Aida’s greedy insistence was driving him over the edge. He had not bargained for her voracious boldness. ‘Aida, oh, God, chérie, I’m coming, please!’ he panted, but she ignored him, pressing him against the bed to keep him from pulling away.
He closed his eyes in soul-deep obedience, surrendering wholly to her wild passion as she loved him with a ferocious tenderness with mouth and hands. Feverish, he spoke words he had never before dared to utter, taking what Aida was giving so generously, indulging wholly and selfishly in the rapture she was dealing him minute by minute.
Then, before he knew it, he exploded in her mouth, spasms of pleasure raking and heaving through him.
And now he sat back, his breathing ragged, his body heavy, languid, spent. He was a little ashamed that he hadn’t withdrawn sooner. The deep hunger that had built so swiftly inside him had sapped his control, but that was no excuse.
He looked up at her sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured.
Aida smiled at him tenderly. ‘Oh, Phares, you shouldn’t be … I’m so in love with you,’ she whispered, still shaking and breathless with passion. ‘You can’t imagine the pleasure I took in loving you … You’re so beautiful.’
He pressed a smiling kiss on the top of Aida’s head, then tilted her chin upwards with his fingertips. Slowly brushing his lips to her forehead, eyelids and the tip of her nose, he pulled away and stood up, before sweeping her up in his powerful arms, nuzzling her as he carried her into the dimly lit bedroom and set her on the bed.
‘I could never let another man have you, Aida,’ he whispered, his dark eyes grave and passion-filled. ‘That’s the truth of it. I would kill anyone who tried to take you from me. And I will love you till the day I die.’
Chapter 14
‘So you’re awake? That’s a shame, I was looking forward to waking you up.’
Aida lifted half-sleepy eyes to see Phares standing over her. His smile had a naked openness – a mixture of love, tenderness and longing. He had just come out of the shower and had a small towel wrapped around his waist, his copper-bronze body glistening with health in the morning sunlight. They had made love all night, but Aida was still a virgin. He hadn’t wanted to deflower her in one go, but had preferred to take it slowly, concerned to cause her as little pain as possible. She had almost cried tears of joy when he had told her that he loved her and now she felt as though she was truly living in a dream.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, husband.’ She smiled shyly, still unused to the sight of so much of his naked skin. ‘You still haven’t told me about our honeymoon trip. Where are we going?’
‘Well, tonight we start with the opening of Aida at the Khedivial Opera House. We’ll spend the night at Mena House and then tomorrow we’ll begin our journey up the Nile on a dahabeyeh.’
Delighted surprise lit Aida’s eyes. ‘Oh, Phares!’
‘I know how fond you are of opera, and you once told me, a long time ago, that the most romantic journey anyone could take was to travel up the Nile from Cairo to Aswan by boat.’
‘You remember that?’
Phares looked at her with mock indignation. ‘I remember all our conversations, chérie.’
She laughed. ‘And we’re using the Pharaony dahabeyeh?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But it hasn’t been used for years.’ She remembered the lovely teak flat-bottomed boat with its rust-coloured sails; it was so romantic.
‘I’ve had it renovated. I intend for us to travel up the Nile as though we were the guests of Khedive Ismail himself.’
Now, as he looked down at her, Aida saw the fire of pride and love shining in his eyes and the joy inside her rose up like a warm wave.
She was the luckiest woman on earth!
Phares glanced at his watch: ‘Ten o’clock! It’s been a while since we ate, shall I call room service? We aren’t meant to be at the airport until this afternoon. What does my beautiful bride feel like having this morning?’
Aida wasn’t the least bit hungry. Only eight hours ago she had consumed almost a whole bottle of champagne and mounds of caviar. Now her gaze slid over her husband’s lean torso. He really was a magnificent sight. His shoulders were broad, his chest covered in a light dusting of dark hair, and there wasn’t an ounce of surplus flesh on him to blur the perfect muscle definition on display. He was so good to look at; so solid, so vividly alive that she couldn’t resist lifting her hand to stroke the satin smoothness of his skin.
