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

by Annabelle Winters

  And Dhom had smashed the phone into the hard paving before she finished, kicking at the debris, slamming his fists down onto the hood of the limo as he shouted Zareena! in anger.

  Then he caught sight of Grace from the corner of his eye. There she was, leaning out of the open window, like Rapunzel in her tower, looking down at her prince. And suddenly he was calm, like her presence made everything all right, made everything make sense.

  He watched as she darted away from the window, and he waited for her to come back. But she did not, and the Sheikh sighed and walked to the open back door of the car, leaning on the door and frowning as he rubbed his stubble.

  A crisis, he thought now as he went over Zareena’s words. What was she planning? Something to get Grace fired, perhaps? Remove her source of income? Make her panic when she realizes she is pregnant and does not have a job? Yes, of course Grace would reach out for child support, if not more. So perhaps Zareena hopes this “crisis” would make a custody case easier? An unemployed single mother with no real savings on one side, a billionaire king with a wife willing to accept the child on the other side? The cultural differences might still swing the case in Grace’s favor, but perhaps Zareena was counting on settling this out of court once Grace was in a financial crisis? Wasn’t one of the so-called criteria that the woman would be selfless, would put the child’s welfare over her own if things got “complicated?” Would Zareena play on Grace’s selfless maternal instincts to make her choose what would be best for the child, even if it meant giving up custody? Was Zareena capable of it? Was Gracie capable of it? Who knew. Who the hell knew!

  Yes, who the bloody hell knows, and in fact who the bloody hell cares! Yes, who cares, he thought now as he stepped away from the car and stared up at that window. Here I am, a goddamn King, going in circles trying to understand the motives and machinations of a woman? Of two women? Who gives a damn!? I am the king, goddamn it! I am a man, goddamn it! Women may play the game with manipulation and secrecy, with influence and persuasion, worrying about signs from the universe and messages from the angels. But the only messages I care about come from my goddamn balls! The only sign that matters is the way my cock hardens when I think of that woman and her curves! Her breasts and buttocks. Her lips and eyes. Her crack and her beautiful, magnificent cunt!

  With a roar of laughter he made his decision, and now it was done. The king was a king again, master of his domain, alpha of his jungle. And the king was going to take his queen. The master was going to claim his slave. The beast was going to ravish his mate.

  14

  “Get away from me, you beast,” she said as she fought him off, giggling and protecting her bouncing breasts that were already raw from the way he had pinched them just a moment ago, right in the middle of the empty staff room. “Away! Are you mad? This is my workplace! If someone sees us . . .” Grace cried as she backed up against her desk while the Sheikh lunged for her again, grinning like a madman, those green eyes glazed with the fire of his need. “And we’re not going to do anything until we talk. We need to talk, Dhomaar!”

  “We need to talk, Dhomaar,” Grace had said stoically just a few minutes earlier as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at the towering Sheikh who had come bursting in through the staff room’s green doors, those green eyes ablaze, lush red lips twisted in a manic smile, the black of his tailored suit looking deep and rich, his thick hair dark and wavy. “I’m not a part of your world. And you sure as hell aren’t a part of mine. We shared a fun night, and that’s all it was. I don’t blame you. You didn’t misrepresent yourself. I mean, not really. I mean, I think we—”

  But the Sheikh just waved off her serious, sophisticated, articulate, sensible babble with a grunt. Then he grabbed her by the wrists and tried to kiss her immediately, as if he had the right to do it. Of course she had pushed him away, folding her arms over her breasts even as she tried to stay calm, tried to pull back her own arousal, tried to hide away the fact that she was . . . was elated to see him come up there. It meant something that he was here, didn’t it? If nothing more than an ego boost! After all, the guy was married. To a queen. A queen who probably knew about Gracie, judging from that phone-smashing scene outside. And still he had come. For another taste of American pie? A farewell fuck before he went back to his wife and country?

