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

by Annabelle Winters

  “You are sick,” she muttered as she backed up against him, feeling herself being held in place between his thighs as he unbuttoned her mom jeans and yanked the zipper down, bending his arm up from behind, between her legs, now shoving his hand through the open zipper and rubbing her mound hard and rough.

  “Oh, God,” she muttered as she felt him pull those jeans down over her bottom even as he massaged her pussy through her panties. “Oh, God, I wanted to talk.”

  “First you will come for me,” he said into her ear from behind as he managed to get those jeans off. He held her standing until she stepped out of those jeans, and then he pulled her back into him, forcing her soft bottom down on his naked, half-erect cock. “Sit on my lap and come for me. Come for Daddy.”

  “Daddy?” she muttered as she finally sat on his lap and ground her large ass into his cock as he rubbed her pussy so hard through her panties that the soaked cotton rode deep up into her slit. Serious camel-toe. “OK, that’s a little disturbing.”

  “Every little girl wants to come for Daddy,” he whispered as he rubbed her clit through her panties, now slowly pushing the waistband down as her feminine smell rose up to the both of them. He inhaled deep as she wriggled her wide hips out of those panties, giggling as he held her tight so she could raise her legs and roll the underwear down past her feet.

  “You’re so sick,” she muttered as she wriggled her naked ass into his cock. “I’m about twenty years and fifty pounds past being anything close to a little girl.”

  “You are Daddy’s little girl right now,” he growled. “Now spread your legs for Daddy. Let Daddy see if you are clean, if his little girl’s pussy is clean for him, wet for him, ready for him. Ready to come for him. At his command.”

  “Oh, shit,” she muttered as she felt his large thumb rest on her clit. Now he placed his forefinger and middle-finger lengthwise along her slit, slowly opening her up as he began to move that thumb in slow, circular motions. “Oh, God!”

  “Oh, Daddy,” he said in a devilish whisper, tapping her clit as he spread the lips of her cunt. “Say Oh, Daddy. Say it.”

  “Oh,” she muttered as her eyelids fluttered and her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “Dhomaar this is sick. We’re in a school!”

  “You are in my school now,” he growled as he slipped the tip of his middle finger just past her wet lower lips, making her pussy clench in that filthy way only he seemed to be able to bring out in her.

  And what else was he bringing out in her, Gracie wondered, gasping and sputtering as he slowly pushed that thick middle finger knuckle-deep into her cunt, curling it up against the front wall of her vagina as he massaged her stiff clit in a way that made her eyes roll up in her head as she squirmed and wriggled in his strong arms, in Daddy’s strong arms . . .

  “You are in my school,” he said again. “My fantasy. My fantasy that you will learn to like, that you will learn to love, that you will learn to need. Now say it. Say Oh, Daddy.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” she gurgled as the room faded away. “Oh, Daddy yes.”

  “Oh, Daddy my pussy is wet for you,” he whispered as he slowly slid a second finger into her slit. “Say it.”

  “Daddy,” she muttered. “My pussy . . . my pussy is wet for you. Oh, fuck I’m so wet for you. Wet for you, Daddy.”

  The fantasy took her with such alarming force that she almost lost track of where she was, of who she was, of who she was with. His presence was so overwhelming, so warm and affectionate, so strangely protective that she leaned her head back and nuzzled her nose up into his warm neck, shamelessly spreading her legs as wide as she could, no trace of self-consciousness, innocently open like a child, a little girl, Daddy’s little girl.

  “Wet for you, Daddy,” she mumbled again, swallowing the last thought of how filthy and twisted this was, how delightfully filthy and twisted!

  “Let us see,” he whispered, sliding those fingers out from her pussy and holding them up so they could both see. She gasped at the clean, glistening wetness that coated his long fingers. Her wetness.

  “Oh, Daddy am I wet enough for you?” she whispered as she felt her pussy clench in delightful anticipation. “Am I?”

