The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

Wives

Kate Dominic

My Irish Catholic mother had firm opinions about marriage. She’d thump her coffee cup on the table and shake her head at the latest scandalous gossip. “A man who will cheat on his wife is ‘a man who will cheat on his wife’! Any woman who thinks otherwise is a fool!” Given Mother’s red-haired beauty and fiery temper, and the fact that she’d always managed to keep my wild and carefree father firmly entrenched in her bed, I’d always pretty much taken her opinions on marriage as gospel: men who cheated on their wives were not to be trusted.

I’d often been told I resembled my mother. Unfortunately, I was three weeks into a torrid affair with Jawid when I realized he was married. Not that I’d looked that hard. I’d met his “ex”, Nasrin, at one of the routine hospital social functions a while back. She was a few years younger than Jawid, I guessed in her late twenties, and quite beautiful, with the deep, expressive eyes and lithe figure so typical of young Middle Eastern women. She was impeccably dressed in an emerald-green designer suit and exquisitely delicate jewellery that subtly enhanced her warm and ready smile. I’d been delighted to discover the wicked intellect and generous sense of humour she kept so well hidden under her quiet demeanor. I’d liked her.

But when Jawid said he was available — and I did ask him — I assuaged my quick flickerings of guilt with the knowledge that I wasn’t a home-wrecker. It had been months since the last time he and I had worked together. Whatever had happened between Nasrin and him had been just that — between them. People’s lives changed, especially those of talented doctors as handsome and personable as Jawid. I let myself conveniently forget all about Nasrin. And forgetting was easy.

From the moment Jawid first touched me, I was consumed with passion for him. At work, I constantly battled my almost primal need to be with him. I wanted to maintain my position as a senior administrator. I was only thirty-two, and had fought long and hard to earn the respect and cooperation of my colleagues. So Jawid and I had to be discreet. But his kisses electrified me, and we were both working brutally long hours. When our need became desperate, we indulged in quick, dangerous trysts in my office, the only room available with a locking door. On quick breaks, he lifted my skirts and took me roughly and quickly on the top of my desk, dropping his pants just enough to fuck me, hissing and thrusting harder and deeper when I grabbed his hips and viciously scored his skin.

When we could steal whole lunch hours, I stripped him and pressed him into my desk chair, straddling him naked, riding him slowly and thoroughly. My breasts felt alive against his skin. When he closed his arms around me, my nipples strained towards the soft tickles of the lustrous dark hair on his chest and arms. I opened to him, like a flower, demanding his tender probing, offering the petal-soft lips of my vulva to him. He took my cries into his mouth as we shattered into the sunlight stealing through the closed slits of the window blinds. I was greedy. And so quickly in love.

And so blissfully, naively, unaware of the cultural chasm between my “Americanized” lover and me. Jawid’s English was flawless, almost without accent. He’d been in the States since he was fourteen. He seemed thoroughly assimilated, at least for Los Angeles, where celebrating Eid al Fatir is no more unusual than celebrating Christmas. Although I’d never met the large and much loved family he talked about so often, I assumed that was because our whirlwind affair had blossomed so quickly, and because of our hectic schedules. Besides, he and I had so much in common: a love of Renaissance paintings and techno dance music, a dedication to the childhood vaccination programme for undocumented immigrant children that I’d worked so hard to implement. In my hard-headed Irish-American brain, love conquered all, especially on the day Jawid said he wanted me as his second wife.

Which to me meant he was divorced from his first wife.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

The light finally dawned when we were rolling on the sheets in my bedroom, celebrating.

“Beloved,” he whispered, his dark eyes glazed with passion and his golden skin glistening with the sweat of our loving. He held himself above me, balancing on strong, beautifully rippling arms, gliding into me, hot and slick and demanding. “Oh, my Amanda. Nasrin will love the way you cry out when I am thrusting deep into your woman’s heat.”

His words flowed over me like the soundless warmth of his breath, teasing my skin. We were devouring each other on the blue satin sheets of my queen-sized waterbed, letting lust and desire rule us on a long, stolen afternoon, celebrating our engagement while we played hookey from a board meeting that had everything to do with politics and nothing to do with our programmes. I cried out, mindless with passion, wrapping my legs around his waist and trying to draw his firm, lean body further into me.

“Nasrin will love the way you squirm when I suckle your breast, the way your musk fills the air when you climax with me buried in your sweet cunt.” He twisted like an acrobat and sucked my nipple slowly up into his mouth.

A warning bell rang in my mind, but my thoughts were scattering into impending orgasm. I screamed, as pleasure waves washed over me, my body vibrating like a violin shimmering to the draw of the sweetest bow.

“You will marry me, Amanda,” Jawid gasped, his shoulders shaking as he ground into me. “You will become my second wife. I will love you like this for ever.”

