Mistletoe for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 17)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Ah, so you find pleasure in breaking rules. Flaunting authority. Ignoring Mother’s pleas. Disobeying Father’s wishes,” the Sheikh whispered as he felt himself stiffen to full mast again, though he’d been hard for a long time now.

  “Something like that,” she muttered. “Though I never even met my father. So maybe that’s the root of it all. Maybe I just need that authoritative male figure to put his foot down, put me in my place, take control, dominate me.”

  The Sheikh almost exploded against her lower back and ass when he heard her words. Was she playing him, he wondered as he finished lathering her hair and took a step back, pulling her into the central meeting point of all the shower streams. If she was, she was doing it perfectly. Telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. Saying things she knew his ex-wife would never have said.

  Does she think she needs to compete with Renita, he wondered as he watched the water roll down her naked shoulders in beads as he stood behind her, the sun shining through the open wall. Ya Allah, if only she knew that even at the best of times I was barely attracted to Renita. That woman is no competition to this one. But there is no need to tell Queenie that yet. Let it play out. Let us see what this woman is willing to do to win her king. Let us see what she is willing to take.

  “So you were a bad girl growing up in Alaska,” he whispered, turning off the showers one by one until the bathroom slowly went quiet.

  “Very bad,” she whispered, rubbing her ass against him and giggling. “May I have a towel please.”

  “No towels for bad girls,” he said, reaching around and pinching her wet nipples until they hardened into points. “The sun will dry you. Come into my garden.”

  “Um, sunburn, anyone?” she said, squinting as he led her out through the open wall and onto the fine sand of the private garden. “I don’t think so!”

  “I will do this in the shade. And though you will feel the burn, it will not be from the sun.”

  Queenie whipped her head around as the Sheikh tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her out into the sunshine. “Excuse me? Do what in the shade?”

  “Show you what happens to bad girls who have no sense of discipline,” he said, grinning as he led her to the shade of a palm tree and pointed at the ground. “Down on your knees, please.”

  “Um, I don’t think so. Not until you tell me what you’re going to do!”

  The Sheikh reached down and rubbed her naked ass, which was still wet from the shower. This would sting, he knew, feeling his cock throb as he imagined her magnificent globes turning red as he spanked her, indulging himself in a fantasy he’d had for years—a fantasy he’d never lived out. The strange thing was, even when he’d closed his eyes and imagined it, it had never been Renita in that fantasy. It had always been a woman whose face was obscured. Nothing but her curves, the back of her head, her clean, tight asshole staring at him as he spanked her raw and then took his release. Was it Queenie who’d always been in his fantasies? Or was it the other way around? Was the initial attraction to Queenie simply because she resembled that faceless woman of his most private fantasies?

  Ya Allah, I am a sick man, he thought as he put his big hands on her shoulders and pushed her down to the ground. She resisted at first, but when she half-turned and glanced down at his cock, which was sticking straight out, brown and glistening in the sun, she fluttered her eyelids and obeyed.

  Perhaps she will tolerate me for a while and then call me a monster and leave, he thought as he made her lean forward and stick her ass up in the air. She had to know what was coming, yes? And although there was hesitation, she was submitting. Allowing him to dominate. Giving life to his fantasy like she knew it was what he needed.

  “Have you ever been spanked?” he whispered, leaning in and kissing her smooth asscheeks, running his tongue along the perfect outer curve of her crack.

  Queenie shook her head slowly, her breathing sounding heavy and labored. He could smell her wetness starting to flow from between her legs, and he reached beneath her and rubbed her mound until his hand was soaked with her discharge.

  “Never allowed it,” she said softly. “One guy tried it and I kicked him in the balls. Most of the others were too timid to even . . . oh, God, what are you doing?”

  The Sheikh slid his middle finger deep into her asshole as she spoke, the wetness he’d gathered from her pussy making a wonderful natural lubricant. “Go on,” he whispered, pushing the finger in down to the knuckle and holding it still as he felt her tense up and then slowly begin to relax. “You were saying?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what I was saying,” she whimpered.