  “Almost,” he muttered as she felt his cock harden beneath her ass now. She ground her bum into him harder now, reveling in how quickly he was becoming erect despite his massive climax down her throat not so long ago. “Ah,” he groaned now, bucking his cock up into her soft ass as she got him harder. “Ah, you bad little girl. You are getting Daddy hard with what you are doing with your little bottoms. Where did you learn to do that?”

  “From Mommy,” Grace said without thinking, almost choking with surprise when she heard herself say it. “Mommy taught me. She said Daddy would like it if I did that with my little bottoms. You like it, don’t you? You like it, Daddy?”

  “Oh, bloody God,” he groaned as he grabbed her earlobe between his teeth and growled. His cock was hard like a goddamn rock beneath her grinding ass, and Grace was almost beyond herself with arousal as she felt him lift up her t-shirt and grope her boobs frantically.

  His other hand went back down between her legs now, rubbing and grinding, shoving and curling. Now the two of them settled into a frantic rhythm, Gracie grinding on his lap, rubbing Daddy’s cock with her little-girl bottom while Daddy fingered her pussy, pinched her pink nipples, told her he was proud of her, that she was making Daddy happy, making Daddy hard, making Daddy horny, horny just like Mommy said to do.

  She came then, suddenly, shockingly, with a squeal of surprise as the Sheikh curled those two fingers up inside her and held her tight, pressing down on her clit as she convulsed through an orgasm that arrived silent and sudden but was now rocking her body with a force that threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Oh, fuck, I’m coming so hard I can’t even . . .” she started to say. But she couldn’t finish, because God, that orgasm was somehow still rising, still spiraling upwards, still barreling its way upwards to its peak, a peak that Gracie was suddenly convinced would shatter her, destroy her, perhaps even—

  “Daddy’s got you,” he whispered in her ear as he held her tight against him and let her come. “Keep coming for Daddy like a good little girl. There we go. See how wet your pussy is for Daddy, how tight your cunt is clenching around my fingers, how hard you’re coming.”

  “Oh, God!” she wailed as that peak finally hit, smashing its way into her goddamn soul it seemed, and her eyes rolled up in her head as she screamed and sobbed, and she was crying in his arms, she thought, dying in his arms, she was sure, reaching heaven under his touch, she was certain, going to hell in this fantasy, she knew.

  She came hard, the peak of her climax slowly settling into a pulsating series of secondary orgasms as she whimpered and sobbed in his strong arms. Slowly the madness subsided, and now that protective warmth returned as she realized how secure she felt in his strong arms, how small her body felt against his massive frame, how caring his embrace seemed, how . . . how loving all of it was.

  Grace stayed in that protective embrace for what seemed like eternity, smiling and lazily caressing his thick arms as he held her tight. She could feel the breeze against her naked crotch, cool against her cunt as her wetness slowly evaporated. Finally she felt that plastic chair move a bit lower under their weight, and when she looked down she realized with a mortified giggle that the legs were indeed starting to splay out horrifically and it was a wonder she and the Sheikh hadn’t gone splat on the floor!

  Slowly she pushed herself up to her feet, turning and blinking when she saw how monstrously hard the Sheikh was, his brown cock sticking straight up as he looked up at her and smiled.

  “There is no hurry,” he said softly, touching her arm, closing and opening his eyes warmly. “We can talk first. Yes?”

  Grace blinked as she looked around and tried to get her bearings. She was naked from the waist down.
Her t-shirt was stretched badly out of shape from how hard the Sheikh had been groping her boobs. Her bra was pushed up over her tits, which were haphazardly peeking out in raw protest at being manhandled so fiercely by . . . by Daddy.

  She almost choked at the memory of what she had been saying, of the filthy fantasy the Sheikh had effortlessly pulled her into. And God, she had come like . . . like she didn’t even know what! And she was good at metaphors! Oh, shit, that was insane!

  “Um, yeah,” she said slowly, standing bare-bottomed in the middle of the staff room now, trying to locate her blue cotton panties. “First I gotta find my panties though.”

