No more, he decided as he took in the sight of Queenie pressed up against the mirror, her nipples clearly visible through her white gown. He glanced down along her curves, his breath catching when he saw the outline of her dark triangle through the sheer cloth. Ya Allah, she had no panties on! She was dripping for him!
“To hell with you,” she said, taking a step forward and trying to push past him.
But the Sheikh grabbed her arms and pushed her back against the mirror, slamming her against the glass, which shuddered and shook but did not break. “I am already in hell,” he muttered. “How else can you explain my life? How else can you explain these demons dressed as women who have tormented me, kept me from doing as I please, to whomever I please?! I am a king, by Allah! No one, especially not the women in my life, tells me what to do!”
Queenie’s eyes went wide and she snorted. “You misogynistic pig! So you’re blaming your mothers and your ex-wife and now me for everything you don’t like in your life? Have you ever considered that maybe you’re just a pig with a deep-rooted hatred of women?”
“Hate comes from somewhere, does it not? It is a reaction to something. To someone,” the Sheikh said, holding her wrists above her head and leaning in as he spoke.
“Yeah, a reaction to you!” she said, almost spitting into his face as her mouth twisted. “You hate yourself, Bawaar! You hate yourself for allowing your mothers to bully you into marrying a woman you didn’t love. You hate yourself for staying in the marriage for so long. And now you hate yourself for not having the strength to deal with the situation on your own.”
The Sheikh grinned, madness clawing at his insides as he breathed deep of Queenie’s scent. She was freshly bathed, no makeup on, no perfume or deodorant. He could smell her natural musk from her bare armpits as he held her arms up. As he breathed deeper he picked up the tangy aroma of her cunt from beneath her loose gown. He was so hard now he could barely see, and he leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth as she tried to turn her head away.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she said. “Are you insane?”
“You insult me. You tease me. You call me a coward. You call me weak. You are no different from every other woman in my life,” he growled as he tightened his grip on her wrists and kissed her again. “Well, if this is the kind of woman I am destined to be with, then I will accept it. And so will you.”
“You’re not fit to be with any woman!” Queenie said. “You’re a misogynistic nutcase from the goddamn stone age! Now let me go, or—”
“Or what?” he whispered, licking her neck as she shuddered and closed her eyes as if she was trying to fight the arousal that he could feel rising up in her. “Or you will scream? Fight? Cry like a little girl? Go on. Do what you will. If I am a woman-hating monster, then why would I care?”
Queenie turned her head and snapped her teeth at him like an animal, taking the Sheikh by surprise and getting him square on the nose. He roared in shock, feeling her teeth break the skin as tears welled up in his eyes and blood rolled down from the bridge of his nose.
“Ya Allah!” he roared, laughing as he felt the pain sting him. “Who is the animal now?”
“I never called you an animal,” she said, grinning like a madwoman, his blood on her lips. “Your hatred for women is too complex and deep-rooted.”
“You keep saying I hate women,” the Sheikh said, taking deep breaths as he tried to slow his heartrate and bring himself under control before he gave life to a part of himself he had repressed for too long—perhaps forever. “But I love you, Queenie.”
“Hah!” she squealed, looking away and then back at him. “That’s a good one!”
“And you love me too,” he whispered. “You are in this, like it or not.”
“I don’t like it. Now unhand me.”
“Unhand me?” the Sheikh said, chuckling as he tightened his grip on her wrists, slamming her against the mirror and making the old glass shudder once again. “Is that a line from Mills & Boon? I understand there is an entire subgenre of romance that deals with my kind, yes?”
“You mean misogynistic rapists? Yeah. Not my style though.”
“You like calling me a misogynist, don’t you? Such a fancy word. I suggest you stop reading Cosmo. It fills your silly little head with very big ideas.”
Queenie stared at him like she was trying to figure out whether he was serious or not. The Sheikh grinned, and she couldn’t help show her smile. Bawaar almost shouted out in joy, because now he could see it, he could feel it, he could damn well taste it. This was real. They were real. The chemistry was undeniable, and even though the situation was a holy mess, this one thing was clear: She was his, and he was going to take her.
