Shelter for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 9)

by Annabelle Winters

  The Sheikh’s face went dark with color, and even Irene couldn’t believe what she’d just said. Would she do it? Would she really leave him if he did go ahead and kill this other brother?

  She watched his massive chest heave as he took deep breaths, as if he was seriously thinking about what she’d just said. Oh god, she wondered. What if he just says OK, go your own damned way, woman! Am I prepared to walk away now, after this amazing time together, after bearing two of his children, after looking into his eyes and swearing I’d stand by him till my last breath? Is that what a wife does? Oh god, what have I done?!

  The Sheikh’s breath caught, his face turning so dark Irene thought he’d explode. She backed away for a moment as time slowed down, the seconds ticking by as the Sheikh turned from her and began to pace the room like a giant, pulling on his beard, running his hands through his thick black hair, inhaling deep, exhaling hard, clenching his fists, tightening his chest, stretching his thick neck like he was in the grips of a serpent.

  Finally he exhaled so hard the floorboards almost shook, and he turned to her, stroking his beard. And then she saw it in his eyes: A flash of . . . was that admiration? Was he actually impressed with her self-righteous little speech? Oh, God, did I really get through to this impenetrable man?

  She watched him tense up again, his eyes flashing like the rage wasn’t ready to die, to yield control. But then his breathing steadied, his chest stopped heaving, his fingers unclenched, his look softened. Now she could see the love in his eyes, like he’d found something inside himself to offset the rage, the anger, the violence. And she knew she’d helped him find it. She’d done what a wife is supposed to do. She’d done what a queen is supposed to do. Help her man be the best he can be. Help her king be the best king he can be.

  And then she knew they’d crossed a threshold of sorts, that this man who answered to no one actually did love her, that he could in fact control the animal rage that he’d never controlled, that his wife and children were indeed important to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not!

  “I will think on it,” the Sheikh had finally said, his voice gruff but thick with emotion, and Irene almost melted, only now realizing how tense she’d been. “For now it still appears my niece is not in imminent danger. She is active in school activities and she seems to be in good spirits, from the photos and videos published by the school.” He came to her and smiled, touching her belly and sighing. “It has been six months since you told me you were pregnant. Which means you have three months left before we absolutely have to return. So I will think on it. I will think on it, Irene.”

  37

  But the Sheikh did not truly allow himself to think on it. He could not allow himself to think on it. That other brother had a death sentence on his head as far as Bilaal was concerned, and he did not even want to revisit the topic in his mind. The only remaining questions were how he would die and when he would die.

  Still, in the weeks following that confrontation with Irene, the Sheikh could not deny that she’d had an impact, that she’d gotten to him in a way that no one had. She’d said things that took root in his emotional depths, and though he could bury them with the sheer power of his will, he could not stop them from growing to the point where they broke through to his conscious mind, forcing him to confront himself, the man he had turned into . . .

  The king you want to be . . . a man who gets what he wants by violence, not love.

  His mind swirled every time he played with his young son, who was full of joy, always smiling, always happy. Although they were living in a well-equipped, spacious cabin bigger than most people’s primary homes, Sage did not have much in the way of material possessions. The few toys were hand-made from wood or improvised out of cloth. There was a television system, but Irene had converted that room into her sewing studio, and she forbade any of them from camping out there and flipping through channels. She’d told him that when she was raising Sage alone in Wyoming, she’d made a decision to not expose him to television until it couldn’t be helped, and now at four, the child had no interest in watching cartoons or other nonsense. All Sage wanted was to be around his mother and his father.

  His father.

  Is this what love feels like, the Sheikh had asked himself in those weeks after Irene had threatened to leave him if he went ahead with his plan to kill the other brother. That her threat actually made an impact on me, actually made me feel fear in a way I did not when killing warlords in Mogadishu or Uzbekistan? Or is it a sign of my weakness that I gave in and agreed to think about it, when I should have shut her down and said she could go to hell, that I will not yield to blackmail? Ya Allah, what is the answer?

