Mistletoe for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 17)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Never stand between me and food in the morning,” she said equally firmly, trying to reach around him for the breakfast flatbreads that were lending an exceptional aroma to the air.

  “You want something to eat? Try this,” grunted the Sheikh, pulling open the drawstring of his pajamas and letting them slide down past his thighs. His cock sprung out, filling itself to hardness as he looked down at her curves, her pretty round face, the way her mouth opened wide in shock as she glanced up at him and then squarely at the head of his manhood.

  “You’re disgusting,” she said, giggling and swatting at his cock as he brought it close to her mouth. “Eww. Who does that?! That’s not funny at all.”

  “Does it look like I am laughing?” Bawaar said, the arousal making his entire body stiffen as he stroked his erection to full hardness and then reached around and grabbed Queenie by the back of her neck, pulling her close. “I am simply being the man you said I was. A need to dominate and control women. Here we go. Now suck me. I command it. I require it. I damned well order it! Suck me, woman!”

  Queenie kept her mouth firmly closed, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him. “My psychological analysis also said you have a deep-seated respect for women. Grabbing my neck and trying to shove your oversized cock down my throat doesn’t quite fit the profile, you know.”

  “I will show you what doesn’t quite fit,” the Sheikh said, grinning devilishly as he pushed his cockhead up against her lips. “Come now. Open up, my queen.”

  Queenie tried to turn her head, but the Sheikh wouldn’t let her. He coated her lips with his pre-cum, forcing himself into her mouth as she writhed under his grasp, half-giggling, half-sputtering. Finally she opened up, and the Sheikh pushed himself all the way into her mouth, groaning out loud when he felt her warmth envelop his shaft as her throat relaxed so he could slide all of himself into her.

  “Ya Allah,” he groaned. “You are good at this.”

  She pulled back and glared up at him, holding his wet shaft in her hand. “Excuse me?”

  “It was a compliment!” said the Sheikh. “In over a decade of marriage, Renita sucked me off twice! And she complained all the way through it. She did not even let me come in her mouth!”

  Queenie raised an eyebrow as she slowly moved his foreskin back and forth, reaching beneath for his balls and cupping them in her warm hands. “Are you seriously complaining about your ex-wife’s skills while complimenting me on giving good blow-jobs? This is supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside?”

  “Take me back in your mouth and I will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside, I guarantee it.”

  Queenie giggled as she stroked him. “Wow, you are one smooth-talking Sheikh. Though I’m not sure if I like the idea of feeling fuzzy inside. Not sure what that even means, to be honest.”

  “It is called poetic license. Please. Take me back into your mouth or I will come all over your face. I am so damned close already, woman.”

  Her grip on his shaft tightened, and she looked up at him, her eyes narrowed with mischief. “Now that’s romantic. Suck me now or I’ll come all over your face. I feel like I’m in a bad porno.” Queenie twisted her mouth into a comical frown, looking off to her left as if deep in thought. “Not that there are any good pornos. So really, what I’m saying is—oh, shit!”

  The Sheikh roared as he exploded all over her, her touch bringing him to orgasm so quickly he couldn’t hold himself back. He shouted again as he felt his balls tighten in her warm hands, his shaft flailing like a damned fireman’s hose as he shot his semen all over her chin and neck, onto her clean white gown, into her hair even.

  “Ya Allah!” he groaned as he pushed out the last of his load and then opened his eyes to see Queenie sitting before him, her eyes closed, her mouth half-open, a look of complete and utter shock on her pretty face.

  “I . . . I can’t even . . . oh, my God I can’t believe you did that!” she sputtered, blinking as she let go of his spent cock and fumbled for a napkin. “You sick, twisted, animal!”

  “I did not do that. You did it!” said the Sheikh, grinning as he grabbed a clean silk napkin and began to wipe the semen off her face. “Now sit still. Ya Allah, there is some in your hair.”

