There were no tears when they came together this time, only kisses and increasingly urgent caresses. "Make love to me," Maram begged. She, who had never begged a man for anything in her life.
"When we are safely home and wed," Aladdin promised, stealing her breath with another kiss.
"Now!" she insisted. "Tomorrow anything could happen. Either of us could die, or he might escape with the lamp and leave us here, stranded. Tomorrow is uncertain, but I need to spend tonight in your arms."
She expected him to argue more, but all he said was, "As you wish, Princess."
Hardly daring to believe her luck, Maram led him to her bedchamber, where she eagerly peeled off her clothes. She turned, wanting to feast her eyes on Aladdin's body before she touched him. She had waited a long time for this.
"Why aren't you undressed?" she asked. Stepping forward, she seized the hem of his tunic. "Here, let me help you."
Gently, he pried her hands off his clothes. "No, Princess. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. I swore I would set you free from your slavery, and I will. Your body is not a plaything for men to use for their own pleasure. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and you deserve more, far more, than I can ever give. I love you, and I will take whatever pleasure you are willing to give me when you are free. Which you will never be, until we are wed."
"But you said..."
He gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Then he lay beside her, pulling her body against his, wrapping one arm around her breasts while his other hand rested on her belly. "I will hold you in my arms, like I said, and for now, I will be content."
She squirmed. "And if I am not? What about what I want?" She seized his hand from her belly and guided it between her thighs. "I want you, Aladdin. I am wet with anticipation, wanting the pleasure I will only feel when you are inside me."
His free arm tightened around her breasts. "Are you sure?" His voice was hoarse in her ear.
"Of course."
The words had barely left her lips before his fingers speared deep inside her, stroking all the right spots to make her gasp.
"More?"
"Oh yes!"
He hooked his leg around hers, anchoring her more firmly to his body as his fingers worked what could only be described as magic. One perfectly-placed circle of his thumb tipped her over the edge, sobbing his name.
He kissed the back of her neck. "Are you satisfied now, Princess?"
"Never!" she declared, then squeaked as his fingers moved within her once more, stroking passion-inflamed flesh to another irresistible climax. She bucked, but he held her firmly in his arms, intent on her pleasure, even as he ignored his own growing arousal digging into her back. "You want me. I can feel it."
He laughed softly. "I don't just want you. I love you, and I desire you so much it hurts. But the only pleasure I will take in your bed tonight is yours." Again, his fingers stroked her, finding her most intimate places and making them sing.
Until...until...
"Aladdin, oh, how I love you!" she screamed.
THIRTY-TWO
"Something has changed. You are not as dejected as you were yesterday," Gwandoya greeted Maram, eyeing her with suspicion.
No woman could be dejected after a night experiencing the magic Aladdin could work with his fingers. The thought of what he might do with the rest of his body and hers was more than a little distracting. Not to mention frustrating, for he refused to give her more yet. That's why she'd spent the day leafing through the scrolls and books among her mother's things, looking for more information on djinn enslavement. After all, her mother had been a witch, too, with powers as limited as Maram's own.
"I miss having a man in my bed," she said honestly. "I have decided it is time to look to the future, and what you can give me. I have no maidservants here, and I have not had a new gown in weeks!"
Gwandoya's eyebrows rose, but as she spoke more fervently about maids and gowns, the suspicion in his expression slipped away. The man almost smiled.
He clapped his hands. "This calls for a betrothal feast. Bring us plenty of food and wine, for we will need it while we discuss our wedding."
Amani bowed and disappeared. Off to get what Gwandoya had asked for, no doubt. And what she had asked for, too.
Maram braced herself for what would be the biggest negotiation of her life, as she and Gwandoya argued the terms of a marriage she had no intention of entering into. Servants and jewels, palaces and gowns – for Gwandoya boasted that Amani could build her a palace anywhere she wanted, made of anything she pleased.
In the middle of Maram's lengthy deliberation of whether to have a stone castle far in the north, surrounded by blackberry hedges, or a palace like this one overlooking the sea, Amani brought a jug of wine.
"The finest vintage from the Sultan's own vineyards, which have lain in his cellar for more than a century," Amani announced, pouring cups for them both.
Maram's eyes lit up. "Ooh, is this the wine I told you about?"
Amani bowed. "Yes, Princess, it is."
She sipped, and scrunched up her face. The opium tasted as bitter as she had expected. "It does have a bite to it. Keeping it in a cellar for a century must do that, I suppose. But there is no better wine to toast our union with." She lifted her cup. "To our health and happiness, my lord."
Gwandoya preened, probably at the unearned title. He lifted his own cup. "To our health and happiness indeed." He drained his cup, then smacked his lips appreciatively. "Tis strong stuff. Too strong for a woman, especially one who is about to become my obedient wife and bear my sons." He snatched up her cup and drained that, too, before commanding Amani to pour more for himself alone. "We shall start tonight."
Maram stared at him in shock. His calculating eyes regarded her over the rim of his cup as he gulped more wine, daring her to object. Obedience had been one of the things she'd traded for...something. If it meant he drank more of the drugged wine, then she would not argue. "Yes, my lord," she said, ducking her head in fake submission.
An idea struck her. "I have the perfect idea for my wedding gown. I would like seven layers of silk..." She described in excruciating detail one of the gowns she'd seen on the Queen of Beacon Isle, changing her mind about the colour only to return to the original shade as she saw Gwandoya's eyelids drooping.
Sleep, you mad bastard, she thought, pasting a smile on her face as she began a long debate about the merits of the exquisitely detailed painted shoes in Kasmirus compared to the silk slippers found in the bazaars closer to home.
"A good embroiderer can do just an intricate design with thread as a painter can with pigment, but there are few painters in Kasmirus who are talented enough any more. The royal family has a pair of christening shoes that have been in their family for generations, the most beautiful pair I have ever seen..."
Gwandoya's head flopped forward into a bowl of the bugs he liked so much.