Sheikh's Accidental Baby

by Ella Brooke

  She grinned back at him and licked her lips deliberately, channeling her inner minx. “I want to do so many things, but I know there are more things at stake with us. I don’t know if I can always pretend otherwise.”

  “Then don’t. Just enjoy the moment.”

  She nodded and wanted to say more, but then the sound of a bassoon and other wind instruments as well as the thrumming bass of drums filled their small, set off room. As she watched, a small, makeshift band of performers slipped into the dining room and, behind them, followed two women dancing. They were dressed like she was, in bandolier and harem pants, considerably more revealing. As the women undulated her hips, Tiffany held her breath, wondering if their coverings would fall off. The two women also wore veils over their faces so that the only thing visible was their dark hair through the thin veil fabric and the entrancing stare of their heavily kohl-rimmed eyes.

  “What’s this?”

  Sirhan laughed and clapped. “I’m sure my guards are going crazy with potential threats or too many people, but this is The Alhambra’s best attraction, at least for tourists. The live band accompanies the belly dancers. Sometimes they’ll go as far on special nights to teach the dance of the seven veils. This is just something simple. Would you like to try?”

  Before, back at The Cambrian, Tiffany had been all business, all seriousness. That changed the night she let lust and fear drive her into that pool with Sirhan. Before, she’d be worried about her hips being too wide or her motions too clumsy, not as fluid as the trained dancers before her. Now? Now, she could see Sirhan’s eager gaze and the desire flowing through her to live up to his hopes. Now, she was his tigress, and Tiffany would take any dare.

  Grinning back at him, she got to her feet and lined up with the dancers. At first, she had no idea where to put anything, felt as if her arms were waving all over the place. Then the taller of the two girls helped her, straightening out her arms and teaching Tiffany the right rhythm for swaying them. The other girl, with faux rubies adorning her top, put her hands on Tiffany’s hips and helped her undulate them in time with the music. After a few moments, it was as if that beat were rippling through her, that the tattoo of the drums was synced with her heartbeat. Closing her eyes, she gave into the rhythm and let her hips speak for themselves. Now she was actually glad she wore the baggy pants — they allowed for even better movement. When she finally felt that had the right beat, she dared to open her eyes again. It was then that she spied Sirhan studying her intently, the lust and the need stark on his face.

  She took at as both a reason to be even bolder and an open invitation.

  Grinning at him like a cat who’d found the canary, she strode over to Sirhan. First, she worked to circle him, her hands sweeping lightly over his shoulders and her hips getting ever so close to his torso without touching him. As she passed by him a third time, Sirhan reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “I need you, Tiger.”

  She grinned and lowered her body, sliding down his torso as if she were a firefighter going down a pole. Tiffany raked her hands over his chest, pushing the lapels of his tailored jacket back and grateful with Sirhan took the hint and stripped down to just his silk shirt. She could feel all of him through the thin fabric, feel the firmness of his muscles just below her fingers and the ridges of his abs through the silk. Leaning down, she kissed his lips, her tongue tracing eagerly over his. Then she let her hips slide even lower until she was perched over his lap. It was a slightly awkward angle, since they were both seated on the rug, but her body knew what it wanted to do.

  No, it was more than that. Tiffany had to own this, had to own every aspect of this. She wanted it too.

  Sirhan looked at the dancers and the band and barked something terse in what she assumed was Arabic. They rushed away, and she was grateful for the privacy again and more than certain that no waiters would interrupt them either. Tiffany turned her body so that she was facing him, then she ran her hands over his chest, even as she bucked her hips against his lap. Sirhan’s hardness was already rising up to meet her thrusts.

  “What are you doing, Tiger?”

  “I’m doing anything you want,” she said, still moving her body to the rhythm she felt pounding through her. The band was gone, but the music was pumping through her veins. She lifted her hips again and again, in a ferocious tempo that only she understood, that only she set. Yet, for all her rapid pace, Sirhan rose to follow her, his own rhythm as frenzied as her own. As they pumped their hips against each other, she kissed him again, her tongue driving deeply into the open cavern of his mouth, her tongue tangling with his in an erotic dance.

