Uncorked for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 14)

by Annabelle Winters

  “It seems a little late to say no now,” she gasped. “Oh, God, I’m stretched so damned wide, Zameer. I can’t even understand how it’s possible . . . how it’s possible to feel this way.”

  “I am not even in all the way, you know,” he growled, leaning forward and pushing another inch of his thick meat into her rear. She let out that low, guttural moan again, and the Sheikh felt every muscle in his body harden with arousal. “Ya Allah,” he groaned. “You are so warm inside, so perfect, so . . . so mine!”

  And then Zameer couldn’t hold back any longer, and he drove the last two inches of himself into her, making her howl as his hips slammed against her cushioned buttocks. Slowly he withdrew, grimacing in pleasure as he watched his shaft emerge from between her buttocks, his cock glistening with oil.

  “Can you take it?” he muttered. “Can you take me, my queen? All of me? Can I go back in?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, nodding her head, her voice trembling with strain mixed with sublime pleasure. “Oh, God, yes. Go back in, Zameer. All the way in.”

  With a roar of delight the Sheikh pushed back in, and then he was taking her, pulling back and driving deep with long, powerful strokes, his fingers digging into her sides and bottom, leaving red streaks on her soft white skin as she screamed every time he pounded into her.

  They moved together in the darkness, man and woman, king and queen, and when the Sheikh realized he was getting close, he felt Nat’s soft hand slide down between her legs and hold his balls, driving him over the edge in a flurry of ecstasy that made him cry out so loud he was certain everyone in the country could hear.

  “By God!” he roared as his balls seized up in Nat’s hand, his cock flexed in her rear canal, his buttocks tightened as he slammed so hard into her he felt their bodies crash together like they could never be separated. “By God, my queen!”

  “Come for me, Zameer,” she moaned. “Just like you said. Fill me until I overflow. Yes. Yes. A million times yes! Yes, I’ll marry you! Yes. Yes. Fucking yes!”

  22

  Nat felt her own orgasm roll in as the Sheikh exploded in her asshole, and she couldn’t even understand what was happening, how she could be coming like this while taking him in her butt. Her mind swirled as she heard him roar like a lion, growl like a bear, dig his claws into her body like a dragon taking its mate. She was wailing and laughing at the same time, it seemed, and she felt deranged, mad with ecstasy, delirious with desire, beside herself with the force of their combined climaxes.

  She felt him pour his heat into her like a dam had just broken, and she could almost taste his semen as he pumped her full of it from behind. He was still pumping into her as she felt her rear canal fill up and start to overflow, his seed oozing out past her rim as he drew back and drove in, convulsing his way through the orgasm that was rocking his powerful body to the core, taking her along with him.

  Then he finally collapsed on top of her, muttering in Arabic, covering her head and neck with kisses, his cock still inside her, the weight of his massive body feeling warm and wonderful, the night breeze whispering in their ears, the starlight covering them in an otherworldly glow.

  “Good,” he said after they laid together in silence, their bodies joined so tight Nat wondered if they could ever be separated. “Now we just have to shut down your winery, convert the land into a vacation home, and move you to Ladaak.”

  “Excuse me, what?” Nat said, struggling to turn her head under his weight. “We are doing no such thing!”

  “What are you talking about? You are to be my queen! How can this even be a discussion anymore? The winery is history.”

  “You said one week,” Nat snapped from beneath him. “It’s only been three days.”

  The Sheikh snorted, and she could feel his body move as he laughed. “You are being unreasonably stubborn. What do you hope to accomplish in four days? Even if I agree to leave the winery intact—and mind you, I will not—you cannot continue to run it while you are Sheikha of Ladaak!”

  Nat frowned, and then she pouted. He was right. She’d agreed to marry him, and certainly she understood that it meant she’d be moving to Ladaak. Already she could understand that perception-wise, she probably shouldn’t be running a winery, regardless of whether or not she kept drinking alcohol.

