“I’m not sure I should,” said Dahlia, eyeing him suspiciously.
“The prince commands it.” He patted the couch, and Dahlia sat next to him. He kissed her neck. “Look, I have a picture to show you. From lunch.”
“I don’t want to see the langoustines,” said Dahlia. “I hate food pics.”
“It’s of us,” said TNT, handing her his phone. “Two hundred thousand likes on TikTok already.”
Dahlia studied the selfie of the two of them smiling at their table at the restaurant earlier that afternoon. “Very nice,” she said.
“Is that all?” he asked.
“You look handsome,” said Dahlia.
“Check the background,” said Tariq, pointing to a dark-haired woman seated at a table for two, next to the window, a man across from her with his back to the camera. “It’s her. She didn’t even know it.”
Dahlia regarded the woman. “Yes, I see.”
He kissed her again, placing a hand on her thigh, squeezing her firm flesh. “How do you feel? Is everything all right?”
“Fine.”
“Certain?” he asked.
“A bit shaken, to be honest,” said Dahlia. “I’ve never done anything like that.”
“It’s to be expected.” He slipped his finger beneath her undergarment and touched soft, moist skin.
“Please,” she said, arching her back. “Stop.”
“And you are still committed?” he asked.
“Of course,” she whispered. “More than ever.”
“I know you are,” said Tariq, feeling himself stir.
“Please,” said Dahlia. “Someone may come. Stop.”
“Are you sure?” he whispered, kissing her, biting her lip.
“Yes . . . no.”
He slid a finger inside her. “Which one?”
Dahlia moaned, her body trembling. She placed a hand on him. “Damn you.”
“Get on the floor,” he said.
“Here?”
“On the floor.”
“But the door is open—”
“Do as I say.”
“Yes, Tariq.” Dahlia slid off the couch and lay down on the carpet.
Tariq pulled down her skirt and her undergarments. “Yes, my prince.”
