Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  “What situation is that?” She goaded, her eyes lancing straight through him.

  He chuckled, but he knew she was throwing down the gauntlet. It would have taken a saint to resist her, and God knew, he was no saint. He came to kneel on his knees and kissed her on the lips, softly at first, but then, as always, hunger overtook him. He kissed her hard, and with his hands, he supported her shoulders and guided her so that she was lying back on the scattered cushions.

  She groaned as he spread his legs so that he could straddle her, and his weight pressed against her abdomen.

  “Is this situation going to end as it always does?” She asked huskily as he littered kisses along her jaw and down to her décolletage.

  “With us both sexually frustrated and angry?” He quipped, his dark eyes glinting as he found the zip to her dress and eased it down her body, exposing her soft, milky skin beneath.

  “Pretty much,” she nodded, and her hands were running a mission of exploration too, pulling at the belt of his robes and loosening them so that she could feel his flesh beneath her fingertips.

  He eased himself up a little, so that he could stare into her eyes. “Is this really what you want, Sheikha? Are you sure of it?”

  “Except that I’d like to know we weren’t going to be interrupted by the ambassador for Sweden,” she croaked with a grimace.

  Tariq shook his head. “He will be a while. He has something to attend to. We are quite alone.”

  She felt heat colour her cheeks and she bit her lip. Now that he had removed himself, she felt besieged by all of the old uncertainties. What if he didn’t enjoy it? She knew she didn’t have that sex gene, what if sleeping with her was just a big old let down?

  What if it wasn’t, a small voice urged her onwards, and before she could give in to the self-doubts that pock marked her confidence, she pulled him by his robe.

  “I’m sure.”

  His eyes flared with recognition and finally, he let himself feel everything that this bewitching foreigner stirred in him. He removed her dress with a silent deference, kissing her body where the fabric had been, tasting every inch of her. He disposed of his own robes and let them lie where he threw them, not caring that they would crumple.

  Naked, and unable to fight their desire any longer, he parted her legs and teased her with his strength, just nudging his cock towards her sacred heart. She whimpered beneath him, and her long legs came to curl at his back, clinging to him, trying to pull him inside.

  He kissed her face, tasting the feverish sweat on her brow. With all the will in the world, he was making himself take it slowly, be gentle, when all he wanted was to plunge himself deep inside of her and feel her explode with pleasure.

  He took one nipple in his mouth, and while he sucked at it and flicked it with his tongue, he took the other between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it firmly. She was making keening noises of pleasure and he could feel how wet she was with his tip. As she bucked with a need too great to express with words, he pushed inside. An unmistakable barrier paused him, but her legs squeezed, pulling him tighter. “Please,” she moaned, “Please.”

  With a growl, he did plunge into her then, and her body arched at the unexpected sensation. He felt her muscles, so tight and moist, stretch to accommodate him, and he had to grit his teeth to stop from coming straight away. Hell, he’d never felt anything like it.

  He slowed his rhythm, intent on watching her face as she experienced her first sexual orgasm. “Look at me,” he commanded, taking her chin between his thumb and finger and holding her face. “I want to see you.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, and desire rocked her body, until she tipped over into the heavenly abyss beyond, covering her whole body with the sensation of feather light kisses.

  “Ohhhhhh,” she groaned, her breath laboured as she rode the wave. He had never seen anything more sensational than her release into pleasure.

  She blinked up at him, a moment later, and her eyes were clouded.

  “What is it, Rebecca?” He whispered against her cheek, laying delicate kisses towards the earlobe he was about to suck.

  “You didn’t.... err... you haven’t....”

  “Come?” He teased, revelling in her nervous inexperience.

  She looked away from him and he laughed.

  “I’m teasing. I’m sorry. No, I didn’t come.”

  It was her worst nightmares confirmed. He hadn’t even been that turned on by her. He was trying so hard to please her, to find her attractive, but even now, in the throes of the most passionate feeling she’d ever experienced, he was left non-plussed. Capable of teasing and apologies.

  She pressed her lips together and wriggled beneath him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get away from him.

  “Rebecca,” he whispered, pressing his palms against her shoulders to hold her still. “When I come, it is over. Finished.” He moved his hands and brought them back to her breasts. They fascinated him. Round yet pert, full yet small. He delighted in the way they felt cupped in his hands. “I wanted to make gentle love to you for your first time.”

  “My first time...” which it was, of course, but it also made her feel like he wanted a second time. A third even.

  “Now, I am going to show you what fast sex feels like,” he said with husky promise.

  “Fast sex.” She repeated again, and he nodded gravely.

  “Yes, my Sheikha, fast sex.” He kissed her on her lips, so hard that she tasted blood, but she didn’t care. As he pressed her down with his mouth, he began to move inside of her again, and this time, he rocked her with a speed that sent her pulses out of control. He slid his hands along her arms and trapped her wrists above her head, so she was his virtual, but oh so willing prisoner.

  It was fast. It was hard. And it blew her mind. She climaxed almost immediately, and he followed after her, releasing himself into her with a guttural cry.

