Love.
28
“That’s what you call a cabin?” Irene asked when the house finally came into view at the end of a long, winding, terribly overgrown path. “Um, that’s not a cabin. That’s a mansion. Holy smokes.”
“Well, I am a billionaire king, you know,” said the Sheikh, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped towards the large hardwood door and began looking around outside it. “Now where did I hide that damned key?”
Irene laughed. “So we just walked for three days, almost got eaten by a bear, and now that we’re finally here, we can’t get in? Can’t we just break one of the windows? Isn’t there a back door?”
The Sheikh turned to her with a frown. “This place was designed to be rather hard to break into.” He rubbed his neck again. “Perhaps I should have considered that before . . . ah, here we go! Thank Allah for small mercies!”
He pulled away a thick green creeper from the base of the wood post to the left of the front door, digging into the soil with his strong fingers. Grimacing, he pulled out a steel lockbox from under the earth, smiling as held up the dirt-covered object like it was buried treasure.
The lockbox had a combination dial on it, and the Sheikh stared at the dial and then looked up at Irene. “Now if only I could remember the damned combination,” he said, his green eyes wide like a child’s.
Irene wasn’t sure whether to faint or take off one of her shoes and hurl it at his oafish smile. But as she considered those options, she saw the grin break full on his face.
“I had you,” he said through that grin as she clenched her teeth and shook her head.
“I was about to throw my son at your head,” she growled. “Don’t mess with a woman who’s been three days without a shower when she’s so close to a real bathroom.”
The Sheikh lost the grin and took on that innocent, oopsy-daisy expression again. “Shower? Real bathroom? My dear, this is a rustic log cabin, not the Four Seasons. We bathe in the rain, and we do our business in the woods.”
But he wasn’t getting her this time. “This place is big enough to have an indoor pool and two tennis courts,” she said smugly. “I’ll concede that you have some mountain man skills, but you ain’t building your secret hideaway without a Jacuzzi and a five-speed massaging shower. For crying out loud, I see two satellite dishes on top of . . . what is that, the third floor in your rustic log cabin?”
“Second mezzanine. And I will have you know, I need two satellite dishes because of the curvature of the Earth this far north.”
“Oh, boo hoo. The Earth is too curvy for you to get your Middle-Eastern TV shows! Oh, the hardship!” Irene raised a hand to her forehead and pretended to stagger, but she underestimated how worn out she was after the stress of the past few days, and she really did stagger.
The Sheikh dropped the lockbox and ran to her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close along with Sage. She gasped as she held on to him, her head spinning when she realized how demanding the last few days had been.
“It is you who are too curvy,” he whispered with a grin as he held her tight until he was sure she could stand. Then he picked up the lockbox and quickly turned the dial three times and popped the lid. Inside was a single key in a shining gold keyring. He pulled it out with a flourish, going down on one knee and looking up at her. “Will you take this keyring and be my mountain-woman forever?”
She flashed an exhausted but genuine smile at him. “You never stop, do you? It’s all fun and games. It’s all a joke.”
“On the contrary, I am not known for joking. You seem to bring it out in me,” he said, standing up and walking past her to unlock the door. He pushed it open and peered inside, taking a breath and exhaling quickly. “A bit musty, but it will air out. There is a bathroom right past the foyer. Watch out for frogs. They tend to come through the pipes and take up residence in there.”
Irene brushed past the Sheikh, only now letting that gesture of him down on one knee get to her. Her heart pounded as she headed for the bathroom, stopping outside the door and then turning back to him. Sage was asleep in her arms, and she watched as the Sheikh, without being asked, came close and took the child carefully from her.
“Thank you,” she said, her heart still pounding. It had been three days since he’d come back into her life, and already the idea of marrying him seemed . . .
No! Stop with the lunacy! So you bore his child. And you made love to him again—and again—the past two days. But these are unusual circumstances. People do desperate things in extreme situations. Don’t lose your center, your balance, your focus.
