“Ah, Yusuf, my gullible cousin. It is not your fault. It is my fault for not paying enough attention to what is happening in the nation I am to lead soon. Ya Allah, I should have seen it earlier, before I asked you to close down those schools. I should have seen that you were being played by the bearded ones, not the other way around!”
Yusuf had frowned and pulled at his own beard that was beginning to show some white—the white of age but alas not much wisdom, he thought ruefully as Zaal calmed down as best he could and explained.
“In a year there will be a transfer of power in Kirwaan,” Zaal had said quietly, placing two hands against the rough sandstone wall and lowering his head, looking as if he were trying to push through the walls themselves. “The Regents can see that your father the Sheikh is—as they say in the West—checked out. And they can also see that I have not been fully engaged in the details of my land. The time is ripe for them to make a play. It is a classic game of politics! It must be! Ya Allah, I should have seen it before telling you to shut down those schools so quickly! Because now I may have forced their hand!”
“What do you mean, Zaal? I am lost, Cousin! I do not—”
Zaal had turned back to Yusuf, standing to full height, body tensed up, jaw clenched, fingers balled into fists the size of sledgehammers. “I think what is happening is that the Regents do not want me to be Sheikh, but they know they cannot stop it. The bloodline is clear and the laws are unambiguous. So they cannot stop me from ascending to the throne, but they can make my rule very uncomfortable. Think about the timing of these new schools, Yusuf. Eighteen months before I am to take over. I was still in Europe at the time, my head in the clouds. Sheikh Ishfaq was just starting to look forward to retirement, and so perhaps his head was in the clouds as well.”
Now Yusuf had started to understand. “So you think the Regents built these schools to cast the new Sheikh—that would be you—in a poor light? Make it seem like the kingdom of Kirwaan was making a move towards becoming more extremist just as a young new Sheikh was coming into power? Arouse the suspicion of the West? England, Europe, the United States suddenly paying attention? Intelligence agencies sending operatives across our borders? American Marines landing in our deserts?”
Zaal had smiled, shrugging and then shaking his head. “Hah. Unlikely. The Americans have better things to do than waste resources on invading some Islamic kingdom with no history of violence. But the schools would put us on the watchlist, on the map. The CIA map, yes; but more dangerously, the recruiting map for extremist groups like ISIS or other fringe organizations. Do you see now, Yusuf? The Regents would not need to do anything overt or explicit. They would count on the fact that eventually some Kirwaani youth with a bit too much religious fervor and testosterone would be brainwashed enough to leave Kirwaan and join one of those groups. And that, dear cousin, would look very, very bad for Kirwaan, and for its new Sheikh. Do you see?”
The thought had frightened Yusuf as he nodded, but after taking a moment to try and think further, he had frowned and looked up at the much-taller Zaal. “But Zaal, the Regents would know that you would shut down those schools as soon as you became aware of their existence, yes? And in fact you have done precisely that. And so I still do not—”
“That is what troubles me, Yusuf. And that is why these missing students are putting a deep fear into me, the fear that I have played into the Regents' hands, that by giving the order to shut down these schools, I have in fact sped up the entire process. So if an ISIS recruiter was working on some of our students, trying to get them to commit to doing something terrible, then—”
“Then that recruiter might feel the urgency to speed up the process once they realized the school was being shut down and the students would be shipped back to their parents and friends, back to an environment of comfort and luxury. They would take the students that they can, recruit the few they have brainwashed enough and then get out. Is that what you are—”
Zaal’s expression was grim as he nodded, his voice wavering as he spoke, a chill going through Yusuf when he saw his typically calm and in-control cousin actually looked shaken. “Those four missing students, Yusuf,” Zaal had said, his jaw tight, green eyes cold as stone. “Eighteen year old men. Ripe for indoctrination. They have not returned home. They are no longer in Kirwaan. Ya Allah, Yusuf. If they are not found soon, brought back home soon, if they are pulled into something . . .”
Zaal had stormed away mid-sentence, heading to speak with the bearded ones, it seemed. And that was the last time Yusuf had seen his cousin, because soon after that Yusuf received word that Zaal had been exiled, banished from his own kingdom, cut off from his own line, charged with a binding resolution from the Regents Committee, a resolution that even the outgoing Sheikh himself did not have the power to overrule because it was a safeguard clause to balance the king’s power with that of the committee: The clause of treason.
Zaal had been charged with treason, the only charge that authorized the Regents to exile a member of the Royal House of Kirwaan without public trial, the only charge that even the Sheikh himself was unable to overrule, because the law had been written to apply to even a sitting Sheikh if necessary. Perhaps that had been the ultimate goal, Yusuf had thought after getting over his initial shock and disbelief and trying to think it through on his own. Yes, perhaps the Regents had always planned to use the treason clause against Zaal, ideally after he became Sheikh. After all, Zaal had no heirs, and the kingdom would immediately fall into an emergency state where the Regents would gain supreme power, which included the ability to appoint a new Sheikh! Perhaps it was a play for power, however twisted and far-fetched. Either that, or it was something personal against Zaal. But that seemed equally far fetched. Ya Allah, what to do?!
