The Sheikh’s Wife Arrangement: The Safar Sheikhs Series Book One

by Leslie North

  Except this time, there was no mistaking what came next.

  “Calla,” he breathed, dragging a thumb over the crease of her pussy. The lacy scrap of fabric between her legs was drenched. Which told him a truth that she hadn’t yet uttered with her lips. She whimpered again. “Be honest. How long have you wanted this?”

  Her chest heaved as he swirled his fingers back and forth over her panties. He knocked his thumb over the stiff peak of her clit.

  “Since the day I met you?” She laughed weakly. The admission made his cock twitch.

  “Yeah.” His other hand found the hem of her dress and skipped a trail up along her thigh. Until both hands swirled at her lacey panties. “Me too.”

  Her breath hitched, and he tugged her panties down. There were plenty of ways he wanted to have her, but for their first time, on this first night, he wanted her in this dress.

  Just like this.

  8

  Calla couldn’t tell if she was dreaming. Like maybe she’d blacked out sometime during the reception and this whole king-between-her-legs thing was just a champagne-induced wet dream.

  Except the rustling of the beadwork as Fatim pushed her dress up to her hips—that seemed very real. And the cold blast of air once he whipped her panties off like he’d been doing it his entire life—also very real.

  It was too early to tell. She should just keep going.

  “How long have you been wanting to take this dress off me?” she asked, face burning the moment she asked the question. Sexing the king was one thing. Being bold in the sex tent was quite another.

  “Since the second I saw you in it.” His warm lips skipped a trail up her thigh, pausing at the crease where her pussy met leg. “But I told you. I’ll keep the dress safe. I want you in the dress.”

  His words zipped hot and incredulous through her. The man’s voice alone could push her to her limit. But knowing that he desired her, had been secretly wanting her since she started working for him, was such a turn-on she thought she might come from his teasing alone.

  He ran a hand over her bare pussy, that dark gaze sweeping down to take in her nakedness. Everything prickled under his attention. She bit at her bottom lip—thank God she’d thought to shave in advance of her sham wedding.

  “I can accommodate that,” she whispered, wiggling her hips as he nuzzled the crease of her pussy. “But by all means, feel free to undress. You must be so hot in here with all this on.” She tugged at his robe.

  Fatim smirked and took a step back, causing a cool draft to whoosh past her. Her body lamented the absence of him. He made quick work of the large wooden buttons holding his robe together. It crumpled to the floor around him, revealing simple, black shirt and slacks. He stepped out of the pants, then tore the linen shirt over his head. When he stood before her again, all he had on was a pair of white boxer briefs, which looked so yummy against his caramel skin tone she wanted to take a bite of him.

  “Much better,” she whispered, gobbling up the view as if he might slip his clothes back on at any second. Dark chest hair was clipped short and tight to the body, dotting all the way down his six-pack abs. So this was what training with the troops got him. She reached for him, but he shook his head slowly, resuming his position between her legs.

  “What are you—” she began, but he shushed her, surging forward. Her thoughts dissolved once his warm lips met the one place on her body dying for attention. All the air whooshed out of her body, and she melted back into the bed. Fatim’s strong hands cupped her ass cheeks. And thank God, because she felt like she might float away. A heavenly rhythm emerged as his tongue pushed and prodded at her swollen, aching clit.

  Fatim massaged the tops of her thighs as he licked her, then one of his hands ventured between her legs and suddenly he pressed a finger inside her. Gently. Inquiring. She hissed, her legs spreading wider. Yes, she needed more of this. So much more. Fatim grunted from between her legs, working his thick middle finger in and out of her slowly. His finger and his tongue were a match made in Heaven. Add onto it the fact that he was the world’s sexiest man, not to mention a king, and suddenly Calla was spilling over the edge head first.

  Her whole body shook with the surprise orgasm, and her first thought was embarrassment. She wasn’t supposed to come so fast. But the king rested his chin against her thigh, looking amused, his lips shiny from her arousal. There was no sexier sight on Earth. She stammered, but no words came out.

