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

by Leslie North

  Calla chewed on her lip for a moment. “I think you should do it. Giving up control isn’t a bad thing. I do the same with my friend here in Amatbah—she executes my plans while I’m here working, which allows me to design more. It plays to each of our strengths. You delegating to other people will allow you to do more of what you’re great at.”

  A smile spread slowly across his face. “Well you are certainly wise.”

  She shrugged, trying to play it off. But his assessment warmed her. While he sat clicking his pen, he added, “Now what did you want to see me about?”

  She deflated slightly. Time for this sore subject. “I had an encounter with some of the tribal wives in the royal tent.” She paused and then launched into the executive summary of what went down, trying to keep her hurt feelings out of it. Fatim’s frown deepened the more she spoke. When she was finished, Fatim nodded.

  “You should schedule a luncheon with those ladies and all the rest of the wives,” Fatim said decisively, sweeping his dark gaze up toward her. Nervousness rippled through her. “Hear them out, and then report back to me. And then this could be my very first step in delegating.”

  He flashed a grin, dimples and all, and all she could do was smile in return. The thought of hosting a formal luncheon with these ladies scared the crap out of her. Not only was she the new girl in these parts, but she still feared she stuck out like an obviously-hired thumb. But if it would please Fatim, then she’d do it in a heartbeat.

  Maybe facing these ladies would be her own necessary step in asserting herself both in this palace and in her life at large.

  12

  Fatim made sure not to miss dinner with the family that night, as both children were well again and it seemed like a cause for celebration. When he walked into the brightly lit dining room, his kids were gathered around Calla, who was staring pointedly at her plate.

  “Children,” she said in a warning voice.

  “But, Callaaaaa,” Nara pleaded.

  “We want caramel!” Rashid chanted.

  Fatim cleared his throat as he strutted toward the dining table. He pulled out the chair facing Calla’s, sending his children a severe look. “What is this that I hear?”

  The tone was more for show than anything. But his children straightened as if they’d been caught. He only needed a moment to gather that they’d been pressuring Calla for something they knew they weren’t allowed to have.

  “She didn’t tell us we couldn’t!” Nara’s automatic defensive tone tipped Fatim off right away. But more than that, it brought up a really good point: did Calla ever say no?

  Fatim sat down, sternly suggesting to his children that they take their seats as well, while his mind swirled over the revelation. He tried to think of any instance when Calla had said no to him. Or the children. Or really to anything suggested to her at all.

  He couldn’t think of one time. As he and Calla fell into lighthearted conversation, the back of his mind was working overtime to grapple with this new idea.

  He’d been certain that when he’d posed the idea about nannying, and eventually marrying him, that she’d said yes with full conviction.

  But was that truly the case? He wanted to test it out. Test her out. See if he could get her to say no to him. Because if she hadn’t truly wanted to say yes to all of this, then that changed everything.

  “So, Calla, tell me—did you have a good rest of your day?”

  “Yes, I had a great day, actually.” She smiled at him as she forked a salad. “Lots of work on my new designs.”

  “So I take it you were pleased by what the women said to you earlier today?” This was just blatant now. She would have to say no.

  Her face fell slightly. “I’d say I was rather…enlightened.”

  So she was an expert dodger of the word no. He’d just have to try harder. The cook brought out his plate—curried beef and jasmine rice. He took a few bites, watching as she quietly course-corrected the children as they ran circles around the table. She was gentle and terribly sweet. But maybe too much so.

  Calla finished her meal before he did, and based on how the kids were acting, it was clearly getting close to bedtime. She sent him an apologetic look and said, “I need to get them upstairs and showered.”

  “Meet me in my bedroom for a nightcap afterward,” he said over his shoulder as she herded the kids out the door. He glanced back just in time to catch a flush in her cheek.

  Fatim ate his meal in deep thought, bouncing between Calla and the idea of delegating tasks and what was on tomorrow’s docket with the tribal leaders.

