by Delta James
“They were high-security boarding schools, built like fortresses. Sometimes in big cities, but more often than not, they were very remote. I was never in any one place too long. Every few months, he moved me, and I never went to the same school twice.” Her voice got soft and small when he frowned. “They were all-girl schools.”
“Now that I can believe. He didn’t want to share you with anyone else, even back then.”
She recoiled. “That’s disgusting.” But that didn’t make it untrue. When she thought about it, she could still feel the way her brother had forced her to bare her bottom before cupping her sex between her legs. He’d held her as if he owned her.
Aliya fought back the shudders. It was hard to understand how she could go through that, how she could know the things she now knew, and still love him. He was her brother, and when she looked at him, she saw the one person had always been there for her. He was the wall which had stood between her and their father whenever he’d fallen into one of his tempers, taken blows for her when he was there to interfere. He’d doctored her cuts and bruises and held her, shaking with anger as he whispered promises it would never happen again whenever he’d come home too late to stop it. Then their father had died. Honestly, she didn’t remember very much about those early years.
What she did remember was Fariq suddenly stepping into the center of her world and her life, taking over their father’s position in the company as well as in their home. The house was sold, Fariq became nomadic in his movements, and Aliya went to the boarding schools. But she was never beaten again, and she couldn’t remember ever wanting for anything. Not after Fariq took over her care.
He’d never complained. She’d never had a phone number for him, an address, or any way to get ahold of him. He’d sent her letters like clockwork every two weeks, telling her he was proud of her, that he missed her, sometimes gently chiding her if she did something that wasn’t proper, but always telling her that she was loved. His cards never missed a birthday or a holiday, and he always seemed to know exactly what she was doing.
Yes, she’d hated how frequently she had to move, but she understood it wasn’t her brother’s fault. He was doing whatever he had to for whatever job it was that forced him to live like a nomad, making money hand over fist, making enemies, so he always had to live surrounded by armed bodyguards and soldiers.
“Proper ladies do not ask such questions,” had been Fariq’s quiet reply the one time she’d dared to ask him what he did for a living.
She’d never asked again.
Instead, she’d learned how to be a lady, the kind he wouldn’t be ashamed of or need to scold.
She’d never had anyone—apart from Fariq—she could call a friend because she’d never been anywhere long enough to make one. She’d only had her brother. She adored him, idolized him, felt safe and secure with him.
Or at least, she used to.
Slowly, Christian heaved himself to his feet, only to stop halfway up. Hands clasped to thighs, he let out a slow breath as he steeled himself to bring his legs together.
Worrying her hands, she watched him.
“I’m sorry.”
He laughed darkly. “Nowhere near as sorry as you’re going to be in about half a minute.”
The look he gave her was even darker, sending shivers dancing down her spine and strangely, straight to the tips of her tightening nipples. The sensitive flesh drew into achy points, jutting out against the confines of her bra as if reaching for him. The urge to back away was strong, but since he only bowed his head, his big hands braced above his knees as he breathed through the last of the pain, then slowly straightened, she chalked the threat up to… well, getting kneed. She’d never really noticed how much bigger he was… until now.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked guiltily. Her brother used to keep Tylenol in his desk. If he didn’t lock it, she was pretty sure she could find it.
He laughed again, still low and dark. “If we were on land, I’d be sending you for two or three stout switches right now.”
All right, she was starting to feel a little less bad. Hands knuckling onto her hips, she snapped back, “You grabbed me first. If you don’t want to get kneed, next time, keep your hands to yourself!”
Opening his eyes, he fixed his steely blue gaze directly on her—sending shivers once more racing through her.
“You’re right,” he said. “I did it wrong last time. Let’s try this again.”
Her womb pulsed. One hot, wanton, thoroughly out-of-place throb of desire lit her up between her legs like fireworks on the Fourth of July, then he lunged at her.
She’d have throat punched him, except he moved too fast. She hadn’t realized how big his hands were until he clamped onto her wrist. Her womb sent out another needy pulse of lust-filled wanting, but a cold shock of common sense just as quickly dashed that sensation from everywhere except her steadily throbbing clit and ever-tightening nipples.
She gasped, but that was all she had time for before he spun her around, wrenching her arm up her back, and slammed her belly-first against the wall. She yanked her head back in time to keep from whacking her cheek, but before she could even suck her next breath, he’d yanked her skirt up past her hips, holding it there with the same hand that tightly gripped her wrist, and the flat of his other hand came crashing down with a single, hard swat that lit up her left butt cheek in the vibrant shock of stinging pain she’d felt in the café in Morocco.
She lost all the breath in her lungs. Sucking another shrill gasp, had he struck her again, she’d have screamed. Instead, his hard body flattened against her, pinning her to the wall, so a stray thread would have been unable to squeeze between them. His hips flatted her ass, covered by only her thin, silk panties and the tingling sting of his single handprint. His slow exhale brushed hot breath across the back of her neck as he inclined his head. She tingled there as well, her breasts and nipples loving the crush of him pinning her to the wall.
