Sheikh's Revenge

by Jessica Brooke

  The sheikh’s hands were roaming over her body, one tangling in her long and always unruly hair and the other moving back under her skirts. His fingers found their way under the lace of her panties, stroking at the soft hair over her mons. She shuddered at the gentle touch of his fingers, the soft probing as he went lower and towards her most secret and sensitive lips. When the sheikh reached her folds, he spread them wide and then slipped two, thick fingers into her core.

  She gasped and, unbidden, arched up her hips to meet his thrusts.

  Looking up into those eyes, the ones that shone like gold, Addison moaned her response, “That feels so good. I need more of you, please.”

  “I have so many plans for you, kitten,” he said, his voice low and sensual, promising her everything that she’d always wanted. “Just lie down on the ground so I can get to you the way you deserve.”

  “God, yes,” she said, even as his knuckles brushed over her pleasure button and waves of pleasure rushed through her core.

  She hated him pulling out just for a bit so that she could ease her way to the concrete of the roof. Laying there, she eyed him again, attempting her best come-hither look. The way his erection was visible, pushing up the layers of his robe, and his nostrils seemed to flare under the confines of his modest make made Addison think that, oh yes, she was affecting him as much as he was her.

  “Now,” he commanded, “you need to pull your skirts up to your chest. Will you do that for me, kitten?”

  She nodded and did as she was told.

  Then her sheikh got to his knees and crawled up over her. Addison relished that, feeling the heft of him above her and catching a whiff of his scent—the Scotch mixed with exotic spices like turmeric as well as cinnamon. Everything was exciting about her mystery sheikh. There were things she would ask him if the rules of their game were different. But this was about the mystery, and after this, they’d never see each other again. But if she had just this pleasure, then it would be worth it.

  He reached down even as he grinned at her, snaking his fingers under the waistband of her underwear and then tugging hard. The elastic and lace tore away and she yelped a bit, realizing that she’d be unable to wear underwear on the way home.

  “Hey! I can’t be commando in a cab!”

  “You will be and the cabbie should be so lucky,” he growled, his large hands gripping each thigh and spreading her apart.

  Once again his fingers were playing with the soft skin of her sensitive and secret lips, and the contact made her stomach flare with warmth and her body so wet and ready for him.

  “Please, no more waiting, my sheikh.”

  “But isn’t that part of the fun? Part of the torture of it all?” he asked, kissing his way up her left thigh, his lips soft and moist against her skin. “Isn’t that the real reason for the foreplay, kitten? So that you can anticipate exactly what I’ll do to you and almost die waiting?”

  “I want la petite mort and I want it now,” she hissed, digging out the old expression from her knowledge of French and pop culture. “Now.”

  The grin spread wider on her sheikh’s face even as he finally loomed low over her slit. Sticking out his tongue, he started in earnest, lapping at her delicate rosebud. The strokes of his tongue were gentle at first, slow and sweet, and she ground against him, hoping he’d understand how much more she’d require.

  He thrust his tongue a few times deeply inside of her.

  The sheikh pulled back long enough to smirk back at her. “There is no sweeter nectar on Earth than the juices of a beautiful woman. Have no doubt that you’re beyond appetizing, kitten.”

  He dove back to her then, and this time his tongue was flicking fast and furiously against her pleasure button, even as he eased his thick thumb inside of her. She screamed loudly, and it felt like all of Boston would have heard the sounds escaping from her throat. Addison wasn’t sure she cared. The pleasure was building from his ministrations.

  He added a second finger in with his thumb and began to suckle from her rosebud. It was no longer even just waves of pleasure washing over her. No, that final combination of his finger and thumb deep inside of her and his mouth sucking at her sent her far over the edge. It was if a tsunami hit her full force, every edge of pleasure sweeping her under.

  She cried out again and came, her body shaking from the joy of it all.

  Even as she went boneless, panting beneath his efforts, Addison felt him continue to scour her, his tongue lapping up all of her juices eagerly.

  He was serious about the nectar thing.

  Her cheeks flushed at that thought. She’d dated in college and even a bit in high school and had a few lovers. Until now, she’d never had a man who wanted to reciprocate pleasure. Most of the guys she dated loved oral sex…if it were for them. The one or two she’d been able to coax into going down on her always treated it like an odious chore. The sheikh clearly was reveling in it, and that made her pleasure even that much more exquisite.

  It had been a very long time, if ever, since she’d felt like she could truly be pleasing to a man. After all, she always felt just a bit too curvy. She always agreed that her hair was too unruly and curly and her skin was too pale.

  As the sheikh finally finished and shifted on the roof to lay beside her, his hands stroking her hair again, Addison actually believed for a bit that she was beautiful.

  “Well, kitten, I know that can’t solve any of your problems, but do you feel a bit more relaxed for the night?”

  She giggled and stroked his chin. Part of her definitely wished now that she hadn’t made the stupid rules, that she’d been daring enough to have them do all of this without the masks. To think he was the best lover she’d ever had and she’d never know his name or the image of his face unmasked was bizarre and a little maudlin.

