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Lovely Concubine

Page 7

by Misha Anderson


  He approaches, greeting Thurayya and our eyes meet. It’s as if time stops, and around us, that uncomfortable and tense sexual appeal like the strings of a violin surrounds us and grows every second. Nahan smiles, comes a little closer, invading my personal space and completely forgetting the presence of Thura and everyone around us, he aspires deeply, his nostrils close to my hair and speaks softly.

  - You look amazing. Stay with Thura, she will accompany you and introduce you to the right people. Avoid any closeness to men. I'll find a way to stay close to you, halawi.

  He whispers something in Thura's ear and she nods. Then he turns away, returning to his conversation with two masters dressed typically, just like him.

  Thura accompanies me to two women chatting in a corner of the room.

  - Bianca, these are Sofia Harmed, wife of Mohamed Harmed, prime minister of our country and Rosa Cruz Bashnir, wife of Sayd Bashnir, Secretary of Education.

  - Nice to meet you, Bianca Mattos.

  Thurayya realizing the curious look of the women, of knowing what the reason was for a foreigner to be in the Palace of the Bahrain, advances and responds to the silent questionnaire of the invited ones, adding:

  -Bianca is Brazilian, a friend of the Tarif family, she is graduated in Archeology and she is doing a cultural exchange with us.

  They are nicer than I expected, I do not know if it is Thura saying that I am a friend of the Royal family, or because they habitually coexist with Western customs, in short, the two have been educated and Rosa is quite amusing, making me laugh, sometimes, telling about the cultural differences between her, Spanish and Sayd, Arab.

  A little wheel with three guests does not stop whispering and look in my direction, watching me with curiosity, Sofia confides:

  - The shortest one in green dress is Aisha, the youngest daughter of Almir Malak, her father is a pearl merchant, she came here to be presented to King Nahan, but I doubt she is a better match than Sapphira, she came back from the season in Paris much prettier than before. She is more mature, much more prepared to be the new queen, than Aisha.

  As I wander through the hall, I can already guess who the Sapphira woman was.

  Close to a mixed group of men and women, she stares at me and does not deviate her look. She is the tallest woman in the group, her very black hair in a Chanel cut full of style, expressive face, mouth seductively painted red.

  I feel like an idiot to be in that place, surrounded by strangers, ridiculously close to this beautiful, sophisticated woman, running the salon in a black dress, expensive and impeccable.

  A citizen from Bahrain, stunning, probably approved by everyone around us, in short, the perfect queen for Nahan. I feel the metallic taste of bile invading my mouth and disguising my feminine frustration, my jealousy, with a false smile.

  Thura subtly touches my hand, and I hold it subtly, trying to find support in her old and wise hands.

  Jafar walks slowly toward Sapphira, the two glancing quickly, but strangely I see anger, an expression of dislike and evilness between the two. I disguise and excuse myself to everyone, going to the toilet; when I leave the bathroom, Nahan comes towards me, lurking me next to the wall. I try to divert myself from him and he holds me on the wall near the library, his eyes fixed on mine.

  -Has anything happened, halawi?

  If I could I would squeeze your neck, very slowly, I try to disguise my anger, but I can’t lie.

  -My name is not Halawi, it's Bianca.

  He stops me from escaping, putting both hands to my side, pinning me against the wall.

  - Why are you talking to me like that?

  -You'd better not be seen talking to me, if your suitors catch you talking to me, you run the risk of losing the chances with them. Come on, come back to your dinner, I'll go later.

  I can feel the warmth of his breath, face to face, his expression is anger, a lot of anger, glad that it's not just me that I am furious. I deviate my gaze and he turns my chin, with jaw locked, his eyes twitching with irritation.

  -Did you see me talking to some woman at some point? Did I seem to pay special attention to anyone? Did I flirt, did I court someone?

  I lift my face and stare at him, the anger is giving me more courage to confront him, he is getting me even more irritated, where did this guy come from?

  - Did you court? Such a gentleman ... From what century are you? Ah! You know something? Excuse me, I'm going back to the salon.