  But that’s all it is—a nice ego boost, she had told herself as she tried not to smile at his cocky, playful advances, the way this towering Sheikh was grinning like a horny schoolboy as he tried to kiss her again, tried to grab her by the waist and pull her into his hard body. So he was here and he wanted her. Great. There’s one for the water-cooler on Monday! How was your weekend, Gracie? Ah, nothing special. Fucked a super-hot Sheikh behind the curtains in a crowded ballroom. Then he followed me to school and tried to kiss me. But I said no. Sent him back to his wife, the Queen of their island kingdom in the Gulf of Oman. Seemed like the right thing to do. I’m not a home-wrecker. I’m not that kinda gal. One taste and off you go, Mister! My fat thighs don’t spread twice for the same Sheikh! Woo hoo!

  So she pushed him back and shook her head and covered her body and tried to look as stern as possible. She was a teacher, goddamn it. She could look stern, right?! God, he was so hot. God, he was so hard. God, she wanted to just sit up on her big desk and let him—

  “I’m not a part of your world, and you’re not a part of mine,” she said again, her voice coming across good and stern even though she wasn’t sure what the hell the words meant. But she kept talking. Just keep talking, she told herself—just like she had told herself last night in the ballroom when it became clear that the last thing this man with a raging erection for her wanted was to sit and chat!

  But she opened her fat mouth and started to speak even as the arousal flowed through her in the most alarming way. Still she talked, scolding him for not showing up at the table last night, lambasting him for being married and doing what he did, guilt-tripping him for putting her in a position where she might be destroying some other woman’s marriage. She thought she was going mad as she stood there and heard herself talk to him, for a moment realizing she was using the same tone of voice she used with her ten-year-olds!

  “You really are a teacher, yes?” he said, finally stopping his advances on her boobs and standing up straight even as his cock pushed against his trousers in the most incredibly distracting way.

  “Yes, and you’re in my classroom, so I’m in charge,” she said firmly, trying desperately not to look at the way his cock was flexing as he shamelessly glanced at the cleavage peeking out the V of that white t-shirt.

  “Are you in charge? Really?” he said, stroking his chin as he slowly took a step towards her and stopped. “Well, that is interesting. Should I call you Ms. Garner? Perhaps Ma’am, like they do in England?”

  She broke a half-smile. “Actually I tell the kids to call me Gracie. Though most of them call me Gracie the Ruler, thanks to—”

  “Thanks to what?”

  “Never mind. We have other things to talk about. More important things.”

  The Sheikh shrugged. “Not really. I did not come here to talk at all, in fact,” he said in the most nonchalantly shameless way as Gracie turned red and touched her bare neck.

  “OK, listen, Dhomaar,” she whispered as he took another step towards her, his scent reaching her now, that hint of betelnut spice, red sage, green tobacco leaf. That pungency. That heat. Oh, God. “Listen. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you—”

  “So you are attracted to me. I am shocked. Really. I had no clue,” he growled as he gently pulled at her open hair, playing with the brown tresses as she shivered and tried to keep speaking.

  “But you’re married,” she whispered. “You’re married, and I can’t do that to another woman. It’s not me. It’s not right. It’s not—”

  “It’s not your concern,” he whispered, that right hand snaking around to the bac
k of her neck now, fingers slowly grasping her hair down by the roots, grip tightening as he leaned in with those dark, luscious lips. “Zareena is well aware of—”

  He stopped, his breath catching, eyes breaking contact with hers for a moment. Gracie frowned as she caught the flinch in his expression, the inflection in his tone. Yes, she had guessed that his wife had found out. Or perhaps it was a don’t-ask don’t-tell situation like it was with a lot of weird rich people. But “well aware” sounded odd, didn’t it? And this guy had a perfect command of English, so it wasn’t like he misspoke.

  Gracie frowned again as she looked into his eyes. If she let him kiss her now, she knew there’d be no stopping until it was done, until he was done, until she was done. And by then maybe this conversation would be done. No, she needed to harness her goddamn arousal and stay the course. Harness his arousal too, perhaps. Use that arousal. Come on, Gracie. You’re still a woman. You can control him the way women have always controlled their men! Especially strong Southern women! Yee haw!

