Sold to the Sheikh

by Chloe Cox

“I was hoping you might show me,” he said seriously.

  Was there anything not perfect about this man?

  CHAPTER 17

  CRACK!

  Another solid line drive sent shooting off of Stella’s bat. She almost hit the pitching machine with that one—again. She was breathing heavily and sweating, and she knew her hair was a mess under her helmet, and she was as happy as could be.

  “You really are excellent at this!” Sheikh Bashir called from behind her. He was leaning into the protective netting, hands threaded into the mesh like every enraptured baseball player who’d ever watched her hit. Only the Sheikh’s eyes seemed to flash and dance, and Stella couldn’t help but wonder what else he was thinking about.

  The red light came on, indicating this session was over. It was just as well—Stella could feel the soreness begin to take root in her arms and shoulders.

  “I’m out of shape,” she said, taking off her helmet and shaking out her hair.

  Sheikh Bashir grabbed the waist of her jeans, his fingers brushing just below where her panties would have been if she’d been allowed to wear them, and pulled her to him for a hard, hungry kiss.

  “You are the perfect shape,” he said gruffly.

  It was all Stella could do to maintain her composure. “Would you like me to show you how to hit?” she managed to say.

  “Of course,” he said, smiling. “It does not look so dissimilar to cricket, but I would love the help.”

  He moved past her, ready to take up position at the plate. She still didn’t quite believe it. He seemed so…

  “You’re really ok with a woman showing you how to hit a baseball?” It was tough to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

  Sheikh Bashir turned back around, his brow furrowed. “Why on earth wouldn’t I be?” He seemed genuinely confused. “A man who feels less in such a situation would not be much of a man to begin with.”

  Stella gave a short laugh, thinking of her ex. “You’re absolutely right,” she said. “I’m sorry I even—”

  “Don’t worry yourself, Stella. Besides,” he said, taking up his position at the plate again, “I would expect someone who is so thoughtful as to put change in other people’s expired parking meters to be equally kind and thoughtful in all other arenas of life. I believe you will be a good teacher.”

  So he’d noticed that. She guessed it was sort of a weird thing to do in front of someone else, but it always made her feel good. Expired meters were the most random trigger memory for her, bringing her back immediately to a pretty ordinary day when her dawdling had made them late, and her stepdad had gotten a parking ticket. She still remembered putting her hands over her ears as he yelled at her, while her mom simply looked away. Not the best memory.

  But what really struck her now, as an adult, was how perversely grateful she’d felt that her parents had even been paying attention to her. Stella suspected that her stepdad hadn’t ever really wanted kids, though he’d convinced himself that he did long enough to marry her mom. For the most part, growing up, she was just left alone, as long as she wasn’t any trouble. That day with the parking ticket, she’d actually relished the brief feeling that she’d mattered. When she’d told Robert that story, he’d looked at her with such undisguised pity that she’d immediately changed the subject. Ever since then, each quarter that she put into an expired meter was like a little prayer for other lonely kids, just a small attempt to add to the general goodwill in the universe. Stella knew it was silly, but she didn’t care. It was the sort of private, personal ritual that she’d always expected to keep secret.

  And she was wondering if she could actually explain that to another human being. No, not just to any human being—to Sheikh Bashir.

  Wow. That was not like her. Not anymore.

  “Stella?” the Sheikh said. He looked concerned. That just made it worse.

  Get a grip, woman.

  Luckily, Sheikh Bashir didn’t need much instruction. From the way he moved it was obvious that he was a natural athlete, and whatever they did with cricket bats seemed to translate pretty readily to baseball. He took her few pointers on his form in stride, incorporating them into his swing flawlessly. She couldn’t help but be impressed.

  “You are actually looking pretty good,” she said. “Just keep your eye on the ball.”

  He grinned. “Always.”