He thrust once, twice, quickly, and, as Jawid shuddered into me, I suddenly heard what he was saying. I mean, for the first time, I listened to the words themselves, not to what I’d thought they meant. My belly went cold and I opened my eyes to see the final grimace on his beautiful face as he emptied himself into me. Actually, as he emptied himself into the rubber I’d insisted he use. I felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over me.

“You’re still married.” My voice sounded oddly flat, even to my own ears, like someone else was speaking out of my mouth.

Jawid panted above me, his arms shaking slightly, his head hanging as sweat dripped from his thick hair on to my collarbone. As his breathing slowed, he opened his velvety brown eyes and smiled down at me.

“What did you say, beloved?” He leaned down and kissed me, sucking softly on my lower lip. When I didn’t respond, he lifted his head and looked at me. “Amanda?”

“I said, you’re still married — aren’t you, you shit?” I shoved hard at his chest, pushing him off as I struggled free of his hold.

“Am I still married to Nasrin?” Jawid rolled to his side and looked at me with a confused smile on his face. I tried not to think about how sexy he was, lying there with his skin all flushed from our loving, his still tumescent shaft resting on his balls, still glistening with his semen as he pulled the rubber free and tossed it into the trash. He quirked his head at me. “ Of course we are still married. Why do you ask? She told me you two got along. It’s important that wives like each other.”

The confirmation, as unwanted as it was suddenly expected, stunned me more than I’d thought possible. A red wave of heat washed over my eyes. “You son of a bitch!” I yelled, launching myself at him, pummelling him with my fists.

“Amanda? What are you doing?”

His smile enraged me even further. It faded when my nails drew blood down his chest. I hadn’t realized how strong he was until I found my shoulders flattened to the bed, my wrists held in an iron grip against the mattress as he fought to avoid my flailing legs.

“Stop it!” he grunted, as my knee connected with his belly. When I again missed my target, Jawid straddled me, his eyes flashing. “What is the matter with you?”

“You’re married,” I hissed, fighting him for all I was worth. “You bastard! You asked me to marry you, you made me fall in love with you, and you’re already married to somebody else! Why did you do that?” He was too strong for me to fight. I was pinned to the bed like a butterfly on a mounting board. I turned my head towards the wall in frustration and shut my eyes tightly, trying to close him out, trying to shut out the pain, as hot tears leaked out from under my eyelashes. “Why?”

“Amanda, of course I am still married,” he whispered. “Beloved, I would never abandon a wife to a real divorce.” Still holding me tightly in place, he gingerly clipped my wrists together in one of his hands, then pulled my face towards him. “If Nasrin had objected, I would not have become involved with you. I love her, as I love you. I will honour my wives, always!”

Wives. I sniffled and finally looked up at him. Even through the haze of tears, I saw his concern. Which made me cry all the more. And made me think that maybe I should be laughing instead, at the sheer, ridiculous insanity of the situation. I felt like I was talking to someone from another planet.

“Jawid,” I choked, my voice still shaking. “You’ve lived in this country for almost twenty years. You know polygamy is illegal here. One man, one wife — or at least one wife at a time. My God, what the fuck part of that minor detail don’t you understand?” My anger was mixed with overwhelming pain. “Or are you deliberately being an ignorant asshole?”

Jawid’s eyes flashed at my language. I was swearing on purpose, partly because the occasion damn well called for it, and partly because I knew how much he disliked it. He pressed my hands into the bed, irritated.

“I have not changed my paperwork because you had not yet said yes — at least, not until today. Now Nasrin and I will get a civil divorce, though not a religious one, of course. After the papers are ‘final’, you and I can get married.” He leaned down and gently kissed my forehead. I turned my head away. “Then Nasrin can move back in with us, and our family will be complete. She will stay with my sisters in the meantime. She wants us to have our honeymoon first, which is as it should be.” He rained a light trail of kisses over the bridge of my nose. “We will need some time alone, you and I. To settle in to each other.” He sucked softly on my lower lip. “ To wear the edge off this frenzy we have for each other, so the three of us may live in harmony.”

I bit him. Hard enough to draw blood. His eyes flashing, he pushed me into the bed and slapped the side of my butt — hard.

“Amanda, why are you doing this?”

I don’t know what hurt more, the anger or the surprise. His and mine. His stupidity at thinking such a thing could ever work. My own stupidity for still wanting him. I turned my face to the wall, willing my body not to shake any more, taking quick, shallow breaths, so the pain of drawing in air didn’t hurt so much. I tried to ignore the heat seeping into me through his strong hands and the thick smell of our sex, knowing I’d never have them again. When I could finally speak, I let all my anger and the cold despair wrapping my heart come out in my voice.

“Get out,” I whispered. “Go home to your wife, Jawid, and stay away from me.” I took a deep, shaking breath, trying not to feel the waves of pain crashing over me with each word. “I don’t want to see you again. Ever.” I said it quietly. I didn’t move, just stared for the longest time at the afternoon shadows falling across the stark white bedroom wall.

“I do not understand,” he whispered. “Amanda. .”

