by Marian Tee
They wanted to fuck each other’s brains out.
The tiniest whimper escaped her, and the wild, panicky look in her eyes told him that even without him saying a word, she had sensed the direction of his thoughts –
He saw her wet her lips.
FUCK.
Anisah jerked in shock when the sheikh suddenly released her as if he had been burned. Her arms falling to her sides, she stared at him in wary silence, wondering if he had only let her go because he had something more nefarious planned.
Tarif’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “There is no need to look at me like that, my sweet. We both know I would not have had to use force on you.” He saw Anisah’s mouth open in an automatic retort, but he didn’t let her utter even a single word. “A warning, anisdi---” The sheikh’s tone was soft and pleasant, ominously so. “If you deny this---” He watched her gaze suddenly dart towards the door. “---or make any attempt to leave this room until I’m done speaking with you, then I will be forced to prove you wrong, and this time---” His smile turned grim. “I doubt I’ll have the strength to keep myself from fucking you the second time.”
Anisah whitened. The sheikh was known for a lot of things, but making idle threats was not one of them.
“Do we have an understanding, anisdi?”
She gave him a jerky nod.
“Ahsanti.” Perfect. The sheikh walked towards the set of observer’s chairs facing the glass wall. “If you would take a seat, my sweet?”
Resisting the urge to stomp towards him like a child, Anisah forced herself to keep a sedate pace as she walked to the chair she had originally occupied. As she sat down, the sheikh bent down as well, and Anisah couldn’t help stiffening and thinking the worst---
But when the sheikh straightened, it was only to hand her the hardcover notebook she had accidentally dropped earlier. “I believe this is yours?”
Anisah took every care not to have their fingers touch as she accepted the notebook, muttering in a flat voice, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The sheikh’s tone was polite, but Anisah only allowed herself to relax slightly in her seat when he moved away to take the other chair, which was one good foot away from her. She wished it could have been a mile instead, but alas, beggars with no blue blood could never be choosers in this world.
“We were talking about harpies, weren’t we?”
He wanted her to stay behind so they could talk about…harpies? Confusion mixed in with wariness as she muttered, “You called me one, yes.”
“And do you know why?”
Was that some kind of trick question? Even as Anisah’s confusion grew alongside her suspicion, pride caused her to lift her chin as she returned evenly, “Your choice of term, perhaps, for women capable of turning you down?”
But the sheikh only grinned. “An excellent guess, my sweet, but not quite accurate.” Leaning back against his chair, he murmured, “In some versions of Greek mythology, harpies have also been described as guardians. Granted, they were protecting the Underworld, but even so – for a person to be considered a guardian is to acknowledge that person’s strength---”
“I’m sorry,” Anisah couldn’t help interrupting the sheikh with a frown, “but I don’t see what this has to do with me?”
“Seeing you protect the queen in battle and act as her guardian was an incredible sight, Tory.”
The words tore a stunned gasp out of Anisah’s throat. How did he know that?
“And later on, learning of how you had also been Kyria’s champion when she was being bullied in school?”
Anisah shook her head in disbelief. “How do you know these things?”
“Your courage was – is – a fucking turn-on, my sweet.”
Oh! The words were completely unexpected, but this only made them more poisonously potent, and she barely managed to bite back a moan even as a treacherous sliver of wetness turned her folds slick.
Stars above…not again!
“It’s strange as hell, but I get hard every time I hear of your noble, brave deeds---”
Another gasp was torn out of her. Oh dear heavens, these crude things he was saying!
“I d-didn’t do any of it for you---”
“Which makes it an even bigger turn on,” the sheikh returned silkily.
“That m-means nothing to me.” But even she knew this was an impossibly lame comeback, made even lamer by the tinge of helpless, needy panting in her voice.
Oh, curse this traitorous body of hers!
Trying a second time, she flung at him, “I d-don’t care if it’s so.”
Tarif smirked. “It…being what again, anisdi?”
Like he couldn’t really guess what she meant to say, she mentally fumed. “You know what I want---”
“Yes, I do,” the sheikh purred, “and it’s me, isn’t it?”
Oh, for the love of Allah!
Even though she knew he was only toying with her, Anisah still couldn’t help flying off the handle, and before she knew it, she had already jumped to her feet and was rushing towards him so she could slap the arrogant smirk off the sheikh’s irritatingly handsome face.
But instead Anisah found herself yanked down on the sheikh’s lap---
Ah!
She found herself straddling him, her back against his chest, her arms trapped between their bodies, and oh…oh…oh…
That hard, thick, powerfully throbbing length under her…
This time, she could no longer stop herself from moaning, the sound so mortifyingly wanton it had her cringing.
She felt the sheikh move under her, and Anisah’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she felt his pulsing erection slide against her crotch. A moment later, and his breath was fanning her ear as he whispered, “Perhaps you should know…”
She tensed.
“Seeing you mad also turns me on.”
AH!
The sheikh bit her ear.
AH!
Anisah wrenched her head away before she could forget herself. “S-stop this---”
“I’m afraid I can’t.” And now, the sheikh was licking her ear, and she started to lose her mind.
