She crumbled then, knees giving out. He caught her, the grin on his face so devilish she thought she might come just from looking at him.
“Please,” she whispered. But that’s all she could say. Robel pinched the fat peak of her clit, and she wilted once more, clinging to him for dear life.
He chuckled into the side of her neck, then kissed her. “This is going to be fun.”
She swallowed, anticipation and need and desperation pooling inside her. “Yeah, among other things.” He pinched her clit again, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “You tease.”
His throaty laugh sent her knees buckling again. Robel must have taken pity on her, because he said, “Climb on top of me.”
She did as she was told, folding herself on top of him, straddling him like the most anticipated ride of her life. His warm palms skated up over her hips, then jerked her down onto his lap. She crashed against him, gasping.
“Special circumstances have me slightly limited, as you know.” Even talk about his fractured ankle sounded hot. “But trust me. It won’t impede my performance.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she said, giggling as he cupped the roundness of her ass and squeezed. Hard. He grunted.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”
“Oh yeah?” She dragged her lips along his jawline, tracing that stern, hard edge with her mouth. “How long?”
“Since the day I laid eyes on you.”
He spoke so softly she thought she imagined it. Warmth spread through her, tingling and fast. So she hadn’t been imagining it. This attraction had been just as pulsing and real on his end since the beginning.
“Coulda fooled me,” she whispered, then tugged at his earlobe with her teeth. His grip on her ass tightened.
“That was the point.” Heat radiated off him, sending her mind spinning. She could have stayed liked this all night; perched on top of his reassuring solidness, tight in his grip, drunk on the citrusy sandalwood of his cologne. “I couldn’t put you right here on top of me until I was sure you could handle it.”
She laughed, but the sound dissipated quickly once his hand wandered between her legs again. He pushed aside the scrap of her panties, stroking her swollen lips. And then he pushed his middle finger inside her.
Sondra gasped as it slid inside easily. It felt great, but she needed more. She needed all of him inside her.
“Robel,” she breathed, bucking against him. Her eyes drifted shut as his finger pumped in and out of her. Followed by a second. Then a third. A strangled moan escaped her.
“Please,” she whimpered.
Robel grunted, pushing at her hips, urging her off to the side. She collapsed on the bed beside him as he stood, his cock making the linen pants tent impressively. He dug out a condom from his pocket, then pushed his pants down. Beneath, his dick made an even bigger spectacle out of his briefs. She gulped, propping her head up on an elbow.
“Enjoying the show?” Robel smirked.
“Yes,” she said, her fingers wandering automatically between her legs. She froze when his gaze slid over to her hand.
Robel wet his bottom lip, grabbing the stiff bulge in his briefs. “Normally I’d say that’s my job. But somehow I can’t bring myself to.”
She relaxed a little, anticipation prickling through the air. His attention scorched through her. He liked what he saw. She stroked herself lightly. Tentatively. To see if she had as much courage as she thought.
“Mmmm.” Robel pushed down his briefs, and his cock sprang free. He fisted himself, his big hand wrapping around his thick, dark shaft. His gaze stayed steady on her as her fingers danced over the crotch of her panties.
She slipped her fingers underneath her panties, fingertips pushing into herself for a brief second before swirling up to find her clit. She jolted. Fingering herself never felt this good, but Robel’s steely gaze had an undercurrent of eroticism. She bit at her bottom lip, legs splaying open.
“Sondra,” Robel said, his voice strained. He groaned, fisting himself again before shoving his pants down as far as they would go without taking them off over the cast. Then he sat back on the bed. “I need to be inside you.”
“Yes. Immediately,” she blurted, popping off the bed. She tore her skirt off, followed by all the remnants of her clothes. The cool air of the room made her nipples stand at attention. Robel sighed appreciatively, palming the arc of her hip.
He pressed his lips to the swell of her lower belly. His eyes never left hers. The depths in his gaze made her shiver. This man wasn’t pure tradition and duty. No, he had a dark side. A naughty side. He knew exactly how to do the things that defied tradition and duty.