  “I believe you threatened to kick me in the balls if I attempted to spank you,” the Sheikh said, staring at the sight of her rear pucker closing around his finger. It was exquisite, erotic, beautiful. Better than his wildest fantasy, and this was just the beginning! “That sort of statement calls for a higher level of discipline than I anticipated. A much deeper level of domination.”

  He moved his finger in slow circles as he spoke, feeling her anus relax and open up enough to slide another finger into her. His cock was pumped full of blood, throbbing like it was begging to enter her. But he held off, smiling as the swaying palm leaves filtered the sun, casting splinters of shadow on Queenie’s smooth white skin.

  With two fingers in her asshole, he brought his other hand down on her left asscheek, a tight, quick slap that made her cry out in surprise. He massaged her rump, then slapped her again on her rear cushion, his breath catching when he saw her buttocks begin to turn red.

  “Oh, fuck,” she groaned after taking several deep gulps of air. “That’s just . . . oh, God, that’s just . . .”

  “Have you ever fantasized about this?” he whispered, spanking her once more, harder this time, his open palm getting her squarely on the meat of her rump, making her ass shiver and shake.

  She cried out again, shaking her head and then nodding. “Yeah,” she finally said. “I used to read some Victorian romances, and there was some spanking in there. Powerful men disciplining defiant women sort of thing. But . . . I mean . . .”

  “But yet you never allowed a man to do that to you,” the Sheikh said, pulling his fingers out of her asshole and spanking her other rear cheek so hard a bird peeked its head out from the palm leaves, chirped at them, and then flew away. “Why not?”

  Queenie didn’t answer, and the Sheikh leaned forward and kissed her lower back, his cock resting lengthwise against her rear crack. He didn’t ask the question again. He already knew the answer. This woman was strong and dominant in her own way. She would never allow a less dominant man to impose himself on her. And so many men were goddamn pussies these days. Unwilling to let go, to dominate their woman the way she craved in her private fantasies. The Sheikh knew this because he’d been a man like that throughout his marriage—holding himself back. He’d married the wrong woman, and then he’d doubled down on his mistake by staying in the marriage. No more. Not this time. This woman was not a mistake, and he knew it because this time he’d followed his cock and his heart, not logic or the advice of his dead mothers.

  A wave of anger whipped through the Sheikh as he thought back to how his mother and stepmothers had arranged the marriage with Renita, convincing the eighteen-year-old Bawaar that she was the right one for him. He’d felt nothing at that first meeting with the frigid Arabian minor princess from one of the neighboring Sheikhdoms. And on the wedding night he’d almost been sick to his stomach when he realized he had a lifetime of unfulfilling sex to look forward to—unless he took more wives or chose to get sex from whores.

  Taking more than one wife was a non-starter—his mother and step-mothers had made sure of that. They’d changed the laws of Wakhrani after Bawaar’s father had died, and although Bawaar could have reinstated the old traditions when he ascended to the throne, he did not. He’d seen what having four wives had done to his fat
her. He’d experienced what having four mothers had done to him! Ya Allah, imagine being saddled with four Renitas, he’d thought, with all of them scheming and conspiring against him!

  And so Bawaar had turned his attention to his work, his duty, his kingdom and people. He’d modernized the economy, positioning Wakhrani to eventually move away from relying on oil revenues. He’d done away with archaic laws while still maintaining the good and useful traditions that came from the kingdom’s Islamic heritage. And he’d dutifully tried to impregnate his Queen, to make sure the line continued when he was gone.

  The Sheikh reached around and pressed Queenie’s breasts as he grinded his cock against her rear, closing his eyes and groaning out loud as he felt the splintered sunlight on his bare shoulders. It was like he was letting go of the past as he slowly took this new woman into his life, and it was only as he allowed himself to sink deeper into his mind that he recognized how much of an impact the lack of children had had on him.