  Stella exited the cage and pushed the button. With a clank, the brand new pitching machine whirred to life. Stella had set it to sixty miles per hour in what she now realized was a sort of preemptive aggression; she’d so expected Sheikh Bashir to be a jerk about this, like every other guy, that she’d put the machine on the hardest setting just to teach him a lesson.

  Whoops.

  Sheikh Bashir jumped back, startled, as a baseball rocketed past him and bounced wildly off the back wall. He looked over his shoulder with a look, and then turned back and took his stance.

  And hit the next ball.

  Oh, wow. Maybe cricket was tougher than it sounded.

  He punished fastball after fastball, the muscles in his back churning with explosive power with every swing. It was something to behold. Stella was feeling altogether inappropriate for a batting cage by the time Sheikh Bashir’s session was over.

  He took off his helmet, smoothing his long, dark hair with his wrist. There was a slight sexy slick of sweat on his forehead.

  “How’d I do?” he said, smiling. But he wasn’t talking to Stella. He was looking right next to her, and…down?

  Stella looked to see a little red-haired girl of about eight standing next to her, clutching the cage just as Stella had been. Apparently Stella hadn’t been the only one totally mesmerized by the Sheikh’s performance, but Stella had been so engrossed that she hadn’t even noticed the little girl appearing out of nowhere.

  Good job.

  “He’s pretty good, huh?” Stella said. The girl nodded furiously. She was looking at the cage the way other kids looked at toys or Christmas presents. Stella recognized that look oh so well.

  “Are you here with your family?” the Sheikh rumbled, closing the cage door behind him and squatting down to the girl’s height. She shook her head, suddenly shy. “My name’s Bashir,” he said, and held out his hand.

  The redheaded girl hesitated just a moment, then stuck her arm straight out. Sheikh Bashir laughed, and took her tiny hand in his.

  “I’m Rebecca,” she said.

  “Are you here with a grown up?” Stella asked. Little kids wandering around on their own made her nervous. Someone should be watching out for this little girl.

  “Over there,” she said, scrunching up her nose and pointing to another cage. There was a single adult man and two preteen boys egging each other on. “They won’t let me have a turn,” she said. She sounded resigned, as though that was just the way it was and always would be.

  Sheikh Bashir frowned. “Well, I will,” he said. “And so will my friend, Stella. You know she was a champion softball player in college?”

  The girl’s eyes grew so wide Stella almost felt ashamed of herself. She wasn’t famous or anything, she just played softball.

  “Really?” the little girl asked.

  “Want me to teach you how to hit?” Stella said. “You can go back and show up your brothers.”

  The girl’s mischievous smile was priceless.

  They spent a good twenty minutes with Rebecca, teaching her the basics. Sheikh Bashir lobbed gentle underhanded pitches while Stella helped her get her form down. By the end, she was swinging on her own and had knocked one or two into the Sheikh’s shins, who grinned and bore it admirably. The only person who kept looking over her shoulder to see if Rebecca’s dad had taken any notice that his little girl had wandered off was Stella. With each passing minute, she grew to hate the beer-bellied, baseball hat-wearing man in the other cage. Clearly Rebecca wasn’t all that important to him.

  Well, she should be important to someone, at least important enough to teach baseball to.

&
nbsp; “Rebecca!”

  Stella narrowed her eyes and waved to the man at the other end of the cages. He lumbered over, not comfortable with his middle-aged weight, with a slight frown on his face.

  “Rebecca, it’s time to leave. Come on,” he said. He hadn’t even introduced himself.

  “I’m Stella,” she said pointedly. “This is Bashir.”

  The man adjusted his hat. “Nice to meet you,” he said finally. “Come on, Rebecca, we gotta get you kids back to your folks.”

  Without another word or so much as a question, he led Rebecca back towards the front desk, where the two boys were already roughhousing. From where she stood Stella could tell that one of them—the one with the bright red hair—was probably Rebecca’s brother, the other his friend.

  “This may be unkind, or simply ignorant, as I have no children,” Sheikh Bashir said behind her, “but I am glad that that man is not her father.”

