The Sheikh's Forbidden Mistress

by Brooke, Jessica

  “Will you dance, miss? It’s not hard to learn?”

  Trudy looked between her and him, and he wondered if she was trying to figure out which thing scared her less—deciding their relationship, or dancing before strangers with the belly dance instructor. His kitten must have decided that public scrutiny was the lesser of two evils as she stood soon after and started taking the stance that the belly dancer showed her, her hips spread and her hands held out loosely at her sides, about waist level.

  All the better for me. Avoid me until our retreat later tonight, my love. It means I can watch you dance now.

  The first few moves were simple things, just a sway of the hips and slight flutters of the arms. Two other women had been plucked from the crowd were also swaying to and fro lightly. Then the girl in saffron called to the band in the far corner and the tempo picked up. She barked out fast orders for Trudy and it was a good thing his girl spoke Arabic because it was easier for her to follow the dancer’s slip into that language than it would have been for an average tourist.

  As the music came to a crescendo, it was as if his kitten had finally found her inner lioness.

  She was a whirling dervish before him, her hips undulating in a sensual rhythm that left him aching so badly that he might just fuck her rotten on the cushions before him. She waved her arms wildly, flaring back and forth so fast he could barely catch their sinuous snake-like dance. She arched her neck back, revealing the beautiful lines of her neck and the pale expanse of her throat. He’d mark that soon; he had plans to suckle at it until he brought beautiful colors to the fore.

  Trudy turned to face him, her body all twists and turns, promise and persuasion. He’d take whatever damnation she offered as long as he could feel her inner pleasures first. Trudy grinned at him and undulated over, her ample hips talking for her, a lure of sex and even more. Then she shocked him by sitting down over his erection and writhing against him. He could feel the heat of her even through the fabric of their pants, and he wondered if she was as wet and as aching for him as he was for her.

  Trudy licked her lips and leaned down to kiss him, her tongue dancing and caressing his own. She stood again, just as he was about to lose the fight he was having against every urge he’d ever had to grind back into her and answer her thrusts and heat with his own.

  She was dancing again, laughing and joining hands with the girl in saffron and her sister dancer in pink. There was a line of the six women—guests and experts alike—but his kitten was the fiercest. He mused that she wasn’t just his kitten anymore. She’d roared forward as a lioness: a queen of the jungle in all her glory and power.

  But he wasn’t the only predator out there. As the dance finished, the music continued and the professional belly dancers spread out to teach new women. Trudy’s hair was in disarray, flowing around her face in a golden tornado that made him grit his teeth and wish he had her in his arms already. Then a man from the bar (this was not an adherent or strict resort by any means) strode over to his lioness, to his love and grabbed her ass.

  Who dares to do such a stupid fucking thing?

  He was up then, so fast that even Barakaa couldn’t exactly remember doing it. He stormed across the restaurant like a shot and cold-cocked the other man. His fist hit the shorter man’s jaw with a resounding thud and the man stumbled back. There were shrieks echoing from every corner, and he could see the wide-eyed horror in Trudy’s gaze.

  Barakaa was past caring.

  She was his and some lowlife had touched her.

  The man swung for him and he dodged easily, having been trained at military schools until he left for college. He had to have some experience and prowess should he ever have to lead his people to war, and certainly he had to speak in an educated manner with his generals. It was far too easy to feint to the left and wrap his arms around the other man’s neck. Satisfaction coiled through him as the other man’s skin turned purple. He’d have let it go further if Trudy wasn’t pulling on his arms, hissing at him.

  “Barakaa, please, you have to let him go.”

  Those words had the effect of ice poured down his neck. He stopped then and dropped the interloper. Breath coming in ragged gasps, Barakaa seemed to realize where he was and how his anger had driven him. Part of him was wading through the shame, not because the man hadn’t deserved it. The ass surely had. There were things that people didn’t do, and no man deserved to have his filthy paws all over a stranger like that, especially besmirching someone as precious as Trudy.

  No.

  He was boiling with rage and jealousy; Barakaa had let his other instincts come bubbling to the surface and had given himself over to a lack of self-control. He was the master of his kingdom, his business and himself. He never should have let himself fall into rage like that, but she brought out the alpha male in him. He had a desperate need to protect her and keep her for himself.

  The maître d’ rushed over once Barakaa finally came back to himself. As his lioness’s indigo eyes regarded everything, he pulled the other man aside and explained what had transpired. Money would have to exchange hands tonight. However, the proper transfers into the right accounts would keep this incident private while also ensuring the next day at the Village would be more suited to his liking. There were myriad advantages to being a billionaire, but having things smoothly sorted out in his favor was by far the best part.

  But now he had damage control to do. Barakaa crooked out his elbow and regarded his lioness with determined, focused eyes. “Come. I have so much to explain.”

  She hesitated for a moment, but seemed to come to the conclusion that coming with him would be better than staying amongst the scene he’d created.

