Lost in pleasure, I reach for her clit between our bodies, and when I feel her clenching, surrendering, coming hard, I allow myself to release inside my woman’s body.
Madeline lies down, her head on my chest. “I love you, Kamal. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall in love with you, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I love you, and I want us together. A life and a family with you.”
I hold her tight in my arms and let those words sink into my blood, marking them inside me. “I’ll never let you go.”
“You don’t have that power, my Sheikh. I’m not in a prison. I’m giving myself to you willingly. I want it all.”
Chapter 39
I wake up, put on a robe, and rush to the entrance of the tent, unable to believe that we’re really here. His controlling manner has its advantages; he even had a small suitcase packed for me. Outside, the heat of the sun hits my face, and I feel alive, despite my body being exhausted from a nearly sleepless night. I have no experience with romantic relationships, but I think we are one step away from becoming addicted to sex.
I go back inside the tent and come face-to-face with Kamal, gloriously naked, standing and watching me.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks. “It seems like you’re hiding a secret, my fiancée.”
I step closer to him. “I’m a woman. I keep all the secrets of the world.”
He lifts me in his arms and heads to the bathroom. As he carries me, he whispers in my ear, “Tell me some of them while I fuck you in front of the mirror, Madeline. I want to see our reflection when I make you come.”
“Why haven’t you told your mother about us yet?” he asks when we’re enjoying the delicious breakfast that has been served.
“She knows, in a way. Not about the engagement or the baby but about us,” I reply.
“And she doesn’t approve,” he states more than asks, so I don’t feel obligated to deny it.
“My mother isn’t like yours, Kamal. She loathes anything that deviates from her world’s standards.”
“Tell me more about it,” he says.
“I was raised to be perfect, and it destroyed my self-esteem because nothing I did was ever good enough.”
“In what way?”
“Everything. It’s not like there was a specific episode but rather memories of a lifetime. According to her, my clothes were always inadequate. I didn’t know how to sit properly or even hold a conversation. That was when I was a child. As a teenager, which is already a difficult period for anyone, I became even more introverted. I’m not shy at all, but I learned to police myself so much that I forgot how to make friends.”
“Why?”
“There were so manyyou can’tsthat they triggered my stress, and when I get too anxious” —I lower my eyes because I’m embarrassed—”my dyslexia gets worse.”
“It’s hardly noticeable.”
“I mix up words, don’t I?”
“Only a few, and only when you’re very agitated.”
“Now it happens even when I get excited or happy. Before, it was only when I was under too much stress, which meant my whole life.”
“Did your mother correct you?”
“Not just correct. If we had a party to go, there were dozens of instructions for me to be careful not to embarrass myself by saying something wrong. I ended up choosing silence to avoid the risk of upsetting her, but that didn’t help because she complained that I wasn’t paying attention to potential boyfriends. She said I needed to compensate for mydeficiencieswith beauty and charm.”
I see his mouth tense, and by now I know him well enough to recognize that he’s restraining himself from saying something.
“Now maybe you understand why I haven’t told her about the baby yet. I might be acting like a fool, but I didn’t feel like sharing our child with my parents just yet.”
“Is that the only reason?” he asks, and I lie because I don’t want to tell him that she even disapproved the color of his skin.
I’m not just embarrassed by my mother being the way she is. If I’m honest, most of the time, I’m disgusted by her.
