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

by Annabelle Winters

  “Faster!” shouted the Sheikh, grasping her hand and tightening her grip on his cock as Queenie jerked him up and down. “Ya Allah, I am almost there! Mush! Mush!”

  “You are ridiculous!” Queenie squealed, almost doubling over in laughter at the sight of the Sheikh, his pants down around his knees, cockhead bulging out the top of her fist which couldn’t even close around his massive girth. And he was yelling Mush as she jerked him off as hard as she could! “So perverted!”

  “I will show you perverted,” the Sheikh growled, suddenly pulling her hand away from his cock, grabbing the steering wheel, yanking it sharply to the right, and heading straight for a gigantic snowbank along the shoulder of the road. “Hit the brakes, please.”

  Queenie screamed as the car smashed through the soft snow, drove off the road, and finally stopped about fifty yards away from the highway in a deep ditch. She’d slammed the brakes on in time so they didn’t hit hard enough for the airbags to pop, but the car was leaning forward in the ditch, its rear wheels off the ground and spinning hopelessly.

  “Are you fucking insane!” Queenie shouted, smacking the Sheikh on the head and then doing it again as she tried to control her panic. “You could have gotten us killed!”

  “I would have died if I did not get to fuck you right now,” said the Sheikh, grinning like a madman as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, stumbling in the deep snow as he pulled his pants and underwear off his ankles.

  Queenie stared in complete disbelief as the pantless Sheikh ran through the snow, circling the car and getting to her door. She tried to lock the door, but the safety measures had kicked in, which forced all the doors to unlock if there was an accident. The Sheikh pulled open her door, wrapped his arms around her so she wouldn’t fall forward as he unbuckled her seatbelt. Then, as she laughed and screamed, he pulled her into the snow and pushed her down head-first, yanking down her jeans as she tried to playfully kick him away.

  “You maniac!” she squealed as she felt the cold snow against her hips and pussy as the Sheikh grunted and growled as he pulled her jeans off and ripped her underwear right down the back seam. “You are seriously the most . . . oh, God, Bawaar! Oh, my fucking God!”

  Her eyes rolled up in her head as she felt the Sheikh enter her from behind, the heat of his massive cock bringing out her own heat so quick she swore she heard the snow sizzle. And then he was fucking her, hard and with complete abandon, the two of them facing the midnight sun, Santa Claus on that billboard saying, “Have a Mushy Christmas!”

  “Ya Allah!” he roared as he spread her rear cheeks, pushed his middle finger into her asshole, and twisted it around as he rammed into her so hard her entire body shuddered in rhythm. “Mush! Mush! Mush!”

  Queenie almost choked with the mixture of laughter and arousal, heat and cold, the shock of the accident and the sheer joy of being taken so hard under the open skies where she’d grown up. She cried as she came, howled like an Arctic she-wolf as the Sheikh warmed her insides with his hot semen, pumping and growling like he was her animal mate out here in the Alaskan wilderness.

  They came together in the eerie midnight sun for a long time, and only after the Sheikh collapsed on her back, pushing her face down into the snow, did Queenie realize they were almost buried in snow.

  And so was their car.

  24

  “You do realize that your cock is to blame for this,” Queenie said, crossing her arms over her breasts and shivering as she pressed on the accelerator and then looked back as the Sheikh tried to pull the rear wheels of the car back down so they could get enough traction to drive out of the ditch. “We’re going to die out here because of your cock. I should have figured this was how I’d go. Dead because of a man’s cock. I never believed Mama when she said ‘Cock will be the death of you, child,’ but here I am.”

  The Sheikh laughed, taking a break from his effort and strolling around to her window. “Did your mother really say that?”

  “No, but it’s something she mighta said,” Queenie said. She looked around and frowned. “But seriously. I know you’re strong and all, but you’re not going to be able to tip a three ton car back from this angle. We need to call for help.”

  “How?” said the Sheikh, pulling out his phone and grimacing. “I still have no signal. How about you?”

