They twirled their canes, tossed them high, and caught them with ease. Youthful and exuberant, Akmal dropped low while twirling and then came back up again. With a hearty laugh, Wasim did, too. He and his brother were soon joined by several other participants who could do tricks, and the five men put on a show.
Later, at the appointed time, Wasim and the men he chose—his brothers, Prince Kehinde, Imani’s six brothers, Farouk, Andres, and Kofi—headed toward the room where the women celebrated. He hadn’t seen Imani in forty days. Impatiently, he waited outside while the women who guarded the door announced that the men had arrived so that the women who preferred to cover their heads in a man’s presence could put back on their scarfs.
Wasim entered first and he ignored every other woman, gaze landing immediately on Imani.
His breath caught. She was stunning.
She’d chosen not to wear the typical white gown that Barrakeschi brides preferred. Instead, she wore a silk dress from Zamibia, a loose-fitting white gown trimmed in gold lace that draped over her curves in a complimentary way. The rounded neckline allowed her to display numerous gold necklaces and though the sleeves were long, he could clearly see the henna pattern on her hands and the string of gold bracelets that decorated her wrists. Her hair was covered in a white and gold head covering that matched the dress. Gold lipstick and dots below her eyes in gold face paint completed the look.
Wasim’s chest grew tight as his gaze remained on his wife. He barely heard the applause and sounds of ululation from the women who surrounded her. She was even more beautiful than he expected.
Selfishly, despite the problems between them, he knew he’d made the right decision.
And tonight he’d do everything he’d wanted to do to her ever since she stepped off the plane from Zamibia six years ago.
17
Outside the sound of fireworks over the harbor cracked like gunshots in the night and marked the end of the celebration of Imani’s and Wasim’s wedding ceremony.
Inside, Imani stood at the side of the bed in her apartment, taking deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. She hadn’t been with a man in so long she wondered if she remembered how to have sex. A few minutes ago, the maids had left after cleansing her skin, washing her face, and styling her hair, and very soon Wasim would be coming down the hall from his apartment.
Her king-sized bed was filled with fluffy pillows and covered in simple white linens, a striking contrast to the rest of the bedroom’s luxurious gold and cream decor. Above her, a wide and deep recessed ceiling with a heavy chandelier showered bright light over the room, and on either side of the headboard rested ceiling-high mirrors with an etched design. A cream European-style dresser sat against the opposite wall with a large bouquet of red roses in a vase, while its matching tables sandwiched the bed.
The complete suite included a bathroom and another room that opened through an arched doorway where she could sit and have breakfast or read in the evenings. The room was lovely and the furnishings elaborate, but they weren’t enough to make her forget that tonight was her wedding night.
She heard the door snick open and then close, and her muscles bunched with tension. The light overhead went out and only the pale golden glow from one of the lamps on the bedside tables illuminated the room.
Behind her, Wasim didn’t say a word, and she had the sudden urge to cover her body and hide the lavender silk and lace nightie that barely covered her ass and left little to the imagination.
Imani faced her husband. “Came to claim your marital rights?”
“If you think by talking to me like that you’ll turn me away, you’re mistaken.”
“Can’t blame me for trying.”
“I’m not a monster, Imani.”
“So I imagined everything that took place over the past couple of months?”
With deliberate slowness Wasim came toward her and stopped inches away. The earthy fragrance of his cologne and the underlying scent of oud drifted into her nostrils.
As he dipped his head, his lips grazed her hair and his breath brushed her earlobe. “Do you remember that night in Estoria? You have no idea how difficult it was to stop kissing you. I have craved you for so long, and tonight I won’t stop. Tonight…” He kissed behind her ear and the textured softness of his beard added another dimension of sensation. “Tonight I will know every inch of you.”
She turned away and tried to fight her response to his closeness, his scent, his virility as he towered over her. But Wasim placed a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her into a crushing kiss.
Her senses went into an uproar as threads of heat raced through her body. That night, that kiss, and all contact since then had placed a constant strain on her willpower. Now she was free to give in, and she needed more.
Imani wanted to press her aching nipples against his chest to ease the sexual irritation caused by his kisses, but Wasim refused. He held her at bay. In the midst of plundering her mouth, he somehow managed to maintain control while she was on the verge of performing a lewd grind against his hips.
When he tore his lips from hers, Imani gasped in frustration.
“Show me,” he rasped, taking one of her wrists and scouring the henna designs.
She knew immediately what he wanted to see.
“Here,” Imani said quietly, pointing to her inner forearm where his name was hidden in the pattern. “And here.” The other artist had hidden his name in the same spot on her left forearm.
He whispered something she didn’t understand and then kissed her again, hard and long. When he finally stopped, he stripped out of his clothes, and Imani’s mouth went dry.
For years she’d only had her imagination for an idea of what Wasim must look like underneath his clothes, but her mind had fallen far short of the reality. His classic male physique consisted of sculpted muscles that ran the length of his body from shoulders to calves. His athletic build made her want to reach out and stroke his firm chest, run her fingers down his flat belly, or squeeze the muscles that bulged from his thighs. Wisps of dark hair trailed from his chest to his pelvis and made a path down his legs.
He moved closer, oozing sexual energy and masculine grace. “Your turn.”
Within seconds he’d removed her clothes and was on top of her on the bed.
To think, she’d planned to lie there on the mattress as an unwilling participant, but that thought had been quickly dismissed the moment he kissed her. Hunger battered her loins and she kissed Wasim with all the pent-up desire that had banked over time.
When his fingers slipped between her lower lips, she twisted in shock.
“You’re already so wet. You burn for this as much as I do,” he groaned against her collarbone.
She succumbed to the battering ram of his seduction, gripping his powerful shoulders and twisting her head to claim his mouth. She sucked on his bottom lip and thrust her tongue between his lips.
He became almost brutal as he devoured her and matched her ardor. He stretched her hands above her head and clamped her wrists together with one hand. Then his tongue whisked over the tip of one breast while the other bore the brunt of his hand’s fondling. He squeezed and kneaded and dragged his thumb across the turgid nipple until she was arching her back and writhing in the sheets.
Wasim went lower, alternating between kisses and whispering erotic words against her skin. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about this night? How many times I’ve imagined you naked?”