  Stella laughed, surprised at her relief. “Yeah. I was just thinking that.”

  “Every child should be wanted,” he said softly, and put a hand on her shoulder. Stella turned, mortally embarrassed that again he’d somehow read her thoughts, but for once, his eyes weren’t studying her. They were looking into the distance, as though seeing the past.

  Maybe there were some things Sheikh Bashir understood all on his own.

  Impulsively, Stella hugged him, crushing herself against his chest. She wanted to smell the sweat of his exertion, wanted to feel the heat of the body that had so dominated her life the past few days, which had brought her such pleasure and such unexpected comfort.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said into his chest.

  He threaded his hand through her matted hair, and Stella remembered how very sweaty and gross she was. And she did not want to be that sweaty, gross chick with Sheikh Bashir. Maybe she wasn’t totally ready to admit what she did want to be with Sheikh Bashir, but she knew it was not that.

  “Um,” she said, pulling back and doing her best to smooth her hair down, “does this place have showers or something?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Showers!

  Just Bashir’s luck that this place considered itself a proper gym with a proper locker room. As though it wasn’t hard enough to control himself, to be away from her naked body, to know he still hadn’t had her, now he had to contend with the idea of Stella Spencer soaping herself down in a shower just a few feet away?

  It wasn’t enough that this stupid date, his own brilliant idea, had done more to make him fall for her than vice versa. It wasn’t enough that he had to watch her incredible body sweat while she proved what she could do with that body. Any normal man would immediately think of all the other things she might do with a body that athletic and that in tune with itself, and Bashir’s sex drive, at least where Stella was concerned, was a few notches above normal.

  And now she was showering.

  Bashir paced the hall in front of the women’s locker room like a caged animal, at war with his growing, demanding dick.

  ~ ~ ~

  The showers were spare, but more than adequate. Stella felt better as soon as she stepped under the steaming stream of water, and it wasn’t just because she’d felt all grimy. As soon as she had a few moments to herself, thoughts about that morning and her relationship with the Sheikh had crowded into her head. She hadn’t really had a chance to process everything, not on her own.

  Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, though, she thought, soaping herself down. It meant that she hadn’t had a chance to drive herself crazy with her usual series of what-ifs and rationalizations and doubts. The lack of downtime was forcing her to just plain feel, and what she felt under those circumstances continued to surprise her.

  For example: the sore spot on her ass, when she ran a soapy hand over it, gave her goosebumps, even in a hot shower.

  The memory of being bent over his knee, in public…and then the knowledge that, no matter how much heat built up between her legs, no matter how sensitive her breasts felt under the soapy suds, she wasn’t allowed to come unless he demanded it, was enough to push all those worries right out of mind again.

  The fact was, she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed being punished, being spanked, in public. More than enjoyed it: it had been a catharsis. She’d never felt so peaceful, so right with the world, so emptied of all distress and worry, as when he’d held her, just after. Even if they had talked about uncomfortable things that maybe she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Something about it had still felt right.

  She’d never felt this sexy, or this desired. She’d never felt this wanted, which was strange, because he hadn’t actually done it yet. He hadn’t had sex with her. And yet every word he said, every move he made, made it perfectly clear that she was at the forefront of his thoughts, as though he wanted more than just her body.

  It was a brand new feeling. She felt like a totally different woman.

  It was that new woman who stepped out from the showers, with only a tiny, coarse towel held around her with one hand, just as Sheikh Bashir was closing the locker room door behind him.

  Stupidly, Stella said, “This is the women’s locker room!”

  Sheikh Bashir stared at her, his dark eyes flaming. Then he locked the door.

  “Drop the towel,” he said. “Now.”

  Stella obeyed reflexively. Her mind didn’t catch up to her body until the towel was already rumpled and useless at her feet. It was that Dom voice; it did something to her brain.

  Why should she feel nervous about being naked in front of him? It wasn’t like it was the first time. Yet Stella felt the blush begin on her fair skin, felt the familiar feeling of exposure, of thrilling vulnerability, of being on display for his pleasure.

