With the tenderest of caresses, he slid his warm palms over my ass. Over and over he rubbed me gently. His hot length often pushed against me or skidded across my skin. Right now, he was sliding it through my sodden folds. He continued to growl at finding me so wet, often just saying the one word, “Wet.” As if it alone was erotic as hell. He held his cock and slapped my ass with it—the sound was lush and thick and just added more to my frenzied state of arousal.
I whimpered, “Fuck me, Amir. Please.”
He danced the slick crown of his shaft around and against my pussy, teasing me with it. I moaned and lifted my butt higher in the air and spread myself apart with my hands. He hissed and seated himself just at my entrance, his head throbbed as my body pulsed and spasmed I anticipation. He slid in just past his broad crown and stalled. I was incredibly tight now, but also so lubricated, I knew this was going to be an amazing session for both of us.
I continued spreading myself with my own hands, and he held me tightly at my hips. He took shallow strokes, coating his cock with my serum and driving himself deeper with each shove. I was darn near climax, and he wasn’t even all the way inside. He stretched me, filled me, pushed on my walls and inhabited me in a way he’d never done. It was good. It was darn near intoxicating, and we’d done nothing. My pussy dripped. Amir was in me and part of me, and I could feel I was going to cum—I was going to explode. I pushed that last final bit and fully met his thrusts. His hands shook and he held me fast, pinned to his groin with his long, thick cock buried in me. He hissed out a breath, “So tight.”
“Fuck me, Amir,” I gasped.
“So tight, Julie—I fear damaging you. Hurt you.”
“No—good—it’s okay.” His hands held me tightly, and he pulled back just a little, and then slid home again. “Yes! More. Take me, Amir!”
He made that frustrated sound again, and I pulled away and then pushed myself back over him in a fluid, forceful motion. He hissed
and his grip on my bottom trembled. I repeated the maneuver, and before I could fully sink over him, he took over and began a long, slow glide in and out of me. It was delicious! It was orgasmic. I cried and braced myself as his girth owned me, took me, impaled me.
When the climax overtook me, it was anything but slow and rolling. It pummeled me into the ground, over and over, ravaging my body from the inside out. Amir was a beast behind me, his thighs were bouncing against mine, rubbing me with his bristly hairs, and his shaft was ramming in and out of me.
When Amir climaxed and his muscles allowed him to relax, he did so by draping himself over my back. He was still deeply inside my body, and still occasionally jerking through an aftershock. He wrapped his arms around me and held me with my back pressed to his sweat-soaked chest. I purred my delight and reached back to touch his thigh. It was all I could do, but I had to touch more of him. He panted as his head drooped over my shoulder, and in a rare moment for the man that never swore –he whisper-spoke, “Most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”
I think I replied with, “Me too.”
When he slid free of my body, he did so with an audible popping sound, as if we’d created an internal suction device. We both made sounds of amusement, and then he picked me up and carried me to the bathroom. He sat me in the chair by the window and then drew a hot bath. He joined me in the tub and insisted on caring for me. He washed my back and stroked my breasts. “You are such a good girl. You amaze me, Julie. You are a warrior and temptress and the most seductive female I’ve ever known. Do you know how much you please me?”
Chapter Five
It wasn’t wildly known that King Amir had an American wife, or an heir apparent, for that matter. So, when I went to the university, covered in my black garb that I still hated, nobody knew who I was. They did all know I had a fair complexion and blue eyes—and that I was always accompanied by two burly-looking guards. Said men would stand like sentries on either side of the classroom door out in the hall, during class, but would then stalk just a few feet behind me and to either side as I wove my way to the next class. Initially, this odd gathering garnered many stares, but now that it had been a few weeks, not so much.
I was also getting more comfortable at the university and was getting to know my teachers and a few fellow students. Most of the women did wear clothing that covered all their skin, but not necessarily their faces, and rarely did they wear black. I went home after my second day and accused Amir of playing a joke on me. He of course snickered and confessed. “Ahhh, but now it won’t seem so bad just to cover your entire body? No?”
He did have a point, but I was still chagrin to give him any concessions on the matter. The following week I wore nice clothes—a long skirt and a long sleeve blouse. I even put a scarf over my hair, but I didn’t cover my face. I had one teacher, a handsome man in his early thirties, who seemed to always speak directly to me—as if he couldn’t take his eyes off of me. It made me a bit uncomfortable, but like everything else, I got used to it. The Arab men were bold if nothing else and rarely did they hide how they felt.
“Miss Swanson, please stay after class,” Mr. Abdullah requested just moments before the bell rang.
I did as requested, but never looked him in the eye. I was uncomfortable to say the least. Not only was I still on uneven ground with the whole language barrier thing, but I kinda knew what he was going to ask me. It wasn’t his fault, he had no idea who I belonged to. Amir and I had even decided I would use my maiden name until we were officially married and the public knew I was their queen.
As soon as the classroom was empty, he straight-forwardly asked me. “I’d like to court you, Julie. I find you breathtakingly beautiful. My day is better for the gift of looking upon you.”
I let my surprise show on my face, and one of my men popped in his head with a questioning glance. I lifted a finger to indicate a second longer and then refocused on my professor. My cheeks burned, and I hoped he didn’t think it was my response to his words—it was more the embarrassment I knew he was just about to feel. “Mr. Abdullah, you are much too kind. May I speak in English?”
He made a motion with his hand indicating that was fine, so I switched to the language I was most comfortable with. “I realize you are unaware of who I am—I mean, who I am attached to. So, please do not feel chagrin when you hear my answer—you are in no way responsible for knowing this. But, well, um, I’m kind of married to Amir Rashid.” I drew my lips out in a tight line and winced for him.
His expression remained indifferent for the span of a few moments, and then he lowered his eyes and coughed. “Our King?”
“Yes, afraid so,” I replied.
He then looked upon me with a kind of sorrow I wished I could comfort. “I will beg your forgiveness…” He paused and then slowly bowed and said, “Your Highness, my sincerest apologies.”
Then it was my turn to choke and sputter, “I’m not really your highness yet. I mean, well, it is official, just not public.” He nodded knowingly, and I added, “I’d appreciate it if you kept this a secret until we have the ceremony next month?”
He bowed again and when he rose up, his eyes locked on mine and I felt his anguish, “Of course.” I thought that was all he was going to say, but as I turned to go, he quietly said, “You are an angel. Our King is a lucky man to have garnered such a gift from the heavens.”
I didn’t know what to say so I gave him a quick nod and I left. The next day, Mr. Abdullah didn’t take his eyes off of me the entire class.
***
I was beginning to understand that my common looks in America were anything but in a country of dark-skinned desert dwellers. They knew nothing about me apart from my light hair and blue eyes, and well, my height didn’t hurt since I was taller than three quarters of the male population, but just from that, they kinda worshiped me. It wasn’t something I was at all comfortable with, and even having the guards bothered me because it brought undue attention to me all the time. I had the sneaking suspicion I was never again going to be anonymous, and for that I kinda ached. I knew I would grow accustomed to the adoration and attention, but I doubted I would ever learn to love it like some did. I didn’t need fame and had never sought it out. Now that it had found me, I missed my old life with a new intensity.