But what is your center, she asked herself as she checked for frogs and then turned on the faucet and let the water run. It was thick and brown at first, but soon it turned clear with the purified spring water that the Sheikh had explained was run through all the pipes in this royal Arabian version of a Canadian log cabin.
Sage is your center. Your child is your center, she told herself as she looked at her face, into her own eyes after what seemed like forever. She was startled by what she saw: Instead of a tired, traumatized face, weather-worn and sunburned, she saw herself looking healthy and vibrant, her skin smooth and well-oiled, no sunburn but just a radiant glow. What the hell?
Then she realized that she felt the way she looked: healthy, alive, complete. What was different? What had changed? What was in her life that wasn’t there before?
Him.
The Sheikh.
The father of her son.
Now the tears came again, and for the first time she allowed herself to admit that she wanted him in her life. Perhaps she wanted him in her life three years ago, but she pushed him away when she sensed the conflict in his eyes that night—the conflict which she now understood was because of what Dan had asked of him. Or perhaps it had simply felt wrong at the time, like she’d be betraying her duties as a wife.
“But you’re not a wife,” she whispered. “And you weren’t a wife when you first slept with him. You were a widow. You are a widow. You’ve been a widow all this time. Hasn’t it been long enough? Haven’t you done your penance? Paid for whatever you think you need to pay for? Isn’t it time to—”
“Irene?” came his voice from the other side of the door.
“I’m OK,” she said hurriedly, hoping to God he hadn’t heard her talking to herself.
“Yes, but I am not OK,” he said hesitantly.
Irene cocked her head at herself in the mirror, then quickly turned and opened the door. Now what, came the thought as panic started to rise in her. But she just laughed when she saw the Sheikh holding Sage away from his body, her son all smiles, the Sheikh's shirt showing a distinct wet patch that most certainly wasn't sweat.
“He’s just marking his territory,” she said, laughing as she took the boy from Bilaal and brought him into the bathroom with her.
Then as she closed the door, she caught a glimpse of the Sheikh looking right at her, himself all smiles just like Sage when the little scamp had marked his territory. Bilaal had the strangest look in his eye, something between melancholy and mischief. And the last thing she saw before the door closed was his thick, dark red lips curling into a smile—a smile of what seemed like triumph, an almost-cocky satisfaction.
It was only a few minutes later, when she undressed and groaned at how stiff her thighs, butt, and body were—not all of it from the walking—did she understand that look on the Sheikh’s face. It was the look of a king who’s just claimed a new land, a new empire, a new territory.
A new family.
Oh God, she thought as a shiver ran down her naked back. I am his territory, and he’s marked me, hasn’t he. Outside and inside.
Yes, outside, she thought as she ruffled their son’s matted hair.
And inside, she wondered as she touched the round of her belly and thought back to how many times he’d come ins
ide her over the past two days, deep and hard, emptying his seed again and again into her womb.
Again and again.
29
ONE MONTH IN THE WOODS
“I need you now, woman. It has been too long since the last time,” he said, tightening his jaw and raising an eyebrow as he looked her up and down.
“Um, you do realize we’ve made love every day since we’ve been here. I have the marks to prove it, you animal.” She raised her skirts and showed him the light blue bruises on the sides of her creamy white thighs. Bruises that were suspiciously like the outlines of the Sheikh’s palms and fingers.
Sage laughed from his perch on a high-chair that the Sheikh had fashioned for him in the workshop out back, using smooth beechwood from the ample supply in the forest that passed for a backyard. Irene held her skirts raised up high like that, teasing the Sheikh by flashing him just the edge of the dark space between her legs. There’d been enough cloth for Irene to fashion clothes for Sage and a set of skirts for herself, but women’s underwear had been in short supply. So she’d just stopped wearing any.