  Sheikh Bashir raked over her body with those molten eyes, leaving her feeling helpless before him. He didn’t move, but even standing in the shadows, under the broken light at one end of the room, Stella could see that he was hard.

  And he was huge.

  “Lie back on the bench,” he ordered. “Look at the ceiling. And spread your legs.”

  Moving slowly, and with an increasing sense of inadequacy, Stella looked around. The bench was a foot wide, plain, wooden. She bent to pick up the towel and spread it on the bench before perching on the edge. There, she hesitated.

  She’d been exposed to the Sheikh, but never quite like this. Not under these lights, and not so…explicitly.

  “Now, Stella,” he growled, and Stella quickly lay back, her breasts falling slightly to the side, her eyes trained on the ceiling.

  Was this how he would take her? Right here, on a bench, in a locker room? She wanted him more than anything, wanted to feel him on top of her, wanted to feel him driving inside her, again and again, but…like this?

  God, yes, even like this she wanted him. She wanted him however he’d have her. With a great gulp of air, she spread her legs.

  “Yes, Sheikh,” she whispered.

  And then she waited.

  He didn’t make a sound as he approached. The very next thing she felt were two massive hands on the undersides of her thighs, lifting her legs up and spreading them wider. She almost lifted her head, until she remembered his command to stare at the ceiling. Stella bit her lip instead, and waited.

  She heard a low, guttural growl, an animal sound, and then there was a hot, wet mouth on her pussy, and she arched mindlessly to the ceiling. Stella grabbed hold of the bench beneath her, struggling to keep her balance, squirming against the Sheikh’s hungry lips, but there was no release, no comfort—his hands held her firmly in place while his tongue licked her slit from one end to the other. Stella had never been totally comfortable with this; she’d never been completely at ease with being so open and vulnerable, but now she didn’t have a choice.

  The Sheikh probed her mercilessly, laving her folds, working his way up to her clit. She whimpered at the unrelenting pressure, and yet he held her fast.

  “Please,
” she said, her brain veering into dangerous territory, “please, it’s too much…”

  He sucked gently on her clit, and her moan betrayed her. She wanted to cry when he pulled his mouth away, and at the same time, she wanted to cross her legs and hide.

  “I will do what I want,” he said roughly, “and I want to make you thrash. You will come for me now, Stella.”

  He lifted one leg over his shoulder and spread the other wide, opening her even further. Stella whimpered again, and gripped the bench below even tighter. Her abdominals all bore down on her pussy, the tension sudden and straining, almost painful. She closed her eyes, and tried to ride the sensation as his lips wrapped around her clit.

  He sucked on it, drawing it into his mouth and applying pressure with his tongue, and just when Stella thought she couldn’t take more of such an otherworldly feeling, he slid two crooked fingers into her.

  “Oh my God!” she burst out, and felt her legs begin to shake. The Sheikh bore down on her harder, more insistently, his mouth coaxing her clit to greater and greater heights and his fingers rubbing and pressing against her g-spot. Every nerve, every individual, jumping, live nerve in her body sung in harmony to what he did to her. All sensation drew down, and gathered, swollen, around the hot button inside of her, and for a horrible moment Stella felt like she had to pee. She raised her head and tried to shift, but the Sheikh pressed down now on her belly with his free hand, as though trying to make a bridge inside her from his fingers to his hand, and the swollen feeling exploded outward.

  Stella felt like she was drowning in an ocean that came from her, from which waves welled up and crested from her core, flowing over and through her and obliterating everything in their path. Her boneless limbs flailed helplessly, and she might have fallen if the Sheikh’s arms hadn’t been there to steady her, to hold her, to catch her.

  This time she came to still shuddering, still at the mercy of her own aftershocks. The Sheikh rose up between her legs and looked down at her shivering, naked body. Through the haze of aftermath, Stella could see one thing: he was still hard.