by Chloe Cox
He’d laughed. No one spoke to him like that. And from the moment he saw her, he’d felt…
He’d been trying to put it into words. In fact, he had to be able to put it into words—to name it, to own it—before she arrived for his standard submissive evaluation. Otherwise he had very little hope of staying in control, and the only thing a man in Bashir’s position couldn’t afford was to lose control with a woman. Especially one like Ms. Spencer.
There was a hesitant knock at the door.
His time was up.
“Enter,” he said.
Stella opened the door just wide enough to slip through and closed it quickly behind her, as though she were afraid that someone might notice. She stood very close to the door, keeping her hands on the handle behind her while her chest moved up and down with rapid little breaths. Her large breasts were still pressed high and tight by that sleek dress that only accentuated all of her delicious curves. The flush that had started to spread across her skin in Lola’s office had only intensified.
“So…hi,” she said, and gave an awkward little wave.
Why was that so endearing? Why was her obvious bumbling—her determination in the face of such social ignorance—attractive? It was like he’d been possessed. Bashir breathed deeply and counted to three.
“Come here,” he said, and beckoned for her to stand before him. The room was luxurious—if simple—compared to his luxury suite downstairs. Bashir found the sofa on which he sat to be quite comfortable, the bar was well stocked, and the bed, over on the other side of the room, was large. Stella glanced over at it nervously.
“We won’t have need of that quite yet,” he said, and her creamy shoulders seemed to relax a little.
Good. Bashir didn’t want her frightened. He wanted her overcome. These evaluations had a purpose. He wanted to find out what made her tick, what turned her on, what turned her off. He’d always delighted in putting subs through the best scenes of their lives, but something about Stella Spencer suggested there might be more to it this time.
He watched as she walked slowly forward until she stood a few feet in front of where he sat, and he tried his damnedest to figure out what it was about her. She wasn’t particularly graceful, she didn’t have the studied allure of most of the Volare women, and yet…and yet…
“You wanted me to present myself,” she said, and then frowned, apparently embarrassed by such an inane statement. Or perhaps she disliked the phrase itself, with all its implications. Bashir was intrigued when, a second later, she looked into his eyes with an air of defiance. Of pride.
Best to be absolutely clear, then.
“You haven’t presented yourself yet, Stella,” he said. “Take off your dress.”
She flinched. Her face was as open to him as it had been in Lola’s office, as it had been in the Pearl Room. Perhaps this was what drew him to her, these flashes of openness, of intimacy. Now he watched her cycle through disbelief, her mind churning behind those blue eyes, and run up against…desire. Her face was a mask of confusion. She needed his help.
“I said: take off your dress, Stella. Now.”
~ ~ ~
Sheikh Bashir’s voice filled the room like a thunderclap, penetrating Stella’s mind with the sudden violence of a force of nature and compelling her to act. She very nearly actually did it. She’d nearly taken off her dress just because he’d told her to. She came back to herself, her thumbs already hooked under the straps of her dress, and blinked.
What the hell was that? She’d never felt so weak. I have my safeword. I can always say the safeword.
Somehow, that didn’t help. She didn’t fear Sheikh Bashir, even as he arose from the couch with a lazy, predatory grace. She feared her own apparent loss of self-control. What kind of person nearly undresses just because some guy with the voice of God tells her to? What was happening to her?
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I told you I’m not…I’m not familiar with these kinds of things. I’m sorry. I think this was mistake, Sheikh Bashir, I really do.”
“I grow weary of hearing you say that, Ms. Spencer,” he said, and a wry smile played across those soft lips. “It’s almost as if you do not trust my judgment.”
Stella knew there was something wrong with that argument, but she was having trouble thinking logically. The Sheikh had risen to his full height and had removed his tailored grey suit jacket, tossing it carelessly on the sofa. What was left was an obvious wall of hard muscle under a fitted white, collared shirt, which was tucked crisply into a pair of grey suit slacks.
Maybe he plays polo, Stella thought weakly. She could see the Sheikh fiercely driving a horse around a pitch. Oh God, what an idiotic thing to think about! You don’t know anything about polo! Get a hold of yourself, Spencer.
But she was frozen to the spot, as though if she stayed perfectly still, maybe Sheikh Bashir would just forget about her. Instead, he came very, very close. Stella remembered the heat of his body from when he’d grabbed her, only a few moments ago in Lola’s office, and looked furiously at the floor.
He said, “But it is more offensive to me that you seem to expect me not to trust my own judgment, too.” He reached out and touched the side of her cheek with the back of his hand. “I know what I see before me. You make it quite plain.”
Suddenly, Stella was furious. She’d been torturing herself nightly over what other people must see when they looked at her, what led them to treat her the way that they did, and this stranger had the temerity to just…announce that he knew? Better than she did?
“Oh, really?” Stella said, and let the sarcasm fly. She finally looked up to see that he was still smiling. “You think you know me better than I know myself?”
“Apparently.”
Stella was not prepared for that.