  The heat was flaring through her now, like a roaring inferno, that damn forest fire come to life all over again, but then Sirhan shocked her by putting a hand on her shoulder. He stilled her.

  “What?” she croaked, her voice small and probably far more insecure than she’d have liked it to sound. “Was it… You want this, right?”

  If she fucked up or did something wrong, if he decided that he didn’t actually feel an attraction to her, she wasn’t sure what she would do. Even the thought she might not be good enough for him, burned through her like shame.

  “No, Tiger, it’s not that,” he said, his eyes almost hypnotic as they regarded her. “I just don’t have protection here and I’d like a bit more privacy. I don’t think I could make it back to the palace. Dear Allah, I’d explode by then. Still, let’s go back to the limo. The last thing I need is for the papers to assume that I’m back to my wild ways.”

  “You never left them,” Tiffany added. “I think that maybe you just have an exhibitionist streak.”

  He kissed her lips, lingering long enough to nibble at her lower one. “I think we both do. I’ve done more daring things than my usual since I met you, Tiger. You have a far larger wild streak than you know.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  ***

  She wasn’t sure how they made it to the limo. It took every inch of concentration and patience she had to stand back up and straighten her hair, to put on a straight face and walk, not run, back to the limo. Thankfully it had deeply tinted windows. They would have to keep their voices down, something they didn’t exactly have a good track record with in the past, but at least they were afforded privacy. She couldn’t wait any longer to make love to the man she cared about either. He’d tasted her, but they’d both been left unfulfilled the first time. Now, it felt like she’d explode into a million pieces if they couldn’t have sex.

  When they slipped into the limo, Sirhan wasted no time reaching into a side compartment in the limo’s bar and pulling out the familiar foil packet. He was about to open it, when she reached out and grabbed it from him.

  “Let me do it, my sheikh. After all, aren’t I supposed to serve you?”

  Sirhan laughed and stroked her cheek. “You can’t even fake being submissive, Tiger. I’m overjoyed that you’re so eager, because I’m dying here. However, you’re about the least believable ‘coy’ person I’ve ever seen.”

  She laughed back. “I’m trying to be the blushing newbie type. Isn’t that what turns men on?”

  “I love my wild animals in the bedroom — or the limo as the case may be,” he said, licking his lips.

  She took the cue and reached to his zipper and slowly worked it down. Once she had that hole exposed, she was able to reach in and feel the silk boxers he wore underneath. Of course; there was no way Sirhan would settle for cotton. There was probably some sheikh rule against simple mortal fabrics. Then she pulled out his length and gasped. It was bigger than she anticipated, even after she ground against it for the better part of a half hour. It stood rigidly and proudly before her with just the tiniest hint of precum glistening on the tip. Swallowing hard, fighting back her anticipation long enough to do the responsible thing, Tiffany opened the pack and unrolled the condom. It was easy to slide it over his length and enticing, watching every inch of the latex cover his girth.

  Yet more anticipation for w
hen something so beautiful and so large would be filling her.

  “Mhm,” Sirhan said, closing his eyes and moaning as she worked the condom toward the base of his shaft. “You do that so well.”

  “Imagine what else I’m going to do to you.”

  “No, Tiger, I’m going to do it to you. You’re to be worshipped and cared for first. So whatever you want, tell me.”

  She shook her head even as she shimmied out of her pants and panties within the confines of the limo. It wasn’t easy and she almost fell over on the bench seat twice, but he reached out to right her, and the feel of his strong, warm hands on her back spurred her on even faster. Her silken garments fell to the floor and she was laid exposed before the man she was coming to care about deeply.

  He hissed and then reached down, letting his hand trail over the soft skin of her most secret lips. She mewled at the contact. Sirhan shook his head, seeming to marvel at her the same way she was with him. “Shit, Tiger, everything about you feels perfect. You’re so warm and so ready for me.”