As his voice broke, a warm, wet drop fell on my cheek, and my hot tears started again. This time, I didn’t try to stop them. “Get out,” I hissed. “Now!” When he finally released me, I curled into a ball, and stayed frozen in that position until I heard the front door close. Then I hugged my pillow and cried until I was too exhausted to do anything but sleep, for a long, long time.

I called in sick the rest of the week, then spent most of the weekend in bed. Eventually, I called my sister. I didn’t go into much detail. She’s never left the coal-mining town we grew up in, so I doubted she’d understand a cultural morass I couldn’t even begin to explain. I just told her I’d stupidly become involved with a married man. She listened, the way sisters do, and told me I was better off without him. “Remember what Mom always says, ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater.’ Just pay more attention with the next man, OK, hon?”

I told her yes, though the truth was I didn’t want to meet another man. I was still in love with Jawid. I was still working with him, though our co-workers kindly didn’t mention my now icy demeanour towards him. We hadn’t told anyone we were seeing each other. But we worked with bright people, whose ability to save lives often depended on their being able to read between the lines. Ours was not the first failed romance at work. It wouldn’t be the last. Our colleagues gave us both a wide berth, and tried not to schedule us in the same meetings.

The telephone call from Nasrin came a month later. I was packing for a long weekend out of town. I was still miserable, but I’d decided I’d wallowed in self-pity long enough. It was time to join some girlfriends for an impromptu camping weekend — to force myself to do something, anything, to get my mind off Jawid. Although I was trying not to take any more time off from work, I’d arranged to leave my office mid-morning on Friday. Nasrin’s insistence that she had something to discuss with me that could not possibly wait — or be said over the phone — had me wondering if it would all just go away if I hid my head in a basket long enough. But I felt so guilty I finally agreed to join her for lunch on my way out of town.

Her house in San Marino was far away from downtown. I’d assumed Jawid had lied about going to my place because it was closer to work — the same way he’d lied about everything else. As I started up the winding, tree-lined streets of the gated community they lived in, I wasn’t sure how I felt about realizing that, at least with the geography, he’d told the truth. When I gave my name, and Nasrin’s, the guard waved me through. Five minutes later, I was ringing her doorbell, admiring, against my better judgment, the profusion of exquisite flowers that lined the walkway.

I’d half expected Nasrin to punch me when she answered the door. I was stunned when she hugged me instead, taking my hands in hers and laughing as though we were continuing the conversation we’d started on that evening so long ago. I was still stumbling through my greeting when she linked her arm into mine and started showing me through the lower floor of the house.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” She smiled and led me into a music room bright with the noontime sun. Her hair was pulled up in a heavy gold clip that enhanced the open-faced beauty I’d only partially remembered. The flattering drape of her brown and yellow pantsuit made me glad I’d changed my jeans and sweatshirt for dark slacks and a light silk blouse.

Nasrin didn’t seem to notice my nervousness. “It’s such a beautiful day,” she said, leading me along. “I thought we’d eat in the garden. It’s this way.”

Although I tried hard not to, I could see Jawid, as well as her, in every room we passed through. The pristine white furniture in the immaculate living room emphasized formality, even as it invited me to sit down and rest my feet on an overstuffed hassock. The sofas and chairs were arranged in a large U-shape, to make for easy conversation and to accent an exquisite, thick Persian rug covering the hardwood floor. I recognized the stylized attack helicopters woven in with the ancient vine patterns in the upper corners of the rug, reminders, even in the opulence, of Jawid and Nasrin’s shared refugee past. Yet when I closed my eyes, it was Jawid’s presence I sensed. I could almost smell the spicy, musky tang of his skin. Even the baskets of ripe fruit resting on the polished tables in the kitchen and dining room reminded me of him. I imagined him biting into one of the oranges he so loved, the juice running sweet and sticky down his throat as he licked his fingers clean. The more I thought about him, the more the walls seemed to echo with the laughter I missed so much. I avoided Nasrin’s eyes, letting her running historical commentary blur into the background as I steeled myself against the onslaught of memories that soon hurt too much for me to see or care if she noticed.

If Nasrin picked up on my feelings, she didn’t say so. She led me through the house and out into the garden. Fortunately, that was all hers. The wind chimes tinkled in the afternoon breeze, soothing my ears as I inhaled the perfume of her thriving, vibrant roses. She’d set a small table in the shade of a vine-laden archway. I protested that I really shouldn’t join her. I wasn’t hungry, though I’d been living on coffee and frozen dinners for weeks. But when she uncovered dishes of fresh green salad and roast lamb with pitta bread, my stomach growled loudly. Despite my embarrassed flush, Nasrin laughed and steered me into a chair. The food was delicious, with a honeyed pastry for dessert, and glasses of hot, sugar-laced tea. I began to relax.

