Surrogate for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 7)

by Annabelle Winters

  Could it really be, she thought. I mean, I had my period ten days ago, so I’m probably right around that time when fertility is supposed to peak. And don’t I teach my students about the mating cycles of animals, about how the female is more receptive at that time, how the male can sense when a female is peaking, how—

  “Your friend was right,” he whispered now, his voice low and hard, betraying a strain, like he was trying to control himself even as she sensed that movement in his pants again. “A woman is more likely to wear red when she is—”

  And before he completed the sentence, and before Gracie could figure out what in God’s holy name was happening, the man placed one hand firmly on the curve of her hips, grasped her wrist tight with his other hand, and in one swift move whisked her heavy body behind those thick maroon curtains.

  Then he kissed her. Without asking, without explaining, without hesitating. He kissed her. He damned well kissed her.

  3

  “Are you insane?” she said as she broke from the kiss, pulling against his firm grip even as she felt his hardness pushing into her through his trousers.

  “Yes,” he said as he tightened his grip on her wrist, dug his fingers into the thick side of her bottom, and pushed her against the dark back wall as those heavy maroon curtains closed all the way around them. “I am insane that after I saw you from across the room, standing alone in that red dress, your curves calling to me in the most clear, undeniable way . . . yes, I am insane that I even waited this long to pull you into the shadows and take you, have you, fill you, claim you.”

  “Oh, my God, you really are insane,” Grace said as she blinked and opened her eyes wide in the red-tinged darkness of the secret space behind the curtains. She tried to gather herself as the shock made her body feel weak and shaky, and she did her best to will herself back to that mental place where she could figure out the next logical step.

  But there was no denying what her body was feeling, what her body was saying, what her body wanted, and the best she could manage was to just keep talking, to say whatever came into her head. “Insane. Mad. Completely off the rails,” she said quickly. “But maybe it’s a cultural thing and so I’m going to give you a chance to get out of this without causing a huge scene and getting the police involved. I’m going to count to three . . .” she said as she looked up at him, at that strong jawline that made him seem so self-assured it was lulling her into thinking that this was a perfectly sensible position to be in, that this man was in control and he knew what was best for everyone, what was best for her, Gracie Garner, mid-thirties and single, all alone in the grand ballroom, ovulating in her red dress.

  “I’m going to count to three . . .” she whispered weakly as he leaned in and blew against her soft brown curls, his dark stubble grazing her smooth white cheek, his grip still tight on her wrist, other hand on her wide hips, his hardness undeniable against her thigh. “I’m going to count . . .” she muttered again, her voice trembling as the arousal snuck up along the curves of her bottoms, circled around the small of her back, slipped up through her bra, now teasing her nipples to silent stiffness, tingling its way up her neck, seizing control of her vocal cords and making them useless. Her mouth was hanging open now as she swallowed and swooned in his arms, those maroon curtains around them feeling like dark red clouds, like a cocoon, a place apart from the real world, the real world where Gracie Garner, schoolteacher and role model to little Oklahoma girls, would never even think about . . .

  “I’m going to count to three,” she managed to say one more time before all those thoughts got pulled down and smothered by her soaring arousal. “And then I’m going to let you kiss me again.”

  4

  He kissed her again and she kissed him back, opening her mouth and sighing as she felt his warm, clean breath enter her even as his right hand moved around to her bottom and squeezed hard as he drove his tongue into her mouth. She could feel his arousal in the way he kissed her, the way he was growling against her ear as he firmly slid both hands under her dress from behind and grasped her bottom with such force she almost choked in shock.

  Her eyes opened wide as she felt his fingers pull at the waistband of her panties now, pushing them down over her ass as he pinched and pulled at her naked buttcheeks, spreading them and squeezing as he kissed her neck with fury, all the while grinding his cock against her mound through his trousers.

  “How rude of me,” he muttered as he kissed her neck, now her cleavage, his tongue teasing its way along her creamy white skin, licking at the edges of her black bra even as he pulled her panties down past the heavy globes of her ass until they were stretched wide and rolled thin just above her knees. “To not formally introduce myself.”

