Chapter Ten
NIKAH
LYRIC
“ Y ou look absolutely beautiful,” Flower whispers behind me.
“Hell yeah she does.” Coming to stand beside me, Fi looks at me with love shining in her eyes. Love that is clouded by worry, frustration, and anger.
We’re so close I know her feelings are only reflecting mine. Worry about what the future holds and anger at how I’ve allowed this motherfucker to snatch my life from me like it was nothing. Frustration and feeling powerless to stop it. Like I haven’t worked my ass off for over a decade to get the top of the game.
Now, poof, just like it was all a fever dream. My life is gone. In the three weeks since the wedding announcement, my life has been a flurry of activity. I haven’t had a chance to fully digest my new circumstances. This whole situation gives The Shock Doctrine a run for its money.
Now, we are here on the day of the wedding and I’m still processing. Between the daily tutors, lawyers, and designers, along with meeting with US emissaries watched over closely by Hassan’s staff. I’ve had no time for myself other than what I’ve carved out for Ayaan. And silent sentinels oversee even that, as if I would do harm to my child.
More likely, they stand guard to make sure I don’t run away. As if that’s an option. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve witnessed the depth and breath of my soon to be husband’s power just from the obsequiousness of the American envoys. They all but blame me for the current situation as if I landed in this airspace on my own.
I’ve talked to none of my friends or my sisters in the weeks preceding this extravaganza. I don’t even allow myself to think of Hassan. Following that disastrous dinner with my family when he held me all night, I awoke alone and haven’t seen him since.
Despite having long ago come to terms with my abortion and being proud of myself for choosing me, some needy part of me wanted to talk to him about it. No dice. He’s been gone and not available to me at all. I know it’s deliberate. There have been days when I came to see Ayaan and knew without inquiring that he’d just left by the smell of tobacco flower, vetiver and parchment still lingering in the air. If he wanted to see me, he could have. He just chose not to.
I told myself not to be bothered by it. He showed me kindness that night and that was all I could hope for. I admonished myself for even allowing myself to think it meant he saw me as a person rather than a slag.
Now, I realize the story — no matter how much he knows about it, only confirms what he thought. I never gave a fuck what anyone ever thought of me. I just never thought the person — my person who I’d joined my life with would feel this way. Now faced with the possibility of being with him, the rest of my life is literally making me sick to my stomach.
“Come sit so we can fit you with the tiara and the veil.” Lovie-Belle coos, bubbling with excitement, patting the plush seat situated center of the sitting area of the dressing room that’s filled with refreshments. It could be a spa day for all the pampering the palace staff has done for me and my bridal party.
Turning to look at the faces of my sisters I can’t hide my smile. “Fairytale princess ain’t got nothing on you big sis,” Kadence beams over to me.
“It takes one to know one.” I wink at her taking my seat allowing the billowing layers of silk taffeta to trap around me like a billowing cloud.
Taking in everyone who showed up for me, Kadence, Song and Harmony all look like angels swathed in lilac halos with my favorite color edging the beautiful modest creations that Summer along with a team of seamstresses Hassan employed worked day and night to have ready in time for today.
The wedding celebrations last seven days as tradition here, but today is the day of the official marriage. Technically, we are already married. That happened when all the contracts were signed during the Nikah-Nama, and Hassan made my mother and step-father wealthier beyond all their wildest dreams, giving them a bride price of fifty million.
The figure is obscene, but Aliah quickly let me know that Khadijah’s was three times that amount and anything less would have tarnished Ayaan. Further researching the customs let me know the higher the bride price, the more elite and valued the bride. I guess I could have demanded more, but thinking that going to Rob was anathema to me. I only hope that in some way my sisters see some of that money, though I doubt it. He’ probably lose it in some scheme in less than a year and probably come out owing some gangster more money.
“You all look beautiful.” Come mother’s quiet tone. I smile her way for company’s sake. I’ve seen this side of her before. It’s always when he’s not around that she softens to the person who loves me best. I don’t know if it’s for the sake of keeping the peace or the fear of being impoverished like we were before he came along that makes her change when he’s around. She’s a person who wraps herself in religion but not the love of God. I’ve long since stopped trying to figure it out. I hope one day she can heal and find peace.