  “Hmmm,” he exhaled, reluctantly pulling himself out of her and coming to lie at her side. “That was exquisite.”

  She turned to face him. “I wasn’t sure ... I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  “Nor did I,” he said honestly. “It seems our parents knew something we didn’t about chemistry,” he joked, but he had never felt more serious in his life. He’d known her for ten days, and the thought of her having refused to marry him suddenly filled him with a cold ache in his gut.

  “Oh, let’s not talk about our parents right now!” She pleaded on a laugh.

  He nodded. “You are right, of course.” She shifted a little so she could see him better and cringed as she did so.

  Ever attentive, he placed a hand on the small swell of her hip. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No. A little, at first, but then I was far too busy feeling pleasured to feel any pain.”

  He smiled, baring even white teeth. “I couldn’t resist you, my pretty ballerina, for a moment longer.”

  Happiness soared through her body. She zinged with relief that he was as much attracted to her as she was to him. “I’m a danseuse,” She corrected instinctively. “A ballerina is a professional.”

  “Ah!” He nodded with mock seriousness. “I apologise for the incorrect terminology. It won’t happen again.”

  “It had better not,” she responded in kind, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  “Why are you not a ballerina?” He asked stroking her naked hip and thigh as he continued to watch her.

  She frowned. “I told you. I’m not good enough.”

  “Says who?”

  “Nobody. Everybody. Only a very few talented dancers can achieve great success in the real world. It would have been foolish and expensive to hope my hobby would translate into anything more than just that – a hobby.”

  He opened his mouth to object but she pressed a finger against his lips. “Please, Tariq, I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not right now.”

  She didn’t want anything negative to take away from t
his perfect moment. The thought of Winona and Greg still had the power to make her heart turn cold and she didn’t want to give them the ability to rob her of this moment of sheer joy and ... relief. Relief that after so many years of believing herself to be a sexless cold fish, she had met and married the most desirable man on the planet – and he desired her right back!

  Chapter Seven

  Despite their new level of intimacy, Tariq held Rebecca at arm’s length in so many ways, or at least, it felt like it to her. And as the days passed in a blur of steamy encounters and sexually promising notes passed back and forth by their attendants, still, she wanted more.

  She wanted true intimacy. She wanted him in her bed. Or to be in his bed. For a whole night. Cradled together, listening to the calls of the dessert animals beyond the palace walls, and the sound the wind made as it sung through the ancient building.

  A week after their first time together, Rebecca had had enough. She danced in her makeshift studio until her legs ached, but she would not give in to the hunger that was flaming inside of her. Not tonight. He had it so easy. She was easy. He just had to look at her across a crowded room and she felt moist in her core. Well, not tonight.

  It was a petty and silly victory, but she danced her frustrations out until her body was almost shaking with the exertion, and when she looked at the clock on her phone, she saw it was after nine o’clock. If he had wondered about her absence, he had not come looking for her. The constant security presence watching over her meant she could never really hide from him. He simply had to say a single word to his own security escort and she would be located.

  But he had not. He had not sought her out when she’d stayed away. She should have felt pleased that she’d proved her point, but it was a hollow victory if it meant she, too, lost out on something she craved more than anything else on earth.

  With a sigh, she towelled the sweat from her face and wrapped a robe around herself for modesty. At this time of night, the family quarters would only have a few servants scattered throughout, but the leotard and tights she wore showed a little more flesh and shape than she was comfortable revealing.

  It was hot. Unbearably hot. Most nights, the dessert winds blew a cool change through the palace, but it was still and sticky even at this late hour.

  She stopped walking midway along the upstairs corridor that led to her bedroom.

  “Farouk,” she said, turning to her security escort. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to go for a swim. Please see me to the pool and then leave me.”

  “Ma’am, I will wait outside the pool for you.”

  “No, Farouk. There are enough of the Emir’s guards in the royal quarters. Please go home to your wife and children and pass me over to one of them.” She smiled at him kindly, but firmly. “I insist.”

  “Very well, ma’am.”

  She had given up trying to coax any one of her security detail to call her by her first name.

  Once in the private sanctuary of the Emir’s royal pool, she slipped her leotard and tights off so that she was naked and dove straight into the water. The water was blissfully cool against her skin, and although her body was tired from dancing, she forced herself to pull through the water, kicking gracefully to execute a perfect freestyle lap.

  She flipped at the wall and went back in the direction she’d come, but as she reached a hand out for the pool coping, her fingers brushed against something smooth and warm. She jumped in the water, her heart beating with tension, but it was only Tariq.

  Only Tariq.

  She gulped. His face was watchful, his eyes guarded.

  “Sheikha,” he said quietly, his honey eyes scanning her face. “I missed you tonight.”

  She bit down on her lip. It had been silly to avoid him. There were a thousand better ways to make her point. And one very simple one. She should have talked to him about how she felt. But whenever she tried to put her feelings into sentences, she developed a clogged brain.

  “I was dancing,” she said simply.