“I love how Americans name their roses after famous people.” She spoke between bites as I tried to place the elusive spices in the vinaigrette. While Jawid had no accent, Nasrin’s voice was thick with the music of her homeland. I vaguely recalled that she’d come to the States as a young adult. “That white one is called a Kennedy, after the President. The smell is so light and fresh. The pink is a Princess Diana. Such lovely blushes on the petals, as befits a beautiful princess, yes?”

“Yes,” I said.

Nasrin’s face glowed when she spoke about her flowers. “The deep red one with the white markings is a Dolly Parton. Very full-bodied.” I almost choked when Nasrin winked wickedly. “And this. .” She leaned to the side of the table, cupped an exquisite, lavender bloom in her slender fingers, and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. This is my new Barbara Streisand. She is beautiful enough to inspire song, I think.” Her laugh was contagious. “Please.” She smiled up at me and motioned for me to sniff. I bent forwards, inhaling the comforting scent, suddenly aware of the faint sandalwood perfume of Nasrin as well. “Ooh,” she laughed, turning her hand as a ladybug climbed on to her fingers. She lifted it carefully back on to the leaves. “I try to keep them happy. They’re so good for the garden.” She waved around her. “Do you tend flowers, also?”

“No,” I laughed, looking at the subtly organized riot of vibrant colours that surrounded me. “I just tend to other people’s problems.” At her raised eyebrow, I shrugged. “I work long hours. That’s how I met Jawid. .” I closed my eyes, a wave of shame and guilt and pain washing over me. I quietly set my fork down.

“I apologize,” I said stiffly. “You’ve been very gracious, Nasrin, but I have no idea why you asked me here. I have no business sitting here talking to you as if we were friends, even though I like you. God knows why, because I’m still in love with your husband.” I took a deep breath, my voice trembling. “My behaviour has been inexcusable. I didn’t know he was still married, but if you want my apologies, I offer them. Truly. I’m so sorry.”

I’d been going to add that if I’d known, I wouldn’t have done it, but these days, I wasn’t at all sure about that any more. And I was crying again. I wasn’t sure I’d really ever stopped since I’d told Jawid to leave.

I was surprised to feel Nasrin’s hand on mine, pressing a tissue into my palm. I looked up to see her smiling sympathetically at me.

“Men do not always explain themselves well. But then, they are only men.” She patted my hand, and the sparkle in her lustrous brown eyes had me smiling tearily back at her.

“Since you’ve been working so much, I assume you have not been to the Arboretum lately.”

“No,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Not at all, actually. It’s rather far out.”

“Oh, then we will go now,” she said. “The gardens are wonderfully healing when one is upset.” Before I could say another word, Nasrin took my hand and reached down to collect our purses. The next thing I knew, we were in her Mercedes, heading north towards Arcadia. I gave up and called my friends to cancel. The sunshine felt good, and I decided one more weekend at home wouldn’t kill me. At least I was out of the house and away from work, if not away from all memories of Jawid.

Nasrin and I spent hours in the gardens. At first, her arm linking with mine felt awkward. My American sense of personal space was well developed, and I was still uncomfortable with my role as the Other Woman. But the unexpected comfort of Nasrin’s touch and her love of the flowers, and the incredible breadth of her knowledge, soon had me holding her hand in awe as we watched tiny lizards scurry beneath the open orchid blooms in the rainforest greenhouse. Through the thick glass walls we could hear the cry of the peacocks outside on the walkways.

“They are such sexual birds,” she said, as a domineering male scream echoed through the walls. “Just like human men.”

I smiled as a second shrill cry rose in unison with the first. I was beginning to understand that while Nasrin seemed quiet, she was more than willing to voice her surprisingly uninhibited opinions. And I was finally starting to understand a little bit of where Jawid had been coming from with his insane idea of marrying me as well as Nasrin.

“I have always expected that Jawid would take a second wife.” We rounded a corner, and Nasrin stooped to trail her long, carefully manicured fingers through a small waterfall between two towering ferns. “I assumed it would happen later.” She smiled up at me. “And that she would be much younger than me. Someone who would catch his eye and give him another lifetime’s worth of children when I had grown older and more matronly. But one can never tell when love will strike, can one?” She stood up and rubbed her hands together briskly, drying them in the air. “After all, I certainly did not expect to love him.”

I stared at her. “Why not?” I didn’t care that I was being rude. Despite the soothing moisture of the man-made mists and the perfume of the flowers, and the solace of Nasrin’s company, I was still raw inside. She had Jawid, and she hadn’t wanted him. It wasn’t fair!

She took my hand in both of hers, the warmth of one contrasting starkly with the water-cooled touch of the other. “Ours was an arranged marriage, Amanda. I thought you knew.”

“No,” I said bluntly. To my mind, arranged marriages only happened in faraway places where women were treated like chattels. Places where men had up to four wives, regardless of how the women felt, and divorced them with the throw of a stone. I sighed heavily. Faraway places like where Nasrin and Jawid were from. I was amazed at how little I’d known of someone I’d thought I’d come to understand so well.

