Love-Slave to the Sheikh

by Miranda Lee

  The only skirt in her wardrobe which would remotely do was calf-length and black, with a split up the front to her knee. She’d teamed it with a pair of black knee-high boots she’d had for years but which never really went out of fashion, and a top shehad bought for her getaway, a soft silky burgundy number, with three-quarter sleeves and a deep cross-over neckline.

  She’d thrown her good black leather jacket over her shoulders for the drive up to the heliport and the short walk from where she’d parked her four-by-four on to the helicopter. Even so, she knew she looked very different from what she usually looked like. Cleo’s eyes would have popped out of her head if she’d seen her.

  Fortunately, Cleo was not there to see her off. Clever Bandar had given her and Norm the weekend off, and they’d left early this morning to go to Port Macquarie and visit Norm’s elderly mother. There was only the pilot, and he was a virtual stranger to her.

  Bandar had been waiting for her in the helicopter. The pilot had been the one to take her overnight bag, then help her up the steps, and she’d been terrified for a moment that a wind would come and somehow blow up her skirt and he would see she was naked underneath.

  But that hadn’t happened, and soon she’d been safely inside.

  Safe, but instantly intimidated and terrified.

  This could not be her, Samantha Nelson, with this stunningly gorgeous man in these amazing surroundings. The interior of Ali’s helicopter was fitted out like a luxury loungeroom in an English gentleman’s residence, with wood-panelled walls, plush leather seating arrangements and the thickest carpet on the floor.

  But itwas her, standing there without her pants on, breathlessly waiting for Bandar to do wicked things to her.

  ‘I see you have done what I asked,’ he murmured, his eyes not leaving hers as he walked slowly towards her.

  ‘How do you know?’ she choked out. She still had her leather jacket on.

  ‘A woman moves differently when she is naked underneath her clothes.’

  ‘Yes. Very carefully.’

  The hint of a smile played around his sensual mouth. ‘But you like it.’

  ‘I can’t say that I do. It makes me feel too vulnerable.’

  ‘But deliciously aroused.’

  She could not deny it.

  ‘You will be more comfortable without the jacket,’ he suggested smoothly.

  She winced as he removed her last defence.

  Samantha did not have to glance down to know what she looked like. She could feel her breasts swell further, her erect nipples pressing almost painfully against the softness of the silky material.

  He took his time draping her jacket over the back of a chair, each second like an eternity to Samantha. At last he returned to take her arm, his touch sending an electric charge ricocheting throughout her body, making her feel faint with excitement.

  ‘Come,’ he invited, and led her over to two cream leather armchairs sitting side by side. They had a small table between them, on which sat two glasses of champagne, plus a long-stemmed crystal vase carrying a single red rose the like of which Samantha had never seen. Its petals were huge and velvety, the red graduating from scarlet to almost black.

  ‘What an unusual rose,’ she said as she lowered herself almost gingerly into the first armchair, trying to hold the slit in her skirt together at the same time.

  ‘It is called Carmen,’ he replied. ‘Named after the character in the opera.’

  ‘It’s very…um…’

  ‘Sensual,’ he supplied, before she could think of the right word. ‘You will note that your chair has seat belts fitted. Here. Take your glass of champagne and I will fasten you in.’

  She almost dropped the glass he handed her, her whole body stiffening when he pulled the belt quite firmly across her waist and clicked it in.

  ‘Not too tight?’ he murmured, his dark eyes boring into hers.

  Samantha swallowed, then shook her head.

  For a moment she could have sworn he was going to kiss her. But he didn’t. He straightened, then moved over to sit down in the adjacent chair, belting himself in swiftly before picking up a nearby phone and telling the pilot they were ready to leave. Only then did he pick up his own glass of champagne.

  ‘I forgot to ask if you liked champagne,’ he said after they’d both had a few sips. ‘Do you?’

  ‘I likethis champagne,’ she replied, and took a deeper swallow. Getting tipsy suddenly seemed like a good idea.

  ‘You should. It is the best. Drink up.’

  Samantha was doing as she was told when she felt the floor beneath her begin to rise. Her hands automatically tightened around the delicate glass, but their take-off was remarkably smooth, and stunningly silent.

  ‘I can’t believe how quiet it is in here,’ she said.

  ‘Everything is very well insulated,’ Bandar explained. ‘And as you can see, there are no windows.’

  She hadn’t noticed the lack of windows till he said it.

  ‘What a pity. The view from up here today would be magnificent.’

  Bandar pressed a switch in the panel built into his chair’s armrest and the large television on the adjacent wall immediately came on, showing a news channel. Another flick of a switch and the screen filled with a panoramic view of the countryside below.