  The Sheikh laughed as he shifted on the chair. He made no effort to help, instead just shrugging and settling in as he shamelessly let his cock—which was now just semi-hard but still thick like a python—hang out in full view.

  “Your panties were very wet when I rolled them down your legs,” he offered. “I do not think they will be very comfortable to wear.”

  “I am well aware of the possible panty wetness situation,” Grace said firmly as she furrowed her brow and looked in the empty waste basket by the desk. “I still need to find them!”

  The Sheikh raised both hands and shrugged. Then he exhaled and crossed one leg over the other knee, shrugging again as Grace scratched her head absentmindedly and then started opening the drawers of her desk, as if her panties had somehow crawled in there to dry off.

  “Well, OK then,” the Sheikh muttered, settling into his chair with a look of amusement, still making no effort to help. “As long as you are well aware.”

  16

  “I am well aware of what he must be doing in that school building,” Zareena said over the phone to her contact at Habib’s security company. “No, there is no need to get eyes on them, whatever that means. Just tell me when the Sheikh leaves.”

  Zareena frowned at her phone and then placed it down on the coffee table in the sunroom of the hotel suite. Then she exhaled hard and stood to full height, placing her hands on her slim hips, grabbing fistfuls of the black satin of her hijab as she clenched and released, walking past Alma and pacing by the window overlooking downtown Tulsa.

  “Do not be upset, my queen,” Alma said quietly. “It is to our advantage to let him go to her again. It may make things easier when we are faced with the inevitable.”

  Zareena gave Alma a sharp look, and the petite attendant quickly looked down at her hands, bowing her head for a moment before turning her dark eyes back towards her queen and lover.

  “I will decide what is inevitable or not,” Zareena said firmly. “What you speak of is a last resort, and you know it. There are other options before we try anything drastic. A lot can happen in nine months.”

  “This woman will not give up her child for any amount of money, and you know that, my Sheikha,” Alma answered, her tone respectful but with an edge.

  “We cannot know that,” Zareena said with quiet control. “We do not even know her. Perhaps we can break her, get her to accept money, get her to agree to be a surrogate after the fact. The promise of wealth and the guarantee of a wonderful life for her child—with the child’s father that too . . . yes, it could sway her if the circumstances are right. If we frame the choice in a convincing way.”

  “She will not break,” said Alma, a grim smile coming to her dark red lips. “We have followed this woman and studied her for six months. We know her as well as anyone. You chose her over the others precisely because she was not a woman who would break. You wanted her blood to mix with that of your ancestors. And you knew the price to be paid for that. You chose Grace Garner knowing where this would lead. That when the inevitable happened and she laughed at the very mention of giving up rights to her child, then we would need to cross the line between what is just deception and what is illegal. Kidnapping. Coercion. Blackmail. Perhaps more.”

  “Silence,” Zareena rasped, her face twisting with anguish as she turned away from Alma. “We shall not speak of it. Let us pray to Allah and the angels that it does not get to that point. I do not want to seize a child that is not willingly given by the mother.”

  “But we must be prepared for it,” Alma said, standing now and going to Zareena. “Our resolve must be built up.”

  “You question my resolve, Alma?” the queen said, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Do you know what I have sacrificed for my nation? Do not insult me by questioning my resolve! I will do what is needed if the time comes. If the time comes.”

  Alma nodded, looked down at her hands again. “The time is near, which is why I speak of it, my queen. The Sheikh is with her now. For the second time,” she said. “And like you said, if he sees her the second time, then there will be a third time, and a fourth, and soon their bond could grow into . . . into . . .”

  “Into complications,” Zareena said sharply. “Yes. My hope was that Dhom could keep it to one night of passion. That way we could have backed off and let her believe she was pregnant by a man who did not give a damn about her and was untouchable in some faraway kingdom. We could have destroyed her financially, made her vulnerable, and then swooped in with the offer to give custody of the child to the father. It could have worked. But now . . .”

  “But now the Sheikh has gone to her again,” Alma said, sighing. “And so it sets off a different chain of events, does it not, my queen?”