  I unravel myself by passing under his arm, and Nahan reaches me a little further. My back knocks on the library door and he does not give me time to complain.

  His mouth captures mine, taking all that he wants, his lips consume mine in a possessive way, with a thing of brutality, of urgency, his tongue is assaulting mine, provoking me, boiling my sex, exciting me. I let out a groan as our lips parted. Nahan puts his forehead on mine, the two still lost, panting, as if we had run a marathon.

  And before we tore our clothes apart, right in the middle of the hallway, I hurried away, down the stairs quickly, back to Thurayya. Thurayya stares at me and I drift away from her inquisitive gaze. Nahan went downstairs then Jafar intercepts him at the edge of the stairs, covering his image and then walking away. Mohamed comes to Nahan with Aisha and Mr. Almir.

  Nahan greets them, seeming agitated and distracted. At that moment our gazes cross, I look away, laughing at a remark from Rosa and he talks quickly to Mr. Almir, being interrupted by Jafar.

  Nahan greets them again in a nod, politely and leaves them, going with Jafar to a group of guests at the other end of the hall.

  Dinner is served with several typical Arabic dishes, I toss a few bundles of grapes stuffed with lamb, feigning appetite and at least thank the heavens of having sat next to Rosa with her husband and another sympathetic couple, Mr. and Mrs. Rashed , Both are doctors. So many people around, so many parallel conversations, but many times, I felt Nahan's hot gaze, steady and serious, studying my reactions, my movements.

  Aisha and her father sat next to Mohamed who tries to entertain them at all costs and Sapphira talks to two ladies, from time to time looking at me with the corner of her eye, but never directly. Before dessert, when I come back from the restroom, Sofia's husband, Mr. Mohamed, stops and talks to me:

  -Bianca is your name, isn’t it?

  I nod and he continues to stare at me, saying nothing, until he concludes, watching me from top to bottom.

  -Now I understand the reason for the King's mercy.

  - Sorry, I do not understand.

  -Nothing, just an observation.

  He greets me again and says goodbye, Nahan comes out of the other hallway and Mohamed stalks to see him.

  -Nahan, dinner is magnificent.

  Nahan replies sharply:

  -Do not approach her Mohamed, I thought I was clear.

  CHAPTER 7

  NAHAN

  Bored, I circle between the guests, with a sore jaw from sketching gentle smiles, and after Sayd drags around for an unnecessary time, a discussion about the economic crisis in Europe, my poor ears are once again tortured with the rather stimulating conversation of Almir.

  Does not he realize that I'm not at all interested if Aisha knows how to make a lamb or not? I nod weakly, not even listening to the last sentence he spoke. My foot is in the bag ... My attention is on the group of women talking in front of us.

  I distract myself with Almir's idiotic blabblab, and suddenly, I look at Thura without being able to disguise myself as I search for Bianca; in the blink of an eye, she disappears.

  I discreetly look at the clock and see that it's been almost fifteen minutes since she left the room.

  Then I watch Mohamed go upstairs, looking back and forth apprehensively, I quickly imagine what he intends to do, and I anticipate his intentions.

  Asking Almir for permission to leave, I go after Mohamed and meet him in the hallway, clearly forcing a dialogue with Bianca. I knew he would not give up, his curiosity about my abrupt change of plans is greater than
the fear he has of irritating me.

  I approach them, my steps steady betraying my indignation, my anger.

  How dare he disobey my order?

  Who does he think he is to think he can face me? My order was clear, I do not need anyone taking my pains, acting for me.

  If I said that I postponed my plans against the Hassans, it was for him to respect my guidance and stay away from Bianca.

  What does he ultimately intend with this manipulation to approach her?

  Take her from under my roof and torture her? Carry on TV the sacrifice of Bianca for all Qataris enemies to see? This is crazy! Does he not realize that I will never allow him to touch her?

  If he does harm Bianca, if he touches a finger on her, I'll kill him, I'll kill him.

  He presents me with the best of his fake smiles, stuttering meaningless answers.