A ringlet of wet raven-black hair had slipped and curled on his forehead, his perfect lips were curved in that now-familiar enigmatic smile that told her exactly what sort of appetite he really felt like satisfying. The look of hunger in his gaze was unmistakable, and its power shook her to the core. Her face grew hot, and her eyes responded in kind.
Without a word, he slid down on to the bed beside her and pulled away the sheet covering her nakedness. The raw desire smouldering in his face only made the excitement pulsing inside her expand. She wanted to give herself to him more than she wanted to take her next breath. Instinctively, her arms went to wrap around his neck, but with a playful growl, he caught her wrists and held them firmly to her sides. His eyes glinted with lustful amusement.
‘Let me look at you, Aida, my beautiful wife. Let me drink in the perfection of your body. Your delicate collarbones, the shape of your waist, the soft mounds of your luscious breasts … delicious, like sweet ripe apples.’ She felt the twin peaks of her nipples harden in response to his voice which was thick with desire, and she arched her back, desperate for his touch. But he kept her arms clamped to her sides, his eyes saturated with the need for her. ‘My words are exciting you, eh? You are longing for me to touch you, I know … but don’t be ashamed of your desire, chérie. I can see those beautiful nipples are getting harder, calling for my attention.’
She felt a frisson ripple up her spine as his eyes held hers in an embrace as thrilling as the words he was murmuring.
‘Phares …’ she breathed.
‘Shuush, chérie, let me continue my journey.’ His warm, husky voice never rose higher than a whisper.
Desperately aroused, Aida moistened her lips.
‘Your lips are dry? They’re asking to be kissed but you’ll have to wait. I haven’t finished yet. I’m still on my journey. I can see that little vein in your throat beating, the pulse on your stomach is racing also.’ His cheeks were flushed as his predatory gaze flicked down to the space between her legs, now wet with longing. ‘And I don’t need to tell you what’s happening to that delicious rosebud my mouth feasted on yesterday.’
A moan escaped Aida’s throat and she spread her legs, her eyes pleading.
‘Yes, I know how hot and swollen and needy it’s becoming. You want me down there, don’t you? You want me to kiss you, lick you, taste you.’ Phares’s eyes darkened, his voice a low rasp. ‘It felt good, eh?’
Again, Aida passed her tongue over her lips. She could see that the memory of some of the games they had played last night was exciting Phares and just the thought of it increased the painful ache between her thighs.
He lowered his head so that his voice was hoarse against her ear. ‘I can still smell you. The taste of you is still in my mouth, sweet and womanly, but most of all wet … so hot and wet, chérie. My whole body is aching to be inside you, but you have to be patient. Think of me touching you, stroking, rubbing, faster and faster. You can feel that wave of ecstasy coming, can’t you?’
Stabs of lustful heat slid through Aida, making her gasp, and the thought that he was soon going to touch her only added fuel to the blaze. He was right: she was close to climaxing. How was that possible? She was so close … She could hear herself moaning, her hips rising off the bed, urging him to touch her.
‘Shuush, chérie! Just feel …’ As he lifted his head, Phares’s gaze held Aida’s, his ardent black eyes burning into the deep blue ocean of hers; the firelight of passion flickered across her body in a golden caress of its own, and then, slowly, h
e released her wrists.
He touched her hair briefly, brushed his thumb over her lower lip. Bending his head, he lightly pressed his mouth to hers, then touched his moist lips to the pulsing vein on her throat, his thumbs stroking the sides of her neck and down to her shoulders. He was so close now that Aida could see the glitter in his eyes, feel his heat, smell his skin, hear his uneven breathing.
His strong hands slid to her trembling breasts. They closed over them, moulding them to his palms, his thumbs trailing circles around the pebbled nipples straining for his attention. Each teasing stroke drew a series of small, throaty gasps from Aida’s parted lips as their demanding peaks stood higher.
Still watching her, now he let his fingers glide over her stomach in the lightest of caresses, getting closer to that part of her that ached for him so badly. There was something of the voyeur in him that drove her wild. The enjoyment she could read in his gaze at her exhibition of pleasure titillated her, intensifying the effect of every stroke, every caress. It was the most erotic image she had ever imagined, and she obliged, opening her legs, shamelessly displaying her craving for him and the pleasure he was giving her. She wanted him and she wanted him to know it.
