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****
The answer to this could be found in a VIP-only powder room backstage, which the organizers of the event were quick and anxious to offer, upon learning that Lady Anisah was in need of a private place to recover from a wardrobe malfunction.
And as for the malfunction itself—-
Oh, stars above.
Anisah wished she had it in her to teach her royal husband a lesson, for deliberately ripping a tear in her abaya just so he could have an excuse to steal her away and drag her down to the floor—-
"T-Tarif..."
She forgot what she was thinking when her belly started to tighten with the promise of another shattering climax, and Anisah was torn between arousal and annoyance when she saw the cocky smirk playing on her husband's beautiful lips.
With his hands clasped behind his head, the cursed man looked very much like an arrogant prince being served by his favorite harem slave as she dutifully rode his cock.
"You have the most beautiful look on your face, my sweet," the sheikh suddenly purred.
What was he talking about?
"It as if you do not know what you want more: to slap my face...or ride me harder."
Argh!
Anisah took a deep breath, determined to truly teach her cocky royal husband a lesson this time, but before she could find the strength and energy to pull away—-his hand suddenly snaked down, and her whole world shattered as he started playing with her clit.
Oh dear heavens, aaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Anisah's head fell back as she cried out as she came, and she could no longer think as she mindlessly rode her husband's phallus with wild abandon. In moments, she felt his big, powerful body shudder under hers, and as her own body shuddered anew when she heard him grate her name out.
"Tory, fuck, you feel too fucking good."
Tarif could only grip his wife's hips hard as he poured his seed into her with one forceful surge of his cock, and as her dazed violet eyes met his—-
Ah, Tory.
It still fucking brought him to his knees, every time he heard her soul whisper the words he still didn't think he could ever be worthy of.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
****
The sheikh was all smiles when he and his wife stepped out of the powder room, and while the organizers and attendants waiting outside the hallway were quick to notice that Lady Anisah's wardrobe malfunction had only seemed to worsen, with her abaya now more rumpled and the tear still not repaired—-
All of them had also heard the telltale sounds coming from the powder room, and so they were smart enough to keep their faces expressionless as the sheikh's flustered-looking wife apologized for the inconvenience.
We understand, anisdi.
It is our pleasure to be of service, milady.
Yam jamil, anisdi.
Anisah was relieved when everyone seemed to accept their excuses at face value, but as soon as she and Tarif walked away—-it was then she heard something that made her feel like melting into the floor.
They were snickering!