Yusuf had expressed his concerns to his father, but the old Sheikh had dismissed them as paranoia, assuring him that the truth could not be denied, that by the letter of the law Zaal had illegally delivered information about Kirwaani citizens to a foreign government, and the Regents had chosen to call it treason. Even the Sheikh could not overturn it. Only an absolute majority of the sixteen-person Regents Committee could reverse the charge. Zaal was an exile by law now. Cut off from his kingdom. Cut off from his throne.
Yusuf’s head hurt again as he rounded the corner and saw the Regents with their beards and teacups sitting in the open rooms of the Southern Wing. He sighed and got ready to waste another afternoon with these political games.
What is the game today, he wondered as he smiled at the bearded ones and took his seat. What new game of Sheikhs and Sheikhas, of kings and queens, princes and princesses?
20
Ah, my princess. This may be a fantasy, but it is not a game, Sheikh Zaal thought as he shifted his weight and pulled back away from the shivering, shuddering, moaning maiden who lay before him on that royal bed. Slowly he backed away from her, watching as her fluttering eyelids finally stayed open long enough for her baby brown eyes to focus as they searched for him, her sweet round face twisting up as she tried to raise her head, those cute twin eyebrows moving like little worms as she tried to understand why he had stopped what he was doing, why he had pulled away from her, why he was now backing his way to the edge of the bed.
No it is not a game even though we are playing, even though we both know we are playing, Zaal told himself as he swung his long legs off the bed and stood, naked from the waist up, his pants unbuttoned and halfway down his muscular buttocks as he walked barefoot around the massive bed, stopping where Fran could see him without having to move much.
Yes, it is serious because I am responsible for this woman, this woman whom I do not know but still care for, this woman who awakens a roaring passion in me but is still a stranger in that I must feel my way forward with her, trust my instincts as I try to understand what she needs, he thought as he saw her eyelids flutter again as she took in the sight of his bare-chested frame, his heavy, bronzed chest, biceps that were large and lean, triceps tight like ropes coili
ng around the back of his upper arms.
“Look without shame, princess,” he said softly, with warmth and self-assurance as he smiled at how her eyes darted away just as she focused on the way his cock was pushing his black underwear into a massive peak that extended several inches past the open V of his unbuttoned trousers. “It is for you. It is because of you. All for you, princess. Every inch. But only when you are ready. Only when I know you are ready.”
“I’m ready,” she whispered, still only sending little hesitant glances at his erection like she was shy, scared, perhaps shocked, even ashamed, ashamed at what she wanted.
“Then look without shame, princess,” he said again, voice still gentle but now with some firmness. He needed to lead this little rabbit out from her burrow, he knew. “Look at what you want to look at. Look without shame. No, not into my eyes, princess. That is not what you want to look at right now. Look. Come on. Here. Here we go.”
Slowly he pushed those fitted trousers down past his tight hips, watching as Fran’s breath caught as his cock pushed against that black underwear all the way, showing all its length through the dark silk, the outline of its massive head clearly visible against the stretched cloth, the black silk shining with the pre-cum that had oozed through as Zaal’s arousal had taken him to an excruciatingly hard full-mast erection.
“Look at my body, Francine,” he said slowly as those trousers dropped all the way to the cool floorboards. Zaal silently stepped to his left and stood there in his peaked black underwear, bronzed body gleaming in the soft yellow light, cock throbbing as it yearned to be set free. “The body of your lover. The body of your man. The body of the man who loves you, who cares about you, who is going to give you what you need. But only when you are ready, Francine. Only when you are ready.”
“I’m ready,” she moaned now, her back arching on the bed as she pushed her boobs up and ground her bare bottoms into the bedclothes again in a way that almost made the Sheikh explode in his underwear.
He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, flexing his thighs and buttocks, holding back the impending orgasm, using every ounce of will to force his semen back along his rigid shaft, back to his heavy balls which were already tightening in anticipation of pushing his seed into this woman who lay before him, this princess, his princess.
“If you are ready, then look at me and tell me what you want, my little princess,” he said now, gritting his teeth as he flexed his cock and slowly lowered the stretched waistband of his silk underwear. “Look, my princess. Look at your man. Look at your lover. Your first lover. The man who will be first inside you. The man who will make you a woman, little princess. Lead you into womanhood. Look, my princess.”
Now the Sheikh’s cock sprang out as he pushed his underwear down, and Fran gasped out loud, her entire body seizing up for a moment as she blinked so hard Zaal wondered if she was going into shock. But he did not go to her even though a part of him wanted to rush over and take her into his arms and pull her close. No, he stayed still, because a deeper part of the Sheikh was leading him now, guiding him, whispering without words that this is what this woman needs from you tonight, this is how you will help her step out of her own shadow, come out of her cave, creep out of that burrow.
He stood full and tall before her now, naked as the dawn, brown as the banks of the River Nile, smooth muscles casting shadows over his form, cock rising like a gleaming shaft of pure energy, clean desire, cosmic eroticism.