Nasrin moved to my side and again linked her arm into mine, leading me back outside and on to the pathway. The sun was higher now, the call of the birds and the dryness of the afternoon heat stark in comparison to the comforting coolness of the greenhouse.

“My family was dispersed when we left the refugee camps. I went to Germany with my brothers and my eldest uncle.” She steered me on to a eucalyptus-lined path, pausing to run her hand over one huge, smooth-barked trunk. “My uncle had a friend whose cousin went to school with Jawid’s father. When Uncle got the address, he wrote to Jawid’s father, and sent my picture. Jawid approved. So his parents and my uncle and aunt made the arrangements.”

She paused to watch a screaming peacock spread his tail feathers in a glorious fan of greens and royal blues. The white eye-feathers seemed to wink at us as he raised and lowered his tail at the plain brown peahen, which was studiously ignoring him.

“I remember sitting for that picture.” She hugged my arm to her breast, laughing as she shook her head. “I was so nervous. I wanted to look my prettiest, to look smart, so I’d catch a good husband. My uncle told me to look practical instead, as Jawid was going to be a doctor, so he would need someone to tend to his home, not someone frittering about the garden, tending flowers and flaunting the fact that she could read.”

Nasrin wrinkled her nose, and made a sombre face. I laughed.

“I looked like this,” she said, “until just as the man’s hand moved to uncover the lens cap. Then I smiled.” Her grin lit her face. “Uncle was mad, but he didn’t have the money to pay for two pictures. So he told me it would serve me right if I ended up married to a poor man who made me hoe other people’s vegetables all day.” She wiggled her fingers at me, and I saw the callouses from her gardening tools beside the light peach of her nail polish. “Little does Uncle know, but now my orchids win state prizes and bedeck my husband’s house. And I grow champion tomatoes!”

She hugged me. Her breast was warm against my arm. I liked her. Even though she was Jawid’s wife, and I still ached with the loss of him, I couldn’t help liking Nasrin.

“You came to love him, though, didn’t you?” I asked quietly, smiling into her upturned face.

“Oh, yes.” She smiled. “How could I not?” A pang shot through me as the glow of her love suffused her face. “The moment I saw him, I felt I had known him all my life.” She blushed unexpectedly. “And I wanted him in ways I wasn’t supposed to know anything about, but I wanted to learn.” She clasped her fingers into mine. “Was it the same with you? And Jawid? I know American women do not often come to their weddings as virgins. Was his loving still special to you, the way it was with me?”

The question was so clear, and so open, and I was so stunned by her bluntness, that I answered truthfully. “It was the most wonderful thing in my world.” I instinctively tightened my fingers, trying to push back the longing and pain when I thought about him. “I fell in love with him the first time I touched him. We were working on separate projects. I’d been offsite, doing research, and I hadn’t seen him in many months. My project ended, and I needed his signature on a document. The clinic was full of people, total chaos. As I handed him the papers, a small boy ran into me, and I literally fell into his arms.” I looked at her, squaring myself for her reaction. “I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.”

I don’t know what reaction I’d expected, but her laughter wasn’t it.

“How wonderful!” She grinned. “But then, Jawid is an excellent lover.” She blushed all the way to her hairline.

I must have looked as stunned at her reaction as I felt. Nasrin led me quickly to a bench in the shade and we sat down, still holding hands. She took a long drink from the water bottle she was carrying and passed it to me. I drank deeply, ignoring the occasional stares from people walking by, noticing again, even though I didn’t want to, how beautiful Nasrin was, then suddenly realized that I didn’t care what people were thinking. I wanted the support of her touch too much to let go.

“Jawid truly would like you to be his second wife.”

I just stared at her, jerking when she reached up and gently stroked the hair from my forehead. “Jawid tells me you are older than I by four years, and that due to your work, our children will likely all come from me, rather than you. But he wants you still.” Her hand cupped my cheek, her palm warm and accepting. “He loves you, Amanda. And you love him. You would make him a good wife.” Her thumb stroked lightly down the side of my face. “And you would be a good companion to me.”

I shook my head, pulling away from her. Only our hands stayed linked, where her tender grip refused to let go. “Nasrin, that’s not possible.”

“Why not?” She laughed. “He can obviously support us both.”

“That’s not the point,” I said, shaking my head. “Jawid knows that. In this country, it’s one man and one woman, to love, honour and cherish, forsaking all others, ’til death do us part. There are no provisions for fucking around with men who are already married to someone else. Personally, I’d shoot any son of a bitch who ran around on me!” I blushed when I realized what I was saying, and how vehemently I was saying it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Nasrin waved her hand, dismissing my ramblings. “You are talking secular marriage laws, Amanda. Jawid explained how to work around them.”

“Nasrin,” I said, exasperated. “If he divorced you, you’d lose all your rights. I couldn’t live with that. And I’d never trust him to do right by me if he did that to you. I’ll have no part of his divorcing you, and I’m certainly not converting to a religion that requires women to live with their husband’s mistresses!”