  “Oh, God, this is so sick,” she groaned, keeping her eyes closed as the Sheikh carefully wiped her nose and cheeks and then tossed the napkin onto the table, reaching for a clean one. “Mama was right. I’m just a whore.”

  The Sheikh glanced down at her, frowning as he tried to figure out if she was serious. “Are you joking, or did your mother actually say that to you?”

  Queenie blinked and carefully opened her eyes. “Both,” she said after a moment. “I mean, I was joking, yeah. But Mama did say that to me.” She rolled her eyes. “So did a lot of other people.”

  The Sheikh cleaned the last of his load off her smooth round face and then leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. “Hey,” he said softly. “That is not what I think of you. You understand that, yes?”

  Queenie blinked, color rushing to her face. The Sheikh could tell his words mattered to her, and he kissed her again, deeper this time, a lingering kiss that said more than his words ever could.

  She kissed him back, and then she pulled away and giggled. “Oh, Queenie,” she said, mocking his voice. “You’re not a whore. Here, let me clean my semen off your face.”

  The Sheikh laughed. “A king’s semen is supposed to do wonders for the skin. And anyway, I have cleaned it all off. Your hair, however, is a different matter.”

  “Wait, you’ve got it all over my hair too? I’m gonna have to wash it out before it dries!”

  Bawaar took a breath and nodded. “So you have some experience with this?”

  Queenie glanced up at him, and the Sheikh knew he had gone too far. It meant nothing to him that she had been with other men before—indeed, if anything he was incredibly turned on by the idea of being with a woman who had some experience. Yes, he did have a need to be controlling and dominant in bed—a need that Renita had never come close to satisfying—but the truth remained that he did not have much experience outside of that loveless, mostly sexless marriage!

  “I am sorry,” he said softly, seeing the hurt on her face. “I did not mean . . . I mean, I do not care about . . . Queenie. Queenie!”

  But she’d pushed her chair back and stormed out of the room, tears welling in her eyes as she clawed at her hair, shaking her head and muttering to herself. The Sheikh stared at her full figure, mesmerized by the way her bottom moved beneath the white silk gown. Then he sighed and shook his head, glancing down at his cock and closing his eyes.

  There is still so much we have to learn about each other, he thought. So much we have to accept about each other . . . and ourselves. I am embarrassed about my lack of experience, just like she is ashamed about having too much experience! Does she not see that we are perfect for one another, that this is a match designed by Allah and the angels, that we are meant to fulfill the deepest needs of the other?

  No, she does not see it yet, Bawaar thought as he strolled out of the day-chambers and towards the private baths of the Eastern Wing. You will need to show her.

  “So go show her,” he told himself, pulling off his tunic and walking through the halls stark naked, his cock filling out again as he heard the gush of the powerful shower-heads that he knew must be pouring warm water onto Queenie’s luscious curves. “Show her that she has nothing to be ashamed about, that what she hates about herself is exactly what you love about her. Show her, Bawaar. Show her.”

  And at the same time show yourself to her. Show her your bare self. The man beneath the king. Open yourself up to her, give life to your deepest needs as a man, your darkest fantasies as a lover. You never dared to go there with Renita. Dare yourself to go there with Queenie. After all, if she is going to enter into this game, then you need to know she will stick with it, stay the
course, stay with you no matter what. Otherwise what is the point? You might as well call Renita and simply ask her what she wants with this pregnancy thing!

  The Sheikh heard the roar of the showers in the Royal Baths, and he smelled the bath soaps come through on the rising steam. He silently stepped through the door, noting that it had been left partly open, and stood outside the arched doorway made of translucent glass that separated the showers from the changing area. Queenie’s clothes lay in a crumpled mess on the smooth sandstone floor, and the Sheikh glanced down at himself. He was naked as the day he was born, and he smiled as he pushed open the door to the shower room.

  14

  “My compliments to the designer,” Queenie said, looking through the steam of the showers and marveling at what lay beyond. Although three walls of the shower room were translucent glass, the fourth wall wasn’t a wall at all—it was just open!

