The Sheikh's Pregnant Employee (Almasi Sheikhs Book 3)

by Leslie North

  Layla’s gaze fell to the open seat between them. “I just still find it weird that we work together after…everything that’s happened.”

  Her words tumbled through him like boulders. That was it? “I see. Well, I suppose that could be strange for you.”

  The sound of the car’s turn signal was the only sound between them for a moment. “Have you slept with everyone at the office?” She asked it casually, as if maybe she were asking about what time a play began.

  He knitted his brows together. “No, of course I haven’t. That’s absurd.” He huffed with a disbelieving laugh. “No animal shits where they eat.”

  Layla’s gaze scorched over him. “So that’s what it was? Fucking me was shitting?”

  The fire in her tone prickled at him, sent his frustration tumbling over the edge. “Oh, come on! Of course not. That’s not what I meant at all. What are you getting at with this?”

  She shrugged, her nostrils flaring as she turned back to stare out the window. “Just trying to figure out how you feel about it.”

  “How could I have known who you were, that you would end up at my company?” His voice tightened with anger. “Do you make it a habit of sleeping with your bosses?”

  Her mouth fell open, shock rippling across her face. “How dare you suggest that!”

  “But don’t you see that—”

  “Let me out.” She grabbed at the door handle, but it was locked. The car moved too fast to step out of, even if she was bolstered by anger. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. I’ll walk.”

  “You will not walk,” Zahir countered, leaning toward her. “This neighborhood is too dangerous for a woman at night.”

  “Oh well. I have mace.” She unbuckled her seat belt, speaking to the driver. “Excuse me, sir? Could you drop me off here?”

  Zahir sent her a sharp look and addressed the driver in Farsi. “Continue to her building.”

  Layla leaned back into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “And buckle up. I’m taking you home. There’s no need to be so…adversarial. You weren’t like this before.”

  Her face darkened. “Before?”

  “Yeah. Back when you acted like you liked me. When you’d let me lead. I can’t even believe now that you let me touch you.”

  She glowered out the window, tight-lipped. He ran a hand through his hair, heart beating wildly. He hadn’t meant to say all those words…but they were out now. No turning back.

  A few moments later the car slowed as they approached her building. “This is me,” she said, her voice monotone.

  When the car rolled to a stop, Zahir reached for the door handle. “I’ll let you out.”

  She scoffed, and by the time he’d crossed the back of the car, she was pushing out of the car on her own. He clenched his jaw, meeting her fiery gaze. There was something mischievous there. Yes, she was provoking him. The energy crackled plainly between them.

  “I don’t need a man to help me out of the car,” she spat and strutted past him into the building. He balled his fists, stilling his hand. He could have grabbed her by the wrist, spun her around, pinned her to the trunk of the car. Pressed himself against her, asked her if what she really needed was a man to make her feel better. In a way only he could. The image passed before his eyes like a movie, and by the time he could clear his head, she was inside the building, heading for the elevator.

  He swore to himself, lingering at the side of the car. The woman in that car wasn’t even a little bit the Layla he’d come to know over the past month. Something was seriously wrong—and more than that, he could taste the desire that dripped from her like honey. She might play this part, but it wasn’t working. She needed him—maybe as a friend or maybe as a lover. Either way, he needed to show up.

  Zahir poked his head into the car. In Farsi, he said, “Park the car. I’ll let you know soon if I’ll be coming down.”

  He hurried into the building, murmuring the apartment number to himself. He’d helped secure this spot, so he knew exactly what apartment was hers. Sixth floor, number 621. A three bedroom with a hot tub and balcony. He’d opted for something a bit more luxurious than he otherwise might have, since he’d known it would be hers.

  He tapped his thumb against the elevator panel as the car rose toward the sixth floor, as though the motion might help alleviate some of the tension in his chest. There was no good reason to go up to her apartment, other than his desperation for her. He wanted to take her into his arms and feel that tension melt away, get back to their witty rapport, smooth out whatever this uncomfortable kink was between them.