  ‘Channel Six is connected to a camera on the underside of the helicopter,’ Bandar told her.

  ‘Itis a good view, but I can’t watch it for long or I’ll get motion sickness.’

  ‘I do not want you to watch it,’ he said, and switched it off. ‘I wish to talk to you.’

  Samantha could not believe that he was suggesting that again. Didn’t he know how she was feeling? How she’d been feeling since she’d woken this morning?

  As if she could hardly breathe for wanting him again.

  Her life had been turned upside down by the cravings which continually washed through her. She wanted to kneel before him right now and take him into her mouth. She wanted to shamelessly lift her skirt. She wanted him to look at her and touch her. She wanted him to ravage her body till she found some peace once more.

  She’d become a slave—not to him so much, but to her own increasingly dark desires.

  ‘I understand you do not want to talk,’ he said. ‘You want me to make love to you. And I will, I promise.’

  Her face flamed, her body moving restlessly in the chair.

  ‘But first I wish to explain something.’

  She did not—could not—speak. She just stared over at him.

  ‘When I was a young man,’ he told her, ‘I became addicted to sex. I was like a child in a sweet shop, stuffing myself all the time. I had to have release morning, noon and night. When I was around twenty I took an older woman to bed and was promptly told that whilst I was built well I had no idea how to please a woman. I was accused of having no more finesse than a rutting ram.’

  Samantha went on staring at him. Why was he telling her this? What did it have to do with the here and now? He had obviously learned plenty of finesse since then. He was the complete fantasy lover. She didn’t want him to talk, damn it. She wanted some action!

  But it seemed he was determined on telling his story.

  ‘Stung by her criticism, I made it my business to read everything I could on sex and sexual techniques. TheKama Sutra was particularly enlightening. I had never thought of such positions before. Have you read it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I will give you a copy. But even more educational were other, more obscure erotic journals I discovered, written mostly by the Chinese. Chinese husbands understand that satisfying their wives is as important as satisfying themselves. They have become experts in the art of delay. With practise and mind control they can make love to their wives every night for a week without allowing their bodies release. When they do finally allow themselves release, their own pleasure is said to be enhanced a thousandfold.’

  He smiled into her stunned face.

  ‘I do not cl
aim to practise that extreme version. But a few hours’ delay, I have found, is well worth the effort. It is also an effective technique where one’s female partner is concerned—something I discovered when first using bondage on a woman. If I do not touch you till we arrive at the hotel suite in Sydney, by then you will want me to make love to you with a much greater intensity. You will scream in ecstasy when you finally come. Would you not like that, Samantha?’

  Samantha just stared at him. Didn’t he realise she was at screaming point right now?

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But, no—not really. I mean…it sounds all very well in theory, but I’m not as sophisticated as you are, Bandar. When I said I wanted you to teach me everything about sex, I never imagined this type of way-out thing. Not that it isn’t exciting, mind. I’m really looking forward to being your love-slave for the weekend. And I will happily practise this art of delay at some later date. But please, Bandar, if you make me wait right now, I think I will go crazy.’

  His low laugh carried both amusement and satisfaction. ‘Just as well I anticipated this reaction. You are far too passionate and headstrong for me to totally control just yet. But that is part of your appeal. Very well,’ he said, unsnapping his seat belt and standing up. ‘But the lovemaking will be of my choosing. I have no intention of undressing. Or of letting you out of that chair. You promised to obey me for the weekend. Are you ready to follow through on that promise?’

  ‘Yes…’

  What was he going to do to her? She began to shake inside with nervous anticipation.

  He removed the half-empty champagne glass from her numbed hand and then undressed her. Where she sat. First her boots, each one removed slowly as he knelt at her feet. Then came her top, eased out from under the seat belt and then lifted up over her head. And finally her skirt, wriggled down over her hips whilst she raised her bottom an inch or two.

  At last she was totally nude, the leather chair feeling cool yet cruelly sensual against her heated skin. The seat belt was snug around her naked waist, keeping her captive in the chair—except of course she could undo it if she wanted to.

  But she didn’t.

  ‘You’re not cold, are you?’ he murmured when she shivered.

  ‘No,’ she admitted, the word coming out on a choked whisper.

  He moved the table between the chairs aside, then walked around the chair as he’d walked around her at the cottage, looking at her, making her cheeks burn and her flesh tingle. He flicked the lever which leant the chair right back, then walked around her again, stopping behind her to finger-comb her hair back over the chair, after which he walked round to the front, where he eased her knees further apart.

  Her hands clenched the armrests more tightly when he looked at her down there. She knew she had to be horribly wet. Knew he could see how excited she was.

  The feelings which rushed through her at this realisation excited her even more. He would surely touch her there soon. Maybe he would even use his mouth, as he had the previous day. Oh, but he was so good at that.

