Christmas with the Yared Sheikhs: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  “Too much,” she said, searching his face.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let’s go to the chair.”

  “No.” He took a bite of her neck. “I want you right here.”

  She sighed, but a smile played on her face. She resumed stroking him, which caused his lower belly to tighten. “You’re stubborn.”

  “And you like it,” he said, tugging her sweater up over her head. “Now let me see your beautiful body.”

  She giggled, helping him take the sweater off, followed by her bra. They took a moment to disrobe—she shimmied out of her leggings and panties, he pushed down his underwear—and when he urged her back onto his desk, she hesitated.

  “You really want my bare ass on your expensive desk?”

  “Your bare ass is the best thing that’s ever touched this desk,” he growled, jerking his chin toward the spot she’d filled just moments earlier. “Now sit.”

  She did as she was told, and he filled the space between her legs once more. His purply cockhead brushed against her wet folds; he sucked at his teeth as a wave of pleasure rocketed through him.

  “God, Sondra.” He palmed her bare breasts, slightly squeezing each one in turn. Then he took each rosy nipple between his teeth, looking up at her as he suckled them one at a time. “You make me want you too much.”

  “I make you?” she asked, but she sounded a million miles away. Like maybe in a different universe altogether.

  “Mm-hmm.” He dragged his lips over her clavicle, starting a slow roll with his hips. He was overusing his good leg; it would surely hurt later that night. He’d probably made tomorrow much more painful. But this—Sondra on his desk, him between her legs—was more than worth it.

  “Oh, God, Robel.” She clutched at his bare butt cheeks, nails digging in. She spread her legs wider, hooking her ankles behind his back. “Please. I need it.”

  He grinned, pulling back so he could kiss each nipple once more. Delicately. Softly. Barely there. “I know you do. I do too.”

  “Then give it to me,” she said, a pout in her tone.

  Robel slid the tip of his cock back and forth over her slick entrance. Imagining what it would feel like to sink inside, as deep as he could go. Sondra’s head fell back, exposing that graceful, silken neck. He stole kisses there, gobbling it up while she was exposed.

  “Please,” she breathed. “Give it to me.”

  “No condom?” He whispered, squeezing the tops of her hips.

  “No. Just give it to me.”

  The words streaked through him, both lightning and fire, and he was pressing himself inside her before he could think better of it. His cockhead popped in, and he stilled his hips, drawing ragged breaths to calm himself. She gripped at the ridge of his shoulders, bucking against him, her eyes hooded and intense.

  “Ohhh, Robel,” she moaned as he pushed himself deeper inside. Every new inch was a glorious landscape of pleasure. Tingles and heat, tightness and silk. When he reached as deep as he could go, he stilled again, drawing a deep, labored breath.

  “Fuck,” was all he could say.

  Sondra clung to him, those big, beautiful breasts jiggling each time he pulled out and thrust back inside her. He’d pushed himself in and out only a handful of times before he felt the warning prickles across his shoulders, the early signs of his orgasm. Heat and lust churned in his low belly. She was too tight, felt too good wrapped around his cock. He wouldn’t last long. Not like this.

  Robel ran his thumb over the tight tip of her clit as he pushed himself in and out, enjoying the bevvy of expressions dancing across her face as he stimulated her. She inhaled sharply, squeaked once, and trembled in his arms as he pinched and massaged her clit while he fucked her.

  Her breath hitched, and a low wail began. She was coming. He pushed himself deeper this time, rubbing her quicker, watching as she fell over the edge, her pussy convulsing around his cock.

  Just watching her come did him in. His abs tightened. The first wash of heat. And then…

  “Oh, Sondra.” Her name exploded past his lips, the pleasure bolting through him almost too fast for him to respond. He pulled himself out of her just as he came; his essence made a graceful arc through the air, hitting the corner of his desk.

  His belly tightened one last time as a final spurt came. Sondra laughed, drawing invisible patterns over his abs as a comfortable silence settled between them.