“Fuck this ankle,” he murmured against her hip. He dragged his lips over her mons. “I want you up against the wall.”
A shiver coursed through her; her head dropped back. “Maybe next time. After it heals.”
Her words hung heavy and strange in the air, and the overanalytical part of her caught up with the meaning. This could only be a one-night-stand. Men like him didn’t keep women. And if he did, not for long.
Before she could wither from regret and embarrassment, he said, “Or maybe I won’t forget to take my pills next time, and I’ll do it anyway.”
She giggled as he tugged her forward, making her straddle him once more. This time, the velvet heat of his cockhead brushed the damp folds of her pussy. Her skin prickled as a low moan escaped him.
“I’d have you every way possible,” he murmured, his gaze skating up and down her body as he jerked her into place above him. He ground upward, his cock making contact with her clit. She inhaled sharply. “And for so long that you might need crutches afterward too.”
She laughed, but it faded once his cock nudged for entrance. She wanted to sink down on him, to take every last inch of him. She nuzzled into his neck.
“Put that condom on,” she said, tugging at his lobe with her teeth. His biceps flexed as he reached for the condom package and tore it open. A moment later, he was grinning up at her as if he knew the best secret in the world.
“All ready for you,” he said and then guided her down. Her mouth parted as his slick heat found hers. He breathed softly into her ear, easing her down on top of him, controlling the pace too slowly for her taste.
But he was big. Way bigger than she’d expected. Slower was better with him. Every new inch prompted a girlish gasp from her lips. She rocked against him, desperate to feel him filling her. He ground his hips in a slow circle, his gaze on her never wavering. There was intensity in his eyes. Passion. Something darker, too, that she wasn’t sure she could unlock.
Shivers raced up her spine, and she let go. Gave in to the moment, to the heat rushing through her, to the solid steel filling her. Her vision went spotty, and she rolled her head back, a slow, thorough, dizzying rhythm emerging between them.
He bucked and bumped beneath her in perfect synchrony. His abs crinkled as he thrust against her, those dark eyes never moving from her. His attention sizzled, nearly breaking skin. Like all he could see, feel, breathe was her.
Her orgasm built quickly. Warning prickles emerged followed by the warm wash of excitement. Robel caught her nipple between his teeth as he ground up into her.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmured, “how good you feel?”
A lazy smile crossed her face. “Too much of an idea,” she whispered. “I’m so close, Robel. I’m so close.”
He pushed his palm over a breast, fire lighting in his gaze. “Me too.” His voice sounded raw. Like it had come from his deepest depths. “You make it impossible for a man to last.”
She grinned again, but it faded once he gripped her by the hips and drove up into her. Her mouth parted, the surprise maneuver sending her rocketing over the edge. She moaned low, digging nails into his sides as the hot waves of pleasure crashed through her, one after the other.
Robel grunted a moment later—he must have found his own precipice. She collapsed forward, melting against the reassu
ring steel of his chest, breathing into his clavicle. She shuddered as the last dregs of pleasure jolted through her. A moment later, she was left in a blissful cloud of Robel’s low hum and his fingertips swishing across her bare back. The up and down of his chest. The sandalwood security.
This, right here—this was the type of sweet, soft moment that made a girl break in two.
This was the kind of moment that a girl didn’t forget in a lifetime.
This was something she could get used to.
10
A baby’s cry awoke him early. Robel rolled onto his side, peering through one cracked eyelid. Dawn threatened at the edges of the heavy curtain on the far wall. Sondra rustled in the bed, yawning as she sat up. A waft of her scent reached him, which made him relax back into bed, sleep ready to reclaim him.
The cry. Again. Sondra shuffled into the adjoining bedroom, and that’s when the pieces fit together. Nessa had been crying.
