into her eyes, his own so dark they appeared black. “Now, I make you mine.”
She didn’t reply. Could not form words to deny the claim and refused to face the truth of its temporary nature.
There was no need for her to respond as he moved between her legs, his engorged, steel-like hardness pushing inside her.
She could feel the stretch as her most intimate flesh strained to accommodate his. His member was much thicker than his fingers had been inside her. The sensation of not only being joined to him, but completely filled by him washed over her.
Neither spoke as he rocked gently with his hips, pressing deeper with each small thrust. Their gazes remained locked, the connection something so much more than physical. But then, she’d never expected anything else.
She loved this man with her whole heart and sharing her body with him was both spiritual and highly emotional.
Despite the obvious need making his muscles bulge from the tension of holding back, Zahir leaned down and placed the gentlest of kisses on her lips.
Tears washed her eyes, but she wasn’t ashamed of them. They seemed an appropriate reaction to this moment. He did not seemed fazed by them, either, merely tilting his lips at one corner as he brushed the moisture away with his thumb. “Are you ready?”
She almost asked for what, but he shifted just that much and she felt a new type of pleasure. Something so intimate and primal that she could do nothing but nod.
He did not smile, though she could sense his satisfaction at her agreement. He did begin to move, starting a careful, steady rhythm that was at once wonderful and not enough.
“More, please, Zahir.”
He shook his head; the strain around his eyes the only indication that holding back was taking its toll on him. “Not this time. You are too new to this. You will have nothing but pleasure from me this night.”
“It does feel good,” she said somewhere between pleading and affirmation.
And they didn’t have a some other time between them.
Rather than answer, he kissed her again, but this time with an unrestrained carnality that revealed how close to losing his control he really was. She responded, losing herself in the joy of their connection.
His movements grew jerky, though he did not let himself go as she was craving. A small voice in the back of her head told her she would thank him for his control later, but right now, she was once again reaching for the pinnacle of pleasure.
When it came, it washed over her in a warm wave unlike the frantic convulsions of the first time. However, his body seized, muscles straining, his neck corded as he threw his head back and let out a primal shout of completion.
A sense of accomplishment washed over her, adding to her happiness. She had given him this, just as he had given her unimaginable pleasure.
“It is done.” His voice held a profundity that touched her deeply.
No matter the cause, she and Zahir had been one for this moment in time.
She wanted to say something, but tiredness overtook her and she felt the room fading even as Zahir whispered words of praise next to her ear, their bodies still joined.
ZAHIR lowered himself and Angele into the steaming, fragrant water of the bath. Worthy of communal baths anywhere in Zohra, the traditional mosaic tiled rectangular bath could easily accommodate four adults. It would only ever serve him and Angele however.
As her toes touched the water, she began to stir.
The soft lighting was brighter than the candlelight in the bedroom, but not so bright it should hurt her eyes. Nevertheless, he bent protectively over her as she wakened. He’d never had a lover fall into dozing like she had, a picture of perfect peace and contentment.
It had stirred something inside him he did not want to examine too closely.
“It smells so good,” she whispered as she snuggled her head into the joint of his shoulder and neck.
A small bag of fragrant herbs floated on the surface near them. He had added the vial of specially prepared oils to the steaming water as well. “It is the traditional bathing treatment for after the wedding night.”
“For all of Zohra, or for your family?”
“These herbs and spices are mixed only for the royal family.” He brushed his hands down her stomach, tempted to go lower, but refrained. She needed time to recover before he made love to her again. “They are supposed to help assuage the aches and pains post coitus.”
“They’re doing a bang-up job.” The husky tone of her voice challenged his intentions further.
“I am glad you find it so.”
“Don’t you?” she asked, as if daring him to deny the lovemaking had not been impacting for him as well. He had no desire to attempt such a falsehood. “I do.”
Though he suspected he found the bath slightly more reinvigorating than she did. He could not imagine a more pleasing wedding night. The marriage would have to be organized and dignitaries from all over the world invited, but he had no intention of maintaining chastity with her between times.
He could even be grateful they had this time to explore their sensual relationship without concern of the next heir’s conception. He wondered what form of birth control she had decided on, but did not feel tonight was the one to discuss such mundane matters.
Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Angele was intelligent and highly organized. He had no doubt whatever option she’d chosen it was the best and most reliable on the market. When she planned something, she did it with a thoroughness that impressed even his father, or so the king had told Zahir.
He felt honored she had planned this time for them, no matter what nerves had prompted it.
“Your en suite is huge. Is that a royal thing or a rich thing?”
“It is a Zahir thing.” He spent his life serving his people. When he got an opportunity to relax, he wanted to be able to do so in absolute comfort.
“I suspected, but well … it’s not as if I’ve ever gone into my parents’ en suite or my uncle’s, for that matter.”
“You have refused to live in your parents’ home since their reconciliation.”
“It happened when I was an adult.” She paused as if thinking of the past. “It was time for me to get my own place anyway.”
“Had you been raised in Jawhar, you would have remained with your parents until our marriage.”
She tensed, but her tone was even as she said, “But I was not raised in Jawhar.”
“No, you were not.”
“Does