  Zareena nodded. “Sadly, yes. And so let Dhomaar take her again, claim her again, fill her, flay her, fist her, fuck her. Let him even love her, if that is what emerges. It will make things complicated. But the result will be the same, just with more pain for everyone. I will manage the situation. And you are correct, Alma. Perhaps it does make things easier. At least this way we will not need to have Habib’s people following this woman for the next nine months.”

  Alma nodded as she met the queen’s gaze. “So we are moving forward?”

  “Yes,” said Zareena. “The arrangements have been made in the Royal Palace?”

  “Southern wing,” said Alma, nodding again. “Just as you asked.”

  Zareena nodded once. The North wing was where she and Dhom held court. It contained the sprawling banquet halls and the towering domes under which the ministers gathered. It was the only part of the palace open to the public, and there were museum rooms and visitors’ gardens, marble fountains that lit up at night, and sprawling prayer rooms for the holiest of events when the Sheikh and Sheikha led their people in ritual.

  The East wing held Zareena’s private day-rooms. The West wing belonged to the Sheikh and his daytime activities. But the Southern wing was only used after sunset. It held the Sheikh and Sheikha’s most private chambers, accessible only to the most trusted attendants. The Southern wing, which would now hold a new guest—for at least the next nine months.

  “You do realize,” Alma said, smiling as she tried to break the heavy mood in the room. “That kidnapping a white woman and making her bear a child in captivity is . . . like they say . . . a bit stereotypical for us savages of the desert.”

  Zareena snorted as her eyes lit up and she allowed herself a moment of lightness. “Ya Allah, yes. Embarrassingly so. But at least this time it is the elegant queen doing it, not the savage king!”

  “That is a nice twist to the old story, my queen,” said Alma, bowing her head and gliding towards her room to prepare for their journey home. “Well done.”

  Yes, well done, Dhomaar, Zareena thought as she sighed and folded her arms across her chest. Your royal cock and caveman balls may give both of you pleasure right now, but are only going to cause pain and sadness when all is said and done. So enjoy the next nine months, my Sheikh. Enjoy the woman who will bear your child. You deserve some romance in your lonely life, I suppose.

  17

  “Well, that’s romantic,” said Grace. “So your wife is your second cousin and she’s also a lesbian. So she’s totally cool with you do
ing whatever the hell you want. Wonderful. Good for you.”

  The Sheikh looked down at his cock as he shifted on the plastic chair that was far too small for his frame and in fact felt like it might simply collapse under the weight of his muscle. He hadn’t bothered to put his pants back on, and now that he looked closer, neither had she. Hah! He smiled with a rising affection as he watched Grace lean back in her red swivel chair, sitting behind her very official-looking desk and speaking authoritatively to him. She hadn’t been able to find her panties, and had given up and sat down behind her desk, placing those crumpled jeans over her crotch and thighs as they talked.

  Dhomaar had told her only what he dared—even though now he realized he had just revealed a secret held by just three people: Zareena, Alma, and himself! Still, it was far better that telling her the full truth. Which was what, by the way? Even he was not sure right now—now that he had vetoed the plan of staying the hell away from this woman and letting Zareena’s scheme play out as designed. So what was his plan now? Clearly they were past the point of a one-night stand—and not just technically speaking but emotionally speaking as well, it felt like! Ya Allah, Zareena was right! Just by giving in to my need a second time, perhaps I am done for!

  Gracie was rocking in her chair now, her voice rising in confidence as she looked up and to the left like the wheels were turning behind those big brown eyes. “But you’re not allowed to divorce,” she said like a teacher recapping the day’s lesson. “And you’re not allowed to have any more wives either. So what does that make me?”

  Dhomaar raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you would be ready to be my second wife, my proud American schoolteacher, role model to feminists of the future?”

  “What? No! Of course not,” she said quickly, frowning and turning red before looking away and averting her eyes down. “I wouldn’t even be your first wife, buddy,” she added jokingly, hastily forcing a smile.