  When he found her door, he took a deep breath before knocking, not allowing any doubts to creep in and remind him what a bad idea this might be.

  He was following his gut, and it told him to go after her.

  11

  Layla leaned against her front door for what felt like an hour, chest heaving as she struggled to rid herself of the memory of Zahir’s heated gaze. What the fuck had just happened between them? It was like teenage rebellion mixed with professional suicide. And there she was, trapped in the middle, desperate to let him in but terrified to admit the truth.

  She smoothed her palms against the cool door behind her, replaying the evening in her head. This would make work awkward as hell from now on. She hadn’t intentionally wanted to ruin things between them. But on the other hand, the only way forward might be ruining their sexual attraction. There was just no happy medium with Zahir. She needed all of him or nothing.

  Just come back, Zahir. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears prick her eyes. She wanted him in a way she could scarcely understand, much less rationalize. But his warmth by her side, the steadiness of his energy…god, that would help right about now.

  Knock knock knock.

  She jolted, spinning to face the door. It was nearly eight p.m. Nobody visited her without calling first. And her only real visitor was Marian, who had gone home with Omar.

  Knock knock.

  She gulped, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, and peered through the peep hole. Zahir stood on the other side, a hand propped up on the doorframe outside. He looked wrecked, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

  Holy shit. Holy shit. Her heart raced as she contemplated a plan. But what could she do? She’d come apart with him inches away, inside her own living space. This was doomed. And in a way…she was grateful for it.

  She tugged open the door, a shocked silence passing between them. Their eyes locked, Zahir looking at her as though searching for permission to come in. She didn’t move—couldn’t move, when those obsidian eyes absorbed every last ounce of her willpower. Her breaths turned sharp and shallow.

  “Layla,” was all he said.

  She grabbed his wrist, bringing him inside the apartment. He kicked the door shut behind him, his warm, rough hands cupping her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered shut, whimpering against the tenderness, relief washing through her.

  “I needed to make sure you were okay.” His arms slid around her waist, bringing her against him. She palmed the flat planes of his chest, head spinning.

  “I wasn’t.” Her forehead dropped to his chest. “But I am now.”

  His breath came out hot by her ear. She clutched at the front of his shirt, letting the slow washes of desire consume her. Heat singed her, burned away the last of her resistance. He’d shown up, despite her shitty attitude, despite her coldness. And god, it felt like a sign. At the very least, a sign that it was time to just give in to all the feelings she’d been battling for the past few weeks. Let go of the confusion of the test result, abandon all the what-ifs and what-nows.

  Zahir would be her release. The only one she craved.

  His hand smoothed over the curve of her jaw, nudging her head back. She looked up at him, drinking in the intensity of his gaze, the dark stubble on his jaw, the tiny mole on his cheekbone.

  “So can I come in?” He smiled devilishly, which made her giggle. His lips smashed against he
rs then, a needy kiss quaking between them, causing a low, strangled moan to erupt from her, one she didn’t even recognize.

  Zahir cupped the sides of her head as they kissed, one kiss bleeding into another. Her lips tingled, body on fire. This. This is exactly what she’d needed, the entire damn time. Denying it was a sin, one that she was forced to commit for the sake of her job. But tonight, it didn’t matter.

  They stumbled into her apartment, Layla leading them blindly toward the couch. They reached the edge and she fell backwards, laughing as her ass met the soft cushion. Zahir stood above her, commanding and dark, his gray slacks bearing a telltale ridge in the crotch.

  “Work used to be easy for me,” Zahir said, his eyes on his shirt cuffs as he unbuttoned each wrist. His thick fingers moved to his shirtfront then, undoing each button in turn. “But now, it’s fucking torture. Because every day, you’re there. In the office next to me. And I can’t touch you or kiss you or do fucking anything.”

  She gaped at him as he spoke, entranced by the caramel flesh of his arms as he shrugged his shirt off.

  “Do you like this game we’ve been playing?” His belt buckle clanked as he tore the leather strap through the loops. “Is it fun for you to pretend like we’re just colleagues?”

