Areston thinks he can shield me from his past, but what he doesn't realize is I'm already part of it.
The darkness that haunts him? It's the same one that's been chasing me for years.
I've given him everything-my body, my heart, my soul-and still...
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a longggggggggggg update, enjoy and don't forget to share your thoughts with me!
happy diwali to all those who celebrate!
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"Are we really boarding a horse to ride sand dunes?" I exclaim watching the horse with the traditionally decorated seat.
"This is the best way to experience desert life, tesoro."
"Your wife is not trained to ride on sand dunes, you know?"
"I'll be the one riding my wife. She just has to sit on my lap and be a passenger princess she so loves to be." Areston lips curve in a slight smirk at his double entendre as he offers me a hand while seated like a majestic king on one of the majestic horses.
He sits there like Satan himself, casually dressed for a morning stroll in hell. Not exactly hell. But in the midst of the Sahara desert is as close to the hell's heat as one can experience. Or at least I think so. The date night my husband wanted to surprise me was our flight to Morocco. He kept so intoxicated with him, sex, alcohol, and food that I was too occupied to ask him where he was taking me and then exhausted, I fell asleep, only to wake up being out by my husband and finding out we're about to land in Casablanca.
The Moroccan sun is barely up and yet the heat has started clawing at my skin since the moment we stepped out of our Suburban, which was barely five minutes ago. It's relentless and too hot—just like my husband who apparently seems untouched by the desert heat, as if even the desert and the sun know better than to challenge this unyielding man. He looks like he's not just a royal billionaire in the middle of the sand dunes—he's a powerful predator, the lord and the king himself of this endless, scorching expanse.
Those faded beige chinos are clinging to his powerful legs like they're a part of his body, his second skin, every smallest movement seems to be teasing the force beneath. The light-blue Oxford shirt is casually unbuttoned at the collar and hugs his sculpted muscles. And those dark-tinted aviators hide his mesmerizing sapphire stare that can sear right through my soul, making him appear even more lethal, untouchable. He has this aura looped around him on a leash that makes him appear above everyone, even nature itself.
"You can devour me later. I've reserved myself for you," he deadpans when I refuse to answer him because I'm lost admiring him.
I blush furiously as I accept his hand to mount the stallion. "You better let me devour a lot in exchange for putting myself in danger's path like this, husband."
I am so glad I didn't wear a dress or skirt or shorts. I was fuming when Areston ordered me to put on a pair of chinos and an oversized-style cotton shirt from Ralph Lauren's custom collection that he got Isla to pack for me. I've never worn pants in public like this, but he was adamant, leaving no room for debate. When I still refused to wear it, he dressed me up without even as much as a grumble. I am his favorite toy. Of course, he loves dressing me. However, now I can see why he didn't want me wearing my usual preferences. My skin would burn even with the outrageous amount of sunblock he slathered on my skin.