  After ten years without a royal pregnancy, certainly rumors had spread throughout the kingdom. Was the Sheikha barren? Was the Sheikh impotent? Was there something else going on? It didn’t make sense. The Sheikh had privately gotten himself tested, and the results had clearly shown a healthy sperm-count with strong swimmers! Renita herself had refused to take any tests, and she’d almost spat at him when he suggested fertility treatments.

  Bawaar had considered having Renita secretly tested, perhaps by having one of her attendants draw blood from her while she was asleep. He’d wondered if she was taking contraceptives. It seemed to be the only explanation. After all, in ten years there would at least have been a miscarriage, yes? Unless she’d had one and kept it a secret!

  There had been a phase when Bawaar wondered if Renita had in fact been getting pregnant but was aborting his children, but he’d finally dismissed it as paranoia. After all, although no one who knew her would classify Renita as having maternal instincts, the woman most certainly would want her child in line for the throne, yes? Renita herself was a minor Jordanian princess, with no chance of sitting on a throne in her home kingdom. And certainly she’d enjoyed the pomp and splendor that went along with being a Sheikha. In fact that seemed to be the only thing that brought a smile to Renita’s face through most of their marriage.

  “Why didn’t you guys have children in all those years you were married?” Queenie asked, and the Sheikh opened his eyes and stared at the back of her head, wondering if he was imagining the question.

  “Are you asking if there is something wrong with me?” the Sheikh growled after getting over the shock at her strangely timed question. “You dare question the king’s virility?”

  Queenie laughed from beneath him. “Well, considering I saw your virility up close and personal when you exploded all over my face and hair, no. I’m just questioning . . . I guess I’m just curious. Is that why you left her? Because she couldn’t have children? And that’s why you think she’s lying about being pregnant?”

  The Sheikh felt a chill rise up in him along with a spark of anger. Was she asking if he discarded his wife because of an inability to have children?! He clenched his fist, resisting the urge to spank her so hard she cried for mercy. But then he closed his eyes and acknowledged the truth: That he’d asked himself that same question in the years leading up to the divorce.

  Is it true? Am I a man who saw his wife as nothing more than a tool, a vehicle to continue my line? And once it appeared that Renita either could not or would not carry my child, I decided to leave her?

  “Do you think I will leave you if you cannot bear me a child?” he asked. “Is that why you are asking?”

  He felt her tense up beneath him, and then she turned and looked at him. “So are we together now? Is that why we’re talking about the conditions under which you’ll leave me?” She smiled and then shook her head again. “No. I guess it sounds like I’m asking because I’m worried about you dumping me if I can’t pop out an heir for your royal line. But really, I don’t think you’ll leave me.”

  The Sheikh’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but smile back at this American woman. Ya Allah, she was a . . . janitor?! The king and the cleaning lady?! Where did she get such confidence? Was it confidence or recklessness?

  “That is a little presumptuous, do you not think?” he said softly, his voice deepening as he held the eye contact until she finally blinked and looked down. “We have only just met. Perhaps I will meet someone else next week.”

  “Fine with me,” she said, shaking her ass in his face and shrugging. “You can have up to four wives, right? What the hell. Maybe the other bitches can carry your children. That way my pussy won’t get all stretched out.”

  The Sheikh almost choked with laughter as he listened to Queenie up the ante, match him blow for blow as they joked about matters that might have made any other woman pout, sulk, or throw an epic tantrum. Ya Allah, this was just what he needed to offset the schemes and machinations of whatever Renita was planning. This was just what he needed from a queen.

  “Having other wives might save you from the pain of childbirth,” said the Sheikh, reaching between her legs from behind and rubbing her wet slit as she giggled and then moaned. “But you are still going to get stretched like never before.”

  “Delusions of grandeur,” she muttered as the Sheikh pressed the head of his cock against her slit and began to push. “Oh, God, what is that? It’s so . . . so big!”