  “If I were any more relaxed, my sheikh, then I’d be a puddle on the roof that you’d have to mop up.”

  “Good,” he said, kissing her throat and trailing his tongue over the pulse point there. “Because I’d hate to think I’d failed you.”

  “Never,” she said, even as her head started to ache from all she’d drunk. “You’d don’t have to worry about that.”

  Chapter Four

  She really wanted the license plate number of the bus that had run her over.

  Grumbling, Addison sat up in her bed and rubbed at her throbbing temples. Yesterday was coming back to her slowly. She must have gotten home somehow, though she wasn’t sure how she’d still been standing at the end of the night. Maybe her brother had helped bring her back. She just couldn’t remember everything that had happened. She only remembered feeling upset and out of place, then going up to the roof of the building to be alone and admire the view. The rest was there, somewhat, but right now she needed to get some Advil and a lot of water into her.

  Jesus, it felt like an entire flamenco dance number was happening inside her skull.

  Groaning as the pain consumed her, Addison struggled out of the bed and wanted to scream when she realized she was still in her dress from last night. Yup, she’d definitely been out of it. Slipping as best she could out of her dress, she let it fall to the floor and promised herself that she’d sweep it up later and steam-clean it. It was one of her favorite creations, and tired as she had been, Addison should have known better than to sleep in it.

  “Huh?” she said to herself, looking down at her naked body.

  She definitely remembered putting on underwear last night. She’d never gone anywhere commando before. Had she lost them?

  What the hell?

  Maybe she’d been more drunk on the Pabst than she’d thought before she set out and been way too daring. Either way, it was definitely unexpected. Her throbbing head, however, demanded the most attention. Rushing into the bathroom, she dry swallowed some aspirin and then hopped in the shower, letting the hot spray dig into her shoulders, relieving knots in her back that had settled in there from her contrived position on her
bed last night.

  Once she was done, Addison shoved on some flannel pajama pants and an old tee advertising her college. Already, she could smell the scent of pancakes and bacon wafting in from the kitchen, making her think she needed to get Will a present. Her brother might have wandered off a bit last night, but he really was trying to help her feel better. Giving her something greasy to help combat her headache was definitely a plus.

  Scurrying out of her room, she went straight for the fridge and pulled out the Brita pitcher. She poured a huge glass of cool water and took several, long gulps. “You have no idea how badly my head hurts.”

  “I did Jager shots with my friends, so I bet mine hurts almost as bad,” Will said, winking back at her.

  “So the breakfast isn’t all altruism?” she pouted as she sat at the kitchen table. “I’m really hurt by that!”

  He shrugged and shoved the pancake plate onto the table. “Well a guy’s gotta eat too, sis. Now, can you tell me more about your night? You came down from some random corner of the roof with the dopiest grin I ever saw on anyone’s face. I asked what was up and you started rambling and drunk-talking about a sheikh, and then you passed out in my arms. It was a big production just getting the cab and getting you home.”

  She blushed at that. “Sorry I got so sloppy. I never do that, but then I’ve never been fired before. I guess yesterday was a huge day of firsts for me.”

  “No prob. But, seriously, I know it was a big costume party but I never saw a sheikh. Are you sure you weren’t so drunk that you were seeing sheikhs and pink elephants too?”

  Addison dug into one of the pancakes and was about to dismiss it all when big parts of last night came flooding back into her mind—the rooftop meeting with the man in the Middle Eastern robes, that mane with eyes like liquid gold, the amazing sex, and even their secret pet names for each other. Oh God, she’d been a very naughty kitty last night.

  Not that she was about to tell her brother that.

  Ever.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” she said, her voice a bit tight.

  Addison dug even more into her pancakes, stuffing her mouth in hopes that her brother would stop questioning her. There was no way she could explain she’d been the courtesan or harem girl or whatever for a guy who was basically pretending to be Rudolph Valentino. God, seriously, what had she been thinking? What kind of a crazy moron was she?

  Of course, then her mind flashed back to the way his tongue had felt lapping at her inner sanctum, at the pleasure crashing over her in gargantuan waves, and part of her wasn’t so embarrassed after all. Besides, no one would ever have to know. He was long gone to who knew where, and it wasn’t like she was going to spill the beans to her brother. Some things, even twins didn’t share.

  “Then it was definitely something else,” he said. “I mean, I saw tons of cancan dancers and superheroines and even cheerleaders with masks. I didn’t see any sheikhs. Hell, most guys were about as creative as me, just grab a domino mask or something. If there was a sheikh guy there, then I have to give him credit for at least going all out.”

  “Heh, right now can you pass the bacon?”

  ***

  Addison’s life had taken a bizarre turn in the last few days. First she’d been fired, then she’d been trashed for one of the only times in her life, and then she’d had the best sex ever with a mystery man. Now, she was sitting in the waiting room of Amun Petrol waiting for a job interview with the owner, Sheikh Zahir Amun. It seemed that in the last week or so, her life had somehow become Middle Eastern themed. She had no real expertise in oil and knew nothing about the Middle East. She knew vaguely that most of Dubai, where the company was based, had the reputation of being a great tourist spot and full of shopping centers that appealed to the upper class. Since she was far from being rish, it wasn’t like Addison had thought much about it.

