10
“You’re alive,” she said to him when he opened his eyes. This was the first time she’d had a clear look at his eyes, and goddamn they were green. Like emeralds. In the sun. Looking right up at her, from her own damned bed! What was that promise she’d made again? The next man you fancy? Or the next man you see? Are they the same man now?
Irene wouldn’t have even seen him if Beauty hadn’t reared up and stopped just in time to avoid putting two hooves into the man’s broad chest. He’d been standing there in the dark woods, shirtless and bleeding, like he was just waiting there for something—or someone. She’d caught a full glimpse of him when the lightning struck, and she’d gasped when she saw the rippling muscles of his torso lit up in white light and shadow, the thick veins running down his tree-trunk sized arms, crisscrossing his chest. She didn’t have her phone on her—not that she’d have been able to use it in that storm—and so really there were only two options: leave him there, or take him home.
They'd raced through the woods together, Beauty straining as she carried them back to safety and warmth, the man's heavy, half-naked body leaning against Irene as he slipped in and out of consciousness, somehow holding on to her. And now here he was, three hours later, in her bed, under her warm flannel sheets, green eyes looking up at her. Oh, and he was naked under those sheets. Yup.
“Is that a statement or a question?” he said, his voice coming out deep but slightly slurred. He blinked hard, confusion in his eyes. “Why am I finding it hard to speak properly? And bloody hell, am I naked?”
Irene took a quick breath and looked away for a moment, trying to push away the vivid image of how magnificent this man looked when she’d pulled off his cold, wet clothes. She’d felt a bit guilty at pausing for a long moment and staring at his naked form when he was passed out, but she couldn’t help herself. The man was a specimen, and she’d been mesmerized by the sight of his rock-hard lower abs, his smooth brown skin, his muscular pelvis, his thick, heavy, long, beautiful—
The man hiccuped now, a puzzled expression emerging on his handsome face. Then his eyes went wide, suddenly narrowing in a way that almost scared her. Almost—because she knew it wasn’t just fear that made that electricity shoot through her body.
“Ya Allah,” he slurred. “What is that smell, that taste? Have you given me alcohol, woman?!”
Irene blinked and stood up straight by the queen-sized bed, hands on her wide hips, brown eyes firmly staring down at this ungrateful naked man in her bed. “Well, I had to give you something while I cleaned your wound and stitched you up. I don’t keep any painkillers or sleeping pills, and so I poured a couple of shots of Kentucky’s finest down your throat. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“Welcome for what?” he muttered, and she could see him running his hands over himself under the sheets as if to make sure he really was naked. She felt her breath catch when she glanced down at the way the sheets were bunched around his heavy crotch, and now that image of his monstrously large, beautifully thick, breathtakingly heavy—
“The bullet went through me?” he said finally, grunting as he touched his left arm and felt the dressing. “You have patched me on two sides, so there is an exit wound.”
“Yes,” Irene said, trying not to think about how stupidly risky it was to bring a stranger with a bullet wound into your house in the middle of the night—in the middle of a thunderstorm, no less! But that’s how things used to be on the frontier, right? No hospitals or emergency services for the folks brave enough to strike out west. You relied on the people around you for help, for safety, for shelter. She had no choice. She couldn’t have walked away if she’d wanted. It wasn’t done.
He licked his thick, smooth red lips and frowned as he tasted the whiskey. Those green eyes narrowed again, but his sharp features weren’t twisted now. There was something else in his eyes, and she couldn’t hold the eye contact long enough to read it. She was petrified that he’d see how attracted she was to him, see how her entire body had tingled while she tenderly worked on his wound as he lay there helpless and naked, a brown beast of a man in her bed that had been empty so long.
“Well, thank you for treating my wound, but I still think it was bloody unnecessary to get me drunk first,” he said gruffly.
“Get you drunk?!” Irene said, her mouth opening wide as she leaned over him and tried to stare him down without much success. “Three little shots ain’t getting anyone drunk!”
“Three!” the man roared. “You said two!”
“I said a couple. That’s two or three or maybe four.”
“A couple means two,” he said, trying to speak firmly but slurring the last word, his deep voice making the slurring sound ridiculous. “A couple is always two. Two people, two drinks, two of goddamn anything. So not only have you gotten me drunk and brought the wrath of Allah upon me, but you have also lied to me. Please apologize.”
Irene almost fell over on top of him as she doubled over, her mouth wide open. “Me, apologize to you? Oh, my Lord. I cannot even . . . oh, I cannot even begin to—”
Now the man sniffed the air like an animal, and before Irene could stop him he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her face down towards his.
Irene shrieked and slammed her hand down onto his chest to push herself away. But he was too strong, and he pulled her close, closer, so damned close . . .
And then he sniffed her breath.
“You smell like whiskey too,” he said accusingly, and she saw a sparkle in his green eyes, like he was enjoying this. “Do you mean to tell me that you performed minor surgery on me while you yourself was under the influence of alcohol?! By Allah, are there no limits to your transgressions?”
Irene laughed and tried to pull herself away from his face even though she felt herself being pulled in—not by his arm, but by something within her. A need. A yearning. A . . . promise?