“You need your ass beat,” he growled, raising all the fine hairs on the back of her neck and arms, sending that all too inappropriate sizzle of sensation rioting through her waking nerve endings. The pitch and timbre of his voice changed, shivering her. “You need a lot of things,” he mused. In a swift shift of his weight, he abruptly kicked her legs apart, wedging his knee between hers until she could feel the hard press of his thigh flat against her buttocks and flat against her sex. The pressure of his rough touch made her pussy and clit spasm. “Play with me like that again, I double-fucking dare you. Not only will I play, I promise I won’t play fair.”
Her whole body shuddered in the most delicious wave of wanting when he shifted at her back, and she felt the very solid, prodding touch nudging her buttocks from behind. She might have been raised in Catholic boarding schools for most of her life, but their encounter in Morocco had taught her exactly what that was, and she thrilled at the memory.
“Wh-What…” she stammered, but she had no way to finish. Heat laved her, the embarrassing lick of its flames between the lips of her sex feeling less like her own flowing wetness and more like the toying light caress of his fingers tickling through her folds.
His fingers flexed on her captured wrist. The strain his hold was putting on her shoulder was at once uncomfortable, yet—her breath caught—exhilarating. She should not be feeling like this. Not in this crazy situation and certainly not for this man.
His hips moved again, this time drawing back only to push the prodding bulge of his cock against her, mock thrusting that made the flames of her body flush hotter.
“Stop it,” she whispered, her refusal falling far short of sounding convincing.
“Stop what?” He pumped slowly, grinding the bulge of his cock in the valley between her buttocks.
“That.” Her breath caught when his caress heated a path along her hairline from the nape of her neck to the shell of her ear. Her skin prickled, waiting with heightened anticipation for the caressing kiss of his lips to follow. What she felt
instead was the comb of his fingers sliding up the back of her scalp before closing a fist in her hair. He pinned her head to the wall every bit as fast as the rest of her body was pinned beneath his pressing weight. He didn’t kiss her ear, biting it instead, his teeth catching the vulnerable lobe and sending every nerve inside her leaping in a sexual frenzy she had no idea how to withstand.
The nip echoed in the peaks of her bud-tight nipples.
It echoed even more fiercely between her legs.
She tried to snap them closed, but her thighs only clapped against his leg, hugging it fiercely tight against her pulsing pussy.
“That, what?” he mocked. “Use your words, baby girl. Tell Daddy again what he can and can’t do.”
Her exhale shivered out of her.
“You’re not my father.”
He only laughed, another low, breathy chuckle that made the riot of her over-stimulated nerves shiver through her.
“No, I’m not. You like this… need this. That’s what I meant.”
“No…” Her body revolted. The wetness flowed so hard and so suddenly, saturating the gusset of her underwear, despite the immediate, knee-jerk refusal that soared through her head and chest.
“Liars get spanked, Princess.”
Her bottom remembered the discomfort, even if her sex shivered at the threat.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Except, he would. He’d already done it so thoroughly, the entire surface of her bottom had been sensitive to the slightest touch the next day. She’d had to sleep on her stomach that first night so she wouldn’t have to feel the tender reminder of what he’d done—and what her brother had tried to echo. Disturbing as that had been, Christian hadn’t just caught her attention, he’d consumed it.
He was still consuming it.
His nibbling teeth on her ear sent a riot of shivering spasms racing through every erogenous zone. His restraining hold on her hair and her wrist were as titillating as they were commanding. The bulge of his cock strained to get at her through the fastened zipper of his rough jeans. The scrape of denim against the swells of her ass, not to mention the seam of her needy pussy, only made the ache of her desire that much sharper.
“Let me go,” she said a little stronger, her voice not quite as shaky but still quivering.
“Tell me what you want, Princess… use your words. Tell Daddy how much you want him to fuck you again.”
“I… I don’t want you.”
“That’s ten, Princess, and this time, I’ll make you count them before I use your pussy the way it needs using.”
“Ibn haram,” she hissed.
“That’s twenty, and I fuck your mouth instead. Want to go for thirty, and I take your ass? I’d advise you to wait for that until I’m more interested in your pleasure than mine.”
“Please, Christian, I’m sorry.”
“Better.” He kept her hair fisted in his hand and pulled down the pink panties. “Now, you count for me. Every time I smack your ass, you count. Miss one and we start over.” Before she could truly comprehend, his hand descended on her naked buttocks with even more force than before. “Count, Aliya. I won’t remind you again.”
“One,” she seethed.
Christian swatted her backside—each time holding his hand against the spot to hold in the heat and discomfort as she counted. Her first counts were haughty… almost belligerent, but by the time they hit fifteen, she was crying and pleading. Christian Reid was a man who knew how to give a spanking—one that not only hurt more with each blow but ignited, then fanned the flames of desire. She was being consumed in a fire, not of her making, but one to which she had no resistance.
“Little girls don’t lie and don’t break into their big brother’s private office. They do not put themselves at risk. Am I clear?”
Smack!
“Twenty,” she sobbed, praying he was actually done and would press her against the wall, using his cock to relieve the ache within her pussy that exceeded the one searing through the flesh of her backside.