“But perhaps you need to be convinced,” the Sheikh continued, and stepped quickly behind her, resting his large hands on her shoulders. Stella was afraid to move. Not because of what might happen, but because she might miss the feel of him behind her, and she wasn’t quite ready for that, either.
Maybe that’s the problem, Stella thought to herself. I’ve been so afraid of what might happen, I’ve stopped moving. She felt something inside twist, and the kaleidoscope of jumbled emotions that she’d become accustomed to carrying around with her fell into a kind of focus. The picture didn’t make sense, exactly, but it was a picture now. She was afraid. She had stopped moving. She’d been hiding.
And this stranger could see that.
If it hadn’t been for his warm hands massaging her shoulders, Stella was certain she would’ve begun to shake. She wasn’t sure she could handle whatever he had planned.
“Who do you think you are,” she said, and she could not keep the tremble out of her voice, “to talk to people this way?”
The Sheikh’s big hands spun her around easily, and he caught her around the waist with his iron arm. His other hand moved upward to cradle her face—and to make sure she looked at him while he spoke to her.
“I am Sheikh Bashir al Aziz bin Said of Ras al Manas,” he said with unerring calm, “though that has little to do with my ability to talk to you this way, or my ability to recognize you for what you are.”
His black eyes softened and searched her face. Stella was completely at a loss for words, unable to answer him. Instead, she felt her pulse in her neck, her fingers, and, most of all, in her pussy, thudding hot and hard against her flesh.
“I swear, on my honor, I will not hurt you,” he said softly. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” Stella heard herself say. It didn’t make any sense. But she did believe him. She believed him utterly.
His grip around her waist tightened and he pulled her closer. Stella felt her logic, her rationality, her willpower begin to drain away. Her body hadn’t felt this way except during dreams, the kind that woke her with an orgasm and sent her searching for her vibrator. Only this was real.
The Sheikh was still smiling.
“Yo
u very nearly obeyed my command to take off your dress. You only just met me, Ms. Spencer, and you did not even know my full name, yet you very nearly undressed when I commanded you to do so. Don’t you think that’s unusual?”
Yes, it’s unusual, Stella thought. It’s freaking insane. She thought back to her ex, Robert: she’d never “obeyed” him in any sense of the word, though he’d never issued a command like that, either. And she wouldn’t have obeyed him even if he had, just on principle. The idea of Robert ordering her to do anything was laughable.
“I really have no idea,” she managed to say.
“Now you’re lying,” the Sheikh said, flashing his bright, white teeth. “I will be lenient now, but if you lie to me in the future…”
He pressed his thumb into her cheek, let his hand fall down the skin of her neck, smoothed his fingers over her bare shoulder, before grabbing the back of her head with sudden force. His lips curled in a sensual smile.
“You will be punished.”
Stella shivered. How could that sound like something she wanted? But her body didn’t lie.
“Listen,” she stammered. “I don’t know what kind of person you think I am—”
He let her go, almost propelling her away from him, and turned toward the bar. Stella loathed to admit that she immediately missed the feel of him, but she did. And she hated that she waited breathlessly for him to speak, but she did that too.
When he finally spoke, he did so with exaggerated patience.
He said, “You signed a contract. I think that you did this because you wanted to, even if you are unable to admit that to yourself. And I think that you are standing here because you are tired of being afraid of the things that you want.”
He turned around, easily stirring the ice in a cool looking drink, and looked at her with an expression of almost bored confidence. She was too stunned to respond. She wasn’t used to sexy, dominant Sheikhs showing up out of nowhere and reading her mind.
“It’s not really all that unusual to be afraid of what you want, Ms. Spencer,” he went on. “But it is, perhaps, unusual to have the courage to face that fear.”
He leaned back against the bar, and looked her up and down. The heat on her body tracked the path of his eyes, as though he were actually touching her. I might as well be naked, she thought wildly. I might as well…
“And now, the time for introductions is over,” he said, and the smile faded from his face. His eyes flashed, and a muscle in his jaw twitched once, twice.
“Take off your dress,” he commanded.
Startled, as if waking from a nap, Stella felt her fingers fumble with the straps, felt her hips wriggle, felt her dress fall, and looked down to find that she’d obeyed an order.
CHAPTER 3
Bashir watched Stella’s face carefully. His voice seemed to sweep through her mind, clearing all doubt. She snapped to attention, as though in a hypnotic state, and shimmied out of that ill-fitting dress before she’d even realized what she was doing.
This clarity of purpose didn’t last, as Bashir knew it wouldn’t. She was a submissive, but that didn’t mean she had fully accepted it yet. Already, new doubts and recriminations were beginning to play across the shadows of her face. It made her that much more vulnerable.
That vulnerability… He wanted to protect her. And he wanted to fuck her until she forgot her own name. God, what is it with this woman?
Bashir leaned forward, fighting the urge to leap to his feet and take her, to feel her soft flesh yield under his hands, to feel her lips around his already-hard cock. Her skin was alabaster white and flawless, set off by a plain black bra and matching underwear. She had obviously never expected anyone else to see such unremarkable underwear. Well, no matter. Bashir had little use for them.
“Remove your undergarments,” he said.