“Thank you, mommy.” I say, using the word I only use when we are alone. She blossoms under my gaze and the soft gazes of my sisters.
“Okay, well, let’s get this thing on. This tiara is old with real jewels. You’ll probably need to take some ibuprofen to stave off a migraine,” Fi mutters, adjusting the crown on the upswept curls she’s piled on my head to cushion the priceless piece. The added pieces of hair she put in place make the weight barely noticeable, but I know as the day wears on, she’s probably right. When the queen brought it to me to borrow for the ceremony, she beamed, taking it out of its secured box. “The last queen of African American descent wore this crown on her wedding. Her name was Antonia.”
“Okay, stand up, so we can get the whole look.” Whispering down to me, she steps back to give me room.
Standing, I give a little turn, tilting my head this way and that to make sure it’s secure.
“Mommy,” the voice of my son reaches me before he bounds around the corner of the room, rushing straight for me.
Bending, I reach for him just as he plows into my legs. Sweeping him up, I kiss his rosy cheeks.
“Hey, my big man.” Beaming at him, I look on to the attendants following him. He’s gotten used to being surrounded by others. Them being women who cater to his every need is one reason, and then he knows his father and I are never too far away.
Walking out of the room, I see them place the elaborately decorated amira — a covered throne like chair on the ground. Four male attendants stand silently by as I get in with Ayaan snuggling in beside me.
A retinue of guards follow us and women from Hassan’s extended family singing traditional wedding songs, leading us all the way to the grand hall where the celebration seems to be already underway.
Hassan insisted on a traditional Moroccan wedding and that it be aired live on television so the world could see him claim me and his son in the most public way possible.
As we enter the cymbals and drums lower to a steady rhythmic beat as flower petals are thrown over me, my son and entourage.
For one panicked moment, I think of just grabbing my baby and running out of here, but reason comes just as quickly. Where would I go? There is nowhere I can hide from this man. He’s already shown me there’s nothing he won’t do to have his son in his life and I know he’ll end me, just like he promised if I dare anything to subvert his will.
There is a seat large enough to sit two on a dais. Once they lower me to the ground, my sisters help me from the conveyance. I walk over to the settee taking the short flight up the stairs.
Sitting down, I pull Ayaan up beside me. Soon, the room is filled with songs of celebration and love.
Looking out, I see my friends mixed in with the women of Hassan’s family. His sister, Amani, is there with an unreadable expression on her face. I know she must hate me after the hurt I caused her best friend. This should be her literal day. Because so many dignitaries had already confirmed we kept the original date. I had them send all the bridal gifts that came to Khadijah, though. It seemed only right since I took her fiancé. I didn’t want her gifts.
A steady beat of even louder drums and chants reverberate around the room seeming to come from all sides like we are under conquest. Men pour in from all sides spilling through the entrances. From the one we took Sadiq leads a group in a divan lifted in the shoulders of several men. His face is flooded with fierce pride as the king strides alongside him. They come to the dais and lower Hassan to the ground before me.
He stands before me as the crowd quiets.
The queen and king come to stand off to one side with Mother and Rob on the other. I do my best to try not to look at him.
Hassan looks at Ayaan and me, his gaze holding such fierceness I’m almost taken aback by it. I know then there will never be an escape from this mad prince. He fully intends to keep us and breed me as often as possible. The look he’s wearing further confirms this. He does nothing to hide his intention as he stalks up the stairs leading to the little sofa I’m sitting on with our son.
His shadow looms over me as he stand before me. I barely notice the Imam coming to stand beside him nor the words he speaks over us.
“Lyric,” his voice thunders for all to hear saying the words that seal us together.
Bending low, he presses a firm kiss to my brow. As he rises, he draws me up to stand beside him. His eyes bore into me, waiting for me to say the words.