“It’s too late. I want you too much.” The sheikh’s mouth moved down to nuzzle her neck, and she gasped.
Mother of the Desert, she was so dead.
A pair of strong hands settled on her waist, and the sheikh slowly made her face him---
Their eyes met…just as the door to the observatory swung open.
“Anyone inside here – OH!”
Instinct made her try to twist around to see who it was, but the sheikh’s arms suddenly wrapped tightly around Anisah, preventing her from moving.
A moment later, she heard the unseen stranger say in a rush, “My sincere apologies, Your Highness.” The door shut closed with a loud thud following his words, and recovering her senses at the jarring sound, Anisah wrenched herself free from the sheikh’s hold with a cry.
Scrambling off his lap, she backed away from the sheikh with an anxious shake of her head. “This is a m-mistake. This is wrong.” And there was no greater wrong than how her body still trembled at the aftermath of his touch---
Anisah wrapped her arms around herself in helpless despair. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to Tarif Al-Atassi. She just couldn’t. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, never wanted to be, and she should know better---
She watched the sheikh rise to his full height with lithe grace and swallowed hard.
“This is a mistake,” Anisah repeated doggedly, and this time, she no longer cared about pride, with her eyes begging the sheikh to agree with her.
But the sheikh did not.
“This, my sweet, was inevitable.”
Chapter Four
The Noble House of the Sheikhs of Ramil, like the palace, was an architectural marvel of gold and white marble set against a stunning desert backdrop. It was also located, as with all lawmaking bodies of the kingdom, within a thirty-minute radius of the king’s ro
yal residence. The first reason for this was security: traveling was considered a security risk for the Emir Sheikh, and so the less time spent on the road, the better. The second reason was pure strategy: with the legislative office so close to the palace, the king had the ability to readily make his royal presence – and power – felt if any of his enemies dared to undermine his command in the guise of subversive speeches presented in court.
Proposals concerning one or several specific sheikhdoms were tackled in any of the smaller halls of The Noble House while bills of national interest were presented in the Grand Chamber, a majestic hall in which crystal chandeliers hung from a steeply vaulted stone ceiling. Even the thousands of seats making up the public gallery were richly adorned with velvet cushions and mahogany frames.
The court held three sessions a week in the Grand Chamber, and there was not one such session that the king or members of his cabinet did not attend. Today wasn’t any different, and the entrance of the two Al-Atassi sheikhs, presented last as accorded by their rank in court, was greeted with enthusiastic applause coming from the gallery.
“You seem to have acquired a new fan, brother.” Rayyan Al-Atassi made his observation sotto voce following the closing of the first half of the first session and an announcement of a fifty-minute break.
Tarif subjected his silver-haired cousin to a puzzled look. “A new fan?”
When the other sheikh cocked his head slightly to the side, indicating the private gallery reserved for those employed by the palace, Tarif caught sight of a familiar figure, her poise undiminished even with her slender form shrouded in a hideously serviceable-looking abaya.
Anisah.
Even with her back to him, Tarif had not a single doubt about it. That was his luscious harpy indeed, and his lips curved. A week had passed since the night of the ball. He had not made a single move on her since then, and he knew it was driving her crazy – the way he meant it to.
Her present obsession for him was clear as the light of day, something so painstakingly obvious the whole palace couldn’t help but notice it – and she didn’t even know it, just like how he had also been the only one in the palace unaware of her dislike for him.
Now, Anisah wasn’t able to stop searching for him, unable to resist following him with her eyes, unable to help drawing her breath every time they passed each other by in the palace. Now, with her drawn to him like a moth to a flame, she was forced to see things she had probably never thought or cared to search for in the past.
Now, she would want him more and more, enough to have her body shiver at the mere sight of him, enough to make her cry at night, wishing for a man she had started out hating and now desired beyond reason.
Anisah might not know it yet, but everything between them now was but a game as old as time, and it was a game he had years of experiencing playing, a game she had absolutely no hopes of winning. Their every encounter was meant to seduce her, enthrall, and draw her in like a master would with a puppet that wasn’t even aware of its strings.
And soon – God, it had better be fucking soon – the game would come to its lustful end; his mouth would finally have the kiss it craved to taste, his fingers would cease to itch upon feeling the silky texture of her skin, and most importantly of all, his cock would finally stop aching the moment it sheathed itself in her warm, moist, virginal pussy.
A mild frown marred Rayyan’s forehead at the way Tarif’s dark gaze followed Anisah’s retreating back until she disappeared into one of the gallery’s exits. He had never interfered in his cousin’s affairs – never thought, cared, or had a reason to – but this was different.
And so for the first time in so many years, the sheikh found himself breaking one of his most-prized rules: never go on a limb for anyone outside the family.
“Anisah is not the kind of woman one should toy with, brother.”
Tarif’s face became expressionless at the slight edge in the other man’s words. “Whether that’s the case or not - why the interest in her?”
“She is almost like a sister to me,” Rayyan answered evasively. “I would not want to see her hurt unnecessarily.”
