LUCA_Her Ruthless Don

by Theodora Taylor

  He shakes his head sadly. “Unfortunately, American teenagers are not the only ones with a narrow world view. In truth, I have thought long and hard about keeping you beyond the six months as a consort. But after what Darius Ross told me about your past, I realized I could never ask you to share me with another, even if only for political reasons.”

  I nod my head in agreement, secretly glad he took that option off the table. Because I could maybe tolerate it at first. But after a while, I know being in an even partially open relationship, like my parents were, would eat away at me. “So, we’re married for now,” I summarize, looking away. “And only for now.”

  He touches my cheek, turning me to face him so I can see the tender look in his eyes as he says, “Now is all we have, but now is where we are. I wish to enjoy it. As long as I have with you, I would like to be with you. Not as an agreement on paper, but as a true husband and wife, at least until our time must come to an end. Tell me, habibti, would you like that, too?”

  I look up at him, my eyes shining with my answer. This is crazy, and it comes with an expiration date, but Zahir is right. Now is all we have…now is where we are…

  “Yeah…” I whisper. “Yeah, I’d like that, too.”

  Chapter 49

  Now, as it turns out, is pretty damn great.

  I change my mind about preserving my mother’s room. And over the course of a week of after-school meetings with Johnny, Sasha and I decide the wall between the master suite and my mother’s room will be torn down to make a music library where the twins can listen to music and study. Because as it turns out, they’ll be going to college after all.

  Sasha had only expressed mild interest in community college as a fallback before I disappeared for my six-month marriage sentence. Kasha refused to consider it at all. Hugs and Cuddles had already agreed to extend her hours upon graduation, why go to college when she already knew music was what she wanted to do with her life? I also suspect seeing me struggle to finish my law degree and raise them while also working as Amber’s legal secretary soured them on higher education.

  But after no more than three conversations over dinner in Zahir’s suite, the twins change their plans. They decide their temporary brother-in-law is right. If they’re serious about music or any career in the arts, they need a solid business and marketing background to ensure financial success.

  It’s too late to apply to any of the colleges with a strong business and marketing program, but surprise-surprise…the girls’ overly indulgent brother-in-law shows up to dinner with acceptance letters from Manhattan University only a couple of days after they announce their change of heart. Now the girls can go to one of the top universities in the country…providing, of course, that they earn a certain score on their SATs. Every day after school, the twins join me in our suite where they study with an SAT tutor Zahir’s secretary found for them, and I half-heartedly study for my bar exam.

  “You should refocus your efforts while you’re here,” Zahir says to me over lunch in his room one afternoon. “I do not watch television as a habit, but I did catch one or two episodes of your show. You wrote a few of the songs Asir produced, did you not?”

  “I mean, yeah, I used to write during my hip-hip princess phase, but not anymore. And did you seriously watch the show?” I ask, because it’s a straight-up struggle to conjure a mental image of him watching TV, much less watching my old over-the-top reality show.

  “Yes,” he answers with a somewhat distasteful twist of his mouth. “The episode where you and Asir produced a song for charity was the only episode I enjoyed.”

  Wow…burn, but then he finishes with, “Perhaps, you should try writing again if only to help the twins with their upcoming demo. We’re only here until Ramadan, so it would only mean taking a couple of weeks off from your studies.”

  The following day, I tentatively switch priorities—just for the remaining two weeks that we’re here. I open a new notebook and begin jotting down a few of the lyrics I’ve been keeping trapped behind a wall of resolve ever since my father died. But the sputter of lyrics soon becomes a fount. And as it turns out, two hours of SAT practice is an amazing warm-up focus exercise for the twins.

  We fall into an easy routine. I write in the mornings, and then study while the twins receive coaching for their SATs. After the tutor leaves, we pull out Sasha’s keyboard and let the music flow until it’s time to join Zahir for dinner.

  Life feels good again. In fact, it feels better than good. The change of location, the inspiring views outside our windows, the clarification of goals, and time like we’ve never had together with the twins’ busy performance schedule and my work and studies. Before my two weeks is up, and by the time the house is completed in June, the girls and I have two songs prepared and ready to go for the at-home recording studio.