“I,” swallow the words seem trapped in my throat. His jaw tenses and flexes. Eyes turning into hard chips of jade, he almost dares me to embarrass him in front of his people. “I” the words flow from me like water from the many fountains within the palace gardens, claiming my wish and desire to be his wife three times as I have been instructed.
He remains unmoved as he watches me mouth the words.
Cheers erupt the moment I finish giving way to chants. We take our seats on the small settee with Hassan lounging like he’s watching a football match with his arm thrown behind us with Ayaan’s squirming little body between us.
“Come here little man,” he murmurs to our son sitting him in his lap.
Now the gap in space is taken over by his thick thighs. I feel every inch of muscle and sinew when his thigh presses against mine.
The wedding festivities continue as the Imam speaks blessings over us and our family. I notice he says announces the proclamation of Ayaan being a prince and the heir. There is nothing about me.
I know from the hours upon hours of study with the tutors assigned to me that I’ve not been acknowledged in any other way than being his wife and consort. Not a princess. I’m only named as alqarin not sahibat alsumui almalakii. I may as well be his baby momma and nothing else. Though the contracts give me vast holdings and wealth, the prince and his upbringing is strictly under the purview of the king and queen. Without an official title, I have no more rights than I started out with.
He played me. Made me think there would be equity in this marriage. No. I played myself. Fooled myself into thinking he would do right by me. I should have known better. He never once said he was ready to move past me not telling him about Ayaan. This is his retribution.
I watch his trifling ass look at me with cool eyes as the realization dawns on me. Just how limited my power is. The hurt is deep. I have been the captain of my life for the last decade, only to have it ripped from me in one fell swoop by this diabolical motherfucker. I should have been a little less eager to make amends. Perhaps I shouldn’t have wanted to bring some sense of normalcy to Ayaan’s life so soon when he kidnapped us from the plane. I should have let Prosper help when she sounded the alarm I was taken against my will. No. Instead, I put my trust in Hassan and look where that got me. Sitting here with a man who literally holds my life in his hands. At his smallest whim, I could be executed. Hassan is all powerful here. I am nothing but his unwanted consort.
Stewing on the recent developments, I watch as food is brought in. Trenches laden with fragrant, steaming lamb, dishes of rice, spiced fruit and herbs, roasted potatoes, lentils and dishes of yogurt are set before us.
I take the small bites he offers me and offer him the same. It’s all for appearance’s sake. It takes everything in me not to smush the food into his smug ass face.
“Yummy, mummy,” Ayaan mumbles sleepily, tucking himself into my side just as we are being serenaded by a beautiful singer accompanied by a guitarist.
The melody is envelopes me as she alternates between Arabic and English. It feels like a giant sitting on my chest — like part of the dream is lost.
Powerlessness is not a vibe when you’ve worked so hard for everything like I have. All I’ve accomplished was hard won and now this prince has striped it from me like it’s a game.
“He’s asleep.” He leans over to not disturb Ayaan. “We should go before his sleep is broken.”
I cut a look his way then cast my eyes downward before any onlookers can see the animosity brimming there.
Standing with ease, he takes Ayaan in his arms and reaches to help me stand.
I take his hand, biting back the anger that I’m feeling, knowing soon I will be able to fully express my anger in our private suites — another reason I thought he wanted a new start. I’d been informed that His Highness was taking the unprecedented actions of having his family share his suites. No separation like those of most monarchs where visits and even procreation are scheduled. No, we will share the same space like normal families.
I follow behind him as he carries Ayaan to our new rooms, with a retinue of courtiers following behind.
“He barely moved when I laid him down. Did you want to see him?” He asks like he didn’t just sucker punch me at the wedding he forced me into.
“I kissed him before you took him back.” I keep my response quiet. Keeping my interlaced fingers held tight so I don’t end up attacking him. I scoot back deeper in to the plush cushion of the sofa, craning my head to meet his jade gaze.
“Just a consort, huh? Why’d you even marry me if I’m only going to be given side-chick status?” Inside, I cringe at the last part ending on a hitch. I sound hurt to my own ears and I hate that for me. I need to keep it together.
