“Would it have been easier for you if I’d converted when we got married? Like, temporarily?” I ask while we’re getting undressed that night.

No more games these days. Ever since the morning we agreed that now was where we are, we have been sleeping in the same bed.

He grumble-laughs and says, “That is not the way my religion works, and though I am obviously not the most traditional Muslim, I would not want you to convert unless you sincerely wished to take Allah in your heart.” He regards me after he’s done taking off the last of his clothes. “Tell me, Prin. Do you truly wish to become religious now as an antidote to your upbringing?”

I consider his question and decide I do not. Between the Jahwar restrictions on women and the reportedly judgmental Christianity of my grandmother and the twin-rejecting Orthodox Judaism of their mother’s family, I can’t see me embracing any organized religion for myself. But… “It feels like I’m making everything harder for you. First the kiss, and then skipping the trip to Asia, and now you won’t be going home for Ramadan.”

“I was raised to be the king of a nation with many riches and many enemies. Life was never meant to be easy for me, and besides…”

He comes around the bed and turns me toward the room’s standing cheval mirror so he can watch as he peels off today’s sweater dress before going to work on my bra. “You make me happy, habibti. And happy feels better than easy,” he says, freeing my breasts. “Did you change your hair?”

“Yeah, much like you’re the changing subject,” I answer dryly, but my head soon falls back, and I let out a little sigh as I watch him massage my breasts.

“We should enjoy ourselves now before Ramadan starts in two days,” he tells me, lazily playing with my pussy as he says, “I will not be able to eat, drink, or do this during daylight hours. And I have become used to reveling in you before breakfast. For this reason, I will most certainly be grumpy and while the hunger is manageable, it is not advisable for me to over exert myself during this time.”

“Mmm, now is where we are…” I say, leaning into the lips speaking into my neck as my hips move against his hand below.

“Now is where we are,” he confirms, nuzzling the side of my face with his beard.

“Maybe I’ll tie you down for once,” I tease. “Take advantage of you at night when you’re weak with hunger.”

His hand stills inside my panties and his body tightens. A lot has happened since we had that Cal-Mart talk in my mother’s room. And while we’ve been having good sex every night, it’s been very vanilla. As if we are giving the psychological wounds we ripped open some time to heal.

But tonight, I am feeling healed. And if the way his dick suddenly rises against my back is any indicator, he is, too.

“Hmm…” I say, circling my hips in the mirror since his fingers are no longer moving. “Yeah, I think I’ll dominate you for the next month. Wake you in the middle of the night and sit on your face and make you lick me until I—”

I cut off when his hand suddenly pulls out of my underwear and fists in my new Remy hair.

That night he punishes me for my audacious suggestion. He binds me with two of his ties to the bed posts and then holds down my legs as he forces me to take his tongue. I fight him like I always do. For some reason, I think I’ll be stronger in America, maybe even be able to buck him off. But his raw power wins out, like it always does.

He holds me down with his biceps barely straining and introduces a new kind of torture with his expert tongue. But just as I am so close to coming, he stops. “Say you’ll be good and follow my commands for the rest of our trip. Even in America you belong to me.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper. Once…then again when he gets me all revved up a second time only to stop.

“Do you wish to have one of those finger food orgasms?” he asks, reaching for the drawer as he watches me writhe. “If you do not give me your promise, then I will only do this again and this time when I stop, your body will keep going and cause you to come without anything inside of you. It will only give you a small, unsatisfying taste of what you could have. But if you tell me you’ll be good, I will make you come at least three times. And since I am no longer scheduled to fly out tomorrow, I will use this unexpected free day to refresh your training.”

The idea of spending the whole day with him makes me pulse with a piercing ache that almost feels like pain.

“What will it be, Prin?” he asks, closing the drawer. “And mind you, once you come, this offer comes off the table.”

Wordplay. I almost laugh but stop when I hear a familiar whirring…

My eyes widen when I see the vibrator, a friggin’ Magic Wand just like the one I keep in my drawer at home.

“I believe this was the brand you specifically requested from Holt, was it not?” he asks.

And then he applies it to my hardened nipples. I buck, and nearly lose the battle not to come with that one touch.

“Okay, I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” I cry out.

The whirring clicks off, and Zahir’s back at the bottom of the bed, prying open my legs. “You’ll be good?” he asks, his breath tickling my vagina. My clit is so engorged, I can see it peeking up between my lower lips.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” I cry again, trying not to come at just the sensation of his breath on the straining bundle of nerves between my pussy lips.

Then he takes the bundle in his mouth, suckling it whole, and I scream, coming so hard I can feel myself squirting into his mouth.

By the time Ramadan comes around, I’m beginning to understand why festivals like Mardi Gras are a thing. For the next twenty-four hours it is an out-and-out dirty sex bacchanalia. Without leaving the bedroom, we return to my suite in Jahwar. Zahir feeds me. And Zahir punishes me. He is my boundary. He is my control. And I find I can’t stop breaking my promise to be good over and over again, until I suddenly “wake up” in the bathroom’s marble-incased tub with a wash cloth running over my body.

“Sub-space?” I ask Zahir, who is sitting behind me in the tub while he gives me a bath.

“Sub-space,” he confirms. “However, sunset is almost here. After this bath, we must eat dinner and then the time for being good really has come. But, Prin?”

“Hmm?” I ask, reaching my hand up to enjoy the feel of his beard.

“Thank you for allowing me to be with you like this one last time before I begin my Holy month.”

One last time…

Those three words will come to haunt me in the months to come.