“Had I known it would make you like… like this, I wouldn’t have kneed you quite so hard.”
He stilled. “Like this? You mean, horny?” His voice hardened. “Boy, those nuns really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
As hot as her body pulsed, it was amazing she could still feel the flush of burning mortification move through her. She locked her lips.
“On your knees, Aliya, and open your mouth.”
“I don’t know how…” she began.
“Not to worry, this is for me. Just open your mouth, relax your jaw, and breathe through your nose.”
Aliya dropped to her knees. It seemed much easier to obey Christian than her brother. There was no humiliation, no resentment, just a desire to please him and trust he would take care of her.
He kept his fist in her hair, tugging gently, lighting up her scalp, which in turn fed the inferno building inside her.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth. Tickle your tonsils… if you will.”
She allowed the tension to leave her body and watched as he opened his fly. His large, hard cock sprang out and was in her mouth before she knew what was happening. She tried to suppress her gag reflex.
“I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m not going to pleasure you, either. And you damn well better not try to ease that ache in your clit and cunt by yourself.”
He invaded her mouth, pushing past her teeth and pressing her tongue down, pressing in until he was at the back of her throat. Holding her head in place, he began to thrust, gently at first, then with more force and determination.
“Damn, you feel good.”
He filled her mouth and fucked in and out repeatedly, groaning as he did so, increasing his pace as she felt him swell inside her mouth. His dick throbbed as he dragged his cock forward and backward over her tongue.
“I’m going to empty myself in your belly. Don’t you dare let even a drop hit the floor.”
Aliya could feel her sex slick and swollen. She desperately wanted him to stroke her pussy, not her mouth, but she was determined to please him. His cock seemed to explode, and her mouth and throat were filled with his tangy, creamy essence. Swallowing, she felt his cum slide down her throat.
When she looked up, Christian’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, and he groaned as his cock filled her mouth, throat, and belly with its warmth. When he was finished, he drew back and folded his cock back into his pants.
“Not bad for a first time, Princess. Best you consider me fire—play with me again, and I’ll burn you in ways that scar.”
He dragged her up by her hair. Belatedly, she remembered to shove her hiked skirt over her bare ass. Refusing to let him see her shaking, she grabbed the doorknob, but just as fast, he slapped his hand against it, refusing to let her escape.
Her whole-body keyed into the press of his body as he leaned into her again. Once more slow, once more dangerous, once more so powerfully attractive, it was all she could do to not let her weakening knees sink out from under her or let her head fall onto his strong shoulder, especially when the heat of his breath caressed the side of her neck.
“Whatever that man told you at the bazaar, you’re not an agent for anybody. Nobody here is going to protect you, certainly not me. Don’t go snooping where you shouldn’t. It’s only going to get you killed.”
That stopped her, almost angry in her desperation, not to mention her need to get out of here.
“But… you are an agent?”
No faster had she got the word out, his hand clapped onto her throat. He shoved her into the wall so hard, the door shook, and she gasped. The severity in his expression could have been chiseled from granite, and she would never have known by looking at him he had ever wanted her, not like she wanted him—even now.
“I am not an idiot, nor am I your white knight. Don’t do anything to get me killed, or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”
She believed him.
The minute he shoved back off her again,
she wrenched open the door and ran from the room—just not fast enough to avoid the hard clap of his hand smacking her ass as she zipped out the door. She was back in her room before she could breathe again. Aliya stifled a flurry of sobs born of fear, emptiness, and unappeased ache, pulsing deep between her legs.
Collapsing at the foot of her bed, she tried to make herself stop shaking. She suddenly realized she’d lost the paper yet again.
Oh God, no.
She searched her pockets, turning them inside out. Ripping off her shoes, she searched them, but gravity had not granted her a second Hail-Mary pass. The paper wasn’t caught down the side like last time.
When did she have it last? She barely remembered setting it on the edge of Fariq’s desk while she powered up his laptop, right before Christian came in and scared the hell out of her. She’d left it there.
She had to get that paper back. She had to! Before Fariq or one of his men did.
Shoving off the bed, she raced to the door, throwing it open, only to stop, frozen in her tracks as she found herself staring up into the mildly surprised gaze of her brother. His hand, still raised to knock, slowly lowered again.
“I thought that was you I heard,” he said without a smile.
Aliya had no idea how much lust still lingered in her body until it died, right there in her doorway, hard and cold beneath his disapproving stare.
“You are still grounded, darling. What are you doing, roaming the halls of the ship so late at night?”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. What would happen if Fariq could tell she had swallowed Christian’s cum? Did it show? Nothing came out of her mouth. She couldn’t make herself move, not until he stepped toward her, forcing her back into her room.
“I-I…” she stammered as he took the door from her hand and closed it behind him. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“No?” Leaning back against the door, he folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t answer my question. You know you’re grounded until morning. The pitter-patter of your tiny feet never should have ventured beyond this threshold. I wouldn’t have thought I’d need to punish you again so soon, or perhaps I should let Reid do it. His discipline did seem to make an impression.”