  “That was fast,” he remarked.

  She jerked her head into a nod.

  “I can promise I’ll last a little longer,” he said with a wink as he stood, revealing the massive tenting of his boxer briefs. Her mouth parted as he shoved his underwear down, which caused his cock to bob heavy in front of him. The cockhead bulged purply and fat, veins popping out the base. It was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. When she reached for him this time, he allowed it.

  “Mmmm.” His gaze fell to her hand as she sat up and caressed the length of him, gently at first but then with more confidence as the king responded. His eyes went hooded, little grunts escaping him as she fisted him and ran a finger under the fat ridge of his cockhead.

  “Be honest,” she whispered past dry lips. “Where’s the one place you wish I could suck your dick?”

  The question felt so naughty that her face burned, but she didn’t regret it. Even less when Fatim’s gaze turned into pure desire.

  “When you’re down on your knees,” he said, his voice gritty, “measuring my pants, looking up at me with those kitten eyes.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest at his confession. So he had been thinking the same thing all along. This felt like a personal victory somehow, though she wasn’t sure why.

  “Well then.” She pumped her fist up and down his shaft, loving the way his eyes fluttered shut as she jacked him off. “Next time I come in for a fitting, you know what to expect.”

  He groaned, his head lolling to the side. “Go on. Give it a kiss.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. She scooted to the edge of the bed, inviting him to step between her spread legs. She nuzzled the small shorn patch of black hair framing the massive centerpiece and then she popped the cockhead in her mouth. She watched him as she took a long, slobbery draw at his dick, then another. He wobbled beneath her grip. Her pussy throbbed with anticipation.

  “Calla,” he moaned, his hand finding the back of her neck. “I don’t know what I want more. To fuck your mouth or your pussy.”

  His dirty talk made her pull back, ears ringing as she looked up at him. He buried his fingers in her hair and tightened his grip, sending a chill through her. She spread her legs, hoping it got the point across.

  Something unspoken yet clear as day shivered between them, and suddenly Fatim was tearing open a condom—where he’d gotten it from, she didn’t even see—and rolling it down over his dick. Calla lay back on the bed, fighting a silly grin as she waited for him to suit up and assume the position. A moment later Fatim rocked his hips between her legs, his hot cock immediately slipping into the crease of her pussy.

  “There we go,” he murmured, his biceps bulging as he supported his weight on the mattress. He rolled his hips slowly, the bulging head nudging for entrance. “Are you ready, Calla?”

  She whimpered and nodded, clutching him as he thrust his hips forcefully, popping the head inside her. She moaned, tossing her head back. God, already it was good—too good. And it wasn’t fair. Why did sex with her not-for-forever husband have to be so good? This was the type of thing she needed more than simply over the course of the next 365 days. She needed this permanently.

  “Go slow,” she whispered. He was stretching her, big time. Fatim nodded, a low grunt escaping him. He eased himself inside slowly, never breaking eye contact. The intimacy seared through her. When he was buried balls deep, he took a shaky breath that showed just how much this affected him too.

  “Holy…” she began, digging her fingernails into his back.

  �
��You feel so damn good.” He flexed against her, pulling back to admire her. He ran a hand along her upper thigh where it met the bunched-up skirt of her dress. “You look so damn good, too. With me buried inside you. In this gorgeous dress.”

  She bit her bottom lip, letting the words sink into her. “God, that’s so sexy.”

  “And it’s true.” He drew back, and then slammed into her. She whimpered. “Fuck, I could come right now, Calla.”

  The way he said her name sent shivers racing up and down her spine. It sounded like a pet name. Even though it was simply her name, the lust edging his voice made it sound both desperate and sweet at the same time.

