With one heel propped against his shoulder and fingers gripping a handful of his hair, Imani gasped and whimpered, leaving her legs open so he could take what he wanted from between her quivering thighs.
She came only moments later and trembled through an earth-shattering orgasm. Wasim cradled her body in his arms and waited until her breathing was back to normal before he resumed his exploration.
He truly did learn every inch of her—back, front, thighs, arms, breasts. Not one square inch remained untouched as they made love. He sank his fingers into her hair and brushed his hands over her curves. Gathering her breasts in his hands and sucking her swollen nipples, he made her desire heat up once again to boiling.
She wanted him so badly the aching spot between her legs grew wetter every time his hair-roughened thigh brushed against her tender flesh. She bit her lips to resist the urge to beg but didn’t know how long that would last if he didn’t take her soon.
As if he heard her silent plea, Wasim shifted. Gripping his erection, he looked at her with darkened eyes, his face intent. He settled over her on one arm and brought the broad head of his erection to kiss the entrance of her body.
As he sank into her, she shifted her hips up and absorbed the slide of his hard length. She almost wept, shuttering her eyes as he took full possession of her body. Groaning, her mouth open, Imani shuddered.
“You’re so tight. So wet.” Wasim let out a helpless groan.
Then his hips were in motion—slowly at first as they got accustomed to each other, but then he increased his speed. The mattress groaned under the weight of his forceful thrusts, and her body arched higher. He whispered sensual words to her in Arabic, telling her how soft her skin was and how good it felt to be inside her.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered.
Her eyes flew open.
He seized her mouth and she became filled in two places.
Her arms went around his neck, gripping him close while he sucked her ear and her neck, never once losing the in-and-out rhythm.
Imani guided the fingers of one hand into his thick hair, and then she was airborne, shuddering through another climax that rocked her with the force of an earthquake. As Wasim’s heated grunts beat against her throat, her pulsing cries bounced off the walls. She had never experienced this with any other man. It was surreal. She moved her hips in a frenzy of motion so she wouldn’t miss a single one of his pleasure-giving thrusts.
In the middle of her orgasm, Imani achieved some clarity. She hated clarity and wished she could go back to not knowing—not knowing that she loved him and all this time she’d been in deep denial. The truth was a terrible burden to carry in a marriage of convenience based solely on a promise and a political pact.
She curled her fingers into tight fists at the back of his head and silently responded to what he’d said.
Yes, I’m yours.
Imani glanced over at Wasim. She thought he’d go back to his apartment, but he lay very still on his back. Within minutes, she heard him breathing evenly.
In the glimmer of the lamp beside the bed, his skin was golden. Her eyes trailed over his tousled hair, the neatly groomed beard on his face that had gently scraped between her breasts and along her inner thighs, the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, and the sculpted muscles that defined his arms and abdomen.
She rolled away from him and squeezed her eyes shut. She had never had this—this type of passion before. Either she’d gone without sex for so long she’d forgotten how good it could be, or that was literally the best sex she’d ever had. Her nerves still hadn’t calmed down. They clamored for more contact—rough, gentle—any way he chose to touch her.
She turned off the lamp, tugged the sheet over her nakedness, and prayed for sleep. She didn’t want to dwell on what she’d just learned. Loving him was foolish, and she was no fool. She knew better.
Eventually sleep arrived but was abruptly disrupted when Wasim’s hands caressed her body in the middle of the night. He reawakened her desire with gentle kisses on her breasts and sucking her nipples into his mouth and letting his tongue play with the tender peaks. His fingers moving between her legs and stroking her inner thighs made her wet and horny and she arched feverishly into his touch.
Her jagged breathing met his hungry groans and then Wasim pushed her legs apart and joined their bodies with one smooth thrust. Very little foreplay was needed because she was as wet as he was hard.
He pulled her on top of him and with his hands on her waist, he let her ride. Imani tossed back her head, the sounds of her sexual enjoyment coming out as sharp cries that filled the room. It didn’t take long for them to climax, and afterward she collapsed on top of him.
Their heavy breaths bathed each other’s heated skin as they came down off their high. Wasim shifted so that she was cradled against his chest, and he flung an arm over her waist.
As Imani closed her eyes, she marveled at how much making love to Wasim had impacted her already. She didn’t feel like herself. She felt reborn.
Drifting off to sleep, she knew twice in one night was not going to be enough for Wasim, because it was nowhere near enough for her.
18
Imani squinted into the sunlight coming in through the large windows of her bedroom. The heavy drapes that effectively blocked out all the light had been pulled aside by one of the maids.
“Good morning, Your Highness.” She looked older than Imani, perhaps in her forties.
Imani groaned, closed her eyes, and rolled over into the soft, fluffy pillows. Wasim had left her bed at some point last night, but his scent remained. It clung to the sheets, so much so that she almost felt him, as if he hadn’t left the bed.
“His Excellency requests your presence at breakfast this morning,” the maid said.