  “Iyanla Vanzant called and said she wants her job back,” Sasha says to Zahir over our nightly dinner ritual.

  “Because you are up in here fixing everybody’s life,” Kasha finishes.

  Of course, Zahir doesn’t get it. But the twins fall out laughing at their own joke. And though I try to hold back, I can’t contain it when Kasha adds, “Pew! Pew! Pew!”

  The three of us laugh until we have tears in our eyes. And then even harder when Sasha pulls it together long enough to intone, “But he didn’t shoot him.”

  Zahir continues to eat his New York strip steak and shakes his head as if he suspects it will take him longer than two weeks to figure the three of us out. And maybe that’s why he announces during our next dinner that he won’t be returning to Jahwar for Ramadan as previously planned.

  “Isn’t that kind of a bad look for, like, the king not to show up for Ramadan?” Sasha asks.

  “It is not the best look, no,” he answers, throwing Sasha a bemused half-smile. “But it is not necessarily the worst thing ever. I have many cousins and other family members to serve in my stead and of course, I will observe Ramadan here. Besides, not much business is done during this time of year in Jahwar. That means my efforts will be more productive in the States.”

  Zahir reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, even though I sense part of his reason for not going back home during Ramadan has something to do with him not having a Muslim wife. At least for now.

  Chapter 50

  “Would it have been easier for you if I’d converted when we got married? Like, temporarily?” I ask while we’re getting undressed that night.

  No more games these days. Ever since the morning we agreed that now was where we are, we have been sleeping in the same bed.

  He grumble-laughs and says, “That is not the way my religion works, and though I am obviously not the most traditional Muslim, I would not want you to convert unless you sincerely wished to take Allah in your heart.” He regards me after he’s done taking off the last of his clothes. “Tell me, Prin. Do you truly wish to become religious now as an antidote to your upbringing?”

  I consider his question and decide I do not. Between the Jahwar restrictions on women and the reportedly judgmental Christianity of my grandmother and the twin-rejecting Orthodox Judaism of their mother’s family, I can’t see me embracing any organized religion for myself. But… “It feels like I’m making everything harder for you. First the kiss, and then skipping the trip to Asia, and now you won’t be going home for Ramadan.”

  “I was raised to be the king of a nation with many riches and many enemies. Life was never meant to be easy for me, and besides…”

  He comes around the bed and turns me toward the room’s standing cheval mirror so he can watch as he peels off today’s sweater dress before going to work on my bra. “You make me happy, habibti. And happy feels better than easy,” he says, freeing my breasts. “Did you change your hair?”

  “Yeah, much like you’re changing the subject,” I answer dryly, but my head soon falls back, and I let out a little sigh as I watch him massage my breasts.

  �
��We should enjoy ourselves now before Ramadan starts in two days,” he tells me, lazily playing with my pussy as he says, “I will not be able to eat, drink, or do this during daylight hours. And I have become used to reveling in you before breakfast. For this reason, I will most certainly be grumpy and while the hunger is manageable, it is not advisable for me to over exert myself during this time.”

  “Mmm, now is where we are…” I say, leaning into the lips speaking into my neck as my hips move against his hand below.

  “Now is where we are,” he confirms, nuzzling the side of my face with his beard.

  “Maybe I’ll tie you down for once,” I tease. “Take advantage of you at night when you’re weak with hunger.”

  His hand stills inside my panties and his body tightens. A lot has happened since we had that Cal-Mart talk in my mother’s room. And while we’ve been having good sex every night, it’s been very vanilla. As if we are giving the psychological wounds we ripped open some time to heal.

  But tonight, I am feeling healed. And if the way his dick suddenly rises against my back is any indicator, he is, too.

  “Hmm…” I say, circling my hips in the mirror since his fingers are no longer moving. “Yeah, I think I’ll dominate you for the next month. Wake you in the middle of the night and sit on your face and make you lick me until I—”

  I cut off when his hand suddenly pulls out of my underwear and fists in my new Remy hair.