  But he didn’t touch her there. Or kiss her there. Instead, he extracted the rose from the vase and started touching her with it, trailing the petals lightly over her skin.

  At first just her arms, with long, light, sensual strokes, running from the backs of her hands up to her shoulders.

  Several times violent shudders ran all through her.

  Her legs were the next objects of his attention, that tormenting rose travelling from her toes to the tops of her thighs, before skimming lightly over the melting flesh in between.

  The air became thick around her. Her eyes grew wide. Her mouth fell open.

  Right when she thought she might start begging, he moved on to her breasts, trailing the rose back and forth across them. Her spine stiffened against the leather chair, her breasts lifting and her belly tightening. How was she going to bear it?

  Not quietly. She gasped every time the rose contacted an aching nipple, then moaned when it didn’t. The pleasure of the petals became a two-edged sword. Because it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Quite desperately.

  ‘Bandar…’ His name sounded like a plea. Which it was.

  He did not reply, just bent to press the whole rose there, right where she wanted him to, crushing the petals against her most sensitive spot.

  She splintered apart instantly, her mouth gasping even wider, her knuckles whitening as her back arched and her bottom twisted and turned against the chair. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as spasm after spasm gripped her flesh, her orgasm more intense and lasting longer than any she’d had so far.

  She did not become aware of Bandar not being with her any longer till she finally opened her eyes and found he was gone.

  For a few moments her befuddled brain succumbed to panic.

  Gonewhere ?

  But as her breathing slowed down and her mind began to clear she noticed that there were a couple of doors in the wood-panelled walls. Presumably one led to a bathroom. Maybe he was in there.

  She was struggling with her seat belt when he emerged from one of the doors, and a wave of embarrassment swept through her when she glanced down and saw the scattering of blood-red petals between her legs. The rest of the rose was nowhere in sight. He had to have taken it with him.

  Her fingers fumbled even more at his approach. She could not believe she had just done that, or that Bandar could do what he had without being turned on himself.

  Yet he didn’t look in any way aroused as he walked towards her. He looked totally in control, of himself and of her.

  ‘Here. Let me,’ he said gently, and helped her with the belt. Helped her get dressed as well.

  When she was fully clothed he took her into his arms and kissed her, then held her close, stroking her hair at the same time.

  ‘Do not feel embarrassed,’ he murmured. ‘This is what you have come with me to learn. Embrace the part you have promised to play this weekend, Samantha, and you will discover a side to yourself which you have kept hidden. You have spent far too many years dressing and acting without femininity. It is time to throw off that façade and become the woman you secretly want to be.’

  Samantha could not help but find the nonsense in his arguments, glancing up at him with some exasperation in her face.

  ‘Being a love-slave is hardly being a real woman, Bandar. This is all fantasy stuff. You know, I don’t think you live in the real world. You are too used to women doing your bidding.’

  ‘And you are too used to doing the arguing,’ he returned quite sharply. ‘You agreed to obey me this weekend. Are you going back on that agreement?’

  ‘Can I reserve the right to rebel if things get too kinky?’

  ‘I do not do kinky,’ he growled.

  ‘You have to be kidding. What do you think that was just now?’

  ‘You think that was kinky?’

  ‘Too right it was.’

  ‘In that case maybe Ido do kinky,’ he conceded.

  She swallowed. ‘Just nottoo kinky, all right?’

  ‘You have my word.’

  Samantha sighed, feeling comforted by his assurance. Although a playboy in his personal life, Bandar still came across as a man of honour. He evoked a lot of terrifying feelings in her, but none of them was fear itself. She believed him when he said he would never hurt her. And she’d believed him when he’d given his word just now. He might not be a saint, but he was a long way from being a devil.

  ‘So what do love-slaves do, besides lie back and enjoy?’ she asked with a devilish smile of her own.

  ‘They do everything their lord and master tells them to do. Without question, without hesitation, andwithout argument.’

  ‘Are we talking just sexual things, here, or everything else as well?’

  ‘Absolutely everything. I do realise that will be difficult for you, but I think you will learn a lot from it.’

  ‘And what willyou learn?’

  Her counter-question clearly startled him at first. But then he smi
led. ‘I will learn to listen to my first instincts in future.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I knew you were trouble from the first moment we met. I told myself to walk away, but fate conspired against me.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘No more questions, Love-slave. The weekend has begun in earnest. Sit down and fasten your seat belt. We are about to land.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BANDARstood inside the spacious sitting room of Ali’s presidential suite and watched her out on the balcony, looking around with an almost naïve delight on her face. Anyone would think she had never been in a hotel before. Or seen Sydney Harbour.