She looked down into his eyes, and this time she couldn’t look away. His hand was still on her neck, but he wasn’t holding her anymore. He was caressing the back of her neck, his strong fingers driving through the thick tresses of her brown hair, massaging her throbbing head as she felt herself lean in, closer, closer now, ohgod so close . . .
“No,” he whispered. “I cannot do this.”
The words barely registered because her head was buzzing like a hive in the springtime, and the feeling of his fingers in her hair, the magic of the look in his eyes, the scent of his naked body . . . all of it was saying yes, yes, oh hell yes.
“Cannot do what,” she whispered as she put her right knee on the bed, her left hand on the pillow. His grip slowly tightened in her hair, and now she could see movement under the sheets, the rise of his need, the call of his seed.
With a trembling hand she reached down and placed her soft palm right there, and immediately he went full hard, so quick she gasped, her mouth opening wide as she saw the arousal rip across his face.
Suddenly his fist clamped tight in her hair, and he pulled her down on top of him. And as her fingers tightened hard around his cock through the sheets, he kissed her. By God, he kissed her.
11
Perhaps it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the blood loss. Or possibly it was the fact that her hand was firm around his cock. Regardless, the Sheikh knew from the moment he touched her hair that he wanted her, that he wasn’t going to leave without having her, that all his self-righteousness meant nothing in the face of the most raw, desperate, animalistic need he’d ever experienced. He wanted her, and that’s all that mattered.
The kiss cleared his head and at the same time sent him spinning senseless, and he heard himself groan out loud as he pushed his tongue into her warm mouth, felt her tongue roll its way into his. She was pulling hard on his cock until she finally let go and straddled him full, riding him with her jeans on as he desperately massaged her breasts.
Now the Shei
kh ripped open her red plaid shirt, gasping and taking in a deep whiff of her scent. He drove his face between her heavenly globes, pulling away her bra with his teeth, growling as he took her right nipple into his hungry mouth.
She squealed as he sucked her, and so he sucked even harder, flicking his tongue against her pebbled, pert nipple, quickly moving to her other breast as he feverishly undid her leather belt and whipped it out past the loops of her jeans.
“Oh, God,” she muttered as she sat up straight on his waist so he could unbutton and unzip her. Her back was arched, her smooth neck exposed, her breasts hanging down as he licked and sucked her while shoving his hands down the front of her jeans, thumbs finding her clit and massaging the stiff little nub with fury.
His gunshot wound sent out searing darts of white-hot pain, but the first feel of the warm wetness between her legs made him grin wide. Her eyes were shut tight and she was moaning as she moved on him, and he kept the pressure on her clit as he watched her bob and dip on him. Soon they were in rhythm, the Sheikh straining his neck to savor a kiss of her creamy breasts and nipples as she descended and rose and descended again. They went slow, their fever rising as the pace steadied. By Allah, she was so wet her panties were soaked already, her juices coating all his fingers as he slowly played with her panties and opened-up jeans. He wanted to pull them off, but at the same time he did not want to stop this maddeningly arousing motion of her riding his cock, just the crumpled white sheets covering his hardness.
Finally she let out a slow, vibrating moan as her eyelids fluttered open and a weak, almost confused smile broke on her red lips. He smiled back at her. Still no words. There could be no words.
She slid off him and raised her right leg as he rubbed her hard between her thighs, pushing his thumb into her crotch as she grimaced in ecstasy and moaned again. Now the two of them kissed, a deep kiss, slow and long, heavy and true. Their fingers were intertwined as together they pulled her jeans down over her hips, down her thighs, past her calves, off her ankles. Panties wet and useless were yanked off and tossed away. She wriggled out of her unbuttoned shirt, and he pulled off her bra, the blue cotton wet with his saliva, torn from his teeth.
She was naked now, smooth and soft, hard red nipples big as saucers, lips full and wet, brown pubic hair matted and glistening with her juices. He could smell her, all of her. He was so hard the sheets had risen to a stiff peak, the thick head of his cock forming a glistening wet spot where his natural lubricant had oozed through the soft white cotton.
The Sheikh kissed her again as he rubbed her naked thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin, his body tightening as her buttocks tensed and released each time he squeezed her. He touched her naked crotch, teased her matted nether curls, making her whimper, making her moan. One thumb on her clit and with his fingers he spread her slit as she cried out until he kissed her hard again, pulling her on top of him. She straddled him once more, still locked in the kiss, and slowly they got back into that slow rhythm with Irene naked on his fierce erection, her slit aligned just right, just the sheets between them.
Slowly she sank down on him, her heavy body feeling heavenly upon him, and before he knew what was happening the Sheikh felt himself slip into her, the sheets still between them, his pre-cum coating the cotton so thoroughly that the cloth was slick and tight around his cock.
“Oh, God,” she groaned as she sank down farther on him, her eyes rolling up in her head as she arched her back. He could feel her dark nether lips open wide for his swollen masthead, and as the pain of his wound mixed with the ecstasy of his entry, the Sheikh closed his eyes, reached up, placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, and pushed her all the way down onto his cock, all the goddamn way.