  Gracie giggled and gasped at the same time as she felt his hands slide all the way up her dress from behind, pulling her asscheeks apart and running his fingers along the crack, now moving up along the smooth curve of her naked back, fingers deftly undoing the bra-clasp, releasing her swollen breasts as she gasped.

  Immediately he lifted her dress and started to suck her boobs, pushing her back against the walls as she groaned and pulled at his thick dark hair, trying to block out those thoughts of how mad this was, of how there was a stranger sucking her stiff nipples behind the curtains of the Grand Ballroom in a hotel in downtown Tulsa, that a man in a tailored tuxedo was unzipping his trousers with one hand, rubbing her pussy with the other, lips firmly puckered around her left breast, mouth sucking hard and moving to the other boob, back and forth between her tits now, licking and sucking as he rubbed her mound from below, his tongue swirling its way around her large red nipples that were drawn up into tight points like rocky peaks of a desert mountain range.

  “Incredibly rude to not introduce yourself,” she muttered as she felt him slide two fingers into her cunt, the entry releasing a fresh flow of her wetness that told her she wasn’t stopping, she wasn’t going to make him stop, that every girl needs a release sometime, that there’s nothing wrong with a one-night stand, that no one can see you and even if they figure it out, no one in this room knows you. Jean doesn’t live here anymore, and who gives a shit what she thinks anyway. She probably already thinks I’m a slut for flirting with him, so to hell with her. I’m a good person and a great teacher and if I choose to let a man kiss me and touch me, it doesn’t mean I’m a bad role model. That was the point of the sexual revolution, wasn’t it? That a woman chooses when to have sex, with whom to have sex, and whether or not she wants to get . . . pregnant.

  And now something the man had said when he first kissed her came back to her: “I will fill you . . .” Was his English not so good? Did he not know what that meant? Was he just saying stuff? Dirty talk? Did he just mean fill her with his cock? Or did he mean fill her with his . . .

  And just as those thoughts all came rushing back, thoughts of red dresses and ovulating women, eighteen children and surrogacy, renting out wombs and this man saying he wanted to “fill” her, she felt his naked cock spring out from his trousers and push against her thigh, and it felt so goddamn warm, so incredibly hard, and she swooned and swallowed when she looked down saw his tailored pants down by his ankles, crisp white shirttails hanging open, his cock monstrously erect, standing long and straight, hard and shiny in the smoky red light, thick like a post, heavy like a pipe, its gigantic head feeling hot and sticky as it teased the smooth white skin of her thigh, coating her goosepimples with the fresh ooze from its swollen, ready tip.

  “Oh, God!” she gasped as she suddenly felt him grab the waistband of her panties with both hands and rip her underwear apart down the seams, now slamming her against the back wall and pushing her thighs apart, rubbing her wet slit one more time and then just straight-up entering her with his cock, pushing hard, pushing deep, driving all the goddamn way, thick and heavy, that swollen beast of a cock sliding up into her so quick it took her completely by surprise, forcing her mouth open wide like her
pussy had just been stretched wide, her lips forming a silent scream of sheer bewilderment as she felt him drive the last inch of that cock into her as he grunted against her neck like a beast in heat.

  “Ya Allah,” he muttered as he grasped the meat of her thighs from behind and raised her left leg as his heavy, muscular body flexed full and held her in place against the wall. “You have made me insane, driven me bloody mad, turned me into an animal intoxicated by your feminine scent.”

  “Oh, God,” she muttered as she closed her eyes and felt him drive up again, his cock somehow growing inside her with each thrust, his girth spreading her lips so wide it hurt in that most wonderful way, his length pushing into the deepest reaches of her cunt, the heavy head of his cock dragging against the front wall of her vagina with every pump, every pull, every thrust. “Oh, God, what’s happening.”

  “Ana sawf mmil' lakum,” he muttered as he rammed his way into her, making her body shiver against the wall. “Ana sawf mmil' lakum.”