  So why she’d gotten a call from the owner’s sister, Fairuza Amun, who’d asked her at seven on Monday morning if she could come in for an interview that Wednesday, Addison didn’t know. She was the least qualified person she could think of to start working for an international oil conglomerate.

  Not that she had been offered the job.

  Considering what a disaster she’d been lately, Addison would be happy if she could get in and out of this without tripping or spilling something or any other embarrassing mishap. She had no hope that she’d actually be hired. Even if she didn’t have a terrible work record now, there had to be hundreds of secretaries with more experience to work for Sheikh Amun. So that left her clutching her resume portfolio tightly to her chest and trying not to get too nervous as she waited for Sheikh Amun to call her back.

  All you have to do is not humiliate yourself for thirty minutes. I know you can do that.

  Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she almost wanted to leave before the door opened and the sheikh stepped out. He was tall, probably about 6-foot-3 with broad shoulders and a physique that complimented his tailored suit. He had a dark, olive complexion and his eyes seemed vaguely familiar, which seemed absurd. And yet, she’d rarely seen someone with eyes that looked like gold.

  Her breath caught in her throat even as she scuttled into the office.

  It can’t be. It just can’t be. What are even the odds?

  She sat in front of his desk and watched as Sheikh Amun sat on the opposite side.

  Feeling awkward and overwhelmed by her suspicion, she stammered, “I…thank you for interviewing with me. This came as quite a surprise.”

  He nodded, even as he looked over her resume. “You have a degree in design but you were Clayton McDermott’s personal secretary for almost nine months. How does that match?”

  Her heart fell down to her toes. She knew that voice. How he hadn’t recognized hers, she didn’t know. Okay, so she’d been talking pretty huskily up on the roof, especially with the passion overtaking her. She hadn’t exactly sounded like her typical “perky assistant” self, and her mask had been far more ornate than his. Between those obvious eyes, that voice that could melt her with a few syllables, and his domino mask, she knew exactly who Sheikh Amun truly was.

  But does he know me? He’s definitely playing this ridiculously cool if he does.

  “I…well, I took whatever job I could. Then I was doing fairly well with Mr. McDermott, but he wanted to ‘go a different direction’ with his help.”

  “And that means?”

  “Well, older maybe? I guess he thought I was too inexperienced in some areas. So maybe a bit of reverse ageism?” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too stupid.

  Sheikh Amun considered that. “I’ll be honest. I’ve been looking for a new secretary, and with your design skills, I anticipate that you can do quite a bit with Photoshop and in other arenas as well.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, good. I have quite a few clients to see to during the next two days, but your skill set is disparate and interesting. I think and hope to be calling on you again, Miss Morgan.”

  She crossed her legs, trying to will away the shivers. She could easily remember him calling her “kitten” in that same, silky voice. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d be more than tripping over herself.

  “Don’t you want to ask me anything else?”

  “I think your resume speaks for itself, and if anyone can last almost a year with that louse, then you’re definitely tough.”

  She chuckled, despite herself, thinking back to her twin brother basically saying the same thing. “So I guess he’s not someone whom other CEOs are fans of, huh?”

  Sheikh Amun’s expression darkened, something black seeming to creep into his golden eyes. His jaw clenched for a moment before he shook his head. “No, I’d say that Clayton’s reputation precedes him over and over again. I know that if you worked for him for eight months and didn’t murder him then you have more self-control than I’ll ever have.”

  “Thanks, I think,” she said, s
tanding.

  He strode across the room and handed her back her resume. Extending his hand, the sheikh added, “It was a pleasure, Miss Morgan.”

  Again, his voice was like velvet and her knees almost gave out on her.

  “The pleasure was mine.”

  Chapter Five

  She was beautiful.

  That was the thought that kept fluttering through Zahir’s mind as he watched the buxom redhead file through the papers on his desk. She’d been working for him for about two weeks now at his offices in Dubai, and he was struck every day by her beauty. From her luscious curves to her wild, unruly hair and blue eyes, so like the waters of a clear lake, Addison was certainly lovely to behold. However, Zahir couldn’t shake the feeling that he also knew her from somewhere else, that there was something familiar about her.

  The biggest problem he had, though, was that he hadn’t gotten her to say too much yet about her former employer. He’d hoped that she’d be tempted enough with thousands of miles between her and Clayton McDermott to spill all of the other man’s secrets. He had definitely had some secretaries and past staff who were never shy about making their feelings known. Addison wasn’t like that. She was always early to work, always had a hot mug of coffee sitting on his desk, and always had his daily schedule ready to hand off to him. Once they started their day, she was focused one hundred percent on the business of Amun Petrol, and nothing she discussed with him was ever off-topic.

  In any other employee, he would have appreciated the professionalism, but that wasn’t going to help him one damn bit in ferreting out any secrets he could use as leverage.