  That night he punishes me for my audacious suggestion. He binds me with two of his ties to the bed posts and then holds down my legs as he forces me to take his tongue. I fight him like I always do. For some reason, I think I’ll be stronger in America, maybe even be able to buck him off. But his raw power wins out, like it always does.

  He holds me down with his biceps barely straining and introduces a new kind of torture with his expert tongue. But just as I am so close to coming, he stops. “Say you’ll be good and follow my commands for the rest of our trip. Even in America you belong to me.”

  “Fuck you,” I whisper. Once…then again when he gets me all revved up a second time only to stop.

  “Do you wish to have one of those finger food orgasms?” he asks, reaching for the drawer as he watches me writhe. “If you do not give me your promise, then I will only do this again and this time when I stop, your body will keep going and cause you to come without anything inside of you. It will only give you a small, unsatisfying taste of what you could have. But if you tell me you’ll be good, I will make you come at least three times. And since I am no longer scheduled to fly out tomorrow, I will use this unexpected free day to refresh your training.”

  The idea of spending the whole day with him makes me pulse with a piercing ache that almost feels like pain.

  “What will it be, Prin?” he asks, closing the drawer. “And mind you, once you come, this offer comes off the table.”

  Wordplay. I almost laugh but stop when I hear a familiar whirring…

  My eyes widen when I see the vibrator, a friggin’ Magic Wand just like the one I keep in my drawer at home.

  “I believe this was the brand you specifically requested from Holt, was it not?” he asks.

  And then he applies it to my hardened nipples. I buck, and nearly lose the battle not to come with that one touch.

  “Okay, I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” I cry out.

  The whirring clicks off, and Zahir’s back at the bottom of the bed, prying open my legs. “You’ll be good?” he asks, his breath tickling my vagina. My clit is so engorged, I can see it peeking up between my lower lips.

  “I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” I cry again, trying not to come at just the sensation of his breath on the straining bundle of nerves between my pussy lips.

  Then he takes the bundle in his mouth, suckling it whole, and I scream, coming so hard I can feel myself squirting into his mouth.

  By the time Ramadan comes around, I’m beginning to understand why festivals like Mardi Gras are a thing. For the next twenty-four hours it is an out-and-out dirty sex bacchanalia. Without leaving the bedroom, we return to my suite in Jahwar. Zahir feeds me. And Zahir punishes me. He is my boundary. He is my control. And I find I can’t stop breaking my promise to be good over and over again, until I suddenly “wake up” in the bathroom’s marble-incased tub with a wash cloth running over my body.

  “Sub-space?” I ask Zahir, who is sitting behind me in the tub while he gives me a bath.

  “Sub-space,” he confirms. “However, sunset is almost here. After this bath, we must eat dinner and then the time for being good really has come. But, Prin?”

  “Hmm?” I ask, reaching my hand up to enjoy the feel of his beard.

  “Thank you for allowing me to be with you like this one last time before I begin my Holy month.”

  One last time…

  Those three words will come to haunt me in the months to come.

  Chapter 51

  I promised to be good, but just six hours after going to bed, I whisper, “Zahir, wake up.”

  “What is going on?” he asks, glancing at the clock which reads 4:00 AM.

  “We have to go to the twins’ room,” I say, glad that he put on a full set of pajamas before giving me a chaste kiss good night.

  “Are they okay?” he asks, his voice beginning to sound alarmed.

  “No, they need you over there,” I answer, tugging on his hand.

  Zahir enters our suite for the first time, thinking something’s wrong…and stops short when he sees the twins at a candle-lit table with a breakfast of fresh fruit, breads, cheese, and oatmeal already set out along with halal meats, fattoush—a kind of salad made with vegetables and pita bread—and fava beans, which, despite the Hannibal Lecter association, I’d come to love while living in Jahwar.

  “Happy Ramadan!” Kasha cheers like it’s Christmas morning.

  But if Zahir is offended it doesn’t show. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face this open before. “You did this? You did this for me?” he says, looking genuinely touched and surprised as he comes to stand over the table.

  “Well, the mom of one the girls Kasha works with at Hugs and Cuddles did this…” Sasha answers. “All we did was heat it up this morning and order some room service.”

