she responded through gritted teeth, her face flushed, her hair a mess.
“Yes,” he laughed, sliding his fingers inside her and watching, fascinated, as she seemed to fill with jelly. She weakened, falling back against the soft bed with a low, soft moan.
When she finally felt her pleasure hit its crescendo, she grabbed it with both hands, sobbing as the sensation and relief flowed through her.
Phoebe lay on her back, hardly able to breathe, certainly not able to move, as the world began to take its normal form once more. She angled her head, to look at the man who would become her husband. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes closed, his chest moving in a steady pattern. And Phoebe realized, that though he had brought her unimaginable pleasure, she didn’t like the control he had over her, or himself, for that matter. His arousal was obvious, but he hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to act on it.
Screwing up her courage, she moved swiftly, to straddle him and welcome him inside her in one quick movement.
His eyes flew open, slapping her face with the intensity of their stare.
“Phoebe,” he called, his voice tortured. “What are you doing….”
“What do you think?” She responded tartly, as she arched her back and moved her hips. He was so deep inside of her. She tossed her head back and ran her hands over her body, touching her own breasts as waves of pleasure crashed against her.
/> “You have no respect for our customs,” he accused, but he was smiling, as he watched her lose herself completely to the moment.
“Stupid custom,” she said simply, increasing her movements, and shifting her position slightly.
Hakim lifted his hands and gripped her hips, and he moved her, altering her tempo to meet his needs. She was so perfect. So beautiful. So completely perfect for him. The thought struck him out of nowhere and hit him like a sledgehammer. Perfect for him? He didn’t believe in overly sentimental ideas like that.
This was sex, pure and simple. He thrust forward with his powerful hips, enjoying the way her face contorted with surprise at his deeper invasion.
He moved again, and this time, with one final lift of his hips, he released them both. He swore, as the feeling tore through him, powerfully altering everything he had thought he’d known about life.
Her smile, when she looked at him, later, was the quintessential cat who’d got the cream.