  “Me, too,” she said, arching her back as he drilled into her. He was pushing into her more forcefully now, the friction gathering, sparking. He could undo her with his eyes alone at this point. Fatim grunted again, his abs flexing as he pulled out of her. When he pushed back in, knocking the base of her clit, she started the tumble over the edge once more. She squeezed his forearms, a squeal escaping her as her pussy tightened, and she came and came and came.

  Fatim pushed in and out of her a few more times, extending her pleasure, drawing it out so long that by the time she had calmed and Fatim himself had come, she felt utterly drained. She melted back onto the bed as Fatim collapsed beside her. Sweat shone on his forehead, and he grinned at her like a teenager, pure goofiness and satisfaction.

  They lay like that for a long time, just looking at each other. The buzz of her orgasm finally receded to a whisper, and she was able to speak again.

  “Happy birthday, Fatim,” she managed, and then leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.

  9

  The week following the wedding felt a lot like business as usual. That mystifyingly hot night of sex in the royal tent—which featured three rounds of sex and six orgasms total between the two of them, four to two in Calla’s favor—did not lead to more sex. In fact, once they finally went to their separate rooms to sleep early the next morning, Calla was already counting the seconds until the next time they got to scratch that royal itch.

  But apparently Fatim was content not dabbling in mind-blowing sex ever again. Because he lost himself so deeply in his work that she barely even saw him most nights for dinner with the kids.

  He finally showed up Friday night, looking harried and distracted. He’d been so much a ghost that the kids only saw him when he came to tuck them in. Both Rashid and Nara leapt from their seats to greet him, climbing all over him when he sat down at the table.

  “Good evening, Calla.” He offered a tight grin. “All is well?”

  She looked over at him, unsure what to say. He’d gone from sizzling hot to icy cold from one day to the next—and it appeared he wanted to keep it at the frigid temperature. “Yeah, everything is great. How about you?”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s been a busy day.”

  Day, sure. But what about the last week since they’d become royal sheikh and wife? She nibbled on her lip, contemplating the plate of flatbread and curry in front of her. This perceived injustice had been circulating inside her like a cyclone. She couldn’t let go of it, either, even though her rational side knew she needed to just let him call the shots and forget about it. If he wanted their marriage to be like this—hot sex and then a dark, lonely cavern of nothing—then so be it. She was here for the money and the opportunities. She should be thankful she even got that first night with him.

  But rationalizations didn’t help. She wanted more of him anyway. Even if it was foolish.

  The kids jabbered about their days as he scooped food into his mouth. She wondered if he was even listening to them. When it came time for a response to Nara’s question about her school review, Fatim didn’t say anything.

  “Papa, you think I’m doing good, right?” She tilted her head up to look at him, dark curls bobbing.

  “Sorry, peanut.” Fatim cleared his throat, glancing up at Calla.

  “Her parent-teacher conference is tomorrow morning,” she said. “You confirmed we’d be going on the shared calendar.”

  “Parent-teacher conference on a Saturday morning?” Fatim creased a brow.

  “You said it was the only day you could do it, so the teacher made an exception because, well, you’re the king,” she said, shrugging.

  He shot her a look she didn’t know how to read, while the kids barreled on. Between their stories and questions and interjections, dinner went by without a single chance to really speak to Fatim.

  But what did she even want to say? This was a marriage for show. To allow him to keep the crown. If she knew what was best, she’d keep her mouth shut.

  So when Fatim finished eating and quietly left the dining room with the kids to take them upstairs for their nightly tucking-in and stories, Calla didn’t follow. This was his thing, his time. She was just the hired nanny and spouse. That was it.

  Calla spent most of the evening working on a project for Fashion Week. She stayed up so late that she overslept. A quiet knock on her bedroom door made her startle and almost fall out of bed.

  “Who is it?” she asked as she checked her phone. Dammit, she’d overslept by a half hour.

  “Fatim. Are you ready?”

  “Uh…” She darted toward her closet, pulling clothes out at random. She hated oversleeping. “Yep. Just about.”

  She shed her pajamas in a hurry and must have missed the click of the doorknob. Because when she turned around, having just tugged off her night shirt, breasts on full display, Fatim was standing there with a brow raised.