  “Happy Ramadan!” Kasha cheers again.

  Nabida has thrown together quick afternoon tea trays more sumptuous than this small offering, but Zahir shakes his head and looks at the food like he’s never seen a better feast.

  Five minutes later, he is still shaking his head as he says, “I truly cannot believe you girls did this for me.”

  “Dude, stop. You’ve done, like, everything for us,” Sasha answers, shaking her head. “I don’t see why you’re acting like this is such a big deal.”

  “Happy Ramadan!” Kasha cheers.

  And this time her exclamation sets us all to laughing. All four of us.

  I think maybe Zahir is beginning to get us. We’re not blood sisters, but we are family and we show up for each other, even for the things we don’t understand. I doubt we get everything right and Kasha’s inability to do anything with gravity definitely hinders us from achieving the hallowed effect we were going for with the pre-dawn meal.

  But Zahir’s eyes shine as we eat by candlelight. And before the meal is through, he asks the girls if we can have this breakfast together for the rest of Ramadan.

  The twins, like me before Jahwar, are stupid bad at mornings. Sasha usually climbs out of bed a mere fifteen minutes before she’s due downstairs for their Mercedes sedan ride to school. Kasha, sometimes ten. And last weekend when I knocked on their bedroom door a little after noon, they asked for ten more minutes. Then whined for a good twenty about it when I told them no, they had to get up if we wanted to get to Connecticut on time for brunch at Sylvie’s and Holt’s—and what turned out to be a joyful “we’re pregnant!” announcement.

  But that Ramadan morning the twins both agree to a regular pr
e-dawn breakfast before the question is out of Zahir’s mouth.

  We feel like a family. And this is what will hurt most of all when it falls apart.

  Chapter 52

  “Hi! Hi! Don’t be mad at me.” I say nearly three weeks into Ramadan when Zahir steps off the elevator onto our floor shortly after six o’clock to find the twins and me waiting for him outside the Otis doors.

  “Prin, girls, what are you—?” he starts to ask, and I can tell he’s in no mood to be derailed from his original destination.

  He’s been taking meetings during the daylight hours of his fasting month, but by the end of an entire business day without food, he’s usually through. And with the time until sunset getting later and later as summer creeps in, I’ve learned the “get snapped at” way not to come between him and the nap he takes until one of his staff tells him it’s time for his prayers and sunset dinner.

  Slightly behind Zahir, Erick, one of the American guards he’d taken on, after most of his elite guard was sent back to Jahwar to honor Ramadan, shook his head quickly at us in code for, “Dude, don’t poke the bear.”

  But I have to poke the bear. “I’ve been calling you for, like, half an hour. Why didn’t you call me back?”

  “I was in an important meeting—” he starts to explain.

  But then I cut him off with, “You know what? Never mind. Superfast, because you have got to get into your suite. I know your business is your business, and I am your personal life, but I was talking to my cousin Kyra about this song the twins and I are working on. It’s been driving me crazy because I just can’t nail the second verse. But she writes country music and you know, she’s married to Colin Fairgood…”

  “Wow, you don’t know who Colin Fairgood is?” Kasha says when his expression blanks. “That is crazy! He’s, like, the biggest name in country.”

  Zahir shakes his head at her. “What does that have to do with—”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t matter,” I quickly agree, waving my hands. “But she mentioned that Colin is producing Roxxy Roxx’s new album, like right now. And I’m, like, ‘wait, Roxxy Roxx is in your house? Like, right now? You’re shitting me!’ Sorry for cursing, but that’s what I said. And then I’m like, ‘can you put her on the phone?’ And she does and, oh my God, Roxxy totally gives me her brother-in-law’s number. And after I explain your situation to him in my best law school voice, he’s all like, ‘grumble-grumble I don’t like being cold-called, but I happen to be in New York at the moment, and my wife will be upset if she hears I didn’t agree to meet with a friend of her sister’s, so, ugh, where are you staying? I’ll come over right now.’ I tell him, and then I immediately start calling you, so you can get here, but as we established you were in a meeting…”