And so he pulled her away from the mirror, and in one swift motion ripped that thin white gown off her, tearing it along the side seam as she screamed in shock, her brown eyes wide as she covered her breasts and backed away from him.
“I said it once, and I will say it again,” he growled as he unzipped his trousers and dropped them, pulled off his shirt and tossed it across the room. He stretched his massive arms to the side, opening up his chest, feeling his joints crack in approval. He smiled when he saw her gaze move down along his bronzed, rock-hard body and then rest on the peaked front of his black silk underwear. “Spread for me. Spread for your king, Queenie. Do not make me say it a third time.”
19
“Third time’s a charm,” she said, still covering her boobs as she sidestepped the Sheikh, trying to keep her gaze fixed on his eyes even though the sight of his heavy erection was extremely distracting.
She wasn’t sure when this thing had turned from her spitting in his face and calling him a woman-hating loser to where they were both naked and circling each other like fighters in a ring. Nothing had been resolved. If anything, things were more of a mess than ever before. But one thing was clear: There was a connection here. Call it chemistry, destiny, instinct . . . whatever. It was there, and it was real.
Maybe this is destiny, she thought as he reached for her and she swatted away his hand, not sure if she was playing or serious. Maybe this time I don’t get to run. Maybe this time I take what I want, I get what I want. Maybe this time I need to commit to see this through, no matter where it goes. And what better way to commit than by letting him do what he says, by getting me pregnant? Renita wants to use his child as a weapon? All right, bitch. I can play that same game. Bring it on.
He was on her just as she finished the thought, grabbing her by the hair and smothering her with ferocious kisses, slamming her against the wall and grinding his massive cock and balls against her mound until she moaned and spread her legs wide.
“Oh, fuck!” she moaned as she felt him reach between their bodies and spread her slit with his fingers, pushing his enormous cockhead into her opening almost immediately.
The Sheikh grunted as he bent his knees slightly and then drove upwards into her, sliding his shaft all the way deep, so goddamn deep her eyes rolled up in her head and the only sound she could make was a throaty, gurgling whimper as he began to fuck her with everything he had.
Queenie came once, twice, three times in quick succession, her orgasms riding in like waves of stampeding Arabian horses. The Sheikh’s fingers were digging into her buttocks, his breathing heavy against her head and neck. She was held firm against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as he held her up and pounded her with a force that rattled her teeth, made her flesh tremble like a train was going through her insides.
Finally he came, his motion barely slowing down as he blasted his load up into the farthest reaches of her vagina, pumping with a desperation that seemed to fit with the madness of what was happening. She could feel his hot semen flood her from the insides, and she gasped and groaned as she felt herself fill up even as the Sheikh kept pushing more of his load into her as if he had an endless supply in those massive balls
that she could feel swinging up against her underside.
“Ya Allah,” he said, panting as he slowed down, pulled back, and then rammed back in and held himself there, squeezing out the final drops of his royal seed. “If that does not make a baby, nothing will.”
Queenie was too spent to do much more than smile and then drop her head onto his shoulder. They stayed in that position, her legs wrapped around him, his cock still all the way inside her like they were inseparable, like they were one, joined in both body and spirit.
“I can’t believe I let you do that,” she groaned, slowly unwrapping her legs as she felt his cock begin to slide out of her. She leaned against his hard body as she found her footing, and then she looked up into his green eyes and shook her head. “I was just gonna go home, away from this madness. I just wanna go home.”
“This is your home now,” said the Sheikh. “I am your home.”
Queenie closed her eyes and took a breath. “What about Renita? What about—”
“It is time to address the Renita situation face to face. But we will do it together. You and I. King and Queen.”
Queenie opened her eyes and blinked. Immediately she saw that he wasn’t just commanding her, but he was also asking. Truly asking. He needed her help. He needed her to stand by him. She was in it now, all the way in. This was her drama now, she knew. No more running away.