  Queenie looked at her phone for the hundredth time in the past hour and shook her head, and only when the Sheikh saw the glimmer of fear in her eyes did the seriousness of the situation begin to register. It was getting colder outside. They were miles from the last gas station, and miles from the next one. This was remote country, where Blue-Eyes’s wife lived. People died out here.

  The Sheikh took a breath and narrowed his eyes as he looked into the horizon. Then he turned and looked towards the road. They hadn’t seen another car pass in either direction in almost two hours.

  “There must be emergency callboxes out here,” he said, keeping his voice calm,

  “This far out? Yeah, but only every thirty miles or so.”

  “Which means the farthest I would have to walk is fifteen miles,” said the Sheikh.

  “Depends on the direction. I don’t remember where the last call box was, so if we passed it like five miles ago and you choose to walk in the other direction, you’d have to go twenty-five miles! Besides, no one’s walking anywhere! We’re gonna stay put! Sooner or later a car will pass.”

  The Sheikh glanced at his Range Rover face-first in the snow. Then he turned towards the highway, which was a solid fifty yards away. Would a passing car see them from there? No.

  “You stay in the car and keep warm,” the Sheikh said. “There is water and some beef jerky in the backseat. I will wait by the highway and flag down the next vehicle.”

  Queenie frowned and bit her lip. “How far is Blue-Eyes’s house?”

  “Another fifty miles. Too far to walk,” said the Sheikh. “This is our best option. Someone will see us.”

  “Eventually, but not before you freeze to death out there. We’ll take shifts standing by the highway. I’ll go first.”

  “No,” said the Sheikh obstinately. “You will do as I say. Stay in the car.”

  “I have more body fat!” Queenie said, forcing a smile even though the Sheikh could see the panic building.

  “I have more muscle. Also, I am in charge here.”

  Queenie laughed, pointing up at the sky. “That’s who’s in charge.”

  “God?” said the Sheikh.

  “I meant the weather. But sure,” Queenie said, her jaw tightening. Then suddenly she relaxed, her eyes going wide. “All right. I’ve got it. I should have thought of this earlier.”

  She got out of the car, and the Sheikh stared as she gathered their jackets, the water bottles, and the little food they had. She carried the supplies some distance away from the car, turning and looking back at him as she placed them on the ground.

  “Get the toolbox out of the trunk in case we need something later. In fact, get anything we might need from the car.” She stood straight and looked at him, a strange, almost excited glint in her eye. “Anything you don’t want burned.”

  The Sheikh hesitated, and then he just grinned and did what she said. He grabbed the toolbox, a couple of blankets, the rubber floormats for added warmth and so they could camp out without getting wet. Then he just winked at her and stood back, watching his queen get to work.

  He watched her as she dipped a dry rag into the gas tank, getting the edge of it damp with gasoline. Quickly she turned the rag over, pushing the other end into the gas tank.

  “Now you’ve got your fuse,” she said out loud like she was talking to herself. The Sheikh could see that she was enjoying this in a weird way, and he smiled when he realized she was as crazy as he was. As crazy as they all were. As crazy as the situation.

  “No cigarette lighter in the car though,�
� he said, folding his arms across his chest and smiling. “And nothing in the emergency kit. I looked.”

  Queenie just narrowed her brown eyes at him and shrugged, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a book of matches. “Old habits,” she said winking as she struck two of them at once. “Stand back, love. Let the expert handle this.”

  The Sheikh stared in wonder as his woman carefully lit the edge of the rag, and he swore he saw pure, unadulterated delight light up her face as the flames caught. He almost ran over to pull her away from the car as she nonchalantly walked towards where he was standing, but he let her come to him at her own pace. This was her thing, he realized. She needed to do this.

  The gas tank exploded just as Queenie got to him, and she slipped her arm in his as the car burst into glorious orange flame. Neither of them spoke, and finally the Sheikh put on his sunglasses, held her by the waist, and kissed her gently on the forehead as she stared into the fire . . . the fire which would keep them warm and also serve as a beacon to any passing cars. The fire which was going to save their lives.

  “You want to borrow my sunglasses?” he said softly.