His hands slipped down a little further and paused over the small triangle of her mound of Venus. On fire now, Aida arched her spine again, edging her legs even more wantonly apart, trying to push her swelling flesh into his palms, driven by the aching demands of her sensitised body.
‘Please,’ she moaned.
The back of his hand brushed between her legs, quickly, lightly – a frustrating, feather-like touch – and she gasped. He was deliberately not touching her where she wanted. By now he knew how that game drove her to peak. The ache was deliciously unbearable, but Aida trusted Phares’s experience. Her climax each time it had come had been more ferocious for the waiting.
Now bending his head, he took her mouth, gently at first, his lips barely grazing against hers. He ran his tongue around her lips before allowing it to dart inside. And then he was on the bed, lying against the length of her, his kiss deepening as his hard torso pressed against her breast. A growl rumbled through his chest. He took her mouth savagely, as though branding her – letting her know that he would never allow another man touch her. His primitive way of showing her how he felt and who was master was so thrilling, Aida’s instincts rose to meet his ravaging, insatiable demands. His towel had fallen away and she wanted to feel him inside her. Not his tongue this time, but that strong ridge of his manhood, which was straining against the side of her hip, hard, warm and velvety. With every breath the length of it twitched slightly as she felt it expand and harden, making her fully aware of the hot strength of his desire.
How much more torment was she supposed to take? Clutching his hand, she tried to pull it down to her widely spread legs, inviting him to touch her.
‘See how wet I am,’ she gasped, dragging her mouth from his.
Infuriatingly, his hand remained under hers, pressing his palm firmly down on her stomach, staying her.
‘Please …’ she begged again, as his mouth nuzzled her throat and carried on with its journey downwards until finally she felt his warm lips dance upon her nipples, his tongue swirling and licking them mercilessly as he suckled her. He groaned her name, and she clawed at his shoulders, writhing beneath his mouth. He moved on, breathing hot breaths over the silken flesh of her stomach. When she moaned and wriggled, the hand lying under hers finally made its way towards her quivering thighs.
‘Yes,’ she gasped, as his fingers found her and touched her at last.
‘Yes,’ Phares’s throaty groan echoed as he slid down her body, his fingers and mouth no longer searching, but devouring Aida’s essence. Slow kisses, languid licks and gentle nibbles became increasingly fevered as passion soared and took over from any other emotion between them.
Aida’s moans were low, guttural, saturated with desire as Phares shifted, moving on top of her and pulling her hips against his. She felt the hard, thick length of his manhood, the hot, velvety tip brushing against her liquid folds. Little shockwaves rushed through her as muscles she didn’t even know she had started to squeeze.
He moved his shaft up and down her saturated bud.
‘Oh God, Phares,’ she moaned, ‘please do something, this is torture … I’m melting inside.’
‘Hot cream, chérie,’ he rasped, his voice deep and passion-rough. He moved up and down against her again. ‘So smooth and soft and slick.’ His sculpted features were taut, his eyes smouldering as he nudged her legs further apart, gently, sliding a little deeper into her yearning flesh, pressing the tip of his virility against the damp wall of her resistance.
He kissed her deeply. ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he whispered against her mouth.
‘Love me, Phares. I want to be yours … completely.’
His eyes burned hotter, but it was nothing like the tenderness she read in them.
‘Take me,’ she whispered against his mouth. ‘I’m not afraid. I love you.’
For a moment Phares shifted to let his hand move down between her legs, drawing more wetness, continuing to stroke her as he penetrated her with one finger, testing her receptivity. He added a second, stretching her slightly, making sure she was ready.
‘Take me,’ Aida breathed again as she writhed against his hand. Everything in her was strung so tight she could hardly breathe, her body poised on the brink of cracking beneath the building of tormenting pleasure.
He kissed her again, as if gifting her his soul, and her body responded to his tenderness as instinctively as a flower opening to the sun. Inch by inch, he pressed forward until she felt him, full and hard, filling her, deeper and deeper still. Her breath caught at the slight burning, but at the same time it was wondrous, magical, sacred … and then she felt the hot fire start to give way to a different sensation, one of warmth and fullness, and heightened pleasure.
