“Say yes!” came the voices from her left.
“What’re you waiting for?” came the squeals from the right.
“Ohmygod, this is so beautiful!” came the whimpers from behind.
Now she was back in that dream, floating through that fantasy, dancing through that vision, careening in that carriage, running through the night, riding through the mountains. Somehow she could still see his eyes, and now she realized she could only see his eyes, and she saw all of it in his eyes, saw herself in his eyes.
Start with him, came the whisper again. Start with him.
And she closed her eyes as she saw him lean in for another kiss or perhaps the same kiss. She closed her eyes and said yes.
“Yes,” came the word, and it carried with it a gravity that rippled its way through the cosmos along with that kiss, and it sounded like a chorus as she said it, the chorus of every woman who’d ever said yes to her lover, women old and young, dark and fair, past and present, future and forgotten.
Yes.
20
“No!” she shouted as she tried to close the door fast enough that the cat couldn’t get out and the Sheikh couldn’t get in.
“A deal is a deal,” called the Sheikh from behind her, sticking his heavy foot in the door and stopping Sabbath the cat dead in his tracks before he could make a run for it. “I do business the old-fashioned way, where a handshake means everything.”
“We didn’t shake hands,” she said firmly, turning and trying to stare him down even though she had to look up to do it.
But Rahaan’s eyes were steady and his gaze was cool steel as he smiled and pointed to her left hand. “That ring says otherwise.” He pushed his way into the store and stepped close as Hilda backed up to that dark wood shelf by her desk. “And so does this,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her again.
She clenched her teeth and slapped him as he came close, shocking herself at how fast she’d done it, her body whipping almost all the way round as the Sheikh took a step back in surprise.
“Bloody hell!” he roared as her grabbed her right wrist and whipped her around so she faced away from him. He pulled her tight against his hard body as he trapped both her arms and pinned them across the front of her body, down against her thighs. “Are you mad, woman?! Are you bloody mad?!”
“Fuck you,” she snarled as she tried to fight herself free, her head spinning from the adrenaline coursing through her system, her entire body feeling alert and alive, effervescent and electric.
She felt him breathe against her neck from behind, his rock-hard chest moving against her back, his hips pressed against her soft bottom. She could sense him trying to control himself, breathing hard, and she felt herself breathing hard too as she became acutely aware of how tight their bodies were pressed together. Slowly his breathing steadied, and her own breaths fell into rhythm with his, slowly, up and down, in and out, back and forth until they were breathing together, sighing together, moving together.
She tried to pull her arms free, but his grip was too tight, and she felt her body stiffen as she realized that God, she felt so secure being held like this, so safe even though she was pinned down by this muscular, hard-bodied stranger who’d just put a ring on her finger and kissed her without asking.
“Damn you,” she muttered as a sense of being overwhelmed rushed in, making her weak at the knees, forcing her to lean even more of her weight against his body. “Damn you for coming here. Damn you for coming here at all. This isn't real. It isn't real. You aren't here and this isn't real.”
“I am here and this is real,” he whispered fiercely against her neck, and she could feel his unmistakable hardness against her ass as she rotated her hips in a rhythm that she wasn’t sure was intentional or inevitable. “And I am about to make it more real. Real the only way I know how. Real with my touch. Real with my kiss. Real with me and you, Hilda. Right now. Right here. Just like in my dream. I ignored my need to come to you for two months, Hilda. It sounds mad but it is true. I cannot ignore a dream that vivid, that real, a vision that captured both body and mind, emotion and action. I ignored a dream like that once, and it was a mistake I will not repeat. No, I will not wait to see if our dream comes true. I will make it come true. That is the goddamn answer. You are the answer, Hilda.”
“What?” she muttered as she felt her heat rise beneath those harem pants, and only now did she realize how wet she was, how hot she was, how ready she was. “What did you just say about a dream?”