  Grace could feel her arousal swirl its way upwards in a slow but determined spiral, the shock of what was happening adding to her heat, the madness giving it wings. Slowly she felt her body settle into his steady, powerful rhythm, and she let out a small gasp as she felt a quivering smile break on her round face. Oh, God, this feels so damned good, she allowed herself to admit as she focused on the incredible way he was filling her, the smooth power of how he was thrusting, his muscular haunches allowing him to withdraw almost all the way before pushing back in with a controlled power that felt forcefully lazy, seductively steady, pulling her body into his rhythm as she let out little feminine grunts each time he rammed his way back in, her pussy opening and clenching in synchronicity with his re-entry, squeezing tight each time he pushed back in, like her cunt was milking his cock in a way that made Gracie breathless with ecstasy.

  Oh, God, my body feels so amazing right now, she thought as she became aware of electricity running through every fiber in her body, tingles crawling across every expanse of smooth creamy skin, heat soaring in every inch of her secret inner space that was being opened up and claimed by his cock, taken by his force, filled by his girth, explored by his length.

  He thrust hard once more and then suddenly pulled out, turning her body and grabbing her wrists, slapping her palms flat against the wall as she yelped in shock. But Gracie let him guide her, and she kept her eyes firmly closed, smiling as she felt her pussy clench as it yearned to be filled again, like it knew that something was incomplete, that its job wasn’t done, like there was still a hard cock to be milked to completion, coaxed to climax.

  “Dhomaar,” he whispered as he stepped back away from her and pulled that red dress off over her head, yanking that opened-up bra off as well until she stood there naked and spread, behind the curtains, palms flat against the wall, eyes still firmly closed. “Sheikh Dhomaar is my name.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Gracie muttered through her stupor, feeling a smile break as she licked her lips and then gasped as she felt his hands slide down over her buttocks, letting her know the Sheikh had just bent down behind her upturned ass.

  “Ah, my American schoolteacher,” he whispered against her rear crack as he parted her buttcheeks and kissed her just beneath the bottom of her globes. “The pleasure thus far has been all mine, I fear But that is to change right now, I assure you. Now spread those magnificent American thighs wide for me. Spread for Sheikh Dhomaar, who is on his knees behind you. Spread for me, and I will make you come for me.”

  And as he said it he pulled her asscheeks wide, grabbing her globes firm and making her arch her back down to give him access to her slit from behind. Then with those buttocks spread wide, the Sheikh pushed his face between her thighs from behind and licked her along the underside of her wet slit, his tongue reaching all the way up to the front of her mound as she groaned and pushed into his face, moaning as she felt him ravage her pubic curls.

  “Say my name,” he growled as he licked her ferociously from beneath, kissing her buttocks, her inner thighs, his long tongue somehow reaching her clit as she arched down and spread so goddamn wide she could feel the air swirl like a cooling mist against her warm slit. “Dhomaar. Sheikh Dhomaar.”

  “Dhomaar,” she gurgled as she looked down between her hanging breasts, gasping as she saw him squatting between her spread-out legs, his cock looking massive as it bounced gently as he leaned in and licked her again and again, his tongue sliding along her slit in the most erotic way as her pussy clenched and released like it had a mind of its own, needs of its own, instinct of its own.

  “Dhomaar,” she said again, and then she said it once more, and finally she could not speak through those trembling lips because he suddenly licked her one last time and then slid his stiff tongue deep into her cunt from behind and curled upwards with such unexpected force that she almost choked as her orgasm came smashing in like a hurricane in the night.

  “That is only the beginning,” the Sheikh muttered as he reached around and massaged her clit, pushing his tongue back in as he pulled her left buttcheek to the side, now smacking her bottom as her climax shuddered through her naked body. “I have waited six months for this, and you are going to be the focus of all that pent-up desire, all my stifled passion, all of me. All of Sheikh Dhomaar.”

  “What?” she muttered as she turned her head halfway and tried to focus. Tears from the strain of her climax were beading around the corners of her eyes, and through the watery haze she saw those heavy curtains billowing around her, the dark red making her feel like she was inside a womb in the clouds.