“Yes, a consort. Honored above all others for the one, who gave me my son and heir. Also, the woman who hid him from me for more than a year.” He looks down so cooly with the light from the room hitting the bright jade of his gaze, making him look entrancing and cruel. I immediately regret sitting. Not that my height is a match for his, but I wouldn’t feel so vulnerable.
“Did you really expect to be rewarded for your deceit?” He scoffs, wheeling away from me before rounding back on me. “I’ve killed for insults less than this. Yet not only do you live, but you have a chance to redeem yourself.”
Now, I do stand. Storming over to him, I shove his massive chest.
“How fucking dare you? Redeem myself?”
His hand whips out, snatching me my the neck. My breath seizes as he traps it in my throat.
“Jameela, don’t forget who the fuck you married.” Slowly he raises his arm, bringing me up to my tiptoes. “Redeem yourself, yes.” A wicked smile licks across his face. “Just as you did so beautifully for me a few weeks ago. You will pleasure me. I’ll breed that pretty little pussy and you will give me more children. Then, if you are a good little consort, I will elevate you.”
Dragging me closer, his lips brush mine. “Don’t think I don’t know how you’ve tried to smuggle notes out to Prosper Shipmoore begging her to be on the standby. You’ve going to cause a lot of death if you keeping trying to leave with my son.” His chiding whisper belies the anger banked in his gaze, shaking his head as he reads the horror in my eyes.
“You gave me my son and for that, I allow you to live. You have to decide if you want the demise of others on your conscious. I promise you, I won’t miss any sleep because of my efforts to keep my family safe.”
Releasing me he allows me to catch my breath before continuing, “Now it’s time for us to retire wife.”
“I know you don’t expect?—”
“I do and you shall,” he snaps, nodding towards our private suite.
My heart trips over itself as I scramble to piece together his accusations. I’ve not talked to Prosper. Whatever notes he’s intercepted, they haven’t been from me. I know I’m being watched like a hawk and one thing I’m not is a dummy. I know I can’t get away with anything so brazen. There is no one in this palace I trust to help me escape.
He follows close behind me until we reach the interior of the bedroom. I remember how I wanted to avoid even looking at it that first day. The last time we came together, it was in my suite now as I enter his private sanctum. I can’t help but feel intimidated entering his sacred space.
The bed sits high and imposing. His staff has thoughtfully pulled back the damask duvet. Cream and muted gold sheets seem welcoming and cozy. There is a black box on the night stand on what I assume is his side of the bed and a crystal carafe with crystal water glasses on the side which supposedly is mine.
“Come.” Looking up, I watch as he disappears into a darkened corridor. Is this some type of red room bullshit? I wonder traversing the shadowed hallway. I follow him a short distance that opens into a softly lit space.
There is a pool size bath, set in marble.
“The water is continuous to deter the jinn.” He casts a look over his shoulder as he strips before me.
After tossing his wedding attire onto a nearby divan, he turns to me all rippling muscle and swinging dick.
“Turn,” he murmurs.
Silently, heart thudding like the first time with him, I do as he bids. An interminable amount of time passes as he unbuttons the pearl clasps that line the back of the gown. The moment the built in corset eases, I exhale. He makes quick work down the last, stopping just at the rise of my bottom.
Grabbing the material at my shoulders, he tugs the dress down. The silk brushes my nipples making me gasp. With a swoosh, it falls to the floor at my feet.
“Here, hold my shoulder,” he murmurs, helping me to step out of the pile of silk taffeta. Gathering the dress, he tosses it over his clothes like it didn’t cost thousands and many hours to make.
“Turn.” In stockings and nothing else, I face him. His dick is already full and brimming, with come seeping from the tip.
“I-I um.., where’s the restroom?” Frantically, I look around. My eyes snag on the door on the far side of the room.
“There,” he nods in the direction I’m looking. “I’ll await you in the bath.” He turns, as if dismissing me.
Hating that I have to transverse this football field of a bathroom with him watching every step, I feel despondency creep up a little-bit for the way this day I turning out.
