by Marian Tee
Had jealousy turned Malik batshit crazy?
Sanity gradually returned to Malik, and he said tightly, “I’m okay.”
The four continued to look at him. Malik might think he was okay, only he looked anything but. Right now, their youngest brother looked no different from a beast about to go on a rampage.
“I’ve been thinking,” Malik muttered. “What do you think of attending Kyrillos Gazis’ weekend cruise?”
It was midnight by the time the royal helicopters carrying the five sheikhs landed on the yacht’s helipad, and as soon as they descended, several long-legged beauties in uniform moved forward to welcome them with sexy smiles and non-alcoholic cocktails. That the staff knew better than to offer the sheikhs liquor was testament to their employer’s exacting standards on hospitality, and even Rayyan was grudgingly impressed. “Smart move.” As the kingdom’s future head of finance, he had to acknowledge the subtle excellence of their host’s marketing strategy. With just a simple act of service, the Greek billionaire had let his young guests know that he was the man to consider when it came to business ventures in the recreational industry.
“Careful, brother,” Tarif said with a smirk as they went to join the other guests in the yacht’s upper deck. “The euros in your eyes are starting to shine.”
His cousin only shrugged. “Fucking bimbos can only keep me entertained for so long.” Making money was his favorite pastime, and he saw no shame in it. “Besides---” His knowing gaze slid to their youngest cousin. “I’m determined to make the most out of this emergency trip.”
Malik frowned when he saw that the other sheikhs were looking at him. “What?”
“Feeling better now?” Altair asked politely.
He started to ask what the hell Altair meant when he saw their cousins turn to him again, their expressions guarded, and in a flash, he realized that they had all seen through him. No wonder they had been so quick to accept his invitation to attend Kyrillos Gazis’ party.
As they had willingly flown out of Ramil to keep him company, Malik knew he owed them the truth at the very least. Shaking his head, he heard himself say flatly, “No.” His lips twisted. “I don’t feel better. I still feel fucked, and it’s been so long that I can no longer remember what normal feels like.”
A pained expression crossed Tarif’s face. “That bad, eh?” He tried imagining himself in Malik’s shoes. How would it feel if the young girl he had forbidden feelings for were about to go to prom with another boy? He supposed he would want to smash his fist into the boy’s face---
Tarif glanced at his cousin, and the harsh lines of ill-suppressed violence outlining Malik’s face told him that was exactly what the other sheikh was feeling. And probably more than that, too, Tarif thought, discomfited. The truth was, the word ‘love’ had no meaning for him beyond the filial sense. He could try to imagine how Malik was feeling, but he knew no matter what his imagination was able to conjure---
It would be nothing like whatever Malik was feeling and had been struggling with for years.
“Why don’t you just marry her?” he asked finally. “In the eyes of our law, sixteen is of marriageable age as long as you have the parents’ consent---”
“Even if my own mother were to agree,” Malik said flatly, “I wouldn’t want to do that to her.”
“Eighteen then?” Khalil suggested pragmatically.
Malik shook his head. “She’d still be too young---”
“She’ll always be too young, Malik,” Rayyan pointed out. “You’re ten years older. No matter how much time passes, that will never change.”
“I just can’t do that to her,” Malik gritted out under his breath. “Okay?” His dark gaze swung to his brother. “You at least understand that, don’t you?”
“I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” Altair loathed seeing his younger brother suffer, but since Kyria was also his sister, he couldn’t help agreeing with what Malik was saying. Eighteen was still too young, but…how much waiting should Malik condemn himself to?
Looking at Malik, he said with a shake of his head, “You’ve always had a knack for making trouble, but this…” Sardonic humor flashed in Altair’s eyes. “I have to hand it to you, Malik. You could have any girl in the world throw herself at your feet, and yet you just had to pick the one girl you can’t have.”
Malik raised his glass in a mock toast, saying, “And since the five of us are supposedly bound by the same fate, may all of us want the girl we can never have.”
Everyone sputtered and cursed as they realized what they were toasting to, none of them taking it lightly since there was a Ramilian myth about a king and his four vassals that revolved around the five men sharing the same fate.
Three years ago
It was no longer an uncommon sight for the palace to see Malik dressed for riding at dawn and spending almost the entire day in the stables. Since his return to the kingdom, he had successfully made a name for himself as a horse breeder. Fans all over the world still clamored for his comeback in racing, but as far as the sheikh was concerned that part of his life was over and done with. He would have stuck with it only if it had been capable of making him forget, but it had not. Nothing could. He had long accepted this – and had since found a different way to fuck things up.
“A visitor for you, Sheikh.”
He glanced over his shoulder as he pulled his gloves off, and the guards bowed before retreating. Left behind was a petite brunette, and as soon as the door to his office closed her lips curved in a provocative smile. “You had a need for me, Your Highness?”
Malik threw his gloves away, and when he turned to face her again, Iris had already settled herself on top of a steel cabinet, back against the post, and legs wide open. As he strode towards her, she reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it all the way up to her waist. The action bared her legs and lack of her underwear, her quivering pussy already glistening with need.