  “Ana sawf mmil' lakum,” he growled against her naked back as he rose to his feet behind her, his hard cock brushing against her ass as he reached around and grabbed her breasts, pinching hard, plucking her nipples until they stiffened again to primal hardness. She felt the Sheikh guide his cock back to the entry of her slit, and as she swallowed and shuddered from the lingering ecstasy of that sudden orgasm, the Sheikh pushed back in and started to thrust furiously, pump hard, ram deep, so bloody deep, deep and hard, thrusting and grunting, again and again until he was straight-up fucking her, fucking her like a goddamn madman, a beast in heat.

  “Ana sawf mmil' lakum,” he said again, and she felt his balls slap against her from behind as he went up on his toes each time he rammed back into her. Her arms were aching from pressing so hard against the wall, but she had to hold on or else his forceful thrusts would smash her face into the plaster, she feared!

  “Oh, God,” she gurgled, her voice wavering, the pitch rising and falling because of how hard he was taking her, how deep he was driving into her. She could feel his heavy balls slap against her again, again and again, in rhythm and time, like heavy clubs knocking on her secret doors as her pussy clenched in surreal delight, milking his cock in erotic glee, like her cunt was drawing his semen towards it, pulling his seed up along his throbbing shaft. She could feel it, see it, taste it, smell it, and every sense in her was alive as she felt the Sheikh pump and groan, thrust and moan, pulling her large nipples out into stretched points as she whimpered in pain and pleasure, now gurgled and groaned as he rubbed her throat from behind.

  Now he reached down the front of her mound and started tapping her clit now, summoning her arousal as that sensitive nub stiffened and smiled from beneath its dark, swollen hood. “Ana sawf mmil' lakum,” he growled as he withdrew halfway, holding back now, flicking and tapping her clit as her whimpers spiraled upwards into a steady, droning wail. Slowly he pushed his heavy cock back into Gracie, flexing it in a way that pushed against the front wall of her vagina as she felt another orgasm start to build in the distance.

  “Oh, shit, I’m going to come again,” she gasped as her eyes flicked wide open even as the Sheikh’s thick fingers rubbed her clit furiously while he pushed his cock deep into her with a slowness that made her pussy seize up like it was trying to hold him in there. “Oh, God, what are you doing to me? How
can I be—”

  “You are in heat just like I am,” he muttered against her neck as he gently bit her earlobe, pushing that cock of his so deep she could feel it against the farthest wall of her cunt. “You are in season just like I am. Your body is yearning to receive just like my body is aching to deliver.”

  “What?” she whimpered, feeling a deep shudder go through her as he slowly sped up his thrusts while simultaneously slowing down the way he was flicking her clit, the reversal taking her so close, so close that she couldn’t understand what he was saying, could barely understand anything except the fact that she was about to have another backbreaking orgasm, pressed up here against the wall, behind the red curtains of a hotel ballroom, naked and wet with a man she had just met. “Deliver . . . season . . . what?”

  “Six months I have waited,” he growled as he grabbed her by the sides of her wide hips and began to pump at full force, each thrust making those balls slap against her, knocking on her secret doorways, the entry to her womanhood, the anteroom to her womb. “Six months I have not orgasmed. Six months I have stayed hungry. My balls are heavy with my seed, full with the best of me, the best of my line, the best of Sheikh Dhomaar. And you will carry it. You will carry my seed. Grace Garner, schoolteacher at Wilson Park Middle School. Tulsa, Oklahoma. Grace Penelope Garner. All for you.”

  “Did I tell you my middle name?” she groaned through gritted teeth even though she couldn’t understand why the thought had occurred to her through the madness of her arousal. But the words just swirled around her and disappeared, the ecstasy rocking her body and adding to the confusion even as the confusion itself raised her heat to the point of delirium, panic even, a hysterical feeling that the world was exploding into chaos, like the only release would be that climax, the only deliverance her orgasm, the only thing that would make sense would be her pussy getting filled with his load, that this Sheikh would fill her with his seed like how he was filling her with his madness, a madness that had her here, up against the wall, thighs spread wide, back arched down, heavy balls slapping against her, hard cock pumping into her.