  But Queenie just shook her head, her eyes riveted, wide open, the flames clearly reflected in her pupils. “Nope. I’m good.”

  25

  “I’m good,” Queenie said firmly as she looked at Mrs. Blue-Eyes and then over at Renita.

  “You sure?” said Mrs. Blue-Eyes. “The tea is really good. Renita brought it over from the Middle-East.” She turned to the Sheikh. “How about you? You like your tea sweet, right? Renita told me.”

  The Sheikh nodded, frowning slightly as he glanced at his ex-wife and then towards Queenie before forcing a smile and accepting the cup of steaming tea from the sandy-haired Mrs. Blue-Eyes.

  Queenie tensed up as she watched the Sheikh blow on the liquid and then take a sip before smacking his lips. She’d considered stopping him from accepting anything to eat and drink from these two witches, but then she’d reminded herself that the goal of this trip was forgiveness and resolution, not fighting and revenge. It was vengeance and obsession that had gotten them all into this, and forgiveness and peace was the only way out. It was the only way forward. It was the Christmas Way.

  “So let me understand,” said Renita, sipping her own tea and looking over at Bawaar and then Queenie. “How did the accident occur? Was there ice on the road?”

  Queenie blinked as an image of the Sheikh running half-naked through the snow came to mind, and she almost laughed as she pictured showing Renita a video. She glanced over at Mrs. Blue-Eyes, studying her face carefully. She looked older than she was, Queenie could tell. Just like Blue-Eyes himself had looked like he’d aged dramatically since she’d last seen him. Was it the cancer? Was it stress? Was it his own obsessions that had taken their toll?

  “What I’d like to understand is why you’re here in the first place,” Mrs. Blue-Eyes said.

  “Why is she here?” Queenie snapped. Then she closed her eyes and took a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m still on edge. You know, maybe I will have a cup of that tea. Extra milk and sugar, please.”

  She waited while Mrs. Blue-Eyes poured the tea and Renita mixed in the milk and sugar. It was like a little ritual being shared by the three women, sort of a twisted version of the scene in the manger, with the three kings of orient paying a visit to the newborn that had brought them all together. She glanced over the Sheikh, wondering if he was Joseph in the analogy, if she herself was the Virgin Mary. Blasphemy aside, it kinda fit, didn’t it? After all, she was going to be mother to a child that didn’t come from her.

  Stop it, she told herself as the tea warmed her insides. Just say what you came to say. You came to apologize. You came to forgive. Forgiveness asked and forgiveness given. That is the Christmas Spirit in a nutshell, isn’t it? So just say it and go.

  “I . . . I came to say . . .” Queenie began, blinking as she looked at Renita and then at Mrs. Blue-Eyes. “I just wanted to say that I’m—”

  “I am sorry,” Renita suddenly blurted out, her eyes going wide as she stared at Bawaar and then at Queenie. “That is why I am here! I am sorry I ever started this.” She dried her eyes and then looked over at Mrs. Blue-Eyes. “But also not sorry, in a way. Because I have found a friend. We came together in a shared obsession for revenge, to make you hurt, to make you suffer in the same way we blamed you for our individual suffering. But—”

  “But as my husband died, the last thing he said to me, just as his blue eyes closed for the last time, was that we both needed to let go, to forgive. To forgive each other. To forgive you. To forgive you, Queenie,” said Mrs. Blue-Eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” Queenie said, even though in a way she did. Blue-Eyes must have died on Christmas Day, and Queenie could feel that Christmas Spirit flowing through all of them, bringing it all to a close, wrapping it with a bow and a ribbon, red-and-green paper held firm by the emotional journeys of their intertwined lives.

  “Yes, you do,” said Mrs. Blue-Eyes. “My husband and I blamed you for all the troubles in our marriage, even though you were just the symptom, not the cause. The cause had nothing to do with you, and neither my husband nor I could acknowledge that. It seemed easier to blame you, to say that my man was seduced by a younger woman and turned his back on his family, to somehow focus all our energy on making you pay. We spent our life savings having you followed, waiting for you to find a man you loved so we could bring it all crashing down.”