  She swallowed hard, unable to move her gaze from the waistband of his briefs as he pushed his pants down. He was almost completely nude in front of her and she couldn’t even concentrate long enough to undress.

  “I…I wouldn’t say it’s fun,” she started.

  “No. It’s hell.” He tossed his clothes aside, his cock leaning hard against the fabric of his briefs, making an impressive tent. “Put me out of my misery, Layla. In the way only you can.”

  His words shivered through her, reminding her to move. Yes, a gorgeous, sculpted god was in front of her, asking her to disrobe. She had to comply immediately. With shaky fingers, she unbuttoned her blouse, breath hitching as Zahir knelt in front of her on the couch, sliding it over her shoulders. She undid her pants and shimmied out of them, letting Zahir slide them down her thighs and over her ankles, slipping off her heels in the process.

  When she was clad only in her bra and panties, Zahir hummed low, his long fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, lips grazing the tops of each breast. Her legs fell open, neck limp to the side.

  “Me too,” she whispered, hardly able to find her voice. Waiting for it was an understatement. She’d been unable to function without it.

  Zahir tugged down the cups of her bra, her breasts bouncing out. She sucked at her teeth as he took each nipple between his lips. His kisses moved downwards, over the curve of her low belly, leaving a moist trail. He nuzzled the damp crotch of her panties, his eyes glinting black as he peered up at her.

  “I wish I could do this to you every day.” His gravelly voice made goosebumps flare all over her body.

  “That doesn’t seem like such a bad idea,” she said, watching as his thick fingers slid beneath the fabric of her panties. He pushed it aside, his tongue dancing torturously over her swollen lips. She went rigid beneath him, breath caught in her throat.

  “Mmm.” He flattened his tongue against her clit, sending a shock wave through her. Her hand wandered to his head, fingers tightening in the thick mess of hair she imagined touching every goddamn day at work. Why did he have to be perfect? As a coworker, he was impossible to ignore. As a man, he was everything she’d ever fantasized about.

  He dragged a thumb over her dripping entrance, taking a bite of the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Zahir rubbed his jaw over the place he’d just bitten, his stubble scratching lightly. She inhaled sharply as he pressed a finger inside her. His eyes were intense on her as he pumped the finger in and out, the thumb of his other hand making slow, deliberate circles around—not across—her clit. He was teasing her. And too well.

  “God, Zahir,” she groaned, tossing her head back. “Just make me come already.”

  He shook his head, circling that needy nub like it was his prey. “Not yet.”

  “I need it.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up. “I know you do. And you’ll get it.”

  She whimpered, arching toward him, desperate to feel any contact against her throbbing clit. His finger felt glorious inside her but it wasn’t enough, it provoked more than it sated. She tightened the fist in his hair, bucking against him.

  Zahir brushed his lips ever-so-lightly over her clit, enough to make her groan. Fuck, he was good at pushing her buttons. Her legs splayed wider, the grin on his face growing more devilish.

  “Come on,” she urged.

  “In time,” he murmured, kissing the stubbly mound of her mons. He’d slipped a second finger inside her, almost without her realizing, the pumping becoming more forceful. One of his hands snaked up to her breast, tweaking a nipple. She gave a strangled cry.

  And while her head was tossed back, Zahir dove in. He poked and prodded her clit with his tongue, lavishing upon it all the attention she’d craved. She went rigid, hesitant to move in fear that it might end. Zahir moaned as he slurped at her clit, his tongue dancing expertly over the tight nub. She clenched her thighs around his head as the tension inside her climbed.

  He pulled back after a moment, his mouth shiny.

  “What are you doing?” She grabbed at his shoulder, urging him between her legs.

  He sent her a flat look, reaching for his pants. “I need to be inside you.” He rummaged through his pockets, and then produced his wallet. He fished out a condom, then pushed his briefs down. His chest heaved as he rolled the condom over his cock.