“All right,” she said softly, nodding her head. “All right. When?”
The Sheikh raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch, which was the only item of clothing on his naked body. He looked remarkably elegant despite his cock hanging down and still dripping all over the hand-woven Persian rug.
“She should be landing in about thirty minutes. Enough time for us to get ready, yes?”
Queenie frowned. “She’s on her way here from Europe? You just invited her to come discuss this and she said yes?”
The Sheikh shrugged as he reached for his trousers. “Invited is a strong word. It is perhaps not the word Renita would use.”
“Wait, so you kidnapped her?”
Bawaar shrugged again. “Kidnapped is a strong word too. But it is perhaps the word she will use when we meet with her.”
Queenie shook her head and took a breath. “What about her European bodyguards?”
The Sheikh grinned. “No Europeans were harmed, I assure you, my queen. Anders Van Hosen will be accompanying my ex-wife, doing what he is paid to do.” He paused and then shrugged for the third time. “Of course, now he is being paid by me, not Renita.”
Queenie couldn’t help but laugh. “So you bought out Anders Van Hosen, and paid him to kidnap his own client. I actually thought they were together when they showed up at the Christmas party.”
Bawaar shook his head. “I am certain she paid him to make it appear that way. Van Hosen is a professional. He would never sleep with a client.”
Queenie went quiet for a moment. “Does she want you back?” she said softly. She knew the answer, but she needed to ask the question. She had to know what she was dealing with when she faced Renita.
“I do not think even Renita knows what she wants,” said the Sheikh without a moment’s hesitation. “It is possible she does, in the same way a child wants something only when it is taken away. Perhaps she has decided that life as a common European billionairess is not as exciting as it sounds.”
“So you think she wants her Palace and her throne and her title back? And the pregnancy drama is all made up? Seems pretty extreme. Especially if she isn’t actually pregnant, right? I mean, there’s only so long she can pretend to be pregnant if she’s faking it!” Queenie blinked and took a breath. “When did you say you last fucked her?”
She didn’t mean for her tone to be so flippant, and when Queenie heard herself almost spit out the last line, she knew she needed to be careful. It wasn’t like Queenie was some model of self-control or self-awareness. She had her own issues, and she knew they were simmering beneath the surface.
“Two months ago,” Bawaar said, frowning as he glanced into her eyes. He hesitated like he was going to say something more, but then clearly thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.
Queenie thought about it for a moment. She’d seen Renita a few days earlier at the Christmas party, and the woman looked slim like a rail. Two months pregnant? It was still possible. Some women didn’t show until later. What the hell was this woman’s game?!
“Well,” Queenie said, brushing away the thought of the Sheikh having sex with that woman. She hated herself for that trace of jealousy, that annoying feeling of “Stay away from my man, bitch!” But then she just shrugged and accepted it. So what, she told herself. No shame in being protective. And anyway, this is your issue, not his. He’s been clear that he wants nothing to do with his ex-wife, doesn’t love her, isn’t attracted to her, and is even willing to turn his back on his unborn child for you. If you’re still jealous, it’s your issue, not his!
“Well what?” said Bawaar, his jaw tightening in a way that Queenie could tell was because of stress. “Are you in this with me, or do I need to worry about you losing your cool when Renita walks in here with Van Hosen and a perfectly scripted piece of melodrama?”
“I’ll be cool,” Queenie said, closing her eyes and nodding slowly. She could feel an energy building up in her, and for a moment she didn’t understand what it was. Then she got it. It was a feeling of power. Confidence. Coolness. She was going to stand by his side, act like a queen, and finish this story her fucking way. She’d been born an unwanted child, grown up a slutty teenager, and become a cleaning lady in Texas. Well, so what? Now she was about to be a queen, and that was how her story was gonna end. It was all in her hands. All she had to do was act like a queen!
Fake it till you make it.
In it to win it.
Bring it, you bitch. Let’s see what you got.