She shook her head, smiling, and stood up. “We will talk more about this later, my friend. Perhaps there is some way we can yet work things out. Look, the peacock is fanning again!” Her delight was contagious, and we put aside our discussion to tiptoe behind a bush and watch the proud and noisy bird’s display for the whimsical little brown peahen.

We left before the traffic got heavy. Nasrin had purchased some seedlings in the gift shop. I carried them on my lap on the way home, balancing them precariously while trying to learn the dance steps Nasrin insisted on teaching me at every stop light. It was early enough that I felt comfortable going back into the house. I knew Jawid would still be at work. When we’d deposited the new plants in the potting shed and cleaned up, Nasrin herded me into the kitchen and handed me an apron. We spent the rest of the afternoon with her showing me how to cook potato boulani and meat rolls and rice with raisins and sauces with names I couldn’t pronounce. As I prepared the green salad, I forgot that I was making something that Jawid would later eat. I savoured the unexpected blend of tastes on Nasrin’s fingers as she fed me a sample of rice. I was licking her fingertips clean when her hand went still.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep, calming breath, knowing without looking that Jawid was there.

He wrapped his arms quietly around us both. “So, my loves. You have had a good afternoon?”

Nasrin’s smile lit her face. “Yes, my heart. You were right. I can easily love Amanda. For herself, and as a wife to you.”

The honesty and selflessness, and, to my mind, stupidity, was almost more than I could bear. “Excuse me,” I whispered. “I’ll be going now. Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Nasrin.”

Nasrin’s grip held me. “Amanda, that is enough.” She shook my arm lightly. “You love him. I love him. We can grow to love each other. What is so wrong with that?”

“It’s not. . right,” I stumbled. Things weren’t so clear any more. I wanted to resist. Over the course of the afternoon, Nasrin had become a friend, and I was betraying her by my very presence, lusting after her husband. I had no right to love him.

“Of course it’s right.” Nasrin pulled me closer, so that her arms encircled me. I was erotically aware of her body, and stunned that I didn’t want to resist her touch. I inhaled shakily and leaned into her embrace.

Jawid’s arms tightened convulsively around us. “Have you reconsidered my offer, Amanda? Will you become my second wife and join our family?”

Nasrin squeezed my fingers reassuringly.

“This is insane,” I whispered.

“The law is insane, but since it is a law, yes, we will have to go around it.” He held me tightly to him and slid the fingers of his other hand up Nasrin’s arm to stroke her cheek. “I hadn’t realized how much I would love my first wife,” he said quietly. “Despite what Nasrin believed, I hadn’t planned on taking another wife, not once I had her. I did not expect to fall in love with you.” His glance slid over me. I shivered, my skin humming as his fingers travelled up my arm. “That is why I needed her approval, and your acceptance of her role as first wife.”

Nasrin slipped her arm around my waist, hugging me, smiling, and rested her head on my shoulder. Her fingers joined Jawid’s, tracing down my back in tandem with his.

“Knowing all this, will you still marry me, Amanda?” he whispered, licking the curve of my ear. “I love you.”

“God, I hope it’s not cheating if we’re married,” I whispered. Clutching them to me tightly, I took a deep breath and threw myself to the winds. “All right, Jawid. I’m certain I’ve lost my mind, and, for the record, I still think this whole idea is insane. But I can’t help loving you. I will be your second wife. I won’t convert, and I’m keeping my condo and I have no idea what I’ll tell my family. And you’d better believe we’ll have some iron-clad legal agreements.”

That’s as far as I got before Jawid crushed his lips on to mine. I kissed him as if he were air saving me from drowning, giving myself over to pleasure. Nasrin licked my collarbone and sucked softly on my neck.

We kissed until dinner was ready. Then we ate. Nasrin insisted, saying we would need our strength later. I barely noticed the food, despite the aromas tickling my nostrils, but I was glad for the energy suffusing my body and the warmth as I downed yet another glass of tea. I dropped my fork when Jawid took my hand and gently bit my fingertip. My legs trembled when Nasrin kissed me and gently led me upstairs to get me ready.

Halfway up the steps, I turned and saw Jawid, facing the fireplace, his tea cupped in both hands as he stared into the flames. In the light, he looked so civilized, yet so sensuous, raw and wild — and so handsome, kind and quietly strong. Perhaps he was strong enough to accept both my world and his. Perhaps we all were. I turned and followed Nasrin up the stairs.

The bedroom was through the first door on the right. Nasrin adjusted a dimmer switch, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. I curled my toes into the deep greens and burnt orange patterns in the thick Persian carpet. Nasrin clicked on the stereo, and hauntingly erotic music filled the air — tambours and stringed instruments I couldn’t identify. Then she turned down the covers on the king-sized bed. Even from across the room, I could see the softness in the pure, white cotton sheets. Nasrin smiled at me as she reached up and undid the clip in her hair. Her thick tresses fell almost to her waist in silky black waves.