He unzipped himself, and Iris let out a moan of satisfaction as he thrust inside of her without a word, his already engorged cock sinking hard into her moist depths. Her arms looped over around his neck as the sheikh began to fuck her, harder than any man had, and her head fell back. “Yes.” Her eyes closed, her nails raking his back. “Ye---”
His mouth covered hers, and she kissed him with such undisguised hunger that he almost felt guilty.
Almost.
She probably thought he was kissing her out of desire, but the truth was, Malik only wanted her to shut up. He didn’t want her to make a single fucking sound because then it would be ruined. He would no longer be able to pretend it was another girl he was fucking---
Squeezing his eyes shut, he grabbed the cheeks of her ass and squeezed hard as he drove his cock back into her. He felt her start to moan, and he kissed her harder. The urge to make noise disappeared, and Iris was now busy sucking on his tongue.
“Come inside me,” she whispered into his ear.
He pulled away, his lips twisting into a smile as he gazed down at her. “Don’t push it.”
A throaty laugh escaped her. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
He only grunted, and because he wasn’t really in the mood to chat, he plumped her breast and drew one nipple into his mouth. He bit hard, and Iris let out a gasp. He might not give a damn about her, but he wasn’t that much an asshole not to pay any attention to her needs. Her breasts were her most sensitive area, and in moments, Iris’ hips were pushing against his wildly.
She started to scream his name, but again he captured her mouth with his, not wanting to hear it.
They came together in harsh, raw silence, the slapping of their bodies the only sound that tinged the air.
When the sheikh finally pulled away, Iris took one look at his drawn face and knew better than to say a word. He was one mysteriously moody son of a bitch, and she had been in this business long enough to know it wasn’t her face he saw when fucking her.
A pity, but she didn’t really care. As long as he
continued to compensate her the way he did for their every meeting, he could even have her dress up as his mother and she would do it with a smile.
It was only minutes before dinner when Malik returned to his family’s private wing. Altair was nowhere to be seen, but his mother and Kyria were both in the living room.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Marhava.” She started to get up, but he forestalled her hug with an immediate shake of his head.
“I’m all dirty and sweaty,” he told her by way of excuse. The truth was, the mere thought of having her close while his skin still bore another woman’s touch was sickening. It didn’t matter that she probably wouldn’t even care that he had been fooling around with another woman. All he knew was that it didn’t feel right.
“You’ve been spending more and more hours riding,” she commented curiously.
“Yes, he has.” Vanna’s gaze bored through him. “Hasn’t he?”
His lips tightened, knowing the reason for his mother’s frosty tone of disapproval. As Vanna was strictly of the old guard, she fully believed in employing a retinue of spies in the palace, and he had no doubt she had received more than one report about him riding more than horses in the stables.
“A word with you in private, please.”
Kyria blinked at Vanna’s tone. “Is everything alright?”
“Don’t mind her.” Malik’s tone was light even as he gave his mother a look of warning. “She’s just upset I haven’t spending enough time with the family.”
“Oh.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I kinda feel the same way, too.” Her tone turned wistful. “You really are away so much, Malik. It’s like you’re living here but you’re not really here, you know?”
Vanna patted the girl’s hand, saying reassuringly, “I’m sure he’ll go back to normal eventually. This obsession with riding is just a phase.” She glanced back at her younger son, saying with a smile, “Isn’t it, Malik?”
He smiled back. “Quite.”
But as soon as the two of them were in the privacy of Vanna’s study, the masks both mother and son wore disappeared in a flash, and she said sharply, “People are beginning to talk.”
“Let them.” Malik truly didn’t give a damn.
“Tarif is more than one too many playboy the palace can handle,” she snapped. “If you continue down this road, you might as well turn our kingdom’s palace into a brothel. What kind of message do you think that will deliver to the rest of the world? Do you expect other nations to take us seriously with the way you and Tarif are acting?”
Her words hit home, and he gave her a curt nod. “You’ve made your point.”
“Good.”
“If that’s all---”
Vanna released a painful sigh at her son’s cold tone. “Oh, Malik. Surely you know I’m not your enemy here.” He didn’t answer, but he had also stopped moving, and she told herself to take heart from this. “I know it’s been hard for you---”
“Understatement of the century, wouldn’t you think?” His eyes gleamed, and for one moment it felt like she had her younger son back, the one who was all too wickedly charming and gave Hadwin and her nightly headaches because of his excessive partying. The boy he once was might have been a little too self-centered and immature, but that boy had at least been happy.
This man before her was not.
He had not been happy for such a long time now, and sometimes she found herself wondering if she was to blame for all of this. That if she could turn back time, she wondered if it would have been better if she had simply turned her back on---
Don’t say it, my love. Hadwin’s imaginary voice was amused and chiding at the same time. Don’t even think it. I know your heart’s in the right place, but those words you are thinking aren’t what you truly feel.
Her head lowered.
Oh, Hadwin. How you always save me.
Malik frowned, sensing a sudden change in his Vanna. “Mother?”