  So with a slow breath she reached for him, sliding her soft hands down to where his pants were peaked at the crotch. He groaned as she touched him, shuddered as she rubbed him, stumbled as she closed her fingers around his cock and slowly began to jerk him back and forth.

  “Go on,” she whispered firmly as she pulled at his cock. “You were saying something about Zareena being well aware of . . . well aware of what, Dhom? Me? Go on.”

  “Ya Allah, come here,” he growled as he pulled her by that fistful of hair, grabbed her left breast, tried desperately to kiss her as she turned her face away and slowed down her hand-motion. “Oh, bloody God,” he groaned as he shuddered and straightened up, eyes rolling up in his head as Gracie unzipped him and carefully slipped her hand inside his trousers, massaging his enormous package as he groaned and rumbled.

  Now with two hands she unbuckled and unbuttoned him, letting those smooth black trousers slide down past his muscular hips. She gasped when she smelled the warm, clean musk of his crotch, and with trembling fingers she pulled the waistband of his dark blue silk underwear down over his massive bulge, the peak of which pressed against a large wet spot from his discharge.

  His cock sprang out as she released him, and she almost jerked back with the shock of how hard and thick it was from so close, how swollen its big head was, how shiny and brown its long shaft looked in the hazy sunlight that streamed in through those coated windows of the staff room.

  Now she firmly planted her knees on the carpet that was thankfully unworn and reasonably thick in this part of the room, and as the Sheikh groaned from above her and spread his legs, she slowly massaged his heavy balls and then carefully, calmly, opened her mouth and took him in, that beast of a cock, all the way into Gracie’s mouth.

  15

  She sucked him deep, she sucked him hard, she sucked him long. But then she pulled back and looked up at him and asked the question again.

  “Talk or I stop,” she said quietly but firmly, her grip still tight on his dripping cock, his royal balls still heavy in the palm of her hand.

  “Ya Allah, you witch,” he muttered as he grabbed her shoulders and bucked his hips, trying to push his cock back into her tantalizingly open mouth. “You cannot do this. Suck me, Gracie. Suck me like that again. Bloody hell, you will suck me. I command it!”

  “This is my kingdom, not yours, Sheikh,” she whispered up at him as she turned her face and flexed her thick thighs, tightening her grip around his cock and balls until he pulled back and yielded to this woman who was on her knees before him.

  “You will pay for this when you are in my kingdom,” he muttered in anguish as he ran his fingers through her hair, touched her wet lips, caressed her face.

  “So you’re going to take me to your kingdom, is it?” she asked as she licked the underside of his cock and then pulled back again. “You, me, and your wife the queen? One happy family? Oh right, this is just an offer to join the Sheikh’s harem. How sweet! How flattering!”

  “No harem,” he groaned as she licked him again, massaging his balls gently. “And Zareena is . . . she is . . . ya Allah, it is not what you think, Gracie. I swear it. I would not have come back here if I thought—” He choked on his words as she rewarded him by taking his cock back into her warm mouth, closing her lips tight and sucking fiercely before releasing him again and letting him talk. He swallowed and grinned in ecstasy before shaking his head and nodding. “If I thought . . .”

  But he trailed off, the playful grin on his face fading as if he had told himself he could not play this game with her, that whatever he wasn’t telling her was more important than the arousal roaring through him, that this man was being torn apart by something. Something more than just cheating on his wife, Gracie thought. In fact, Grace got the sense it wasn’t that at all—that for some reason having sex with other women wasn’t an issue in his marriage, that Zareena didn’t care. Perhaps even encouraged it!

  She looked up at the Sheikh now, and Grace thought she could see past the who-gives-a-damn grin that was back on his face. There was something behind this, something behind him, something behind them—behind all of them: the Sheikh, his wife, and her, Gracie Garner, schoolteacher and seductress.

  “You thought . . .” she said as she looked up at him and slowly pulled on his cock again, jerking harder and faster, her own heat rising up as she felt him harden all the damn way now, like he was going to burst, explode, come all over her. “So think, great Sheikh,” she whispered as she opened her mouth and leaned forward. “Think hard, and then you will tell me everything.”