  “You bet you do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Outside were cacti and harsh sands filled with scorpions and snakes, but inside the sumptuous red silk cloth of the tent revealed a massive king bed with fluffy pillows and embroidered covers. Trudy still felt overwhelmed by the beauty of her surroundings, that much hadn’t changed. But…just as she was experiencing this oasis springing forth from the pain and venomous nature of the harsh desert, so too was she beginning to see that there was more to Barakaa’s need to control than just his superficial promises of sexual trysts.

  The man had only come up to dance. No, she hadn’t liked it and was about to tell him off politely herself, but frankly, she’d been too shocked and unprepared for a man to be grabbing her rear to do anything about it. But that didn’t mean she wanted him to almost suffocate in front of her. Barakaa had done that. Hands that had tenderly caressed her in the limo and a body with reflexes lithe enough to save her from being squashed had worked in concert to nearly do the unforgivable. She fumbled for any idea of what to say as he paced before her like a restless jungle cat.

  “You can’t screen me out forever.”

  “I can’t understand why you’d do that,” she said, her voice small and tinny even to her own ears.

  “Because you’re mine, but more than that, he touched you. I could see the discomfort on your face. He was embarrassing you and I could not let that stand.”

  “True, but this is different,” she said, her voice still unsteady. “You were like a different person or, well…” she fumbled. “Maybe you were still that man who met me the first day, who was so mean to an intern who’d just fallen on her face. Sometimes, you’re here with me,” she said, gesturing down to the necklace that was still one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. It was a rare gift, just for her, but at the moment it felt incredibly heavy. “But sometimes I don’t know who you are.”

  He stopped pacing and sat down on the bed next to her, and she couldn’t help but let him caress her face. Trudy was so drawn to him that even seeing the quick temper he held at bay couldn’t keep her from leaning into his touch. “Kitten…”

  She blushed. “You used ‘love’ before.”

  “And you tried to ignore it by getting up to dance.”

  Biting her lip, she looked away, not re
ady to have those hazel eyes gaze at her again and pick apart her defenses. “I didn’t know how to respond.”

  His hand suddenly found its way from her face to her breast, tracing along its contours and down to her stomach. His right hand trailed lower still and pushed against the fabric of her pants, the sheer material like gossamer between them. His fingers traced over her most secret lips and heat began ripping through her, igniting a fire inside her.

  Trudy blinked and forced herself to stay rational.

  “I don’t think I know how far to go. I don’t want to be a side girl or think of you with a harem.”

  “I wouldn’t have that,” he said, now switching so that his knuckles were pressing up against her, the force of his touch causing her legs to twitch and her muscles to clench deliciously.

  “I do want us…if there is an us, to be real, but I’m so scared.”

  “I’m sure it’s just been a while. I assume you were very busy in college. You don’t graduate valedictorian by having a lot of free time.”

  “No, you don’t…but I’ve never…” she trailed off, blushing and looking away, even as her breath hitched with the fiendishly talented onslaught of his knuckles. So, so talented.

  His rhythm didn’t stop and, despite herself, she started pressing against him, bucking her hips to meet his hand. She willed him to get closer to her precious pearl so those nerves would find glorious relief. So she could feel everything she wanted and craved.

  Still, when his eyes finally searched out hers, she recognized his expression was the same one he’d had at the jewelry stands, full of that same kindness and concern. “You’re a virgin?”

  “I said farm,” she clarified, daring to look back at him. “You assumed Oklahoma, but I grew up in Amish Country. There was so much frowned upon and I never…even after I got out, it was hard to push past the rules I’d obeyed all my life.” She wanted to cry, but held the tears back. She’d lived through too much to break down now. “I understand if you don’t want me now.” She felt Bakara pause in his ministrations, and braced herself for the worst.

  She gathered the courage to catch his gaze just as his pupils blew wide in arousal. “Are you serious? Such a rare and delicate flower I have before me.”

  “In my head,” she admitted, still finding the strength to carry on. “My virginity is this precious gift. I want it to be different, and rationally I know that’s not all it is, but I just can’t get past it. If we go any further, then we have to agree on two things.”

  Barakaa jutted out his chin and narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t usually negotiate with anyone.”

  “But if you want us to try we have to agree on two things. One: I’m willing to figure out how to work a real relationship around my career if we keep this quiet at the office.”

  “I don’t want whispers to bother you, so consider that much done. I’ve no interest in petty gossip either.”

  “And,” she added, feeling her heart pound, “two: you can’t be that possessive again. What you did for me tonight scared me. It was horrifying.”

  His fingers finally stopped their gratifying onslaught, and she mewled a little at their loss as he pulled his hand back. “I thought you knew that I had to protect you. You’re dear to me, kitten…Trudy,” he said, his voice a commanding baritone that made goosebumps rise on her skin.

  “But that’s different than just ‘protection,’” she said, finally willing her body to stand. To get her point across, she had to be away from him, from that connection that hummed between them as surely as electricity. “You could have hurt him. You can’t do that because of me.”

  “I have to keep you safe.”

  “I’d feel safer knowing that you won’t fly off the handle over me,” she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. “I care about you, but that side…it can’t be between us. If you have that aggression—that need—then it can’t be because of me and I don’t want to see it.”