  And then suddenly her mind was barraged by a million thoughts—practical thoughts, questions that she knew would have to be answered, considerations that reminded her how insane it was that she’d just agreed to marry this man! Was he going to expect her to convert or something? To become someone she wasn’t? To give up what she loved to do?

  “Listen, Zameer,” she said, her voice wavering as she felt sick with paranoia about how this was going to work. “We need to talk. There’s just so much we need to—”

  “It will be all right. We will work it all out. You are a queen, and in the end a queen can do what she wants,” the Sheikh said. Then he paused, slowly rolling off her and turning her so she faced him. “However, you might need to carefully consider what you truly want. Do you understand?”

  Nat frowned again, feeling her stubbornness rise up. She wanted to win. She wanted her way. She wanted her winery, she wanted to still do what she loved to do: grow grapes and make wine, produce something that made people laugh, made people dance, made people fuck! Nothing could ever convince her that it was wrong. Not even him.

  But she also understood what he was saying . . . what he was asking. He was asking for a compromise—some kind of compromise. He’d compromised by agreeing to give her a week before shutting her down, hadn’t he? And look where that had taken them!

  “Four more days,” she said, nodding. “That’s what you agreed to give me. Give me these four days, and I’ll think about it.”

  The Sheikh took a breath, and she could see his eyes narrow for a moment. This man was not used to compromising, to having people oppose even his smallest wish. He was doing it for her, and she had to find a way to compromise some part of herself for him. This was what marriage was about, wasn’t it? Can both partners compromise for the other, but do it without losing themselves in the process?

  “Four days,” the Sheikh said finally. “I will keep my word. Besides, I have some business to take care of with Saudi Arabia, it seems.”

  Nat nodded, a chill coming over her when she saw the tension on the Sheikh’s face. Now she remembered the discussion they’d begun but never finished, and she nodded again, touching his cheek and smiling. “What do you need from me? How can I help?”

  “I do not know yet,” Zameer said. “I do agree with your suggestion, though: It is time for me to find Zayaan. Although I do not think we will need to search for him. I believe that he will find me. That he will understand it is time for him to step back out of the shadows, reveal the truth, accept who he is. Who knows, perhaps that will bring him a peace he has never known. Perhaps admitting his true nature to the world will allow him to retreat back to the shadows in peace.”

  23

  Henry. Zayaan. Prince. Coward.

  I am all of these, thought Zayaan as he stared at the Virginia Drivers License that had his picture and the name he’d chosen for himself a decade ago. It had been easy enough to pay for birth records and the new identity, easy enough to leave behind the Royal Palace and everything that came with it, easy enough to settle down with a woman who seemed to match his need for simplicity, his lack of pretense, his disdain for ambition.

  But in the end I turned out to be the greatest pretender of all, he told himself as he rubbed his bald head, smoothed down the few strands of hair he had left, patted the modest gut he’d developed over the years as a stay-at-home dad. I hid my past from my own wife, denied my sons the chance to see where their father came from, denied them the chance to decide whether they wanted any part of the life I left behind.

  He’d been talking in his sleep, he knew. He didn’t remember
the dreams, but he knew there were dreams, because he’d woken up covered in sweat on more than one occasion, gasping for air, his eyes wide and glazed. Peggy had heard him. She’d recorded his ramblings, and when she played them back to him that one time after confronting him, Zayaan knew the time was drawing near when the truth was going to come out.

  Still he denied everything. What Peggy had heard was mostly incomprehensible, and even though she’d managed to pick out Zameer’s name and some mention of the Kingdom of Ladaak, Zayaan still believed that if he just held his ground, Peggy would give up. After all, it was too crazy to be real, was it not? A long-lost prince living a quiet life as a commoner in Smalltown, USA? Married to a schoolteacher?

  Yes, he’d held his ground, and Peggy seemed to back off after a few tense occasions when Zayaan was worried that she’d break him, get him to admit who he was. He almost did admit it, almost did lose his temper and simply scream, “So bloody what? I left that life because I wanted to leave it! This is the life I chose. Is that not enough for you? Am I not enough for you?! We are still living mostly off the interest income from the money I took with me when I left, and we have enough to keep a house and feed our children. What more do you want out of life? What more do you want out of me?”