12
Irene’s mouth opened wide as she felt him enter. She thought she was moaning, but she really had no idea. All her senses were consumed by the sheer enormity of his pillar-sized cock spreading the lips of her vagina in a way that she didn’t think was possible. Maybe she’d tightened up a bit from a year without a man, but deep down she knew she’d never been opened up this way, never been entered this way, never been taken this deep.
“Oh, shit,” she gurgled when she felt his strong hands close tight on her shoulders and push her all the way down onto him. She could feel the bedsheet go into her along with his cock, but the sheer cloth was so slick and coated with their combined juices that the slight bit of added girth and friction made her arousal soar.
She stayed there motionless for a long moment, sitting on him, fixed on his cock like a statue on a pedestal. Everything seemed to stop as she took in the shock of being opened up like that, entered like this, held down by her shoulders as the cock of a stranger pushed up into a place that had never been reached. She could stay like this forever, she thought. Perhaps they would stay like this forever, frozen like statues, framed by ecstasy.
But soon she felt him flex inside her, and the movement drove her wild. Her eyes flicked wide open even as the walls of her cunt tightened around his girth. She took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her own wetness along with his intoxicating musk. Then she slowly exhaled, her entire body shuddering as she began to move on him, slowly starting that ride again, back and forth, up and down, the sheets moving along with them.
He massaged her bare neck as she moaned, gently but firmly, his other hand on her breast, those strong fingers pinching her nipple so hard it was pink and peaked.
“So deep,” she groaned as she spread her thighs and descended, slowly rising again and bringing herself down on him. “Oh, shit, I can’t even—”
“We should not,” he muttered even as he sucked her nipples again, raised his hips off the bed and thrust into her. “It is wrong, but I cannot stop.”
“Then don’t stop,” she gasped, bringing her ass down hard on his pelvis, gasping again as she felt his cotton-sheathed cock slide back into her hot cave. She was opened up now, she could tell. Her cavern was warm and receptive, her wetness flowing like a river, soaking the sheet between them as she dripped onto him. “I gave you shelter, and now you owe me. It’s how things work in the West.”
He smiled as he drove up into her again, looking up at her from between her shimmering breasts. “I never asked for shelter. So I owe you nothing, woman.”
“It’s an unspoken promise,” she half-giggled half-groaned as she felt his hands grab her asscheeks and take control of her pace. “And out here on the frontier, people keep their promises.”
“Do they?” he grunted, spreading her buttocks and fingering her crack from behind as she rose up on him. He held her there for a moment, a few inches up off him, her knees digging into the mattress, his big hands steadying her as his fingers spread her rear globes wide. “In that case,” he said, and in his eyes she saw a change, like he’d made a decision, a decision more profound than simply the act of making love to a stranger. But then he closed his eyes tight as she descended on him again, and when he opened them she saw the conflict, a conflict that didn’t seem to make sense—certainly not from the way his swollen cock was flexing up inside her.
“In that case . . . what?” she whispered, rotating her hips as she watched his face twist with arousal.
Suddenly he let go of her ass, grabbed her arms, and pulled her off him, tossing her onto the bed beside him. The sudden withdrawal made her feel empty for a moment, and she gasped when she saw him rise up on the bed and turn to her. He stared down at her as she lay panting on the bed, his naked body glistening in the yellow light. She was spread before him, the man’s knees between her opened legs. That sheet was still tight around his cock, and she could see the outline of his cockhead pushing against the slick cloth. Her own wetness was flowing down her crotch, along her ass, onto the bed, and she watched as he slowly pulled the sheet away from his cock.
His cock sprang into full view just then, and she whimpered with need as she saw a fresh bead of his clean oil ooze f
rom the swollen red tip. “In that case,” he said again, and she caught that look in his eyes again, like he was pushing aside a thought, making a decision. Slowly he brought that oozing tip of his cock towards her pulsing slit, the head pushing apart her pink lips, which opened once more in delight. “In that case,” he said for the third time just as the first inch of his cock slid its way into her opening, “I will keep my promise.”
And then he pushed his way in, every inch, hard and fast, deep and long, his heavy balls slapping hard against her as his thick cock disappeared into her ready cunt.
He came almost instantly, the suddenness of his climax shocking her even as the heat of his powerful release overwhelmed her. “By God, Irene,” he groaned as he kept pumping into her, his hips jerking as he delivered explosions of his semen deep into her. “By God, I pray this is right. Please let this be right.”
13
She was already coming when she felt his climax burst into her depths with a power than stunned her, a force that knocked the breath out of her, a fury that filled her. His semen felt thick and hot inside her, torrents of it pouring from his pulsating cock, each thrust shooting more of his heat into her slick valley. She could feel her cunt squeezing and releasing, like her vagina was pumping him, milking him, forcing his balls to yield every ounce of his seed.
I’m going to get pregnant, came the thought as she came, and the thought was so clear, so without judgment, without any consideration of what it meant, what it would mean, what it could mean.
Then the thought was gone, and another wave of her climax rolled in as she heard him say something as he pumped the last of his load into her, delivering a massive final dose of his seed before collapsing on top of her.
Shelter for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 9) Page 5