Robel yawned, peering over at the bedside clock. Just after five a.m. Not a bad time to start the day, except they’d been awake until almost one having sex in as many positions as his ankle would allow. She rode him on the edge of the bed, and then while he reclined on the bed, and then in a fashion she called “reverse cowgirl,” which had been her personal favorite. A lazy smile crossed his face as his eyes drifted shut.
The ankle needed to heal. And fast. Because he wasn’t done with Sondra just yet. One night together had been great, but whatever they had couldn’t end now.
A few moments later, Sondra shuffled back into the bedroom, Nessa in her arms. The little girl whimpered, rubbing at her eyes. Sondra offered him an apologetic smile.
“She gets up early,” Sondra whispered. “Is it okay if she comes into the bed for a little bit?”
“Of course.” Robel pushed up onto an arm, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sondra eased back onto the bed, setting Nessa between them. The little girl blinked up at him, her chipmunk-round cheeks begging for a pinch. He offered her a sleepy grin, then nipped one of those cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.
“Good morning, Nessa,” he said. The girl didn’t respond, just continued watching him like he was the most interesting—or perhaps the weirdest—thing in the world.
“I’m sorry to wake you up so early,” Sondra said softly, mimicking Robel’s position in bed, propped on an elbow. She stifled a yawn, watching as Nessa touched the bedsheets. “And after so little sleep, too.”
“It’s no bother.” Robel brushed his thumb over Sondra’s wrist, which made her smile. “I was fully aware of the consequences of our decisions last night. And this morning. This comes as no surprise.”
Sondra relaxed a little, rubbing at her eyes, while his own words cycled strangely inside him. He’d been fully aware of the sleep-deprivation consequences—but with Nessa in bed, he was facing other consequences he hadn’t truly wanted to consider.
Like how seeing her with a baby in her arms reminded him that he wanted the very same thing.
His mind immediately leapt to Sondra. Becoming the mother of his children. Becoming the next queen of Maatkare. He rolled onto his back, studying the dark ceiling of the bedroom. Was this perpetually his downfall? As the crown prince of Maatkare, he couldn’t even hook up with a woman without imagining her the next queen of his country.
He draped his arm over his eyes for a moment, relishing the warm darkness he found, trying to seek out some kernel of wisdom in the sudden cyclone of doubts. He and Sondra weren’t a good fit. For perhaps many reasons, but most of all because tradition required someone of Maatkaran descent.
It had always been that way, would always be that way. Maatkaran royalty married Maatkarans. And no matter how promising this love entanglement felt, she was American. The time for talk about queendom would never arrive.
Nessa cooing at his side brought him back to the present. He mustered a smile, his gaze washing over the little girl. She was cute—cute enough to make him wonder almost immediately what his and Sondra’s child might look like.
This woman…he snagged Sondra’s pale brown eyes. Warmth washed through him, and he reached out for her hand, running his thumb over her wrist. He admired her work ethic, her creativity, her steadiness even when he threw his hardest, most intimidating tactics her way. Even in the face of all that, she could still ask him how he was feeling. And in his world, the simple act of caring was revolutionary. This woman was a breath of fresh air in a period of his personal life he hadn’t realized was stagnant.
But that’s all she should be. A breath of fresh air. Not a gust, not a hurricane, not even a strong wind storm. Just a breath to cleanse him, and then he could continue along his way.
Robel smiled down at Nessa and Sondra for a few moments until the logical side of him began whispering for him to leave. He combed through excuses before he found one that stuck: simply time to start the day. Even though part of him wanted to stay in this bed until the next daybreak, he knew that was a childish desire.
There was no use prolonging their special time together, because it had to end now.
Robel rolled out of bed, dressing slowly while Sondra looked between him and Nessa. He hobbled over to her stiffly, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and promised to see her later that day.
And every step that led him away from Sondra reiterated his new goal: Don’t let this happen again.
* * *
Two days passed before Sondra realized she’d been ghosted.