Phares groaned deeply. ‘Wrap your legs around me.’
Aida complied and tilted her hips, giving him unlimited access to the very core of her. She felt him push into her with a smooth, sure thrust, causing her to cry out and then hold still. He was buried deep, so deep inside her, sweeping her with him into a whirlpool of raw passion, with a force that fused their souls. Phares’s pelvis rocked against hers and her hips lifted instinctively to meet his. Their bodies moved apart and came together in a dance of passion and love, the erotic heat spiralling up and up. The wave was gathering inside her and Aida met every stroke of him, each one pushing her further to the edge.
She heard him whisper her name, softly, reverently, and felt his engorged manhood pump mindlessly inside her. Then she was there, joining him in ecstasy, and she splintered into a thousand pieces as lightning streaked upwards through her flesh, magnifying downward to slam into her groin. She screamed his name, moulding herself to his loins as he pumped his love inside her, and her climax crashed over her in huge waves of pulsing intensity.
Rolling off her and collapsing by her side, Phares cradled Aida in his arms. ‘You’re mine,’ he whispered against her hair. ‘I’m finally home.’
Yes, his possession of her was complete, thought Aida as she nestled against him, blissfully replete. Every part of her exquisitely branded by Phares, she had never felt so much at peace.
* * *
Cairo’s Khedivial Royal Opera House had been built nearly a century before by Khedive Ismail for the inaugural celebrations of the opening of the Suez Canal. The wooden building had been designed by two Italian architects, Avoscani and Rossi, as a small-scale replica of Milan’s La Scala. The blend of neo-classical columns and arches of its façade and the baroque and rococo interiors made it a beacon of Western aristocratic style.
The theatre was dear to Aida’s heart for two reasons. First and foremost because she had cherished memories of accompanying her father each year, but also because of Verdi’s opera Aida, after which she had been named. Commissioned especially by the Khedive himself, and its fi
rst performance in his new Opera House, the story was set in Egypt during the period of the greatest power of the pharaohs. It had always appealed to Aida, and not just because she was named after the heroine. She found the hopeless love of the Ethiopian slave princess for the general of the Egyptian army that held her prisoner so tragic that she could never listen to the opera without crying.
As the curtain rose to reveal a stage-set of such breathtaking authenticity, Aida had to stifle a gasp. The temples depicted on the backdrop were not today’s ruins, but had been restored to their initial glory. She had read in the theatre reviews how the set designers had made a careful study of the tombs and temples in Upper Egypt, wanting to reproduce them faithfully in every detail. Sitting comfortably in her box, her eyes roved over the sculptures and the paintings on the temple walls, the interiors rich with crimson hangings and golden brocade, and throughout the whole of the first two acts she found herself carried back four thousand years to the day when Isis and Osiris were the divinities of the land.
An hour later, as she stood in the foyer with Phares in the interval she felt particularly glamorous in her black silk jersey Balenciaga evening gown, tubular in style with a gathered sweetheart bodice and a wide green satin waistband. The embellished purple bolero she wore over it created a striking contrast, and she could sense heads turning as she and Phares sipped their champagne, the two of them standing out even among the select crowd of bejewelled and elegant leading figures of Cairo’s international community.
She leaned towards Phares, who was engrossed in conversation with another surgeon, and whispered, ‘I’m going to the cloakroom. If the bell rings, don’t wait for me. I’ll join you at the box.’
The cloakroom was full as Aida slipped inside, but her sharp eye didn’t miss the tall, elegant redhead hurrying past her, wearing a fabulous, almost transparent, red-and-white chiffon gown. Aida recognised her immediately and froze: Nairy.
‘Aida, it’s you!’ Suddenly she was jolted from her thoughts by the familiar voice of Shirley Saunders. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages, I’m so glad you’ve recovered from that nasty bug.’ Aida forced a smile. ‘Ah, Mrs Saunders! How nice to see you again.’
Song of the Nile Page 52