  But one thing rose above all the rest. One pervasive thought that he couldn’t totally extinguish, not now, nor throughout the day, nor really since it had first happened.

  The feel of Calla’s lips against his.

  Fatim finished his dinner and went to his bedroom. He beelined for the liquor cabinet, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. American whiskey was his favorite, and the homage to Calla’s first homeland seemed appropriate. He tossed it back and then poured two more: one for him, one for Calla. He took his tumbler to the far window, where he looked out at the dark garden, lit only by twinkle lights along the paths.

  Lost in thought, he wasn’t aware of how much time passed. Only that when Calla’s smooth voice interrupted his thoughts, he jolted.

  “Are you ready for me?” Her sweet smile bordered on mischievous as she came in, somehow sparkling and dewy even in the low lighting of his room.

  He gestured to the arm chair at his side, and her waiting tumbler on the low table. “More than ready.” His cock pulsed as his gaze swept up her tightly cinched taupe wrap-around dress. Embroidered, abstract floral patterns at the neckline gave it a special touch. He didn’t have to guess that it was one of her creations—he could already tell.

  “This is a nice treat,” she murmured, swirling the amber liquid in her tumbler before taking a sniff. “Let me guess—whiskey?”

  He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Fine detection system you have there.”

  “It’s one of my indulgences, I must say.” She took a little sip, then nodded. “Delicious.”

  His resolve to push her to say no burned at the edges of his mind. He knew where this game could take them. Where he wanted it to take them.

  “Do you have any other indulgences?” He played it cool, casual. Swirling the whiskey as if he didn’t care. But when he glanced up at her, he saw heat in her gaze.

  “Occasionally,” she said, laughing softly.

  “Like what?” He took a sip.

  She didn’t answer right away, her gaze drifting across the room. “I really love getting massages.”

  He fought a grin. She made this too easy. “Sexual or otherwise?”

  Her wide eyes flicked to meet his. But she didn’t miss a beat. “Both, I guess. Though I haven’t had many sexual massages.”

  “Maybe that should change.” He set his tumbler down, unfastening his watch as he looked her up and down. This was the perfect in. And the perfect way to challenge whether she wanted it. Wanted him. “Do you want to try one out right now?”

  Calla’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Sure.”

  He jerked his head to the bed, and she took a gulp of her whiskey before heading toward the bed. He laid his watch on the table and strutted her way. Desire licked through his veins; he would eat this woman up from head to toe.

  “Can I take your dress off?” he asked, voice low and reverent.

  She nodded, looking up at him as he approached.

  “Say yes. Say that you want me to,” he guided. “Or tell me that you don’t.”

  “I want you to,” she repeated.

  He reached for the knot at her natural waist, picking it apart until the ties fell away. The dress loosened, and he tugged the edges open. Underneath, she was cream and curves in a black lace bra and impossibly tiny panties. He wet his bottom lip as he looked her over.

  “Do you want to feel how hard I am right now?” he ask
ed in a low voice, almost a growl. The sight of her unraveled his composure. He’d have to remember that this was a game with a purpose. He had something to prove here.

  She nodded again, but he quickly corrected her.

  “Say yes or no,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and he guided her hand toward the bulge in his slacks. She inhaled sharply as her fingers tripped over the restrained length of him. His thighs tensed, her touch drifting down to cup his balls.

  Fatim tugged her dress off the rest of the way and tossed it aside.

  “Can I take your bra and panties off?” he asked.

  She nodded, but then quickly said, “Yes.”

  He unfastened the bra without issue, slipping it off her shoulders. Her heavy breasts spilled out, her chest rising and falling. He clenched his jaw, gaze dropping to the cotton thong. He hooked a finger under the elastic and tugged it down. He dropped to his knees as he rolled the scrap of fabric down over her thighs, all the way to her ankles. He looked up at her bare pussy from this angle, suddenly desperate to plunge his tongue between the folds.