  Bianca looks at me without understanding my reaction and apologizes, returning to the hall, scared after witnessing the rough way I treated Mohamed.

  I hope she distances herself, the conversation is now between us.

  Me and Mohamed stare at each other in silence ...

  He is the second person in my government, my prime minister, the strong link that stabilizes and solidifies our relations with local political leaders.

  A shrewd figure, a strategist, a political player.

  So, articulate, that sometimes confuses me with one of his chess pieces.

  But I'm not a plaything in his hands, a pawn in his chess game. This is my life, it is beyond the reach of his manipulations, his little games of power.

  Even though there are political interests for me to bring a new queen, it is no longer my will, my prospects are now different.

  And that is precisely the reason for my sudden change of attitude, which Mohamed, who had known me for years, could not swallow. As much as he is a crucial figure for my reign, it is I who play the cards in this game.

  He needs to understand once and for all, who commands and who obeys.

  -Mohamed, I hate to repeat myself, but considering the years we've known each other, I'll try to be clearer this time. While Bianca is under my custody, under my roof, stay away from her. I assume the responsibilities for keeping her in our country. I decide what to do about the Qatarians. I take whatever actions I think will fit. Me only me. We are not in a democratic place, Mohamed. I will not accept that my orders are disobeyed or contested, now, have I been clear?

  He lowers his head, trying in vain to explain himself.

  -Forgive me my king, your guest was talking to Sofia, I was curious to meet her. She is a very interesting young woman, I did not mean to upset you, I beg your pardon, Nahan.

  Mohamed apologizes and returns to the hall, leaving soon after.

  And I take a deep breath, to put up with the ordeal of the last few minutes of dinner.

  After almost an hour, I receive the last greetings from some authorities who say goodbye. Bianca keeps talking to Thura, twisting a lock of hair. Our eyes meet and she glares at me visibly tired and annoyed.

  She says goodbye to everyone and goes to bed.

  As soon as Thura manages to get rid of the last guest, I climb the stairs two at a time, hastily, in search of peace, of my peace.

  I go to Bianca's room and find the door ... locked.

  - Bianca, it's me, open it for me.

  There is no answer, only the most complete silence. I hear the noise of her footsteps near the door and I get even more irritated because I know she ignores me, clearly Bianca pretends she doesn’t hear me.

  How dare she?

  I hit again, once, twice, and my anger grows, until the fifth time she answers me almost in a hiss.

  -Go to sleep, please, Nahan.

  What do you mean, sleep? Alone? Of course, I will not be able to sleep a whole night without her by my side, without her skin on mine, her scent that calms me and comforts me.

  Her tired, sad voice sums up all the frustration she and I have. After the wonderful morning we had, it was not that way that I imagined finishing our evening.

  I insist for her to talk to me, but she stays aloof and silent. This distance kills me, her silence stirs my nerves, leaving them in tatters, more than a thousand shouts.

  I prefer her to yell at me, curse me, everything would be more bearable, not this indifference.

  I look at the solid wood in front of me, not quite sure how to name the feeling, the strange, invisible force that keeps me stuck in front of this locked door.

  Clinging to a thread of hope, waiting, begging a scream, a slap, anything ...

  Begging silently for her to lower her guard and let me inside ... Inside her room, inside her body.

  After a few minutes Bianca opens only a crack, enough so that I can force it with my foot and break into her room quickly, coming in with everything, catching her by surprise. Without giving her time to slam the door in my face.

  I lock the door, gasping for breath and putting the key in my pocket, stopping her from escaping our discussion.

  I lift my chin, staring at her, silently inviting her into the confrontation, playing the role of the strong man, that suits me.

  Disguising as much as I can the irrational fear that takes me.

  I am the king of this country, I come from a caste of men bred and carved from birth, to be leaders. Forever moulded to be brave, bold, fearless.

  So why does this distance between us both scare me like that? How can such a frail girl, make me so lost?

  When I'm with Bianca I just don’t know how to act, I'm overcome by a fear that I will lose her, that the thread that draws us together will break for some reason. A sense of anguish that bothers me, but still makes me more alive.