She moaned as she felt him push his cock hard against her soft buttocks as he slowly let go of her wrists. He circled one arm tight around her waist, just beneath her breasts, and he slid his other arm down along the front of her body, hand sliding down the elastic waistband of those hideously fluorescent harem-pants, fingers pressing against the front of her black cotton panties, pushing the soaked cloth into her slit as he massaged her mound roughly, grinding his cock against her ass as he began to kiss her neck from behind.
“What are you doing,” she whispered as she felt his other hand rise to her breasts. “What are we doing?”
“Making our dreams come true,” he muttered, and as he said it she felt him pinch her nipple hard through her top just as his other hand slid down the front of her panties, two strong fingers pushing through her matted brown curls, spreading her dark nether lips, driving smoothly and carefully up the canal of her cunt like he knew the way.
21
She almost fainted against him as she came, the orgasm arriving without warning, silent like a cat in the night. Hilda was so shocked she couldn’t even cry out, couldn’t make a goddamn sound, and it was in that wave of shocked silence that the first climax rose up and took her.
Somehow a peace descended upon her through the silent chaos of that subterranean orgasm, and she felt herself go limp in his arms as he massaged her clit with his thumb, curled his fingers in her pussy, gently stroking the front wall of her vagina with his fingertips as she shuddered and shivered, shook and stammered, sighed and finally, completely, absolutely . . . surrendered.
Surrendered to the madness. Surrendered to herself. Surrendered to him.
Now sound came roaring back in along with a fresh wave of arousal even though she swore she was still coming. The Sheikh slid his hands out from her panties and pushed her forward towards her broad wooden desk. She flung papers and pencils, pen-holders and peacock feathers out of the way as he turned her and sat her up on the desk, leaning in and kissing her hard, kissing her full, kissing her like he meant it, like he wanted it, like it was all he wanted, all he’d ever wanted.
“Oh, God, what are we doing,” she muttered as she felt herself kiss him again, her tongue rolling against his, her lips warm and secure from the pressure.
He grasped her breasts full, grunting like a beast as he plucked at her nipples through her black top, drawing them up into hard points between his thumbs and fingers, pinching and twisting as she felt those dark red nubs of hers go rock-hard and stiff from his ferocious touch.
“I had this dream,” he muttered as he feverishly pulled her top up over her breasts, groaning again as he glanced at her full breasts nestled in her beige bra. She could see his cock pushing like a goddamn tentpole against the front of his fitted brown trousers, the outline of its head looking massive as it pushed against the heavy cloth. “It sounds mad, I know. There was a dream, Hilda. Two months ago. I cannot forget it. I cannot ignore it. But I cannot explain it either.” He stopped for a moment, straightening up and looking down at her, his handsome face dark with the blood of his arousal, eyes focused completely on her, his gaze taking in everything about her, her eyes, her face, her lips, her smile. Her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. She could smell his arousal coming to her with his masculine scent, a deep mix of musk-oil and betel, fresh tobacco leaf and dark sage.
“Don’t try to explain it then,” she whispered up to him, reali
zing she was more shocked that she wasn’t shocked at what he’d just said. Right now she was so gone, so over the edge, so hot, so ready, that everything made sense and nothing made sense and all of it was right and all of it was wrong and it was fine, it was good, this was right, who gives a shit, who gives a damn . . .
She almost fainted as she tried to push away the thoughts clamoring for attention behind her glazed-over eyes: an unexplained pregnancy, an unexpected visit, an unbelievable proposal . . .
“Don’t,” she said again as she watched him reach for her breasts and lift her bra cups over her boobs, releasing her globes. He pressed her naked breasts with such force she arched her back and moaned, smiling as those thoughts were dismissed by the commanding presence of her arousal, an arousal that was in control of her now, in control of everything perhaps, body and mind, space and time. “Don’t explain anything, goddammit. Just . . . just . . . kiss me again, Rahaan. Please. I need it. I need this. Oh, God, I need this right now. I just—”
The kiss came before she could finish the sentence, and he pushed against her so hard she was knocked backwards. But he grabbed her by the back of her head and stayed with the kiss, pushing her down on her back on that wide table, spreading her legs with his strong hips, pressing his peaked crotch against her mound as he put his weight on her.