Imani opened her eyes to respond and was startled to see another maid, a younger one, standing quietly with her hands clasped in front of her. Being a member of the royal family of Zamibia, she was accustomed to having servants around. But she hadn’t been a princess or queen and had only been assigned one morning maid, so seeing two was unusual for her.
“What time is it?” she mumbled.
The older maid answered. “Seven-fifteen. His Excellency requests your presence at eight o’clock.”
Well, His Excellency can kiss my ass, Imani thought obstinately. He’d kept her up half the night and now wanted her at an early morning breakfast. How ridiculous.
She pulled the linens over her shoulders and settled deeper against the pillows. “I won’t be able to make breakfast at that time. However, I would like breakfast in my room later, at ten o’clock, please.”
Imani closed her eyes, having every intention of going back to sleep and getting some much needed additional rest. The soreness in her aching limbs was a painful reminder that she’d been abstinent for several years. In a couple more hours, she’d be in better shape to face the day.
However, the odd silence made her open one eye. The two maids stood uncertainly in the room. The younger one looked nervously at the older one, and Imani sighed internally. She may be the queen, but Wasim was the king, and he had given them instructions which she was now contradicting. It wasn’t fair to put them in such a tough position.
Sitting up and holding the sheet against her naked chest, she smiled. “I’m kidding. Please run me a bath, and what were your names again?”
Relieved smiles covered the women’s faces, and they gave their names. While the older one went to prepare her bath, Imani gave the younger one instructions on which clothing items she wanted to wear to breakfast. The young woman went off to the huge walk-in closet to get the items.
Imani sat back against the pillows and reflected on when Wasim left her bed in the early morning. She should have been relieved, but a twinge of pain had blossomed over her left breast as she lay there in the dark.
His name might be written on her skin, and she might be wearing a diamond and platinum ring that proclaimed her as his wife, but she
had been left very much alone.
At five minutes after eight, Imani walked out onto a glass-enclosed balcony where Wasim sat at a table sipping on a cup of coffee and reading an electronic tablet. Probably the financial news, as he stayed abreast of changes in the stock market around the world so that he could make better decisions about the royal family’s investments.
When she approached, he looked pointedly at the watch on his wrist and then quickly assessed her appearance. She wore a long-sleeved orange tunic that reached her knees and cream, wide-legged pants underneath. She hadn’t had time to do much with her hair, so she kept it simple, wearing it straight and tucking the right side behind her ear while allowing the left side to swoop across her left brow.
She thought she was simply dressed, but Wasim looked at her with such hunger she was almost embarrassed, certain the servants that hovered nearby could see how much he wanted her. His gaze lingered on her lips, still slightly swollen from his amorous kisses the night before, and she quickly took her seat because the intensity of his stare made her legs unsteady.
His power over her was nerve-racking. The smart, independent, strong-willed woman she considered herself had become foolish, dependent, and weak overnight. She hated him and loved him. He angered her but made her hunger for him, too. Nothing made sense anymore, so she’d concentrate on what was safe and would protect her from harm.
Anger. Anger was her shield.
Imani cleared her throat. “I was told that you wanted me…I mean, requested my presence at breakfast. Was there any particular reason for that?” She draped a white napkin over her thighs.
“I wanted to tell you about my plans,” Wasim replied. He extended his cup and one of the male servers refilled it with coffee. “But before we get started, let’s order breakfast.”
They placed their breakfast orders, and when Imani also had a cup of coffee in front of her, Wasim dismissed the servers so they were alone on the balcony. She’d never been out here before, and the view was spectacular. She could see the harbor with sailboats, yachts, and the largest yacht, which belonged to the royal family. A heliport with two helicopters was also visible from here.
Wasim set down his tablet and gave her his undivided attention. “I’m going to loan you a few members of my staff. They’ll help you get oriented with areas of the palace you weren’t privy to before we married and help you get acquainted with the rest of the employees that work for us. You’ll also need to start putting together your own staff, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the employment requirements.”
“No, you don’t.”
Barrakeschi law required that for any entity that employed more than fifty employees, at least twenty-five percent of them must be a citizen of Barrakesch. This ensured job security for Barrakeschis in a country with a large expat population and ensured that wages stayed stable.
The kingdom also maintained a prominent presence in another part of the business sector. They required a twenty-five percent stake in any foreign company they granted the permission of being allowed to operate on their soil. This generated additional income for the royal family and funded programs that benefited the population as a whole.
Imani and Wasim discussed other operational issues surrounding the residential areas of the palace and timelines for completion. While they talked, their meals arrived. Imani listened to Wasim’s suggestions as she ate spicy scrambled eggs and waffles doused in maple syrup, and he consumed boiled eggs, cheese, bread, and tahini with molasses.
The entire conversation was cool and very civilized, like two business people discussing contracts rather than newlyweds talking about how to merge their households and manage their responsibilities as a highly visible royal couple.