“Your hair is beautiful,” I said, nervously wiping my palms on my thighs, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve always wanted long straight hair.”

“Thank you. I’ve always wanted short, carefree hair, like yours.” She walked over to me and took my hands. “Red hair. It seems so wonderfully exotic.” Her thumbs stroked my palms. Then her fingers glided up to my neck, stroking lightly, toying with the curls, weaving one around her finger. “It would give me great pleasure to prepare you for Jawid, Amanda.” She cupped my cheek. I leaned into her hand, nodding in spite of the butterflies in my stomach.

Her fingertips stroked my cheek and she kissed me. Her breath smelled of raisins and honey and lemon. I didn’t resist. I’d never kissed a woman before, but the moistness of her parted lips felt so right. I wanted her, as part of Jawid, and for herself.

Still, I trembled when her fingers started unbuttoning my blouse. She slid my clothing off, one inch at a time, stroking the newly unveiled skin with her fingertips while she gently sucked my tongue. When I was naked, she took me into the bathroom and slathered my legs with depilatory cream. Her foam-covered hand slid between my legs, and I gasped.

“I. . I didn’t think the women in your country shaved there.”

“They don’t,” she said. “But Jawid likes it. Do you mind?”

I shook my head, surprised that I was excited rather than bothered by having Jawid’s wife, his first wife, I corrected myself, teaching me new things about him. The cream tingled, but I tried to ignore it as I brushed my teeth and watched Nasrin strip. Her body was as beautiful as her face. Her nipples were a dusky rose, softer and fuller than my tight pink tips. I blushed when she noticed me watching her. Unembarrassed, she stretched her arms high over her head, then ran her hands down the length of her lithe, supple body. Her palms circled her nipples, causing them to perk up into hard tight peaks. Her hands moved lower, sliding between her naked labia as she spread her legs wider, stroking over the flash of gold metal exposed between her legs.

“Are you pierced?” I stammered.

Nasrin winked. She opened her legs and tugged on the shiny bar pierced through the hood of her beautifully protruding clit.

“This is also not traditional. It took me a long time to convince Jawid that I would not damage my sex with the piercing.” She flicked the bar and shivered. “After much discussion and research, he accompanied me to the piercers. He held me down, so the needle would strike true.” Her breathing quickened and a flush suffused her chest as she tugged again. “I was more afraid than the night when I gave my virginity to Jawid. But I begged him to let me do it. He held me flat to the table, and he kissed me, giving his tongue to suck as the needle pierced me. I screamed.” Suddenly, she panted and blushed, shuddering through a shimmering orgasm. When her breathing slowed, she smiled at me and stretched again. “Jawid came in his pants. But the piercing is wonderful. Sometimes, I climax just from walking.”

She moved to my side and kissed my shoulder. “Our stroll through the Arboretum was especially wonderful today. But that was as much from the pleasure of your company as it was from this wicked, nasty bar.” She marched me into the shower and rinsed my legs and vulva with quick, businesslike motions. Then she led me from the steaming shower and into the huge, sunken tub that took up the entire far corner of the room.

My muscles turned to putty as she washed me, massaging the tension from every inch of my body. At her insistence, I leaned back and concentrated on nothing but my breathing, the warmth of the water, and the incredible sensuality of her touch. She kissed her way down my breast and tenderly sucked my nipple into her mouth.

“Nasrin,” I moaned, unsure if I wanted to pull away or arch towards her. “Is th-this also traditional?”

“No, love,” she murmured. “But I want to do it.” She peppered me with kisses. “You will appreciate Jawid’s ministrations more if your nipples are already swollen with passion when you enter his bed. Now hush, and let me prepare you, so this is a night of most exquisite pleasures.”

Her lips moved to my other breast, and I leaned back and let the warm, scented water surround me. Nasrin’s lips were pure, luscious torment. I shuddered each time I looked down and saw her full painted lips surrounding my areola, slowly and deliberately suckling the light cream of my breast. She sucked me until I was tender to even the lightest flick of her tongue. Then her fingers stroked down over my belly, and rested on my newly denuded and exquisitely sensitive mound.

“Grab the bars above your head, so I can prepare the rest of you.”

I obeyed without thinking, letting myself float on the water as Nasrin moved between my legs and her strong, warm hands lifted my hips. I felt the heat of her breath on my pubes. Then I gripped the bars and held on for dear life as Nasrin lowered herself into the water, neck deep, placed my open thighs on her shoulders, and slowly swiped her tongue up the length of my slit.

“Oh, God!” I groaned.

“You taste sweet,” she said.

I cried out as her tongue flicked my clit. My newly shaved skin registered even the lightest of touches. I writhed as she licked and sucked and probed.

“This nub, too, should be tender and swollen.” She sucked me into her mouth, dipping her fingers deep into my cunt. “Your juices are sweet, Amanda. Jawid loves the taste of a woman’s passion. He will be so hard and hungry when he pleasures you.”