  “Can I taste you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He guided her legs apart and nuzzled the damp folds of her pussy, then plunged his tongue inward to find her clit, that hard, needy nub that was so swollen and waiting for him. She cried out, and he pushed further, slamming his tongue up into her pussy as far as he could reach. When he pulled back, his mouth glistened with her arousal.

  “Mmm.” He ran his lips over her stubbly mons, locking eyes with her. “Can I lay you back on the bed now and tie you to the bedpost?”

  Doubt flashed across her face. She didn’t answer right away.

  “Tell me yes or no,” he urged.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “I’ll ask again.” He guided her back to the bed, pushing her by the hips so she bounced gently on the mattress. She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Can I spread you out on my bed and tie you to the frame and have my way with you?”

  A grin flickered at her lips. “Yes.”

  He grunted his approval and left to find a silk tie he liked to use for such occasions. When he returned, her nipples were pebbled points and she’d stained the sheets with her arousal. He tutted, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so sexy as you.”

  “Really? Come on.”

  “Believe it.” Fatim came around to the side of the bed and tied one wrist to the head board, and then the other. She gulped.

  “When are you going to get naked?” she asked.

  “When necessary.” He sent her a devilish smile. “Can I bite you?”

  She hesitated again, but eventually squeaked out a “yes”. This time he added, “Remember, you can tell me no. This about pleasing you. I don’t have to do anything you don’t want me to.”

  Calla’s eyes burned with an intensity he’d never seen before. “I told you yes. Now where are you going with this?”

  That was more like it. He shoved his pants down, stepped out of them, and then tore his kaftan off. He took a moment to absorb the sight of her—legs splayed, inner thighs glistening, the look on her face pure lust and anticipation.

  “You know where I’m going with this.” He slid his boxers down and then eased onto the bed, his knees indenting the mattress on either side of her. “Can I fuck you without a condom?”

  Her eyes flashed, and she swallowed before saying a husky, “Yes.”

  “Don’t say yes just because you think I want it,” he warned her, flexing his abs as he lowered himself. His cockhead grazed her lower belly, and then dipped into the damp folds of her pussy.

  “I didn’t. I want you to fuck me without a condom.”

  Hearing his own words from her lips made his cock turn to iron. He’d lucked out in the random wife selection game. He just hoped their second night together was as good as the first.

  Fatim dragged his lips over hers, then brushed a path over her collar bone and down between her breasts. She arched her back, wrists tied to the headboard, as if trying to wriggle away. He continued his trail of kisses down over her rib cage, then looped back up, dragging his teeth over each nipple in turn. Calla moaned softly.

  “I think you like being tied up,” he murmured into the hollow of her neck. She struggled a bit, the headboard shaking as she writhed.

  “Maybe a little,” she said breathily.

  Fatim pressed a kiss to her lips while wriggling his hips into place on top of her. His cockhead found the damp crease between her legs, and with one measured thrust he popped himself inside. A moan escaped her.

  Fatim grunted, counseling himself to go slow. Without a condom, everything would be heightened, and he didn’t want to come so quickly. Not tonight. Not with her spread out and wanting it like this.

  “That…feels…amazing.” Calla sounded like she was a million miles away. He hadn’t even started fucking her yet—really fucking her. He sank down into her, keeping it slow and measured, until he couldn’t claim another inch. He stilled, gazing into her eyes. Heat flooded his body as their eyes locked. The sensation of filling her, buried to the hilt, had him beating back his orgasm. He needed this to last.

  He grunted and drew himself out of her slowly. Then he surged forward again, harder this time, so that her breasts shook. He loved the sight of her tied up like this, the way it stretched her out, the way her breasts looked like perfect melons.