Hearing the note of grim concern in her son’s voice, she quickly looked up, saying simply, “I was talking to your father.”
“I see.” He paused. “You’re having hallucinations. You know that, don’t you?” He frowned at her. “Have you started starving yourself again with one of those fad diets?”
She let out an offended gasp. “I have never---”
“Mother, you know we love you as we are, don’t you? So, yes, you may be a little overweight---”
“You hateful boy!” She grabbed the first thing she could reach – a book from her desk – and threw it at him, but her son only caught it with a laugh.
Malik turned the book over and choked. “I knew it!” He showed her the book, and Vanna’s face turned red as she realized exactly which book she had thrown at him.
“Really, Mother? Really? Pokemon Go and Diet?”
He started laughing, and Vanna started seeing red. “Wretch!”
Two years ago
The day of Kyria’s high school graduation dawned bright and clear. Allah is good, Malik thought as he followed the rest of his brothers out of the palace and stepped inside the limousine. Their presence at the ceremony was to be a surprise to Kyria, who in her usual modest way had only requested for Vanna to attend her special day.
“What are you smiling about?” Tarif demanded testily of Malik.
“I was thinking of Kyria,” Malik answered calmly, ignoring his cousin’s tone. It was a well-known fact in the palace that Tarif was the only one among the Al-Atassi sheikhs who turned into a growling, snapping beast in the mornings. That the other sheikh had made the effort to attend Kyria’s eight o’ clock ceremony was proof of how much the young woman meant to him as well.
Rayyan rolled his eyes. “When do you ever not think of her?”
“Airafi.” Fuck you. “I was merely thinking how well she’s turned out, considering all the circumstances.”
Altair shook his head in amusement, drawling, “While I commend you for your sentiments, don’t you think it’s time you stop talking about her like you’re her father?”
The others laughed as Malik muttered an ill-used and extremely crude profanity in their native language.
“She’s already eighteen, Malik,” Khalil pointed out.
“I know that.” Malik’s tone was irritated. Contrary to the others’ belief, Malik had far from forgotten the fact that Kyria was indeed eighteen, an age considered legal and a mark of adulthood in most parts of the world.
He knew that nothing should legally stop him now from making a move, but even so he found himself unable to do so. Eighteen still felt too young and too soon to chain a woman to his side for eternity. While his stand on this hadn’t changed, something else had.
Kyria at eighteen had a woman’s body, and it was this knowledge that unleashed something primitive inside of him. These days, her body was all he could think about, and the thought would always mutate into a gnawing physical ache every time he saw her. Even as he despised himself for wanting her, he simply couldn’t stop himself of thinking of the things he wanted to do with her.
He would see her breasts heave under her shirt, and it would lead to thoughts of how beautifully shaped they were – the perfect size for his hands to palm and squeeze. Other times, it would have him jacking off in the shower while he thought of the color of her nipples. If – when – he ever saw them, he could probably feast on her lovely nipples for---
“We’re here,” Altair said.
His brother’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Malik shifted on his seat in an uncomfortable attempt to repress his erection. Lueta. If he didn’t find a way to control his sexual fantasies about Kyria anytime soon, he might end up sporting a boner in public.
Dressed in ordinary robes and their gazes covered with dark glasses, the sheikhs were able to slip inside the auditorium and walk among the other guests unnoticed. Their anonymity would not last of course, and they knew it. Already, the young women around them were giggling and elbowing each other, their eyes glued to the ra
ther remarkable portrait the five tall, broad-shouldered men presented. But even so, the Al-Atassi sheikhs were determined to make the most out of their reprieve, however brief.
“Found her,” Malik said under his breath.
The other sheikhs smirked. Of course their youngest would be the one to find her first.
“Do you remember when we used to play hide and seek at the palace,” Khalil said musingly. Kyria had just moved into the palace then, and they had all been making an effort to cheer the seven-year-old girl up.
Tarif, having now acclimated to the god-awful hours of morning, grinned at the memories Khalil’s words evoked. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.” Malik had always been the one to find Kyria first back then, too, and every time he did the young Malik’s chest would puff and he would strut around the palace as if he was the king of the world simply because he always knew where to find Kyria.
Malik grimaced when he saw the other sheikhs smirking. “For Allah’s sake, stop that,” he muttered.
But of course his older brothers only ignored him, united as always in their desire to needle him.
“He’d be so proud,” Altair recalled with a chuckle, “and then Kyria would burst into tears, and Malik would be remorseful.”
“He’d promise not to find her again first,” Tarif continued in an amused tone, “But the next time we’d play, he wouldn’t be able to help it.”
“It was as if he couldn’t bear the thought of any of us finding her first,” Rayyan said with a grin.
Khalil arched a brow at Malik. “When you think of those times now – could it perhaps mean you already knew then, albeit subconsciously, even when she was just seven?”
Malik scowled. “Fuck all of you.”
The other sheikhs laughed as Malik stalked off, leaving them to trail behind at a relaxed pace. When they reached their youngest brother, it was to find Malik already preoccupied with broodingly staring at Kyria, who was currently talking with other girls.