20
“You did not bring her? Where is Renita?” thundered the Sheikh, taking a step towards the tall, blonde Anders Van Hosen.
The Austrian stood his ground, his blue eyes cool and unblinking, his clean-shaven jaw square and tight. Queenie stared at the two men facing off, wondering what the hell was going on. Van Hosen had walked in alone, escorted by the Sheikh’s guards. Although he was calm, Queenie could sense a vague smugness in his expression.
“I run a security agency,” he said smoothly, his gaze fixed on the Sheikh. “My reputation is everything. How long do you think I would stay in business if I sold my clients out to the highest bidder?”
The Sheikh took a breath and shifted on his feet. Then he smiled, and Queenie frowned as it occurred to her that Bawaar did not look particularly shocked. He was angry, yes. But not surprised.
“Fair enough,” said the Sheikh. “So then why are you here? Why not just refuse me? You needed the money? Is that it? Security business in a slump? The Van Hosen portfolio has taken a beating in the stock market? Speak up.”
“I had my bankers decline the wire transfer. The money is back in your accounts. It is blood money.”
“Very honorable. I will make sure I recommend you to anyone who asks. Now answer my question: Why bother to show up here, Anders? Clearly this is part of Renita’s game.” The Sheikh smiled and shook his head, his green eyes narrowing. “Or do you not see that yet? Has she got you dancing to her tune as well, Anders Van Hosen? The Austrian Waltz? Hah!”
Van Hosen finally blinked, and Queenie saw a shadow of doubt pass across his face. “Ms. Renita has taken ill,” he said softly. “She was planning to accompany me here, even though I told her everything. She wanted to meet with you face to face.” For the first time Van Hosen turned his head and glanced at Queenie. “She wanted to meet with both of you. Come to an agreement. End this once and for all.”
“Ill?” said the Sheikh, raising an eyebrow and rubbing his chin. “Renita has called in sick to the finale of
her own drama? Stage fright?”
“A complication with the pregnancy,” said Anders. “It could be serious.”
The Sheikh blinked, and Queenie saw him draw a sharp breath. “Where is she?” he asked.
“Safe. Stable,” said Van Hosen. He looked down at a slim leather attaché he’d been carrying, and then glanced up at the Sheikh. “May I?” he said.
The Sheikh looked at his two guards, and they both nodded. “Go on,” said Bawaar.
“Here is Renita’s proposal,” Van Hosen said, opening the case and pulling out a single sheet of thick, cream-colored paper. “She asked me to deliver it.”
The Sheikh snatched the paper from Van Hosen’s hand, his gaze lingering on the Austrian before he glanced quickly at Queenie and then down at the page. Queenie watched Bawaar’s face change color as he read, and then he shook his head and handed the paper to Queenie.
“This is ridiculous,” he said softly. “I should behead you and send my men to every hospital in Vienna until they find that witch. Then I should behead her, and bury all three of you together, that abomination of a child included.”
Queenie frowned as she read the options Renita had presented, and she felt the blood drain from her cheeks when she got to the end:
“If you don’t agree, I will kill myself and the baby, making sure I release a recorded video suicide note detailing that Queenie Quinn, Alaskan home-wrecker, is the reason I chose to end two lives.”
Queenie staggered back as she read her own name on the paper. What the hell?! When did this become about her? Yeah, there’d been that public kiss beneath the mistletoe, but that was just a few days ago. No way Renita would know that Bawaar and Queenie were . . . were together!
She stared up at the Austrian before looking back down at the paper. The options were clearly laid out:
Option 1: Void our divorce and take me as your first wife and Sheikha. We will have our child, and the child will be heir of Wakhrani. You may still marry Queenie Quinn, but she will be the Second Wife, always and forever. I will agree to allow the laws to be changed back to the old tradition where a Sheikh is allowed multiple wives. By day you will hold court with me by your side, and by night you can take her like the whore she is, satisfy the animalistic urges that I am too much of a lady to entertain.
Mistletoe for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 17) Page 11