An orgasm was building deep within me. It had been so long since I had made love with Jawid. I’d been too depressed to even masturbate. I arched up into Nasrin’s face, groaning with need and frustration. She sat back.

“Please,” I begged, squirming in the water. Memories of Jawid licking between my legs blurred into the desire for more of the flailing female tongue that had also sucked him to orgasm. “Do it more, Nasrin.”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “My task is to prepare you. Your orgasm is your gift to Jawid.” She massaged my legs and took my foot in her hands. “I will relax you for a while, then I will prepare you some more.”

When my body had calmed, Nasrin helped me from the tub and towelled me dry. Then she took my shaking hands and led me to the bed. Three more times she brought me to the brink of orgasm. I was almost insane with lust when I looked up to see Jawid watching us. He had changed into traditional garb and was leaning against the wall, smiling at us, his dark eyes glittering with desire. His erection tented out the front of his loose cotton pants.

Our eyes met and I reached for him, trembling as he took my hand and gently sucked my fingertips. He climbed on to the bed and pulled us both up to him, kissing first me, then Nasrin, until the cunt juices glistening on her face were sticky on all of us. Jawid smiled as he carefully licked her lips. When he was satisfied, he pulled free of Nasrin, licked his finger, and slid it between my swollen pussy lips. I shook at the exquisite torment of his thumb on my engorged and tender clit. Nasrin had done her job exceptionally well. Still, when I heard her gentle, approving laugh, I flushed and looked away.

“Don’t, Amanda,” Jawid whispered, sliding another long, slender finger into my hungry cunt. “I have told Nasrin how much you like my hands in you. Let her see you take your pleasure.” He kissed me deeply, and I tasted my juices on his tongue.

“If you say his lips don’t feel good, I won’t believe you.”

Nasrin’s hand cupped my breast, kneading gently, then holding it on her palm for her husband to play with. Their hands clasped together, holding each other, as Jawid stroked his thumb over my nipple. My skin was so tender and engorged, even that light touch was a mixture of pleasure and pain.

Jawid pulled his clothes free and lifted me on to his lap, turning me so the heat of his erection pressed into my back. He kissed the side of my neck, licking and sucking and biting. I couldn’t stop my tears. I sank back against him, into the touch I’d been certain I’d never feel again.

“Shhh, love, don’t cry,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me. I was vaguely aware of Nasrin stuffing pillows behind him, so he could lie back against the headboard. Then he spread my legs wide and lifted me. I cried out, high and keening, as the hot, thick flesh of his swollen, unsheathed shaft slid into me, filling me, deeper and deeper. When he was inside me, naked and hot and unprotected, when I was so full of him I throbbed at the exquisite, unrelenting pressure of his cock against the centre deep inside my cunt, he again took my breasts into his hands and slowly, deliberately, milked my swollen nipples until I was writhing in his arms, desperate for the climax that was building inexorably.

Nasrin opened my thighs and moved between my legs. I mewled as she licked her way up my slit.

“You are so beautiful, beloved.” Jawid’s voice was thick with passion. “Will you come like this for me? Will you pull the seed from me, with just the walls of your wifely woman sex, until we are one in our orgasms and my semen bathes your womb?” The tip of his penis twitched deep inside my cunt. I trembled uncontrollably.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please. .” I wasn’t sure what I was asking for, I only knew that I needed their touch more than I needed to breathe. Jawid rocked me against him, groaning as my pussy walls spasmed around him. Nasrin laughed and flicked her tongue over me, then sucked my clit into her mouth. I shrieked as the orgasm gushed from me, clenching my cunt muscles as tightly around Jawid as I could, leaning into him. He arched into me and cried out, his body shaking as warm rivers of semen spurted into me and ran down his shaft. Nasrin licked us clean while I shook in Jawid’s arms.

I collapsed on to the bed, rolling on to my side, rousing myself only to suck the beautiful, dusky rose nipple that brushed hungrily against my lips. Nasrin held herself above me and cried out her pleasure as Jawid buried his face in her vulva and brought her to climax after climax.

That night, I slept like I’d never wake up again, wrapped in both their arms, warm and safe and happy.

I don’t know why I feel so married now. I mean, it’s still not legal. And even if it were, I have no interest in converting — given the rights I’d have as a woman in Jawid’s home country, I’d certainly never go back there with him. With them. But some time between that day and now, I’ve gradually moved most of my things into the house. The three of us eventually had a feast with our closest friends and colleagues and Jawid’s family. My family came, too, though they don’t even pretend to understand. But my mother says that as long as I’m happy, she can live with the scandal.

“After all,” she said loudly, clucking her tongue as she dabbed ceremonial henna on my hand, “if it’s OK with God, who am I to argue? Just keep the condo, dearie, for you and Nasrin. Any man who can live with two wives bears watching. Keep him on his toes.”

From the other room, I heard a muttered comment about mule-headed and non-traditional women. Nasrin and I laughed. My mother shook her head and joined us.