  But he’d held his tongue, because he’d seen it in his wife’s eyes, heard it in her voice. She did want more out of him. And now . . . now that this man Siddiqui had somehow convinced the Saudi government that Zameer’s claim to the throne was illegitimate because Zayaan was alive and well . . . yes, now perhaps Peggy would get more out of him.

  “Did you have something to do with this man Siddiqui?” Zayaan wanted to ask when he heard Peggy come in the front door. But again he held his tongue, held on to his secret, even though he could feel things beginning to unravel. If Siddiqui really had discovered his identity, things would get very, very tricky.

  There are no photographs of me in public circulation from when I was a prince, Zayaan reminded himself as he heard Peggy come up the stairs. And Zameer will not admit anything unless I admit it first. I know him. He is hard-headed as a mule. He will not break. Even if he stands in the same room with me, face to face, he will be able to look me in the eye and say with confidence that he has never met this stranger, this bald father of two.

  I still have control, Zayaan told himself. No one can prove anything without hard DNA evidence, and how in Allah’s name are they going to get both my and Zameer’s DNA? There is no one in existence who is connected to both of us, is there? This man Siddiqui is bluffing. There is no other explanation.

  Just then Zayaan looked up and he saw Peggy standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed at him, her mouth twisted in a smile that seemed just a bit too smug. He’d noticed some changes in her over the past few months: She’d been bolder and more enthusiastic in bed, talking dirty in a way that embarrassed him. At first he’d chalked it up to those filthy romance novels he’d seen her reading, but there were other changes as well, things Zayaan had overheard her telling the kids:

  “You are both princes. You are both royalty,” he’d heard her telling them one evening as they watched TV after dinner. Zayaan was in the basement doing laundry, but he’d come back up to grab the kitchen linens to add to the load and had caught the tail end of the conversation as he stood in the dining room and eavesdropped on his own family.

  “You’re both better than the other kids, and don’t you ever forget that. One day you will be a king,” she told their oldest son. Then to their youngest she said, “And perhaps you too. Either way, you are both princes, and I will make sure you get your crowns.”

  The kids were still too young to fully understand what the hell Mommy was talking about, and Zayaan tried to convince himself that it was just talk, like how a mother might assure her daughters that they are princesses or fairy-queens or whatever. But that moment had stuck with him, and now, as he looked into his wife’s eyes, suddenly it became clear as a chill passed through him.

  It was her. Of course it was her. How could he think otherwise?! There were too many coincidences for it all to be just coincidence! Peggy had connected the dots, and she had connected them for this man Siddiqui as well. But since Zayaan’s name and photograph still had not been plastered all over the Arabic news-sites, clearly the Saudis were waiting for hard proof. DNA evidence. They would not go public without that confirmation, and clearly they were not allowing Siddiqui to do so either.

  What should I do, Zayaan wondered as he stared at his wife wife, almost admiring how she’d managed to get this thing rolling to the point where he could sense that the game he and Zameer had played for ten years was now coming to an end. If Peggy is really behind this, then undoubtedly she already has my DNA. So it is Zameer’s DNA that is missing, or else the Saudis would have run a test and broadcast the results, putting pressure on the rest of the Islamic kingdoms to boycott Ladaak until the “rightful” ruler was placed back on the throne. After all, the Saudis were the self-proclaimed enforcers of the Middle East’s moral code, and they would see it as their duty to make sure the lines of ascension and succession in the smaller Sheikhdoms followed what they saw as inviolable rules.

  Everyone thinks they have a goddamn monopoly on morality, Zayaan thought as a wave of anger passed through him. The Saudis, my wife, those other Sheikhdoms that have followed the Saudis’ lead and already boycotted Ladaak without hard proof of anything. Why can’t everyone just mind their own business and let a man choose to live his life as he sees fit?