I hurry over to the water closet, feeling the pressure in my abdomen and not wanting to give him anymore of a show. I take a hurried peek over my shoulder.
I needn’t have worried because he’s easing down into the water, relaxing back, resting his head against the brim, with his eyes closed.
After taking my sweet time using his smart toilet and washing my hands, I join him.
Feeling his eyes on me, I make my way back over to him. Never one to let anyone’s reactions to make me self consciousness about my curves bother me, I have to admit as I notice his gaze tracking over every inch of my body, I feel apprehensive. Not about his judgement but the sheer predator lurking in his gaze.
Last time was so sudden and filled with emotion, he probably didn’t notice all the changes. I mean Ayaan was a very aggressive nurser, and he ravaged my breasts. Fi encouraged me to get a lift or a boob job, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it knowing if anything happened, I’d leave him alone. Plus, I earned these titties. Still the way he watches me?—
Reaching up, I cover them as I approach the bath’s steps directly opposite him, hoping that I can submerge myself to keep him from noticing the obvious droop.
“Stop.” My eyes snap up to his unwavering gaze. His brow quirks. “Unless you are about to play with those pretties to get them ready for me to suck, wife.”
Why do his words and the way he calls me, wife makes my pussy flex and flood, I’d never know. As much as I don’t like his ass, my body, especially my traitorous kitty kat seems to love him.
“Come jameela.” His voice is so rough and commanding as I wade over to him. The closer I get, I see the way his hand moves under the water. He’s jacking his dick in slow, long strokes. The head glistening above the water like a beacon showing me the way.
“Take me in hand, little sparrow,” He growls, easing back, and spreading his legs, making room for me.
Settling between his legs, I do as he wishes. Hands closing around the smooth hard flesh, I mimic the movements he made moments ago. Watching my work, I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. Up and down I stroke him as he fucks both my hands wrapped around his big dick, barely meeting and in no way able to cover him from root to tip. However, I’m not a flake, so what I lack in covering him I make up by adding a little twist and slide of my hand.
“Fuck, you’re such a good little wife,” he groans, thrusting his hips in tandem with my movements.
“Let me come in your mouth.” Demand or plea, I don’t know, but I cover him, taking the head of his dick into my mouth. Resting my hand on his thighs, I switch angles so I can take in down my throat. He immediately starts fucking my mouth. Heavy hands cup my head and long fingers spear into my hair, tugging me down. “That’s it. Take your husband’s dick down your pretty little throat. Show me how much you want to please your prince.” His voice seems to rumble so deep I feel it down to the center of my soul. He tastes clean and all man. He fucks my throat in steady, long drags, making me gag at the end.
I feel his thighs flex and stiffen. “Take my seed, sparrow, take it now.” He presses me close as I swallow rope after rope of his sweet, salty essence.
With a swiftness that leaves me dizzy, he turns me, lifting me over the edge of the bath.
“Look how fat and needy this motherfucker is.” Eyes locked on me, he dips his fingers between my pussy lips, lightly stroking me. Bringing two wet digits to his lips, he sucks them clean, his jade gaze never leaving me.
“Delicious. I took everything to stay away after I had you again.” Reading my expressing his mouth flattens. “No, it wasn’t my choice. Umm was informed of our time together. She insisted I do nothing more to make your time here more challenging.”
Pushing my legs further apart, he slides deeper into the water so that his face is level with the neediest part of me. “Now there is nothing that will stop me from giving you what you need, Lyric.” Pressing a filthy kiss on my clit, he begins to ruin me with every lick and lave of his tongue.
“Hold that pussy open for me, beautiful.” He tells me, placing my feet on the edge.
Whimpering, I hold my spread knees apart, ignoring the slight ache in my joints that is soon forgotten once he buries his head deep in my pussy. Sucking my clit with gentle pulls, he almost sends me over the edge but stops just shy of letting me climax. Then his tongue is inside of me trying to find its home. Muscles clinch trying to capture and hold him there for as long as possible before he slips free, only to circle and tease me, continuing his exorbitant torture of my pussy.