  “After that public scene beneath the Mistletoe, she and her husband contacted me,” Renita said. “We bonded. We became friends just in that first meeting. Perhaps it was that shared obsession with destroying someone, making someone suffer the way we believed we were made to suffer. We devised this plan to hurt you both, by dooming you to a life where your love could never manifest in marriage and family. When her husband died, we had Van Hosen’s men transport the body to Europe, thinking we could implicate both of you in a murder investigation. It wouldn’t have resulted in anything, but it would have destroyed Bawaar’s image, made the new Sheikha look like an evil whore.” Renita took a breath, her thin face widening slightly in a relaxed smile. “But in the process of all this madness we became friends. Real friends, Bawaar! It changed everything! I cannot explain it, but so much anger was released from my heart at the realization that I had a friend, someone who accepted me and all my twisted thoughts because she thinks the same way! A friend! Ya Allah, Bawaar! When have I ever had a friend?!”

  “Never,” said the Sheikh, and Queenie could see a flash of guilt in his eyes. “I should have been a better friend, even if I did not truly want to be your husband. I blamed you too, Renita. Blamed you for my own problems. I am sorry too, Renita.”

  Queenie took a breath as she fought back tears. It was twisted, but it did seem to fit that these women would bond over a shared obsession, a need for revenge—a need that somehow got met, strangely enough, by the reflection of themselves in each other! These were loners who’d suddenly found a BFF!

  WTF, LOL, and Hallelujah, Queenie thought, almost laughing out loud as it made complete sense in a flash of joyful insight.

  But then she thought of Blue-Eyes himself, and for the first time she felt sorry for him too. For the first time she forgave him too.

  “But your husband . . . it couldn’t have been coincidence that he died just in time for all of this,” Queenie said. “How . . .”

  “My husband has been living just one day away from death for almost two years now. He takes forty pills a day plus twice-daily dialysis to clean the toxins out of his system just to stay alive. The chemotherapy and cancer destroyed his organs. All he had to do was stop taking his pills and he would be gone within a day. So we chose Christmas Day. It seemed right, since you seemed to have found a man the night before, giving us a chance to complete our plan. A Christmas gift.”

  “So you had Van Hosen’s men ta
ke the body to Europe and put it in that house . . .” said the Sheikh to Renita. “Ya Allah, you are a piece of work. I almost admire your mind and the way it twists. So what happened? Why did you not follow through on the plan?”

  “You broke Van Hosen, got him to tell you where we were before we got the police to find the body,” said Renita. “At that point I knew you would remove the body before the police would arrive, have your guards clean everything up. At the same time I had experienced that strange, almost miraculous change in outlook—and so had Mrs. Blue-Eyes after her husband’s dying request. So we decided it was over, and I called my new friend and told her I was coming over for the holidays. Up to the North Pole, where Santa Claus lives! What better place to give birth to my child!”

  Queenie’s heart jumped when she heard Renita mention the child. But it was almost a leap of joy—not for anyone else but for the unborn child itself! Yes, she was committed to raising the child herself if Renita didn’t want it, but of course it would be better if the mother did indeed want her child, right?

  “Your child,” said the Sheikh softly. “So you are really pregnant?”

  “Yes,” Renita said softly. “I thought it was a cruel joke that after so many years, it only happened after we separated.”

  “Perhaps that’s why it happened,” Queenie said, frowning as she felt the Spirit of Christmas as if it were a real thing in the room with them. “Perhaps although you weren’t meant to be together, you were meant to have a child. Because if not for that child, none of this would have manifested, right? We’d all still be living our lives with anger in our hearts, revenge on our minds, obsessing about being insulted by others, taking delight in blaming others for what was wrong in our own lives!” She smiled and shook her head as the tears came. “You know, we forget sometimes that Christmas began because a child was born. It’s all about a child. It’s all about family.”

  “And this child will have a bigger family than it ever imagined,” said Renita, raising her teacup and smiling as she locked arms with her new BFF.