“I cannot stop,” he muttered as he ravaged her lips, kissed her cheeks, licked her neck, sucked her boobs. “I am not stopping.”
“Good,” she muttered as she felt him caress the curve of her belly as he searched for the waistband of her pants, getting there quickly and pulling the elastic down past her wide hips.
The Sheikh pulled away from her as he yanked those harem-pants down past her thighs, down to her knees, stopping at her ankles. He didn’t pull them all the way off though, and Hilda gasped in shock as he raised her legs up and bent her knees back over her chest, exposing her underside as her panties rode up into her slit and crack. The harem-pants were still around her ankles, holding her legs together, and she felt the Sheikh slide his fingers between her rolled up panties and her slit and pull them aside.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as she felt his breath against her wet cunt. The position he had her in made her feel so exposed, so filthy, so . . . so sexy that she didn’t know what to do, where to turn, what to even feel. She was too aroused to be embarrassed, too turned on to be ashamed, too hot to possibly stop this stranger who’d just put a ring on her finger from doing anything he wanted.
She could smell herself now as he kissed her between her legs, at that dark place between her slit and her crack, licking her with long, firm strokes as he pulled her soaked, rolled up panties to the side. Her thighs were pressed together still, but she could feel the Sheikh’s stiff tongue push its way through her secret folds, somehow sliding into her slick depths.
He licked her as she stared up at the ceiling, tremors rolling through her body, her buttocks shuddering, her thighs twitching. She could hear him tasting her, and it felt so damn filthy she thought she was going to come again, all over his face, and the thought got her even hotter, even wetter, until she was moaning loudly, groaning with abandon, licking her lips and smiling.
She was still smiling when she felt him lower her legs and pull those pants from her ankles, tossing them away as he yanked her panties all the way down and off. She gasped as he leaned in for a quick kiss, making her taste herself on his lips, swallow her own sweetness from his tongue. She felt so free and wild, like she was an animal running naked through the forest, moonlight and starlight lighting her way, her body shining silver in the glow of the night, her hair open and flowing, bare feet falling on soft grass, bare skin greeting the cool breeze.
God, she thought as she felt herself spread wide for him, without shame, without self-consciousness, without guilt, without guile. Nobody’s first time together is like this, this open, this free, this familiar. It’s like we already know each other’s bodies, trust each other’s touch, know each other’s need. How can I be so open and free with him if he really is a stranger? How can he get me so hot, so wet, so . . .
“Oh, God,” she muttered as she watched him back away from her and rip his white linen shirt off, tossing it against the wall and stretching his arms out wide. Hilda was bare bottomed and naked from the waist down, her beige bra pushed up over her boobs, which were hanging down as she propped herself up on her elbows and watched this man unbuckle his heavy belt as the muscles on his brown torso glistened under the yellow overhead light.
She watched in muted awe as the Sheikh dropped his brown trousers and stepped out of them, pushing his black underwear down over the tremendous peak of his hardness. Hilda almost choked in shock when she saw his cock spring into view. It was monstrous, a beast of a cock, thick and heavy in the middle, round and massive at the top, hard brown shaft glistening in the yellow light, the head dark red and oozing his fresh, clean oil.
She felt her pussy tighten as he drew near, and she slowly lowered herself down onto her back as the Sheikh grasped her thighs, kneading and squeezing with force, spreading her full and bending his face down, kissing her once again between the legs, breathing deep of her musk, his stubble rubbing gently against the tender skin. Her wetness was flowing like a slow, steady stream, and Hilda could feel the lips of her slit thickening and opening up like a flower opens for the rain. She could smell them both, man and woman, Rahaan and Hilda, and the scent of their combined sex took her back to that dream again.
“Maybe this is the dream,” she muttered to herself as she watched the Sheikh raise his head from between her legs and look her in the eye, asking her if she was ready for him, asking without words, like he already knew her body just like she knew his need.