  “Yes,” she whispered, unable to look away from the veiny, purplish head, his cock arching gently up into the air in front of him. Even his penis was perfect. Like it belonged in a magazine. Or at least as the textbook example of aroused genitalia.

  He slipped his wide, warm hands beneath her ass cheeks, hoisting her into the air. His cockhead slipped back and forth across her entrance, and then with a measured thrust he sunk inside her, his gaze never wavering from hers. Her breath shriveled in her throat as he disappeared inside her, his heat reaching all the way to her core.

  “Fuck,” she gasped, clinging to his forearms. He pulled back and then thrust inside her, steady and forceful, stretching her, sending electricity zipping through her limbs.

  His jaw clenched as he pumped into her, gaze never wavering. The muscles of his belly flinched as he worked her, his fingers leaving indents in the sides of her hips.

  “Don’t stop,” she breathed, locking her legs around him. With each withdrawal, she was seconds closer to coming, the tension thick and spring-loaded inside her. She’d been fantasizing about him since the day they met, but nothing satisfied her like Zahir himself.

  Zahir drilled into her again, rocking his hips in a slow circle once he was buried to the hilt. She gasped into his shoulder, biting at the warm skin there, and he nuzzled the hollow of her neck. Their lips met a moment later, a frenzied, passionate kiss emerging, something raw and real that made tears well up in the back of her throat. Without breaking the seal of their kiss, he rocked against her, pressing himself so deep that she moaned.

  He pinched one of her nipples, rolling it between his fingers, thrusting into her so deep that she saw stars. She fell over the edge then, a quaking, messy tumble of sparks and hot rushes. She clung to his strong neck, letting out a low, warbling moan that sounded like it came from someone else. Pleasure wracked her body, pussy clenching in waves around him as he drew back again and then thrust deep. A moment later he grunted and stilled.

  Her vision went spotty for a moment until the pleasure receded, allowing her to think straight again. Chest heaving, she dragged her lips along the salty skin of his collarbone, hesitant to break the reverie of the climax.

  “That,” she said after a few moments, the silence broken only by their satisfied, heavy breaths, “that is really hard to say no to.”

 
; 12

  They lounged on her couch, half-nude and relaxed, for longer than Zahir realized. By the time he thought to check his phone, an hour had gone by in comfortable conversation and lighthearted laughter.

  “If you keep sitting with these out,” Zahir smoothed his hand over the lush curve of her breast, “we’ll be forced to start round two.”

  “Forced, huh?”

  He smiled as she stood up, squeezing his shoulder on her way to the kitchen. She came back with a pitcher of water and two glasses. “Water? I also have wine.”

  “No. I just want you.” He hooked her at the waist, bringing her down onto his lap. She giggled, rubbing her butt against his groin as she settled into place.

  “Is this how we should work from now on?” She glanced back at him, mischief on her face. “We can just merge our offices. I’ll sit on top of you in all meetings.”

  He laughed. “That would be my dream come true.”

  She poured two glasses of water from her perch on his lap while thoughts about work began skulking through his mind.

  “You know…” he said after a moment.

  “What?” She turned, handing him a glass.

  “What happened tonight…and before…” He sipped at his water, feeling suddenly parched. “I needed it then, and I needed it now.”

  “Me too,” she said in a small voice.

  “I’m going to keep needing it, too.” He squeezed her left hip with his free hand.

  She smirked, looking back at him. “What are you getting at?”

  “I don’t want to keep playing this game. This thing between us can’t be ignored.” His heart raced while he spoke, like the mere words uncorked a well he hadn’t been expecting. Heat rushed through him. “But I don’t want to lie or lead you on, either.”

  She turned on his lap, her legs hanging over the side of the couch. “Okay.”

  “I have…obligations,” he said, his neck heating at the mere reference to his pending marriage. “To my family and to the company. So, I wouldn’t expect you to, you know…” He waved his hand in the air. This was delicate territory, and he wanted to avoid it altogether. “I don’t see this going away. But I also see that it has a natural limit.”