“Ohmygoodness, Hassan.” I gasp, delving my fingers into the slick curls of his hair. Pulling back his lips wet with me, he spears me with a ruthless look. “Husband,” snatching me to him, he takes my mouth, making me taste myself on his lips. His tongue slides deep mastering me, fucking me, making me moan. “Say it, wife.” There’s a dare there.
I swallow. He only made you a consort. Whispers in my mind. I shake my head no.
A strong hand manacles my neck. “Say it, wife.” Eyes glinting with wickedness accompanying the snarl on his lips. Again, I shake my head, no.
“You leave me no choice but to punish you, wife.” He tells me, squeezing a little for emphasis. A cruel smile spreads thinly across his face. “You will say, rahma if it becomes too much for you, jameela. It means mercy.”
He squeezes. “What do you say?”
“Rahma” I gasp.
He smacks my pussy. A scream spills from my lips yet I don’t say, rahma — not then and not when he does it again and again. Not when he moves behind me with his dick pressed heavily between my bottom cheeks and spanks me with a hard rhythm that has me writhing and squirming in his lap.
“Such a naughty little wife.” Slap. “A disobedient,” Slap. “Obstinate.” Slap. “Mean.” Slap. I gasp at being called, mean. “Oh you don’t like that?” I can feel him smile as he press his chiseled jaw against my cheek, his chuckle is sinister and keeps spanking me bringing me so close as he keeps on with his ruinous administration to my sore, aching pussy.
“Look at how puffy and needy my girl is.” Pushing two fingers in deep, he groans. “Still so fucking tight.” Can you take me?” He starts finger fucking me in slow deep strokes. “Look at how she grips me. She’s so sweet to me. Not like your mean ass,” he whispers cruelly in my ear. “Get on my dick.” Shifting me, he positions me so I’m facing him.
“Take your husband inside of you, wife,” he grits, his eyes hard and heated with untold desire.
With trembling fingers, I take his phallus, pressing down until his head breaches me. The slight burn as he stretches me has me biting my lip in pleasure.
“That’s it. Be a good little cumslut for your husband and take me to the hilt.” He urges, pressing up into my slick heat. Even with the water and my own lubrication, it takes effort to do as he commands.
Midway, I have to take a breath. Muscles clinch around him, trying to resist and welcome at the same time. If I hadn’t had sex with him before, I would doubt I could take him, but like I said, I’m not a quitter.
Long fingers brushing my clit help to ease my way. Soon I’m taking all of him. I swear he’s in my chest. My breath comes like a humming bird’s beating wings. His edging has me on the precipice of pain and pleasure.
Effortlessly, he grips my curves in a bruising hold, lifting me and dropping me on his dick. The motion makes waves splash against us. Gripping his shoulders at first to just hold on, soon, I find myself working in concert with him. Circling his waist with my legs, I bounce up and down on his length watching and loving the way his jaw flexes every time I slam home.
Higher and harder he lifts and fucks deep, taking me closer to the height of bliss.
“Ohh,” I cry when he keeps hitting my spot.
He stops. “Say it.” Holding me suspended, I know he’s not going to let me finish if I don’t comply.
“Husband.” The words are just as broken as I am after his punishing pleasure. I plead, “Husband, please let me come — let me pleasure you.”
Jerking me into his powerful arms. He smothers me with kisses as he surges into me hitting my spot. Working his dick into me with determined precision, he drags his head against the most sensitive place inside me as he uses his fingers to compound my pleasure by massaging my clit.
“So fucking good, songbird. You’re so good to me, lil’mama.”
His words, his movements, both send me over the edge into a bliss that surpasses all our other experiences. The meanness gives way to tenderness as he finds his own release.
Kissing me, kissing me, praising me, his hands stroking every part of me. “Beautiful, glorious wife.”
Pulling back, he looks down at me. “You’re mine now. I will protect you and our children always.” He promises with a solemnity that makes me wish he loved me a little.