Stella’s eyes went wide, and her head began to shake before she’d even opened her mouth. He could see it was instinctual, reflexive. She probably didn’t think of it as disobedience.
He would have to educate her.
“You did read the contract you just signed, didn’t you, Ms. Spencer?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“What did it say?”
He saw that she was trembling a little, but she did not allow her voice to shake. “It says…” She swallowed. “It says that you would pay me, for…”
Bashir winced to hear her speak of the money first. That was not what he wanted to think about with her, with this woman who so mysteriously called to him. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and rose, towering over her, and looked fiercely down at her. It was time to establish the rules.
“It says that I own you, Ms. Spencer.”
He stepped forward quickly, before she had a chance to object, and put the flat of his hand on her soft, taut stomach. Her eyelids fluttered, but she looked rigidly ahead. She was hot to the touch.
“It says that you are mine, to do with as I please.”
Her stomach moved under his hand in tiny little contractions, and he had to pause, momentarily overcome by the thought of how she might contract around his cock. He took a breath.
“It says that I have the right to discipline my possession if she is disobedient.”
He let his hand drift lower, sliding down her quivering belly, until he felt the elastic waistband of her panties. He slipped two fingers under it, and her breath hitched.
“You have your safeword, but you do not want to use it, do you?” he said. “Remove your undergarments, Stella.”
Bashir could feel the heat pouring off of her, could see her nipples beginning to harden under her thin cotton bra, would swear that he could smell her desire. She was a submissive, even if she didn’t know it yet. She was a submissive for him.
With aching slowness, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She let it hang from her body for a moment, and then, all in one motion, shrugged it off and let it drop to the floor.
She was his. He hadn’t realized until this moment that he’d had any doubts. His relief was immense, was all out of proportion—he’d only just met her, after all. But she would truly submit, he knew that now. His erection grew to the point of pain as he looked at her naked breasts.
Her nipples were a dark pink, the same color as her lips; two pebbled and pointed reminders of her arousal. Her wide blue eyes were still closed as she worked her thumbs under the elastic of her panties and pushed them down over her hips. She kept her eyes closed as the last of her clothing piled around her feet, leaving her fully exposed.
Bashir sucked in his breath. She was beautiful. Every soft inch of her, every luscious curve, every smooth bit of skin—he wanted all of her. Her large breasts were very real, unlike the artificially inflated chests of so many of the women who threw themselves at him, and very inviting. Her vulva, with only a light dusting of fine hair, was invitingly plump. He wanted to taste her.
He wanted to make her scream.
“Very good,” he said, moving slightly behind her.
He couldn’t resist the temptation to dip down and kiss her neck, just below her ear. She arched toward him involuntarily, like a flower seeking the sun.
Ah, he thought. That is one spot she likes.
“And now we can proceed with the evaluation,” he murmured.
Immediately, she stiffened. “Evaluation?” she said.
Bashir did not answer her. She would learn that he would not repeat himself, that her role was not to question him. But he kept his hand flat on her belly, a calming presence and continual connection between them. So she was insecure. That was perhaps not entirely surprising. But despite that insecurity, she was brave enough to come this far. He liked that.
He moved in front of her, sliding his hand up her abdomen, and hefted one generous breast, his thumb toying with her nipple. “And how sensitive are these?”
She breathed deeply, and he laughed.
“Open your eyes, Stella.”
The barest beat of hesitation, and she di
d. She turned her head, and looked directly into his eyes.
Bashir was momentarily stunned. There was no logic to his attraction to her, to what he felt when she looked at him. He was compelled to figure it out, to control it, as he did with all things. He’d solved every puzzle that had ever stymied him; he would not be defeated by this woman. He could get lost in those blue eyes. Why?
“Have you loved many men?” he asked her.
Her face hardened, but she found her voice. “What kind of question is that?”
He pinched her nipple, hard, and a little gasp of air escaped her lips.
“You will address me as Sheikh,” he said. “And you will answer my questions. Do you understand?”
Another beat. He squeezed her whole breast, and watched her lower lip tremble. She was not like a polished piece of glass, like a metal instrument perfectly designed for his use, like so many of the women he met seemed to be. Stella was real. Fleshy. Human.
“Yes, Sheikh,” she said, and it seemed to surprise her. Watching her come to terms, slowly, with what she really wanted would be priceless.
“Have you ever been in love?”
This time she looked away, and he could see she was fighting back the urge to cry. That was not the emotional response he had desired. Determined to make her feel something else, he dropped his hand and slipped it suddenly between her legs, and grabbed her pussy.
She gasped, her big eyes snapping back to his face. She gripped his shoulder, and leaned into him on the tips of her toes while he held her firmly between her legs.
“So let us start with an easier question,” he said. “Have you ever been properly fucked?”
She opened her plump lips, closed them again. “I don’t…I don’t know,” she finally said. “No.”
Her breath was ragged, dragging over her words in an odd rhythm, and her stomach fluttered. He smiled.
“And you are not of the Volare.”
“No,” she rasped.
“But you know of us. You know what it means to be Volare.”