While she agreed with Wasim that love before marriage could work—she’d seen it work many times herself in the arranged marriages in her country as well as here—there was no guarantee. She’d wanted affection, love, and respect to preclude any marriage. Instead, she was seated on a balcony sipping coffee, staring out at the azure blue of the Gulf while her husband returned his attention to the electronic tablet in front of him now that their conversation was over.
“Was there anything else?” Imani asked tartly, to get his attention.
Wasim looked up from the tablet with a frown between his eyes. He clearly didn’t appreciate the interruption.
“No, unless you have a question.”
“No questions. I’ll get right to work.” She pushed back the chair, tossed the napkin on top of the table, and stood.
His eyes followed her movement, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she walked away. She didn’t care what he had to say. Her misery was palpable.
This was exactly the kind of chilly relationship she’d promised herself she’d never have—yet here she was.
19
Since their wedding night, Wasim had returned to the business of running the country. Caught up in meetings much of the day, he didn’t communicate very often with Imani except to meet for dinner, make love, and then go back to his apartment afterward. She should be glad that he left her alone and only bothered her when he needed her to fulfill her duty as his wife. After all, she had plenty to keep her busy. Learning the palace norms, meeting with her own staff, and getting up to date on the programs and causes she could champion and work on with the princesses, or on her own as queen.
But she wasn’t happy. She felt…neglected. Though she was loath to admit it, she wanted Wasim’s attention outside of sex and the occasional meal.
Rather than betray those feelings, she concentrated on learning all she could about the various projects available for her to work on. The ones that appealed to her the most involved women and girls, and she focused her energy on expanding those initiatives.
She and Yasmin met one morning to discuss a passion project for Yasmin—a literacy program in rural areas that had slowly grown over the years. Though the country had a high standard of living and low crime, illiteracy was high among the people in the rural areas, particularly the girls and women. During King Khalid’s reign, Yasmin had convinced her father to send teachers to those remote areas because logistically it was difficult to have them come regularly to the city for classes. Eventually, she hoped to build more girl schools to help with the problem.
Imani loved to read. Reading had opened up a whole world to her as a child, so Yasmin’s project was exactly the kind of thing she could get excited about. They both sat on the sofa in Imani’s office discussing a trip to the rural areas. Yasmin wanted Imani to observe the work she’d done and consider promoting the project by convincing Wasim to instruct Parliament to increase the budget so she could expand the program.
“Have you asked Wasim already?” Imani asked.
“He’s busy, and he’ll want to see facts and figures that I don’t have. How can you quantify the changes made in these women’s lives? In the lives of their families because they can now read. They can take the bus into the city on their own and order supplies for their households without having to wait for their husbands or sons to do it for them. And the daughters get to see their mothers becoming more independent and learn from their example.”
She spoke so passionately that Imani was immediately intrigued. These were exactly the kinds of projects she worked on in Zamibia, and she would love to do the same in Barrakesch.
“When can we go to see the recipients of the program?”
“As soon as you like,” Yasmin said immediately.
“How about day after tomorrow?”
“Yes, absolutely! Since we’ll be gone most of the day, I will check with Farouk to make sure that works for him.” She immediately fired off a text, and the answer came back right away. A big grin spread on her face. “Day after tomorrow is no problem. Farouk will take Malak to the worksite with him. He loves to do that, and put on a hard hat like his father and the other men.”
“Good. We’re all set.”
“Um, do you need to check with
Wasim?”
“No. He’s busy during the day, so I’m sure it’s no problem.”
“I see,” Yasmin said, her voice filled with doubt.
Imani quickly added, “But I’ll mention it tonight when I see him at dinner.” No point in letting her sister-in-law know there was tension between them.
Yasmin’s face transformed into a smile. “If anything changes, let me know.”
Nothing changed.
The next morning, Imani woke up in bed alone, again. Wasim hadn’t come to her room the night before, nor had he eaten dinner with her, so she’d eaten alone and then called her mother and Dahlia to chat. Afterward, she reviewed the details of the literacy program, and Wasim called to tell her that he had an early flight in the morning to attend a two-day summit in Pakistan.
That was it. He didn’t ask about her plans, and she didn’t tell him she would be leaving to go into the countryside.
She ate breakfast with Wasim’s sisters and their mother on the fourth floor and was in her office getting ready to meet Yasmin downstairs when a package arrived from Wasim’s office. She thanked the courier and walked over to her desk. She pulled out the sheets of paper and saw red.
It was the agreement between Barrakesch and Zamibia.
Imani flipped through the pages. They were copies, but in all the places across from King Babatunde’s signature, Wasim had signed his own name and applied the royal seal. Dated yesterday. No doubt a set of originals were in his office and another set on the way to Zamibia.
A maelstrom of emotions seized her, and tears sprang to her eyes. Finally, the project she’d worked so hard on would come to fruition. But a hint of bitterness underlay the joy. That he’d been so dismissive of such an important moment rubbed her the wrong way. That she was here, in the palace because he’d withheld this very document, hanging it over her head in exchange for her agreement to marry him.
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