It wasn’t even a physical ghosting. She saw Robel every day for their noontime meeting. But that was it. He’d emotionally ghosted, and that was somehow worst of all.
He’d been inside her forty-eight hours ago, and now she couldn’t even get him to look her in the eye.
It bothered her so much she could barely stand it. And hell if she’d let him know.
She didn’t want this stuck-up, staunch traditionalist to know that his pulling away from her hurt. Even when it had no right to. They had nothing between them; they were nothing. So why should she care?
Except she did care. A lot. It didn’t help matters that part of her was still fangirling from their sexy late night in her bedroom. A late night he didn’t seem inclined to repeat. What was wrong with him?
Or maybe more accurately…what was wrong with her?
Sondra harrumphed and sighed the entire day as she prepared for the musical procession event that evening. She’d gone out of her way to let Robel take the lead on this one during their meetings. And for what? For him to still be cold with her. Three gorgeous, satisfying, mouth-watering orgasms were not enough to take away the sting of his behavioral about-face.
She spent far longer than she wanted to admit having conversations with him in her head. Demanding what the hell his problem was. Why he would just change like that. What exactly was his aim, when it would have been far easier to just not wine and dine her altogether.
When four o’clock rolled around, Sondra strolled around the palace gardens, overseeing the setup of the traditional band and the catering area. Everything was on time. The late afternoon sky was darker than normal, and rain threatened at the edges of the brightness. She smiled up at the clouds, squeezing her eyes shut as she popped out a quick event-planning prayer: Sun please stay, rain go away, let this be the very best day.
Over at the arched entrance leading into the palace halls, Robel showed up on his crutches, looking dour. Relief and annoyance washed through her equally. She was so damn attracted to this man—yet she hated just how much she wanted him. Especially when he was acting like this. She raised a hand to wave, and when his gaze found hers, a strange mix of reactions crossed his face. Something similar to what had washed through her own body.
So maybe they were both on the same page.
She couldn’t help her careening mind as she headed his way. A one-night stand between temporary colleagues—that should be enough. She had Nessa now, and no room for more in her life. Plus “more” was out of the question. She lived in America, and he
was the prince of his own damn country. Even in her wildest dreams, princes didn’t pick regular ol’ single moms from the Midwest.
“Hey.” She did her best impression of breezy, busy woman. “Caterers just got here, and I heard the kitchen prep is going well. I think things are on track so far.”
Robel didn’t greet her, just swept his stony gaze over the palace gardens. “Have the children arrived yet for the procession?”
“Not for another half hour,” Sondra said, checking her watch, then out at the gardens as a strange silence settled between them. It was somewhere between bloated and awkward. Like a million things could have been said. She fought not to look at him. If he wanted to play this game, then she’d play it as well. After enough awkward moments dragged by, she finally said, “Looks like it’s going to rain.”
Robel scoffed, shifting his weight on the crutches. “No. The weather report is clear.”
She clucked her tongue, clutching her clipboard to her chest. “Sure looks otherwise.”
“Your three weeks of Maatkaran weather experience aren’t the best guide,” Robel said in a clipped tone.
Sondra huffed, throwing her hands down to her sides. She was sick of this. The tension. The weird mood. He was worse than a middle schooler. She sent Robel a sharp look. “Are you mad at me?”
Robel’s brow formed a hard line. “Why would you think that?”
Her nostrils flared, and she leaned in. “Because you’ve barely spoken to me since the other night.”
Robel’s face hardened, a mask of impassiveness sliding into place. Whatever game he was playing, he was committed. “That’s nonsense. We’ve spoken plenty.”
Some of her anger dissipated, melting right into speechlessness. She knew better than to argue when it came to pointing out men’s strange behavior. Most men, when they wanted to ghost, had expert ways of rationalizing all odd behavior. So it wasn’t even worth it. But still, she couldn’t keep herself from slinging at least one barb.
The Sheikh’s Christmas Lover: Christmas With The Yared Sheikhs Book Three Page 6