The Sheikh waited in silence, directing his gaze away from Fran’s eyes, giving her the chance to look at him without feeling watched, without feeling judged . . . even though he knew the harshest judge of her desires was perhaps herself.
Look at me, princess, he wanted to say. But he stayed quiet for several long moments, closing his eyes now and listening for the sound of her breath. He could feel it now, he thought, feel her slowly acknowledging her own desire in a way she could not while he was licking her clit, touching her cunt. In and out, he could feel her breath go. Up and down, he could sense her chest move. Breathing getting steady even though her heat was rising, he thought. Ya Allah, she is starting to accept her arousal, is she not? Starting to accept her need, that most natural of needs, that most human of needs, that most feminine of needs.
“Do you see what you want, princess?” he said now, taking a step closer as he felt his cock gently bounce.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice husky and low.
“And are you ready to tell me what you want, princess?” he asked as he took another step closer.
She giggled and glanced up into his eyes, looking away shyly, up at the ceiling, her smooth face going red as she swallowed and took a breath. She looked over at him again now, first into his eyes with that schoolgirl smile, now slowly down towards his cock, the smile fading as her breath shortened at the sight of his arousal, the size of his need, the girth of his desire.
“I want . . .” she said, big brown eyes darting back and forth, now locking on his cock as her chest heaved. She spread her legs almost involuntarily on the bed before drawing those creamy white thighs back together, and the Sheikh let out a deep, stifled groan as he clenched his fists to keep from leaping onto her, pushing those heavy legs apart and sliding his glistening cock as deep as her cunt could take him.
“Tell me, princess,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he approached the edge of the bed, getting on his knees and edging his way towards her, cock bouncing and flexing, a thick bead of pre-cum perched on his swollen tip like a shining pearl. “Tell me what you want.”
The Sheikh reached out and took her hand now, slowly bringing his cock closer as he came forward on his knees until his cock extended out over her bare breasts, its long brown shaft right before his princess’s big brown eyes, balls hanging heavy and full as she stared and swallowed.
He took her hand and placed it around his cock now, flexing hard as he told himself he would hold his goddamn ground, he would not come, he would not break and simply give in to the attraction that was making him numb. Hold on, Zaal, he told himself. This is her night, not yours. The animal inside wants you to ram your cock past her perfect pink lips until she chokes on your length. The beast inside wants you to flip her over and push hard and deep, filling her as you finish what your cock and balls are begging you to finish. But you will hold your ground, great Sheikh. By Allah, you will hold!
The Sheikh groaned out loud as Fran slowly grasped his cock, her fingers tightening around his shaft as he tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide. He groaned again, deep and loud, letting his arousal express itself so she knew how much she was turning him on.
“Do you see how hard I am for you, princess?” he growled as he felt his teeth grind from how tight he was clenching he jaw. “Do you see how much I want my princess? How much my cock wants your pussy? How much my cock needs your cunt? How you are in control of me because I cannot simply take what I want but must wait for you to give it to me, must wait for you to be ready, for your tight, virgin pussy to be ready to take my swollen, dripping cock?”
“Oh, God!” she cried, pulling on his shaft as she raised her head and opened her mouth. “Oh, God, Zaal!”
“Say my name again,” he muttered as he grabbed her wrist and slowed her down because there was no bloody way he was going to control himself if she did that! “Say the name of the man you love, the man who loves you. Say my name, princess. Say the name of your king, my little princess. Say my name.”
“Zaal,” she groaned as her mouth opened wide and she looked up at him, her thighs parting involuntarily as she writhed on the bed, one hand on his cock, her other hand clutching at the ravaged bedclothes that were damp beneath her crotch and buttocks, between her thighs that were opening and closing like her pussy was calling for his cock. “Zaal, Zaal, Zaal!”
The Sheikh roared with pleasure as he heard her say his name, and now that last bit of him that was saying this was a fantasy disappeared into the cool night air, and he was fully in this dream wi
th her, with his princess, and as that fantasy merged with reality, even the hint of separation long gone, in his body surged an absolute certainty that he loved this woman, that he truly loved her, loved his princess, loved her just like she loved him.
He straddled her now, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead and then the lips, now bringing his heavy cock to her chest, slowly running the head of his erection along her breasts, circling her stiff, pointy nipples with his glistening tip, coating the dark red erogenous circles with his clean wetness, one nipple and then the other as she moaned and shuddered and called his name again, called him her king, swore she was ready, begged for him to take her, to take his princess.
“Are you sure, princess?” he asked in a low, firm voice, letting her know he was firmly leading her but only because she was allowing it, because she wanted it, because she wanted him. “Are you sure you want me to be the first, princess?”
“Yes,” she gurgled, her eyelids doing that butterfly dance again as she licked her lips uncontrollably.
“Are you sure you want me to be the first, little Francine?” he asked as he slowly pulled his cock away from her grip, letting his heavy shaft touch her breasts one more time, settle between those beautiful round globes for a moment before he dragged the head of his cock down along the center of her belly, coating her with a thin trail of pre-cum, marking her, letting her and the entire goddamn universe know that she was his, that this was his princess, that she belonged to this damn king.
Untouched for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 6) Page 10