The Sheikh’s crotch was already bulging by the time he forced himself to look up from her mesmerizing thighs and that hint of her secret V. Irene could feel her wetness seep through her folds, and she marveled at how wild the past month had been. By now she was used to being taken by him anytime, anywhere, pushed up against a wooden wall, pushed down on a wooden table, flung head-first into an overstuffed couch, forced down on his ramrod-straight cock on the porch as the sun set, taken standing up and from behind in the kitchen as she made soup or roasted fresh game. They made love outside as freely as they did indoors. He’d lift her skirts whenever the mood struck him, and she loved the feeling of his strong hands cupping her ass, pulling her rear globes apart. Sometimes he’d spread her wide from behind and lick her crack, making her feel deliciously filthy as he fingered her from beneath, often making her come before he had a chance to stand up and push himself into her from behind.
Other times, on a sunny day, when they were outside on the edge of the woods, when he got her nice and hot kissing her lips, pinching her breasts, rubbing her mound until she was wet, he’d push her down on her knees, face forward in the grass, just out of view of Sage. He’d pull her skirts up over her head, spread her from behind, get her rear pucker wet, and slide his finger inside. He’d hold it there as he unbuckled his heavy belt, and she’d be worked up into a choking frenzy as she tried to stay quiet so Sage wouldn’t trot over to see what Daddy and Mommy were up to behind that tree. It was sick, wrong, awful. But it felt so hot, so filthy, so wild that she would stick her bum up high and spread her thighs as far as she could for him.
The feeling of his cock sliding into her cunt while his finger stayed deep in her asshole made her come instantly now, every time he did it. She knew it drove him wild too, because he’d blast his load up into her like a high-pressure jet every time they fucked like that. It was wild. Animalistic. Sinful. Wonderful.
They tried to be as discreet as possible around Sage, and the Sheikh did his best to be somewhat reserved when there was any chance Sage might see them. Irene was comfortable with a certain degree of sensuality in front of him—but there were limits.
But what are my limits, she’d wondered one night, when they’d put Sage to bed and then the Sheikh had picked her up and carried her out to the workshop. He’d already tied her wrists with heavy leather straps before asking her if she was all right with it. She’d hesitated but nodded yes, and the Sheikh had tied her down to a workbench on which he’d spread a soft blanket.
He’d tied her on her back, arms raised above her head, legs free. He’d undressed and climbed on top of the workbench, straddling her, his cock looking enormous as he inched his way forward. She’d gasped as the wetness poured from her as he rubbed his erection all over her nipples, coating her pebbled areolas with the oil beading its way out of the eye of his cock.
“Oh, God,” she’d muttered when she smelled his clean musk so close to her mouth as he slid his thick, python of a cock up and down between her glistening breasts, his heavy balls grazing their way along her stomach and chest as he slowly jerked himself off with the heft of her bosom. “You are cruel. What about my pleasure?”
“Beg me,” he’d muttered, grinning as he moved back and forth on her boobs, his cock swelling to the point where she was sure he’d explode all over her face and neck, pouring his semen onto her hot skin, coating her with his seed.
“I’m a frontier woman,” she gasped as she pulled at her bindings and moved her body in time with the back-and-forth of his cock between her boobs. “I don’t beg.”
“Then you will go without pleasure,” he’d growled, rising up and lifting his cock, quickly moving forward on his knees until he was up above her panting mouth. Then he grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and carefully but firmly pushed his cock into her mouth.
Her eyes had gone wide as she struggled to take him. But she managed to suppress her gag, and he straddled her face and groaned to the heavens as she took him all the way past her throat. He was in so deep his balls rested on her chin, and she could tell that he was almost delirious with pleasure.
“Ya Allah, I have never felt desire like this,” he muttered as she began to suck him. “My God, I am so bloody hard. Suck me again. Like that. Oh, yes, like that, woman. By God, I am never letting you go. Never letting you out of my sight. You are mine. All mine.”