  “No!” he said suddenly, the rage bubbling up to the point where he could barely speak. “No.”

  “What?” said Peggy. She frowned slightly, but her expression was mostly unchanged, like she wasn’t surprised, like she knew exactly what he was talking about, like she’d almost expected him to say what he’d just said. “No what?”

  “You know what,” Zayaan said firmly, even though he could feel his hands shaking. “There is nothing you can do. Even with hard proof, it would mean nothing. I would simply officially abdicate the throne. I walked away once, and I will do it again.”

  “No,” said Peggy, shaking her head slowly and taking a step into the room. The kids were at soccer, and the house felt eerily empty at that moment as a chill crept up along Zayaan’s spine as he looked into his wife’s eyes. “You don’t have the strength to walk away when the pressure will be on you to stay, to follow the tradition, to take your birthright. That’s why you skulked away in secret ten years ago. Because you don’t have the strength to face the world and admit that you’re weak.”

  Zayaan stared at his wife, blinking as he realized she was right. He’d left because he knew he wouldn’t be able to publicly stand up and tell everyone he was too weak to take the throne, to be a leader, to rule like his father and grandfather before him. To rule like his brother. He didn’t have the self-confidence to let the world see that he didn’t have self-confidence! Peggy could see it, and she was trying to trap him, wasn’t she! She was counting on the fact that once there was hard proof, the public and private pressure would force Zayaan to take back his crown, sit on the throne of Ladaak, make her a queen, make their sons princes.

  “Peggy,” he said, his voice wavering. “We live a comfortable life. A peaceful life. Our sons are healthy. They are happy.”

  “Well, I’m not happy!” Peggy shouted, her face going red, her glasses almost falling off her nose. “You made a selfish, cowardly choice ten years ago, but now you’re the man of the family. So be a fucking man and stand up for your woman, for your children. Give them what they want, you goddamn pussy! Step up and take what’s yours!”

  “This is what’s mine!” Zayaan screamed, spreading his arms out wide and turning around in the small bedroom. He pointed at their wedding picture, that shot of them smiling on their honeymoon, the family portraits of them and their sons at Disney World. “This is all I ever wanted, Peggy! You, our children, this life!”

&nbs
p; “No,” Peggy whispered, her face contorting. “It’s not enough. Not now that I know we can have so much more. All of us. You owe it to us, Henry, Zayaan, whatever the fuck your name is. You owe it to us.”

  Zayaan shook his head, a sudden obstinacy rising up in him. “No,” he said calmly. “And if you persist down this path, I will file for divorce, and you will be nothing. No queen. No crown. No throne. I made my decision ten years ago, and this is who I am now. If that is not enough for you, then perhaps I am not enough for you and you should go find a man who will make you truly happy.”

  Peggy paused and took a deep breath. She didn’t seem surprised in the least, and that suddenly terrified Zayaan. “I thought you might say that. You’re a coward, and your first instinct is to turn and run. So if you won’t step up, then I will. I’ll do it for our sons. With you, or without you. We don’t need you to make this work. My sons already have your blood, and that’s enough to claim their birthright.”

  Zayaan blinked in confusion when he noticed that his wife was wearing sheer vinyl surgical gloves, and he blinked again when he saw her reach into her bag and pull out a small handgun, the one she’d bought a few years ago when she was teaching a class in one of the DC suburbs and was worried about driving home after dark.

  “Peggy?” he said, staring at the gun in disbelief, then into his wife’s eyes. “Are you insane? What are you—”

  “You attacked me,” Peggy said, taking a step closer, her eyes going wide. “I had to defend myself. This is smalltown Virginia. I’m a goddamn schoolteacher. Put me in front of a jury and I’ll make them believe me. Oh, hell yeah they’ll believe me!”

  “You’re insane,” Zayaan said, almost snorting in disbelief. “How did you ever expect this to work? It won’t work! Put the gun down and—”