She nodded to him, to her lover, to her stranger, to her madness, to her arousal. She said yes to all of it. Yes to the man. Yes to the woman. Yes to the dream.
Then he climbed on top of her, looked into her eyes, and slowly but with power, carefully but without hesitation, as if he’d done it before, like he knew what she’d feel like, like he knew she could take him, the Sheikh pushed into her, deep into her, all the way into her, every damned inch.
22
This does not feel like the first time with this woman, the Sheikh thought as he slowly pushed into her. The first time could never feel this intimate, this close, this connected. It is like I know her, every inch of her. It is like I own her, every inch of her. The kind of ownership that can only come with the deepest trust, the most careful intimacy, following the most magical courtship. It can never be like this at the beginning with two people.
He looked into her eyes as he felt his cock slide all the way into her warm valley, his entire body tightening as he felt himself somehow get harder from her heat, wilder from her wetness, delirious from her need. He could smell her scent, and it was from his dream, he thought as he flexed inside her and heard her moan.
Or perhaps this is the dream, he wondered as she opened her eyes and looked up at him, big brown eyes looking into him, her pretty round face framed by the brown tresses that were wild like a country schoolgirl’s, flowing like the ocean waves. She smiled as he leaned in to kiss her again, and the Sheikh felt his cock drive deeper as he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
She groaned and clenched, her smile fading to a grimace of ecstasy, her eyes rolling up in her head as Rahaan began to thrust, slowly at first as he tried to control his need. But the need was strong, and soon he was pumping harder, kissing her face as she gasped and shuddered, her soft, womanly body writhing beneath his weight, skin sliding smoothly as he rose and fell against her, driving harder now, deeper now, his jaw clenching as he felt her pussy tighten around his cock.
“Ya Allah,” he muttered as he felt her legs wrap around him and pull him deeper into her. “By God, this is cannot be the first time. It cannot even be real. How can it be? How can it be?!”
But he knew the answer, h
e realized, listening to her moans get louder as he pumped his hips with force, pushed into her with power, drove into her with all the desire in him. I know the answer and she is the answer, he thought as he grasped her hair and held her tight as he started to come. She is the answer. Yes, even if we do not understand it yet, she is the answer. She, us, and this. This. This moment, this meeting, this miracle. This.
And then he came, his heavy balls tightening as they thumped against her flesh and clenched, his shaft flexing to the extreme as his thick semen barreled its way to that explosive release, his own eyes glazing over as he felt the climax smash its way through him, a climax stronger than he thought possible, louder than thunder, more powerful than lightning, unstoppable like an avalanche, glorious like a volcano at midnight.
He came. By Allah, he came. Like fountains and rivers, geysers and waterfalls, furious and fast, his heat so vivid he could not be sure if he was shouting, could not be certain if she was screaming, did not know if any of this was real, did not care two damns about whether it was real or not.
He felt his fingers pull at her hair as he erupted into her depths, his cock flexing back and forth in her cunt as he poured his semen down her canals, flooding her valleys, bursting through her dams, breaking all barricades, destroying all her defenses.
The Sheikh looked into her eyes as he came, and in them he saw peace through the ecstasy, joy through the madness, stillness through the chaos. She was his, he thought as he felt his balls tighten again, somehow pushing more of his seed into her. She was his before he ever touched her, perhaps before he ever saw her.
“Are you all right?” he managed to say as he pumped out the final draw of his load, barely descending from his peak, still hard inside her, still throbbing within her. “You are so still and quiet. Did I hurt you? I was so mad with desire I lost all sense of—”
She just stared up at him with wide eyes, her full lips trembling, her round face streaked with red from her arousal and his savage kisses. Still she did not speak, and now the Sheikh realized that Hilda, this woman from his dream, this fake gypsy in her hideous pants, this curvy firecracker who’d taken his money and slapped him across the face, this vivacious vixen who was somehow the answer to the only question he cared to ask . . . she was about to come.
Stars for the Sheikh_A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel Page 9