  “Fatim, I’m not ready!” she squeaked.

  “My apologies,” he said, but he didn’t move. “But you said you were.”

  She covered herself with her T-shirt, feeling her face flame. “I’ll be out in a second. I promise I’ll hurry.”

  Fatim’s nostrils flared, and he stepped out of the room. She buried her face in her T-shirt, screamed silently, and then booked it to get dressed and presentable. She chose a simple tunic dress with bright emerald baubles, slipped on a pair of flats, and grabbed her purse.

  Fatim led the way down the steps into the foyer and out the front door, where a palace car waited for them. She felt a lot like a kid in trouble as she climbed into the back seat with Fatim. He didn’t speak the entire ride to the school.

  Once they stepped out of the car in front of Nara’s private school, he grabbed her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Ready?” he asked her.

  She jerked her head into a nod, unable to find words as they walked into the school hand in hand. Nara’s teacher was ready for them in an empty classroom. After a quick introduction—The Queen of Amatbah, pleased to meet you—Nara’s teacher, Mrs. Farood, launched into a detailed summary of Nara’s performance thus far in the schoolyear. Achievements, successes, and tendencies were mentioned. And then they reached the room-for-growth portion of the conference.

  “I do think Nara would benefit from better self-advocacy,” Mrs. Farood said, tapping a pencil against the desk.

  “I’m sorry,” Fatim said, voice tinged with annoyance. “What did you say?”

  “Nara is an excellent student, but she struggles to be her own advocate.”

  “Nara is a wonderful advocate,” Fatim insisted. His straight brow felt like a warning shot to Calla. This was a side of Fatim she hadn’t seen before—protective papa bear, defending his child at the parent-teacher conference. She hated that it was kind of hot. But more than that, she needed to defuse the tension laced through him.

  “Your Highness,” Mrs. Farood started, “this is exactly the problem. Nara is a wonderful advocate for others, but not so much herself.”

  “I fail to see the problem here,” Fatim said.

  Calla reached out, touching his wrist gently. He snapped his gaze over to her. “Nara can’t be a great leader if she can’t advocate for herself,” she said softly, trying to reframe the issue for him. “Maybe she should try an advocacy position for something she cares about? Or something
like a young debate team? Where she can argue for herself in an authoritative way?”

  Fatim frowned but didn’t say anything further. The teacher nodded excitedly.

  “These are excellent ideas,” Mrs. Farood said. She and Calla brainstormed a few possible directions while Fatim’s gaze sizzled on her. Or maybe she just wished it did. By the time they wrapped up the conference and were leaving the classroom—with clear direction for Nara’s next steps and a calmed-down papa bear—Fatim was close on her heels.

  “I should thank you,” he said quietly, their footsteps echoing down the empty hall.

  “You should, or you will?” she teased.

  “Thank you,” he said a moment later. “For handling that conference better than I.”

  She grinned over at him, pushing through the double front doors of the school. Up ahead, the royal car waited for them. “It was no problem. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  Fatim gripped the top of the car door as she slid into the back seat, his jaw flexing as he watched her. “Any way?”

  And there it was—the hint of darkness in his tone. The same secret side of him that had asked her if she’d rather he fuck her mouth or her pussy.

  And hell if she wasn’t relieved to see that window hadn’t entirely closed.

  Fatim slammed the door shut in the back seat, trying to jostle some common sense into himself. Anything to keep him from traveling down the path his brain so desperately wanted to follow since getting that luscious, full-frontal view of Calla’s naked body that morning.

  He was good at being frigid, at keeping his distance. But this woman was too tempting. Too present. And after that thoughtful display at the parent-teacher conference, hell if he wasn’t hard as a rock.

  He’d been lying to himself this past week, telling himself that one-and-done would be fine. Romance was out of the question, but frequent sex could be just as bad. He had to keep his distance. Had to play it smart.