  Fatim gripped her by the hips, digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, and drilled into her with steady, deep thrusts. Every time he buried himself inside her, she moaned. Between the sight of her, his kinky sweetheart, and the sounds she made, he wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Fatim,” she breathed, after he’d drilled into her a few more times. “I’m sooo cloooose.” Her voice came out raspy, desperate. He was so close too. But maybe it was better for them to get this first one out of the way. So they could have the rest of the night to play.

  Fatim buried his face in the hollow of her neck again, his favorite spot, and dragged his teeth along her skin until he found the perfect place, where muscle met flesh and trigger point. He swiped his tongue over her damp skin, tasting the salt and heat of their passion, and then sank his teeth in.

  Calla cried out, arching beneath him, and there was a rawness to her then that he’d never heard before. Her reaction pushed him over the edge—his abs tightened and the fireworks began, the vision behind his lids going black and spotty as his cock pulsed.

  He slid himself out of her, his cum arcing through the air to land on her belly button. Her hips thrust as her own orgasm wracked her, her face pinched as if she was hurt.

  Fatim nuzzled his face back into the soaking folds of her pussy, needing the scent of her, but wanting to make sure she didn’t miss one ounce of available pleasure. He swiped his tongue over her swollen clit and then took it between his lips. He sucked and prodded and kissed her until she cried out, more shudders wracking her body.

  “Fatim, pleasssse,” she squeaked. Nonsense tumbled from her lips. All he could do was rest his chin on her thigh and smile.

  A few moments of lazy, utterly satisfied silence went by. Finally, a long sigh escaped her.

  “That,” she said, “was lovely.”

  Fatim loosened the silk ties around her wrists, propping his head on his palm to look down at her. “I wanted to see if you’d ever tell me no.”

  “Why would I say no to any of what we did?” she asked.

  “You wouldn’t, necessarily. I just don’t hear you say the word ‘no’ very often. Or, ever. Thought I might see if I could get you to say it once.”

  “Well, you picked the wong activity to try it on,” she said, laughing weakly. The smile slowly faded from her face. “But I know I’m a people pleaser. It’s something I’m working on. It is hard for me to say no. But I wanted every bit of what just happened.”

  Fatim drew lazy patterns over her lower belly as it gently rose and f
ell with her breaths. “Something you need to work on then. Along with Nara, it seems.”

  “Hey now,” Calla teased. “I’m not the only work in progress here. Did you get to work delegating your responsibilities? Or finding the new assistant?”

  He laughed, casting her a guilty look. “Not quite.”

  “See? We’ve both got some big items on our to-do lists.” She smiled wide. The teasing didn’t bother him. It wasn’t often he liked lovers—wives or otherwise—to interfere in his business matters, but with Calla, he felt surprisingly at ease with it. It was almost natural.

  “You might be right.” He smoothed his palm over the swell of her belly, feeling that familiar rush of heat and lust though his body. It was time. Again. “But we’ve got something else a little more pressing on that to-do list for tonight.”

  Calla’s giggles filled the room.

  13

  This was it. The big day.

  The luncheon with the highest ranking ladies of the tribe.

  Calla’s stomach had been in knots the whole morning, so badly that she couldn’t even have her morning cup of coffee. She’d been preparing for this event as if the women alone had the power to kick her out of the tribe. And in a way they did—acceptance was critical here, and their opinions really meant more than what Fatim thought of her. Of course they’d all bow to Fatim and his choices, but Calla wanted them to speak highly of her in private too.

  The one secret weapon she had in her arsenal, though? Her upbringing. The countless hours of traditional training, of late-night classes, of etiquette and Arabic drills. She had that in her back pocket, and she was here to show these ladies just how much of a sheikh’s wife she could be.

  She showed up in her semi-traditional best, since obviously the tribal wives wouldn’t want her wearing one of her outrageously different creations for an event like this. She kept her makeup minimal and muted. Accessories, tasteful. And smile, bright as the sun.

  Fake it till you make it. There might not have been any greater piece of advice for someone in her position, assuming the role of Queen of Amatbah.