  If I am the master of my little kingdom, why do I keep silent in front of her? Taken by fear of her expelling me from her bed, from her life? Why do my hands shake uncontrollably, and my skin gets cold at the idea of being alone again?

  All this feeling of vulnerability seems strange to me.

  But the truth, however ridiculous it may seem, is one: I'm terrified.

  I look for her look and she visibly walks hurt, resentful. Her reaction to the pressures I experienced at dinner only worries me even more.

  What if she does not want me anymore as her man?

  How can I convince her that despite all this circus spectacle, in my life there are no candidates, pretenders?

  Not in my thoughts, under my skin, in my heart.

  I think of what is the best approach to get to Bianca and I pretend not to notice that she is furious, I march to the bathroom with determined steps, invading her space as if it was my right, I take my shoes and my clothes off in a hurry, dropping them next to the sink.

  Bianca follows me into the bathroom, quietly, watching my movements carefully, leaning back against the door with her arms folded.

  I go into the stall, take off my underwear, and Bianca's eyes follow the movement of my hands that advance from my chest to my cock, which stiffens more and more with the warmth of her gaze.

  I turn on the shower, taking full advantage of the delicious feel of the first jets of the warm shower massaging my shoulders.

  I break the ice by asking.

  - Are you all right?

  With her cheeks flushed, she absorbs the image of the bush going down my abdomen to my sex, panting deeply and looks away without me being able to define it if it is out of anger or desire. Then she replies with an ugly face:

  I decide to provoke her, anger or desire, it is better than her indifference.

  -Come and have a shower with me.

  Bianca denies, grumbling foul curses and before she leaves the bathroom, I step out of the stall, pulling her by the arm and she unbalances, bumping her soft breasts against my soapy chest.

  Before she can draw a reaction, I grab her by the waist and bring her into the shower, squeezing her even harder, one hand reaching down to her round ass. Our bodies melting, soaked, and hot, under the shower.

  -
Let go of me, you thick, rude person, do not touch me with those dirty fingers, go back to your stupid dinner.

  So, wild, angry, my halawi, I'm so hard it hurts.

  She digs her nails into my shoulders, scratching them hard and I moan in a mixture of pain and desire, ah! God, how I want this woman.

  - Wild cat.

  Bianca squirms, trying to set herself free from my grip and I push her, her back bumping into the cold wall of the stall in a muffled sound.

  I hold her hands above her head and our mouths are in a raw, carnal delivery. Her lips slide into mine filled with desire, filled with passion, intense, furious. Her legs weaken and I squeeze her harder next to me, wedging myself between her thighs.

  My hands go up to the neckline of her nightgown and tear it into two pieces, digging my fingers into her soft hips. She moans softly and puts her forehead against my chest, struggling against the urge that takes us, consuming us, asking me to leave her alone.

  -I'm angry, get out of here, before I scratch you out.

  I pull her hair back, without hurting her, wrapping the strands firmly into my fist to face me.

  -You can scratch me, you can hit me, but I will not leave.

  I roll her nipples between my fingers, delighted with the texture of her breasts against the palms of my hands.

  My mouth wanders down her neck, licking her rich-tasting, soft-scented skin.

  Slowly, advancing slowly down her collarbone, sucking her soft, round, heavy breasts with pleasure, filling my mouth with her taste. I arch my body brushing the aching stick on Bianca's cunt, covered fragile by a small brief.

  I pull her panties aside and my fingers play up and down between the folds of her sex.

  -Oh, it’s so good.

  I go down to her shaved pussy and kiss it, once, twice, and salivating on it to suck it like a ripe date.

  -Open for me, I want to try you.

  -Ah! Stop it, no, no ...

  I tear her panties and open her vaginal lips, taking my mouth all over her vagina, sucking her wet flesh like I am starving, sucking between my teeth her clit clenched, throbbing.

  My tongue whips the tense nerves of her little pink bud and she moans and rummages her hips against my mouth, squeezing the vagina on my tongue.

 

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