  “I’ve been ready, ever since that night in the pool. Even with everything else, it’s been on my mind.”

  “Mine too,” he said, tracing his hand lower, spreading those lips and planting his thumb squarely over her precious pearl. Sirhan applied just a hint of pressure to her rosebud and she shivered, bucking her hips against his hand. “What do you want, Tiger? I need you to tell me, give me permission from those soft, red lips of yours.”

  She nodded and whispered out her command, her need overtaking her ability to talk or even think coherently. “Please, my sheikh, I need you inside of me. I need to feel you.”

  “That’s all I wanted,” he said, and then he slipped his own pants off with a move so fluid and skilled it seemed like magic. “Climb on my lap, Tiger.”

  She complied instantly, straddling his lap and lowering herself down onto his hardness. “Oh, Sirhan.”

  “Slowly, love.”

  She did as he asked, letting herself slide inch by precious inch over the hard length before her, feeling as each scorching part slid inside of her, filling in her a way and with a total sense of completeness that no lover in her past had ever managed. When she was done, when she could feel her rear pushed up against his testicles, then Sirhan began to move. He thrust slowly at first, long, languorous thrusts that made it feel as if the inferno in her body were rising, consuming her with a heat and light she couldn’t even fathom.

  But she didn’t need the slow love-making, not today. Tiffany craved raw power and speed, she needed the frantic rhythm. Something slow and romantic could always come later. Right now was about finishing what they’d started weeks ago.

  She pressed her hips against his and leaned down, scraping her teeth gently over the skin of his throat. “Sirhan, as fast as you can, please. I just need to cum.”

  “Whatever you want, baby,” he said, his thrusts increasing their pace.

  She bucked against him, even as she reached forward and scored her nails against the silk of his shirt. “God, more!”

  He was going so fast that she couldn’t follow anything anymore. Rational thought was dead. There was only sensation: The smell of cinnamon and saffron mingled with his own musk, the squeaking of the leather under them, and the rich fullness of his length buried deep inside her. Above all, however, was the heat spiraling through her, a riot of passion. Then Sirhan found that magical spot, just the right angle against her most sensitive bundle of nerves. She closed her eyes, ceding her body utterly over to the sensation, to the feel of going supernova in his arms, to burning as brightly as any star in the sky before fading out.

  When her orgasm had left her, she slid back off his lap and leaned against his shoulder. “That was amazing.”

  “I know. Oh… shit.”

  She frowned, the hazy euphoria of her bliss shaken quickly from her body with Sirhan’s sudden anger.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He worked quickly to dispose of some waste and zip himself back up, all the while shaking his head. “The condom tore. I guess we got carried away, my love.”

  She bit her lower lip and considered what he’d just said. “I’m on the pill, and I haven’t slept with anyone since my last check-up.”

  “I’d never have sex with you without making sure I was clean. I take my health seriously. You said you’re on the pill?”

  She nodded, although with all her travel and the crazy changes to her schedule, she was pretty sure she’d missed a few days here or there. But surely that wouldn’t affect anything, would it?

  Offering him as reassuring a smile as she could, Tiffany stroked his arm. “I’m on other prevention stuff, yeah. I’m sure it’s fine. We’ll just have to rein it in next time.”

  He chuckled and nibbled at her closest earlobe, sending shivers down her spine all over again. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Princess, the treatments are going well. You don’t have to keep flying out here every couple of weeks. I don’t need you to baby me,” Charlie said, trying to smile his largest grin over the Skype connection. It might be something she could believe, that he didn’t need her, if she she couldn’t see his face. And, if she hadn’t just seen him the week before in Chicago.