  “Holy shit,” she finally offered.

  A laugh escaped him. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and then he snagged her chin between thumb and forefinger. Those pale brown eyes zapped him to attention. He could have stood there, pressed against her warmth, lost in that gaze for eternity.

  But until her time at the palace came to an end would have to do.

  14

  Life turned into a blissful whirlwind after the evening on Robel’s desk. Whatever fortress Robel had tried to construct around himself came crumbling down after that evening. And everything flowed better as a result. Not just having sex without angst, but working together was even better as a result.

  Plans solidified quickly for Living Nativity–Ragdar. The entire city was excited about it, as evidenced by the social media response and television coverage in advance of the event. It was brand new, something the country had never seen before. A throwback to tradition, yet modern and fresh.

  Exactly what Sondra had been hired to do.

  On the evening of the event, both Robel and Sondra were in the thick of things in downtown Ragdar. The event was pegged to take place in the main square, which had ample gardens and green space for the audience to sit and watch. Spectators had been gathering and watching since the first rumble of activity in the square, but once the animals showed up, people really started to throng.

  “Over here.” Robel waved a hand over the crowd of helpers, directing the stable hand toward the makeshift nativity scene. Sondra bit her lip as the young man weaved through the park, a donkey and camel trailing behind him. The camel eyed Sondra with one bloated, beady eye, mouth moving in silent chewing.

  “Hello,” Sondra said quietly, stepping aside. The donkey brayed.

  Robel barked something in Arabic, guiding the stable hand to the precise location. Sondra flitted off to tend to the actor’s costumes, leaving Robel to finish that task. A while later, the donkey brayed again, but loudly. A wind rushed past her. Sondra jolted, looking up. The donkey had trotted off, seemingly spooked.

  Panic rushed through her. She looked around wildly, searching for the stable hand, for Robel, for anyone. A moment later, Robel’s shouts in Arabic broke through the din. The stable hand rushed through the crowd, grimacing, chasing after the donkey.

  But the camel was loose too. Sondra stepped backward as the camel made a beeline for her, its mouth turned down disapprovingly.

  “Uh, Robel…” she began, but knocked into someone behind her. Fear streaked through her. The camel wasn’t stopping. And it seemed dead set on reaching her.

  “What the…” she began and broke out into a full run. Robel shouted for her, and she weaved toward him through the people, checking over her shoulder for the camel. She’d lost her tail. Adrenaline pumped through her despite the danger having passed.

  “What is going on here,” she hissed. The stable hand reappeared across the space, a rope attached to the donkey’s halter. Some camel-friendly passerby had wrangled the beast into complacency down by the sculpted fountain.

  “He’s bringing them back into position,” Robel said. Tension creased his face. The stable hand arrived a moment later, sweat beading at his temples. Sondra watched as he reattached the ropes to either side of the nativity scene. A frazzled-looking Joseph arrived next, speaking in hushed undertones with Robel.

  Sondra’s belly knotted. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t tell what might be awaiting them. They’d planned this event to perfection, which she knew better than anyone didn’t mean much. We plan, God laughs. She wrung her hands together, gaze w
andering over the makeshift stable scene.

  Soft giggles snagged her attention. Petite hands poked through the log siding of the stable. She furrowed a brow, side-stepping the disgruntled camel to peer behind the scene.

  Some shushing. And then, like magic…the donkey wandered off again.

  “Robel,” Sondra said, jerking her chin toward the donkey. He signaled for the stable hand, who rushed forward again. While he chased down the meandering donkey, Sondra stepped behind the scenery.

  “Aha.” She crossed her arms as she spotted Sesuna and Winta tucked between the poles propping up the stage area. The twins looked up at her, guilt written all over their faces.

  “And just what are you two doing back here?”

  “Nothing,” Sesuna said, but Winta must have chastised her in Arabic because then she said, “We’re very sorry!”