  He stood then, lightning fast. “Then why stipulations at all?”

  Trudy frowned back at him, but then knew just what to do. Rushing over to him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips finding comfort in his. Pulling away, she threaded her hands through his dark, unkempt hair. “Because I care about you and because I don’t want this to get messy in a ‘you hit someone’ way because of me. You’re a better man than this, and that duty means you shouldn’t be like this.”

  “I thought we were both shirking the expected,” he said, smirking back at her and laughing.

  It was the first bit of lightness between them since the dancing had started, and it felt amazing to have this man and his hazel gaze and gorgeous smile all for herself.

  “So this is us, right?” she asked.

  And someone won’t end up in the ICU, and I won’t be brushed off on Monday, will I?

  He reached out and stroked her chin. “I will try to restrain my temper, if you promise to let me train you up. If I’m learning new skills, my dear, then so are you.”

  “I…I’m not sure I’m ready to fully have sex yet. I know that sounds so stupid and naïve, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that big a step tonight, not when everything’s been so nuts.”

  I guess I want the moment to be perfect, and not have to worry about strangulations or feel rushed.

  “Then I just want to ease you into it. Tomorrow, I promise I’ll show you how very special you are to me. I want to make the first time everything you want it to be, my love,” he promised. Then he sauntered over to the table by the bed

  . Sliding out a drawer, he pulled out a silk handkerchief. “I’m only going to worship your precious womanhood with my mouth. That’s what I need from you, kitten.”

  Holy heck! Is he going to blindfold me?

  She’d heard of these things. After all, she had Google and Sonia read so many colorful books that her parents would have wanted to burn as the implements of Satan. But it had never happened to her. Her panties were wet, as was the fabric of her harem pants. Her sensitive nub of nerves was pounding as she crossed her legs over each other to fight back the need.

  Barakaa fluidly moved like a fierce jungle cat as he sidled up next to her. “Now, I’m going to start training with you. You’ll do as I say, and follow my rules.”

  “And if I don’t?” she asked.

  The slap across her bottom was fast and seemed to come from nowhere. She bit her lip and forced back the urge to mewl at the delicious bite of pain spreading across her lower cheek. Idly, Trudy wondered if he’d left a mark.

  “There’ll be punishment, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” he asked. “Now, you’ll wear the blindfold. I want you to feel everything, and be aware of what you don’t notice with your eyes.” He emphasized his point by leaning down to run his tongue over the soft curve of her neck, laving over her pulse point, so thick and hot.

  Just as other things will be, when I’m ready.

  “Will you agree, kitten?”

  She nodded, trying hard to find her voice. “Anything, Barakaa, anything.”

  “Then follow my lead,” he commanded, his voice becoming a low bass that rumbled through every part of her body. The blindfold was quickly put in place and the world was dark around her. “There, now you look perfect for my tastes,” he said.

  Look being the operative word.

  Then, it started. His hands were all over her—stroking her hair, running over the curves of her body, and fingers encroaching just a bit to feel her hidden lips.

  “Now, kitten, you have to remember not to mewl too much. I’ll practice control if you do. You see, I’m going to taste every inch of you. I’m going to make you come so hard that I’ll leave you wanting to scream for more, but you have to resist.”

  “I…” she said, knowing that nothing could keep her from his charms, from the ease of the spell he cast over her. “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll try, my sheikh. Say it that way, kitten.”

  Nodding, she spoke again, her voice small
and fragile. “I’ll try, my sheikh.”

  “Good, kitten,” he replied, voice gruff. “Now, just feel it.”

  His hands worked back to her midriff, and she could feel him caressing the skin of her belly with the broad, flat palms of his hands. Then he tugged on her shirt, and she lifted her arms, thrown off balance as he removed her top. There was a slight, warm breeze through the tent and it fell over the exposed skin of her torso. She grinned as the breeze brought scents of cactus flower, the candles, and other perfumed delights deeper into the tent. Then her nose caught the deep, spicy musk that was all Barakaa’s.

  The loss of the bolero had her laid bare—the top was double paneled around her breasts, and needed neither underwear nor a camisole with it. The breeze was already making her areolas go hard; her nipples turned to rigid peaks just aching for attention.

  But darn all of it.

  I can’t even beg for what I want. This is the slowest form of torture ever imagined.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, or maybe his own mouth had ached for the taste of her nipples, now it was his mouth encircling her left breast, his tongue flicking fast and furiously over one pebbled peak. She started to moan and stopped, startled when another palm smacked against her hip. She’d have quite the mottled collecthe’ion of marks decorating her body tomorrow, that was for sure.

  He suckled her nipple into his mouth, the wetness there only matching her own as his other hand gripped her curves like a man drowning. She felt everything so much more exquisitely than she usually did without the blindfold. She reveled in every bump and slight callous on his hands that again belayed a man who loved action and would race cars, and not at all the fine, silken hands of an aristocrat who did nothing all day or of a CEO who never went into the field. His mouth tasted vaguely of the alcohol he’d been drinking before dinner, a dark taste sweetened by the tangy undercurrent of the date bread.