  “Yes. I made inquiries. Swan Lake, I was told.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I really am under surveillance, aren’t I?”

  He shook his head. “I take it the ever-present security guard is wearing thin?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She pushed a hand through her wet hair, and the action revealed her naked breasts. His eyes fell to the exposed curves and his lip pulled into a small smile of approval.

  “If only you knew how I fantasised about this.” He said throatily, pulling her towards him. She realised, with a start, that he was also naked beneath the water.

  “Have you?” She whispered, feeling her body turn to putty as his already erect penis nudged between her legs.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, and she knew she wasn’t imagining a hardness to his voice. He guided her towards the steps and, when her bottom connected with the lowest step, he pushed into her, watching as her face flooded with relief.

  It wasn’t planned.

  All night, whilst he’d entertained some of the most boring business people he had ever had the displeasure of meeting, he had stared at her empty chair, brooding over why her unexpected absence angered him so. She was free to do what she wanted, of course, but over the last week, he had become used to her. She was helping him with some of his obligations by day, and by night, whenever they were alone, they were together. Far from their need showing any signs of abating, he couldn’t get a moment without her being in his mind, tormenting him.

  But the last two days he’d sensed a wariness about her, and he had meant to ask her about it tonight. To romance her. Not seduce her. But damn it, seeing her swimming naked in his pool, it was impossible to resist.

  He plunged into her again, thrilling as she cried out in pleasure, dragged her nails down his back. Her long, slender legs wrapped around his chest, and she exploded quickly, her body wracked with pleasure as she felt the burning release take over. He chased after her, holding her close as he spilled into her, and with his body, he tried to say all of the things that he couldn’t put into words. Tried to ask her all the questions he needed answered.

  “Listen, Rick, she’s obviously mad about you. I don’t get what’s got you hung up?”

  Tariq sighed heavily as Eric swung back on the expensive leather office chair, looking out at the view of bustling Fattid. “You wouldn’t. Everything’s black and white for you. I know Rebecca better now than I did when first we married. But I still don’t know her at all.” He sighed again. “She is so distant with me. She keeps so much hidden. I’m not a fool. I know the only reason a woman from her culture would marry a man she’s never met is for the money.”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “You’ve never doubted your ability to attract women before, Rick. I would have said you’re the cockiest bastard I’ve ever known. So what’s got you so sure she’s only after your money?”

  He shrugged. “I did not say only.” He shied away from discussing his sex life with Rebecca with Eric, although he would trust the man with his life. It felt like a betrayal. He stuck to a very loose version of the truth. “She is physically attracted to me, now. But when she accepted the proposal, she didn’t know that she would be. She didn’t know what she was getting. Why did she do it? It had to have been for the money.”

  “She gained more by marrying you than money,” Eric pointed out with a small frown. “She gained prestige, a royal title, and very real political influence. Not to mention being married to a pain in the arse for the rest of her life.”

  There were few people in his life who felt comfortable speaking freely with Tariq, and he treasured his friendship with Eric all the more for the relaxed footing they were on. Eric had never let Tariq’s royal title distract him. He was a loyal confidant, more like a brother than a friend.

  His answering smile was distracted. “And yet, she doesn’t seem all that interested in money. Her attendants have informed me that she buys no clothes for herself – they have standing orders with local boutique
s on her behalf.”

  “When you say attendants, I presume you’re referring to Monique?” Eric cut in quickly. “I meant to ask you how it came about that your most recent mistress is now serving as a lady-in-waiting to your new wife.”

  Tariq’s face showed his anger. “I do not know,” he answered honestly. “I took such little interest in the proceedings of my marriage, especially when it came to the arrangements for my fiancé.” He shook his head in self castigation. “I suppose my mother selected Rebecca’s staff. And who better to acquaint a woman with my needs than the woman who serviced them so excellently for so many years.”

  “Ouch. That seems a little cynical.” Eric’s tone was disapproving.

  “Pragmatic, rather, and you and I both know my mother is nothing if not pragmatic.” He had lost sleep worrying about how Rebecca would react if she knew. His relationship with Monique had ended before he’d married Rebecca. But only just before. That she was still in his life would be an obvious betrayal to his bride.

  “So, reading between the lines, you have started to have feelings for your wife – which I know was never part of the plan. And before you can accept that you’re falling for her, you want to make sure she is as she seems?”

  “More or less,” Tariq said with a nod of his head.

  “Look, man, I don’t want you to get hurt either, but relationships have to be built on trust. If you don’t trust her, then you can’t be serious about her.”

  “How can I trust a woman who marries a man she’s never met?” He snapped crossly.

  “Your mum did it,” Eric contradicted.

  “My mother is Assanian. She was betrothed to my father as a teenager, married at twenty. It is all she’s ever known. Rebecca is beautiful, talented, intelligent... She could have been anything she wanted. Married any guy she wanted. Yet she signed herself up for a future with a man who for all she knew, could have been fat, balding, abusive... How can I accept that?” He shifted in his seat. “Have I told you about her dancing?” He asked.