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He groaned, his head lolling to the side. “Go on. Give it a kiss.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. She scooted to the edge of the bed, inviting him to step between her spread legs. She nuzzled the small shorn patch of black hair framing the massive centerpiece and then she popped the cockhead in her mouth. She watched him as she took a long, slobbery draw at his dick, then another. He wobbled beneath her grip. Her pussy throbbed with anticipation.
“Calla,” he moaned, his hand finding the back of her neck. “I don’t know what I want more. To fuck your mouth or your pussy.”
His dirty talk made her pull back, ears ringing as she looked up at him. He buried his fingers in her hair and tightened his grip, sending a chill through her. She spread her legs, hoping it got the point across.
Something unspoken yet clear as day shivered between them, and suddenly Fatim was tearing open a condom—where he’d gotten it from, she didn’t even see—and rolling it down over his dick. Calla lay back on the bed, fighting a silly grin as she waited for him to suit up and assume the position. A moment later Fatim rocked his hips between her legs, his hot cock immediately slipping into the crease of her pussy.
“There we go,” he murmured, his biceps bulging as he supported his weight on the mattress. He rolled his hips slowly, the bulging head nudging for entrance. “Are you ready, Calla?”
She whimpered and nodded, clutching him as he thrust his hips forcefully, popping the head inside her. She moaned, tossing her head back. God, already it was good—too good. And it wasn’t fair. Why did sex with her not-for-forever husband have to be so good? This was the type of thing she needed more than simply over the course of the next 365 days. She needed this permanently.
“Go slow,” she whispered. He was stretching her, big time. Fatim nodded, a low grunt escaping him. He eased himself inside slowly, never breaking eye contact. The intimacy seared through her. When he was buried balls deep, he took a shaky breath that showed just how much this affected him too.
“Holy…” she began, digging her fingernails into his back.
?
??You feel so damn good.” He flexed against her, pulling back to admire her. He ran a hand along her upper thigh where it met the bunched-up skirt of her dress. “You look so damn good, too. With me buried inside you. In this gorgeous dress.”
She bit her bottom lip, letting the words sink into her. “God, that’s so sexy.”
“And it’s true.” He drew back, and then slammed into her. She whimpered. “Fuck, I could come right now, Calla.”
The way he said her name sent shivers racing up and down her spine. It sounded like a pet name. Even though it was simply her name, the lust edging his voice made it sound both desperate and sweet at the same time.
“Me, too,” she said, arching her back as he drilled into her. He was pushing into her more forcefully now, the friction gathering, sparking. He could undo her with his eyes alone at this point. Fatim grunted again, his abs flexing as he pulled out of her. When he pushed back in, knocking the base of her clit, she started the tumble over the edge once more. She squeezed his forearms, a squeal escaping her as her pussy tightened, and she came and came and came.
Fatim pushed in and out of her a few more times, extending her pleasure, drawing it out so long that by the time she had calmed and Fatim himself had come, she felt utterly drained. She melted back onto the bed as Fatim collapsed beside her. Sweat shone on his forehead, and he grinned at her like a teenager, pure goofiness and satisfaction.
They lay like that for a long time, just looking at each other. The buzz of her orgasm finally receded to a whisper, and she was able to speak again.
“Happy birthday, Fatim,” she managed, and then leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.
9
The week following the wedding felt a lot like business as usual. That mystifyingly hot night of sex in the royal tent—which featured three rounds of sex and six orgasms total between the two of them, four to two in Calla’s favor—did not lead to more sex. In fact, once they finally went to their separate rooms to sleep early the next morning, Calla was already counting the seconds until the next time they got to scratch that royal itch.
But apparently Fatim was content not dabbling in mind-blowing sex ever again. Because he lost himself so deeply in his work that she barely even saw him most nights for dinner with the kids.
He finally showed up Friday night, looking harried and distracted. He’d been so much a ghost that the kids only saw him when he came to tuck them in. Both Rashid and Nara leapt from their seats to greet him, climbing all over him when he sat down at the table.
“Good evening, Calla.” He offered a tight grin. “All is well?”
She looked over at him, unsure what to say. He’d gone from sizzling hot to icy cold from one day to the next—and it appeared he wanted to keep it at the frigid temperature. “Yeah, everything is great. How about you?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s been a busy day.”
Day, sure. But what about the last week since they’d become royal sheikh and wife? She nibbled on her lip, contemplating the plate of flatbread and curry in front of her. This perceived injustice had been circulating inside her like a cyclone. She couldn’t let go of it, either, even though her rational side knew she needed to just let him call the shots and forget about it. If he wanted their marriage to be like this—hot sex and then a dark, lonely cavern of nothing—then so be it. She was here for the money and the opportunities. She should be thankful she even got that first night with him.
But rationalizations didn’t help. She wanted more of him anyway. Even if it was foolish.
The kids jabbered about their days as he scooped food into his mouth. She wondered if he was even listening to them. When it came time for a response to Nara’s question about her school review, Fatim didn’t say anything.
“Papa, you think I’m doing good, right?” She tilted her head up to look at him, dark curls bobbing.
“Sorry, peanut.” Fatim cleared his throat, glancing up at Calla.