  The showers opened to a private garden, perfectly manicured, indigenous dwarf palm-trees and desert shrubs rising up from the sandy soil. It looked like a cross between a desert paradise and a Japanese tea garden. It also made it seem like she was bathing in the open, perhaps in a waterfall, maybe in the rain.

  “Compliment accepted,” the Sheikh said from behind her, his arms sliding around her waist, which was slick from the coconut-milk soap that Queenie thought smelled absolutely divine.

  She’d heard him come in. Indeed, she’d expected him to follow her. She giggled as his hand rubbed her belly, moved down along her wide hips, around to her dark triangle, which was wet with suds. She felt his fingers search out her slit, and she gasped and leaned back into his hard body as he thumbed her clit while curling two fingers inside her.

  “Wait, you designed this? It’s pretty bold. Open.” She paused, gasping as she felt the Sheikh’s cock rise against her naked rump. “What did your wife think?”

  She felt him tense up for a moment, and indeed, she was almost surprised at herself for asking the question so casually. But it seemed appropriate. After all, if she was going to step into this man’s life, she needed to know about her adversary, yes? In it to win it, right?

  “She never used it. Not once. She thought it was disgusting, to be naked and exposed to the light of day,” whispered the Sheikh, his right arm moving up along her stomach and firmly closing on her breast, squeezing so hard it made her moan.

  The Sheikh’s other hand was driving firmly into her pussy, his cock hard and full, lined up along her rear crack. Queenie sighed and rubbed her ass against him as her arousal flowed like the warm waters of the six showerheads.

  “So you designed this for her,” she whispered. “To help her open up.” She paused, feeling the Sheikh tense up again. But he also hardened against her buttocks as she spoke, and so she continued. “To help open both of you up, perhaps?”

  The Sheikh pinched her nipple so hard Queenie winced in pain, groaning as the fingers of his other hand drove into her pussy at a frenzied pace, making her dizzy with arousal as she smelled the warm coconut milk soap and shampoo, stared through clouds of steam at the private Arabian garden of fantasy. Private fantasy. His fantasy. A fantasy that his wife had never indulged, never given life to, never made real.

  “What is your fantasy?” she whispered. “Tell me.”

  The Sheikh kissed her neck hard, bringing his fingers out from between her legs and swapping hands so he could play with her other breast while fingering her. “It is perhaps a bit early in our relationship to go there.”

  Queenie giggled, trying to turn and see his face. But his hold on her was too firm, and so she stayed pressed up against his body, facing out to the open garden, letting the trees and shrubs watch her in the flesh. “You’ve already asked me to marry you and carry your child just to thwart your evil ex-wife from seizing your kingdom. Then you fucked me, came on my face, and now we’re showering together in the open air. I think we’ve left behind any traditional ideas of how a relationship is supposed to proceed. Don’t you think?”

  The Sheikh grunted against her neck. “Has this not been a traditional courtship thus far? I did kiss you under the mistletoe, just as tradition demands. And once I did that, I was bound to marry you. In a way, I am following the most conservative traditions of any culture, anywhere! To kiss a woman means to claim her.”

  “So I’ve been claimed, huh? Based on tradition and propriety? And this has nothing to do with your ex-wife and whatever she’s trying to pull on you?”

  Queenie could sense the Sheikh’s frown even though she couldn’t see his face.

  “Is that what you think?” he said, grinding his cock against her ass, his thick shaft slowly spreading her soft rear cheeks. “That all of this is because of my wife?”

  “In a way, yes. I think I arouse you because you sense I can give you something she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—I don’t know which.” Queenie paused as she felt the Sheikh’s fingers slow their relentless drive into her. “I also think you sense that I’d be willing to do whatever it takes to counter Renita’s plan—whatever that might be.”

  The Sheikh was silent for a long moment, and Queenie wondered if she’d said too much. Was she being too bold? Too forward? Too aggressive? Too . . . desperate? Was he turned off by her willingness to jump into bed with him . . . jump into everything with him?!