She’d sucked him like she’d never done to anyone before, and she could feel him getting harder in her mouth, bigger in her throat, and she sucked and heaved until finally he tensed up and shuddered and then roared like a lion as he erupted down her throat, his cock almost choking her as she sucked and swallowed his heat. His aroma filled her, and she was dizzy with arousal and exertion when the Sheikh finally pulled his throbbing cock out of her mouth, leaving a long trail of semen running down her chin and along her breasts as he staggered off her and collapsed on a chair by the workbench.
“Please,” she’d gasped, raising her hips and spreading her legs. She couldn’t believe she was this far gone in just a month, spending her days without underwear, sucking and swallowing with relish, allowing—nay, begging—to be taken by this man several times a day, in every position, in every place. It really felt like they’d left normal society far behind them, that they were living free and wild, like bears or wolves, their cub by their side.
“Please is not enough,” he’d said from that chair as she writhed for his touch. “That does not sound like begging to me.”
“I don’t beg,” she moaned. “I told you—I am a proud frontier woman. My ancestors ran with the wild horses on the great plains of America. I am part mustang in spirit. You don’t break a mustang.”
The Sheikh laughed pointedly, finally standing up, his naked body lean and hard from the natural diet they’d been living on. The clean food had affected Irene too, and although she hadn’t lost much of her womanly curves or cushion, she was feeling lighter inside, more vibrant. No doubt that was playing into her sex drive, she thought.
“That sounds like a challenge,” he growled as he stepped towards the workbench. “You do know that I spent my youth breaking in and riding the wildest Arabian horses.”
“Your Arabian beasts ain’t no match for an American mustang,” she whispered as he stopped by her writhing legs and grabbed her ankles tight. She giggled and kicked at him, freeing herself from his grasp as he quickly stepped back to avoid taking a shot from her bucking heels.
“Whoa there, Mustang Sally,” he said, dodging another wild kick as he tried to grab her ankles again.
But she wouldn’t hold still, and soon she was shrieking in glee as she pulled at her harness and kicked out with all her strength. The Sheikh was getting heated up again, and she could see his cock hardening as it swung side to side while he laughed and moved around her, jabbing and grabbing but u
nable to get a hold. Soon he was slapping the sides of her thighs, harder and harder, making her yelp as he smacked her nice and hard with the flat of his hand. Two more slaps and she could feel the sting on her bare skin, see the fire in the Sheikh’s eyes as he gritted his teeth and gave her another tight one.
“You brute,” she shouted, shrieking in pain and pleasure as he got the side of her ass and roared in laughter.
He was hard again, hot again, and Irene gasped as the Sheikh strode to where he’d tied her wrists above her head. He undid the bindings and forced her to turn onto her stomach.
“On your knees, my mustang,” he snarled. “If you want to play, let us play this right.”
She shuddered and blinked as she wondered what he meant. But she was so hot and so wet that it didn’t matter. She would do anything he wanted, she knew. And she trusted him to do anything he wanted, she knew.
He tossed the straps away and positioned her arms and knees so she was face-down and rump-up, spread just the way he liked it. Her buttocks were quivering in anticipation, and she shuddered as he stroked her hair, rubbed her bare back, slid his hand down along her rear crack, cupped her ass, one cheek at a time.
And then he raised his right hand and brought it down hard. Really hard.
Oh God, so damned hard.
30
He was fully hard again before he even started spanking her, and when he got going he was so swollen he wondered if he’d come all over her ass without even touching his cock.
“Buck for me, my mustang,” he roared as he spanked her with his left hand and then his right, back and forth in a steady, unbreaking rhythm, his slaps sending both her rear globes into a constant shudder as he watched her beautiful rump turn a healthy, angry red.
She raised and lowered her ass to take his strikes, jumping a little with each hit. The slaps rang out like rifle-cracks in the silent workshop as Irene gripped the edges of the workbench with all her strength. Her eyes were shut tight and her mouth was hanging open. She shouted each time he brought his palms down on her upturned ass, taking everything he had to give without saying stop, without crying for relief, without saying she was done, that she was broken, that the game was over and he had won.
Shelter for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 9) Page 10