  “Girls.” Sondra squatted down to sit with them at eye level. She sighed, tilting her head from side to side as she thought about how to approach this. Coming at it from the that-camel-gave-me-the-stink-eye angle wasn’t a very good idea.

  “This is the most important production of the season,” she finally said, keeping her voice level but firm. She leaned closer. “Why are you untying these animals and letting them wreak havoc?”

  In the park in front of the scenery, a royal commotion was unfolding, but Sondra struggled to stay focused on the twins. To let them know how serious this was. The girls shared a glance, but it was Winta who broke down first.

  “Papa Noël will understand,” Winta insisted. “He already knows what we want for Christmas.”

  “And you think he’ll give you anything after this display?” Sondra asked.

  Winta’s bottom lip went out, full and pouty, and she shouted “Sorry!” before running off. Sesuna frowned, looking between her sister and Sondra. In the park, shouts in Arabic punctured the air. There was a hot mess unfolding, but without any language context clues, she couldn’t piece together what was going on.

  “He has to,” Sesuna said. She crossed her arms, glaring at the ground. “All we want is our mother back.”

  Sondra sighed, massaging her forehead as she tried to figure out how to handle this delicate situation. Sheikh Yared’s wife was not well. She had gathered from Robel that their mother had opted for intensive treatment related to stage 3 ovarian cancer somewhere in Switzerland, with plans to return once she was fully recuperated. But only the sheikh knew the full details about her progress, and the twins were kept mostly in the dark—for their own well-being. Sondra glared over at Winta, who pranced near Robel. She motioned for Winta to come back.

  “Your mother will be back soon,” Sondra said quietly, unsure if this was a lie, as Winta reluctantly rejoined. “And her being away to…rest…is no reason for you to sabotage the events.” She nibbled on her lip, thinking back on the issue with the musical instruments recently. “Did you girls also make problems for the musical procession? Hm?”

  Both girls avoided her gaze.

  “The musical instruments were damaged mysteriously,” Sondra went on. Winta nudged Sesuna, who finally nodded.

  “Listen. I know you girls are upset, missing your mom.” Sondra’s heart wrenched in her chest, thinking of what it might be like for Nessa growing up, missing her own mom. Even though Sondra would always be her mother, Nessa might still have that ache for the woman she never knew. “So I won’t tattle on you. But you need to stop getting in the way of these events, okay? And this is the most Western celebration of them all! I thought you two would want to join in!”

  Sesuna’s eyes lit up. “This is the most Western?”

  “Yes!” Sondra crossed her arms, glancing out at the park through the wood beams of the stable set. Robel was shaking his head, jaw tense. Something out there demanded her attention. Her belly knotted. “Now I need to go back out there and get to work. Promise me you’ll help. Promise.”

  “We promise,” the twins intoned at the same time.

  Sondra tousled their hair and stepped out from behind the set. She headed for Robel, who had his phone pressed to his face. When she came up behind him, her phone buzzed.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Oh, for God’s sake—” Robel muttered something in Arabic and swiped his phone off. “I was just calling you. Where the hell were you?”

  His tone made her stomach tighten, but she didn’t want to out the girls. That would add a new wrench to the chaos, and besides, she had promised she wouldn’t rat them out. “I was taking care of something. What’s going on here?”

  “Taking care of something?” His incredulous tone rubbed her the wrong way. “While you were taking care of something, the entire production went to shit.”

  Robel kicked at a hay bale nearby. She furrowed a brow, looking around. People had cleared out; none of the actors were around. And then she noticed.

  The entire nativity set had been destroyed.

  “What happened here?” she asked, pointing.

  “Your precious live animals destroyed it,” he spat. “And now they’re gone. Camel escaped. Donkey went to who knows where. This whole thing is ruined. I don’t know why you think it’s fine to disappear in the middle of the event preparation like that, but we have you to thank for the utter failure of this supposed nativity.”