  And why was she doing it, anyway? Was it his money? His power? The romance of royalty? The danger?

  Or was it just the way he made her feel . . .

  She moaned as she suddenly became intensely aware of his fingers curling up inside her most secret space, and then she was coming, the orgasm storming in out of nowhere. She shouted in shock as the climax whipped through her body, making her hunch over as the Sheikh held her, his fingers still driving into her.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered, her eyelids fluttering as splinters of that private garden came through her vision while she came in the Sheikh’s arms. Her mind was a mess, her body soaked and dripping, but those thoughts kept swirling in her mind as she stared at the garden.

  Why was she here? What was her game? Was this the move of a woman who could tell this was the best man she could land and so she was going all in? No shame in that. Every woman thought like that, even if no one would admit it even to their besties. But was there something more that was pulling her into this, into him, into this situation that was ambiguous and messy at best, downright dangerous at worst?

  The sunlight sparkled from the grains of sand in the garden, and Queenie squinted as her climax wound its way down. So bright, she thought. Like sparks. Flames. Fire.

  Oh, God, that’s at the core of this, isn’t it? This whole situation is fire! This whole situation is a burning house! And that’s why I can’t stay away! I want to be in the middle of it, standing there with a matchbook in my hands, giggling like a madwoman as my king holds me close! This is my whole life coming together in one blazing hot climax! All those years of reading those books. All those times playing with fire. This is the inferno that brings all of it to a close!

  And either it’ll be a happy ending, or it’ll all go down in flames.

  15

  Her hair looked like flames in the sun, the Sheikh thought as he felt her convulse against his body, her orgasm taking him by surprise at first. But he’d held onto her, the two of them facing the garden, that space which he’d designed to be open yet private, just like the Sheikh had always envisioned a true marriage to be.

  Open but private.

  Ya Allah, the Sheikh thought as he kissed her cheek from behind and slowly pulled his fingers out of her. That describes this woman perfectly, does it not? She has been open and honest with me, but yet she holds things close, keeps a part of herself private and hidden. Just like fire . . . you can see it clearly, but if you get too close you will burn.

  And perhaps that is just what I need. A woman who will stand by me no matter what, no matter what needs to happen
, no matter what needs to be done.

  A chill went through the Sheikh even though the water was hot and the sun was high in the desert sky. He could see that there was both light and darkness in this woman, bright sun and storm clouds. She’d clearly left Alaska to get away from something. Perhaps to get away from herself? No. This woman was not running from herself. She accepted herself, accepted who she was. That was why she’d boldly agreed to go along with him, trusting her instincts, trusting her body, trusting her own sense of adventure. So what was it?

  “What was it?” he asked, blurting out the words suddenly, as if his thoughts had burst into speech without his intention.

  “What was what?” she said.

  “What made you run? Why did you leave Alaska?”

  Queenie was quiet for a moment, as if she was debating whether to be open or stay private, shine like the sun or stay obscured in clouds.

  “Long answer or short answer?” she said finally.

  “Well,” said the Sheikh, reaching for the coconut-milk shampoo on the coated wooden shelf to his left, “we still need to wash your hair, so long answer.”

  She was silent again as the Sheikh gently lathered the shampoo into her thick brown hair, placing his palm across her forehead so it wouldn’t get into her eyes. “Let’s just say it was getting a little hot for me up there in the Arctic Circle.”

  The Sheikh frowned as he considered her choice of words. “Heat,” he said finally. “You mean the police? You did something?”

  Queenie snorted. “Oh, I did a lot of things.”

  “Illegal things?”

  “I consider the law to be simply a set of suggestions,” Queenie said. “I generally do what I want, and if it breaks the law, then whoops!”

  The Sheikh laughed. “When you are a Sheikha, you can make the laws yourself. How does that sound?”

  “Boring,” she said with a giggle. “What’s the fun in that? It would mean that everything I wanna do is within the rules!”