“If you want her as well---”
Rayyan frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? I have never been interested in her that way.”
Tarif’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the way he suddenly found himself doubting his cousin’s words, and that he would care about Rayyan lying in the first place was something he liked even less. There had been numerous women in the past that he and Rayyan both had been attracted to, and in those instances, competing against each other had always been more a friendly challenge than anything. Jealousy had never reared its ugly head in those days…unlike the way it did now.
The mere thought of Rayyan and Anisah flirting had him on edge, and his mood only worsened when he thought of how things might change if he were not so aggressive in seducing Anisah. After all, Rayyan was his complete opposite. Unlike Tarif, Rayyan did everything by the book and was known to live for his work. No doubt in Anisah’s eyes, then and even now, Rayyan was the better man.
Even his own mother had thought so, so why wouldn’t Anisah as well?
The thought made his expression harden, and Tarif heard himself say, “Actually, forget I said anything.” He had already made a fool of himself one too many times in his desperate need to seek his mother’s approval. He would not let his history repeat itself again. “How you think about Anisah Kahveci has nothing to do with me.”
Ah, fuck. Knowing that things could only get worse if he allowed Tarif to draw the wrong conclusion, Rayyan said tautly, “You misunderstand.”
Tarif’s lip curled. “Did I?”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this, brother.”
“And yet you treat her differently from the rest---”
“Because she’s Hyacinth’s sister,” Rayyan admitted heavily.
It took more than a moment for Tarif to get past his incredulity. “Hyacinth? This is all because of Anisah’s sister?”
“Yes,” Rayyan bit out. “So do you get it now?”
This time, the truth in Rayyan’s words was unquestionable, and tension slackened its grip on Tarif’s powerful form. Shaking his head, he muttered testily, “You should have simply said so in the first place.”
“Easy for you to say,” Rayyan snarled under his breath. “You weren’t the one being hounded by a seventeen-year-old---”
Tarif was stunned. “That long?” As vast as the palace was, it also operated no different from a small town in the sense that everyone knew everyone’s business. He couldn’t even begin to think of the things that Rayyan and Hyacinth Kahveci had to do in order to keep their involvement a secret for years.
When Tarif looked back at his cousin, Rayyan said, “Back at you, brother.”
“Eafi?” Pardon?
Rayyan’s lips twisted. “I’m saying I’d rather you forget I said anything as well.”
The two sheikhs stared at each other, their faces yielding nothing beyond their expressionless masks.
“How much does Hyacinth Kahveci matter to you?”
“Probably as much as her sister means to you.”
“If I agree to keeping your secret, do I also have your word that you will refrain from interfering in my business?”
Rayyan’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “I cannot make such a promise – you know that.”
The utter ruthlessness in which Tarif pursued Anisah had not escaped him or the other sheikhs, and the knowledge had left them struggling to determine the right thing to do. As innocent as Anisah was, she was also an adult, and while Tarif’s tactics were not in any way criminal, the other sheikh wasn’t exactly being fair either.
“Do you not think you are taking things too far?” Rayyan asked finally. As much as he wanted to interfere, he knew he would only do so as a last resort, and now wasn’t the right time for it.
“Maybe.” Tarif’s broad shoulders moved in a shrug. “But t
here’s nothing else I can do now. I want her.”
“That has become obvious enough,” the other sheikh said carefully, “but in all honesty, Tarif – you have me and the others surprised. We thought your interest in her would have long waned by now. After all, she is not exactly your taste, is she?”
Tarif’s expression turned brooding. “No. She’s not.” And when he saw the look in the other sheikh’s eyes, he knew that Rayyan was thinking the same thing he did.
Anisah was too opinionated, excessively proper, and as politically invested as a natural-born martyr.
She was too much like his mother, in short, and God knew how much Tarif detested the woman who gave birth to him.
****
“Ramil malaka!” Ramil forever!
The session came to a close when the sheikhs, together with everyone inside the Grand Chamber, pounded their chests as they affirmed their oath of loyalty to the kingdom. A cheer followed, and as some of the sheikhs moved toward the gallery to speak with the people, Anisah’s gaze remained on Tarif Al-Atassi.
It was one of those rare days he had on the kingdom’s traditional robe, and its loose fit only served to accentuate the impressive breadth of his shoulders and his intimidating height. As required by The Noble House, the sheikh had also donned a formal headdress, but while this made some of the men look weak and frail, it only served to emphasize the classical perfection of the sheikh’s features.
With the way she was practically drooling over the sheikh’s good looks, Anisah knew she was acting no better than the female students in her class, all of whom had dreamily declared their undying love for the Al-Atassi sheikhs.
Oh, if only that was just it.
But it was not.
The problem with an obsession like hers, when combined with a mind trained to analyze and dissect, was how it forced Anisah to also see beyond the sheikh’s good looks. In the past, all she had known of the sheikh was what she saw of him in passing and what she learned of him from the news. He was an unabashed playboy, a charming ne’er do well, a selfish sybarite, the beloved subject of many a society columnist.