  Sondra blinked in disbelief, taking a few tentative steps backward as Robel’s vitriol hit right where it hurt. She didn’t know what to address first—his anger or the flagging production.

  “I’m cancelling it,” he spat, pulling out his phone again.

  “Wait.” Heart hammering, she held up a hand. His anger—and hurtful words—could wait. This event could be saved. If anyone could wrangle meaning from chaos, it was her. “Let me figure out what to do.”

  “You better do it quick,” he snarled.

  She clenched her teeth, biting back the words that threatened to spill off her tongue. He wasn’t helping. At all. But she’d have to react to his foul mood later.

  “Are the animals gone for good? You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” he said, swiping through his phone. “I’m calling my father to cancel this event.”

  Sondra swung around to assess the scene. The cradle where Nessa would lay was splintered, fractured in two. Mary’s veil had been ripped in half, probably by that evil camel. Hay littered the park, left in a trail that led wherever the donkey had wandered off to. Passersby walked down the sidewalks, holding up cameras to film the mess. She balled her fists.

  “We can save this,” she said.

  Robel scoffed.

  “Don’t cancel it,” she insisted. “I know what to do.”

  Robel’s jaw flexed, and he lowered his phone. Before he could spout off anything else, she said, “I need you to get our helpers here to clean up the hay trail. See if someone can get the cradle together, at least on the ground. We’ll put a blanket in it, and it’ll be fine for Nessa. And the backdrop…” She assessed the splintered piece, the torn veil. “It’ll do. Mary doesn’t need a veil.”

  “And the animals?” There was so much resentment in his voice Sondra nearly choked.

  “I have a plan,” she said. “Just take care of those details, and the production will go on as scheduled. Alert the actors. This show is not over.”

  Sondra walked on wooden legs to where she left the twins. She snapped her fingers, and they popped to standing, their dark tresses gleaming in the golden light of the waning sunset.

  “Listen. We’re having some issues with the show. Can you girls do me a favor?”

  The twins nodded.

  “I’m going to need you to be the stars of the scene.” She took a deep breath, forcing a smile she didn’t feel, not even a little bit. “I’m going to make you two the sidekicks to Jesus—the camel and the donkey!”

  15

  The event went off—but barely. Robel cringed through the entire production. Mary looked a mess; Joseph’s wig had been carried off by the escaping donkey. Nessa cried the entire time. And the twi
ns…Robel could only bury his face in his hands when he saw the makeshift animal costumes Sondra had put them in. Pure palm fronds and galloping. Probably not a single soul in the audience knew what they were supposed to be.

  And the crowd was big. Way bigger than he’d expected. Plenty of citizens to witness this dismal palace production, and probably talk about it for the rest of time. Robel left early, intent on avoiding Sondra until he’d let some of the sting fade away.

  But leaving early meant more time for stewing. He went straight to his bedroom back at the palace, and all he could do was stare at the ceiling, ankle throbbing, while he replayed the failure of an evening in his head.

  He finally managed to fall into a tense sleep, more of a restless half-awake state than anything. When morning came, he dreaded facing the day. Facing Sondra. Facing the mess he’d left between them.

  Because things certainly didn’t feel right after the living nativity scene. His escaping had been one thing, but he was uncomfortably aware of how short he’d been with her. But when memories flooded him—the look of confusion on certain audience members’ faces, the laughter of journalists when the “donkey” and “camel” had entered the scene—the anger returned.

  This whole thing was Sondra’s fault.

  He stewed the rest of the morning, and when noon came, he almost wished she would skip their meeting. But she showed up—either a gutsy or stupid move on her part. He barked at her to come inside, and she entered wordlessly.

  Sondra slid into the chair facing his desk. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

  “So I guess we’re not going to start the day with my bare ass on your desk again,” she finally cracked. But her voice was lacking the good humor she was known for. There was no warmth this time. He snapped his eyes over to meet hers, and she frowned.

  “Definitely not.” He ran a hand through his hair, heaving a sigh. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing last night—”