  And she descended on his cock, taking him in all the way, choking and gagging as he seized her head and rammed into her with a groan, driving his cock halfway down her goddamn throat, it seemed. But she held on, she held him in, and she sucked and swallowed, jerking her head back and forth with fury as the towering Sheikh flexed and grunted above her, growled and thrust, pulling her hair, rubbing her shoulders, desperately reaching down the front of her shirt and clawing at her boobs as she spread her legs and went lower to keep him in her mouth.

  “Ana sawf mmil' lakum,” he groaned as she grasped his heavy balls and gently massaged them in a circular, rhythmic motion as she slowly hummed on his swollen cock. She could feel her own wetness soaking through her goddamn mom-jeans, she thought as she tightened her lips and dragged back and forth on his throbbing erection. Her own pussy was clenching inside her wet cotton panties, like it was demanding its turn now. Soon, she told her filthy little cunt as she felt almost delirious with the back-and-forth motion of her head, her fingers cupping and massaging his balls with increasing force, the way he was pulling on her shoulders, plucking on her nipples, all the while straight-up fucking her in the mouth as he grunted and muttered in Arabic.

  Soon, she thought as she felt his massive body suddenly seize up as the Sheikh muttered a guttural cry of, “Ya Allah” and grabbed her head with both hands, rammed his cock all the way deep, and blasted his load into her mouth, holding her head in place as she choked and then swallowed, her throat opening up for him as he poured his clean semen down into her, his balls seizing and releasing as she massaged him to completion.

  He came into her mouth for almost a full minute, it seemed, and Gracie surprised herself by how she had managed to keep him inside and swallow. Not that she had a choice, she realized for a moment of fleeting alarm when she felt his strong hands slowly let go of her hair, releasing their viselike grip on her head.

  Now with a drawn out groan of satisfaction the Sheikh pulled out of her mouth, his long cock slowly sliding past her wet lips, its glistening shaft throbbing as he withdrew, that thick vein on his cock pulsating from the force of his orgasm. When the swollen head of his cock emerged, Gracie gasped and drew back, falling back on her bottom in exhaustion as she propped herself up with her arms and wiped away the long trail of saliva and semen hanging down her lower lip.

>   The Sheikh staggered back and fell into that plastic chair, muscular brown thighs spread wide as he panted and heaved, looking down at her with amazement.

  “By God, woman,” he muttered. “Oh, bloody hell. You have no goddamn idea what that felt like.”

  “I think I have some idea,” Gracie said in amusement as she herself panted and puffed from the exertion. She glanced into his eyes, feeling a strange warmth come over her. It wasn’t just her arousal, she thought. There was a warmth from the knowledge of what she had made him feel. A satisfaction and pleasure that seemed more than just sexual. It felt almost . . . loving.

  Stop it, she told herself as she imagined for a moment that she saw the same warmth in the Sheikh’s green eyes, that he wasn’t just looking at some random woman who had just sucked him off to a mindblowing climax—that instead he was looking at a special woman who had just sucked him off to a mindblowing climax!

  Stop it, she told herself again as she saw him smile wide and reach for her, pulling her to her feet effortlessly without even needing to stand up off that damned chair.

  “Sit,” he said as he grabbed her by the waist and spun her so her bottom faced him. “Sit on the Sheikh’s lap. Come.”

  Gracie snorted as she brushed her hair from her face. “Um, I’m pretty sure that chair can’t handle our combined weight. I don’t even dare sit in it alone. Seriously, those plastic legs are going to splay out, and we’ll be—”

  “I would like your legs to be splayed out soon,” he grunted, grabbing her jeans by the waistband from behind and pushing his hand between her legs from under her ass, roughly massaging her mound from beneath as she gasped from his forceful touch. “You do not want to sit on Dhomaar’s lap? OK. Come then. Take these off and sit on Dhomaar’s face then. Let me smell that beautiful pussy of yours again. Let me taste those sweet lips between your legs. Let me—”