  Charlie Saunders’ chemo had run most of its course over the intervening four months since her move to Dubaya, and so he was at least twenty pounds thinner with his favorite old, comfy t-shirts falling off of him. Still, he insisted on wearing his Cubs tees because he’d always worn them. They were his favorite relaxation wear around the house since she was a kid. He’d been balding for a few years anyway, but there was such a difference between thinning hair and the complete baldness he had now. If he didn’t get so frustrated with being overcrowded, then Tiffany would be in the reverse arrangement: Flying to Dubaya to see Sirhan, but living at home.

  But her father was the embodiment of the tough Midwesterner. On many of her visits, the moment she walked through the door he began asking about when she could “get back to her real life.” He didn’t have to be worried that she was wasting time with him, or that it was all about pity, or too much duty thrust upon her. And yet he did, and that was why she loved him.

  “Daddy, I always have to visit. That’s my job.”

  “I think your job is to be taking care of a giant palace,” her father replied, winking at her. “I’m sure a sheikh must have a million beds to make and more toilets than I can count. I’m not sure why, because I also assume it’s not like he has thousands of people living in his zip code…”

  “There are a lot of servants, but we take care of our own quarters,” she corrected.

  Tiffany didn’t mention that she’d basically moved into Sirhan’s room since that day in the limo. She still dusted in the mornings and took care of the rugs because that mattered to her, feeling like she had some purpose and earned her keep even in a small way. After noon in the kingdom though, it was like being reverse Cinderella. The clock would chime and she’d go from helping her friend Omara with the regular chores to being pampered. It was an odd life, but she was growing to cherish it deeply.

  She hesitated mentioning her relationship and its intricacies to her father yet. It wasn’t that her father cared about the type of men she dated, but she was afraid it would exacerbate his worries. After all, she was scared enough with Sirhan, still so sure that he’d grow tired of dating a regular, American nobody some day. Her dad, and the rest of her family for that matter, would know everything once she was sure it was going to last, not when their relationship was just in its Halcyon days and so unsteady.

  Not that Sirhan had ever indicated that he was bored with her. But she just couldn’t trust it would always stay that way. After all, she was just some maid from Chicago. Who was she to keep the attention and affection of someone who was basically a prince?

  “Honey, are you okay? That sheikh of yours isn’t working you too hard, is he?”

  She blushed, hoping that her father woul
dn’t notice any of that over the connection they shared. Tiffany just couldn’t explain how easy it was for Sirhan to make her blush, how many tricks he had that she could never talk about for that.

  “I’m fine. I just don’t want you to ever feel like this is a burden because it’s not. When I had my tonsils out, who sat by my bed even though I realized the surgery totally sucked and I was too sore to eat ice cream anyway?”

  “Your mother and I took turns.”

  “And who threatened to beat that asshat Brad up when he dumped me two days before prom?”

  “Anyone would have offered.”

  “And when you wired me a thousand dollars, no questions asked, when I got into trouble in Bratislava.”

  “Honey, these are all things any father would do. It doesn’t mean your life has to stop just because I get some injections.”

  She frowned and shook her head, wishing that she could actually touch him, that the Skype connection had a tactile component to it. “It’s far more than that. Dad, I have this event I promised I’d help work with for Sir—” she caught herself quickly, “—for Sheikh Hakim, but I’ll be back out next week. You matter, and I can’t feel happy here without seeing you with my own eyes.”

  “Well, as long as you don’t feel tethered to your old dad from thousands of miles away.”

  “There’s no one I’d rather be close to, Dad, and you know that. Besides, for all its upsides there are some serious gaps out here in Dubaya. I know its deep winter so none of the good sports are on, but we can still make a Blackhawks game while I’m there.”

  “That’s my girl. Now go, enjoy your desert paradise. I’m just going to watch golf and read the business section.”

  She had to chuckle at that. “See? Nothing can get you down. Yeesh, Dad, get some excitement. Maybe even turn on a game show. If you watch nothing but golf, I’m pretty sure mold will start growing on you.”

  “It’s a great game; the sport of kings.”

  “No,” she said, sticking out her tongue, “that’s horse racing. Go be boring, Dad, and I’ll finish with the rugs. Love you so much.”