  The Sheikh roared with laughter, pushing himself all the way into her warm vagina as she spread for him. He’d wanted to take her in the rear, dominate her in a way he’d never done with any woman. But now he wanted to pour his seed into her pussy again, fill her up all the way. He’d spanked her, held her down and pushed two fingers into her asshole, then spanked her again. But in the end she’d manipulated him with her humor and fire, a deadly combination that made him want to make babies with her, to plant his seed in her womb, to watch her push out children that had his eyes and her hair.

  He came quickly, his balls seizing up and delivering his load deep into her cavern as she reached between them and rubbed him from beneath. Bawaar’s eyes rolled up in his head when he felt her soft hands cup his balls and coax his semen out, and he pumped every last drop into her before collapsing on her back, his weight pushing her face-first into the soft sand.

  “Did you come?” he asked after catching his breath and regaining some clarity of vision even though his head was still spinning from the orgasm.

  She sighed from beneath him. “Since when does the king care if the chamber-maid has an orgasm?”

  The Sheikh grunted. “I thought you were the cleaning lady.”

  “Chamber maid is much more dramatic. And lower down in the pecking order.”

  “You do not strike me as a high-drama woman. Nor do I think you worry much about society’s pecking order,” Bawaar said, rolling off her and sliding his hand between her legs. “Here. I will help you finish. Come.”

  She swatted his hand away, crossing her arms over her boobs and making a face. “How romantic. First you come on my face. Then you spank me, violate my holiest of holes, and finally come inside me in like two seconds. My pleasure was clearly just an afterthought, and oh, now you want to shove your paws between my legs and make me come like you’ve got the magic touch.”

  “You should consider yourself fortunate I am thinking of your pleasure at all,” the Sheikh said, grinning as he forced her thighs apart and rubbed her mound roughly. “As for my magic touch . . . that is absolutely real. Here. We shall test it. Let us see how long you can go without coming from my touch. Spread for me and I will show you that magic touch.”

  “No problem. I can hold my ground,” Queenie said, keeping her arms folded over her boobs, a fake pout on her face. But she allowed the Sheikh to spread her thighs, and she closed her eyes as she felt the warm desert breeze whisper through her pubic curls as the sun moved a
long the desert sky. “I’ll just think about baseball.”

  “Baseball? Does that arouse you? All those big bats and heavy balls? I can see why I make you think of that.”

  Queenie giggled, keeping her eyes clamped shut. “Keep talking. Your dumb jokes are gonna make sure my pussy dries up like a tomato in the sun.”

  “Now that is an arousing image,” the Sheikh said through stifled laughter, leaning over and watching his fingers part her slit, exposing her inner lips. “Did I mention I love to eat sundried tomatoes?”

  “Eww!” Queenie shrieked as the Sheikh lowered his face, held her slit open, and began to lick her. “You’re so gross!”

  “This is only the beginning,” the Sheikh said, licking his lips before going down again, this time finding her stiff clit and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. “Wait until you are pregnant and I am forced to take you in the arse every night. For the safety of the child, of course.”

  “Of course,” she muttered, and Bawaar could see the arousal taking over. She was going to come soon, he knew. Good, because he was getting hard again. “Because your cock is so big that fucking me while I’m pregnant would impale our child. Keep dreaming, big shot.”

  “Did you just imply that I have a small cock?” the Sheikh said, grinning as he raised his head from between her legs. His erection was back, and he suddenly straddled her, moving up along her body until his cock stood straight out over her face. “All right. Open your eyes and tell me what you see. Open your eyes and bear witness to what is going to stretch your holiest of holes so wide it may never close up again. Open, I say!”

  16

  Queenie felt the shade on her face before she opened her eyes, and when she finally saw his cock standing straight above her like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, thick and curved, heavy and full, she gasped and swallowed hard.

  “Just so you know,” she said, moving her head to the left just so she could see past his massive cock, “I’m not taking another shower. My skin will get dried out and puckered.”