  The Sheikh wrestled with that question over and over again, sometimes driving himself close to madness as he lay awake in the dark, wondering how he could even consider not killing this other brother. Was he gambling with his niece’s life by allowing himself to be swayed by Irene? Was Irene being selfish by asking such a thing of him? Was it possible that Irene’s motives were deeper, darker? Was the woman thinking ahead, to when Sage was a man, a prince, a Sheikh in waiting? Was she worried that Mala might have some claim to the throne before Sage, perhaps because Sage was only half-Arab while Mala’s bloodline was pure?

  The thought ashamed him, and the moment it entered his mind he knew he was spinning away from reality and into the world of paranoia. It terrified him at first, but then, one morning, after a sleepless night, the Sheikh looked at his sleeping wife, her soft hand draped over her belly, what looked like a peaceful smile on her face.

  Just talk to her, came the thought. Tell her your fears. Confess your doubts. Confront your own vulnerability. That is the meaning of love, of marriage, of looking into a woman’s eyes and telling her she is yours and you are hers. You have already told her of the darkest things in your past, and she is still here. So just talk to her.

  He woke her that morning, in the stillness of dawn. She opened her eyes immediately, blinking and smiling up at him, sitting up quickly when she looked upon his face.

  “What is it?” she’d said, touching his cheek. “Talk to me, Bilaal.”

  He’d taken a breath and exhaled slowly. “You do understand that Sage will be my heir, do you not?”

  Irene had frowned like he was speaking in tongues. “Uh . . . OK. Sure. I mean . . . are you talking about money? Because I’m fine as far as Sage’s expenses go. I have it planned all the way up to—”

  “Not money. Rather, not just money. I mean Sage is my heir. My royal heir. He will be Sheikh when I am no more.”

  Irene’s frown went deeper, and she cocked her head like it wasn’t so much the impact of what he’d just said as much as why he’d said it. “You woke me up to tell me this? Why? It’s not going to be relevant for decades—I expect both you and I to live long lives, you know.” She tried to smile but it didn’t work. She stayed quiet for a moment, looking past the Sheikh. Then her eyes went wide, and she sat up all the way and glared at him. “Wait,” she said. “Does this have something to do with your niece? Are you worried that I’m . . . oh, God, Bilaal! Are you seriously asking me if I’m . . . what, hoping to get your niece out of the way so my son has no challengers to the throne?! Is this seriously how your mind works? I don’t know if I’m insulted or terrified!”

  The Sheikh closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, Irene. I mean, I am sorry. In my heart I know I do not believe that for even a moment. But in my mind . . . ya Allah . . .”

  Irene had taken a breath, and he could see her trying to control her own anger at what he’d dared to suggest. She closed her eyes and smiled, and when she looked at him again, the Sheikh saw not anger, not hurt, but pity. Pity and love.

  “Oh, Bilaal,” she whispered, cradling his face in her warm hands as she leaned close. “You know what? I’m not insulted, and I’m not scared. I’m grateful, and I’m hopeful. If you were able to admit to me that your m
ind took you to that dark place where you wondered if you could trust me, then I know we’re on the right track. Now I know our marriage has a chance. If we’re willing to be brutally honest with one another, then nothing can tear us apart. Nothing. Oh, Bilaal, I can see how hard it was for you to admit this. And I can see that in your heart you don’t believe it, not for a moment. Thank you, Bilaal. I love you. I love you so much, with a madness that makes me want to scream!”

  The Sheikh stared at her, frowning like now it was she who was speaking in tongues. “I must be truly going mad,” he muttered as the relief poured in so quick it threatened to drown him in a flood of emotion. “But to hell with trying to understand it with my mind when I know in my heart what I feel. Ya Allah, woman, I love you with the same madness . . . the same madness which makes me want to roar and wake up the entire forest.”

  She giggled and kissed him, raising her eyebrows and whispering, “Maybe we hold off on the screaming and roaring for a bit, love. Sage is still asleep in the next room, and I think perhaps you could use a few hours of peace to quiet your mind.”

  She kissed him again, and the Sheikh felt her hand slide down his hard body and rest on his heavy crotch, just like it had the first time they’d ever made love, when they were strangers in a rainstorm together. Now they were husband and wife, seeing their way through a different kind of storm. And yes, perhaps he did need some peace. The kind of peace that only her womanly touch could bring to him.

  “Yes,” he whispered, groaning as she pulled the sheets away and gripped his cock in her hand, jerking him up to full hardness in a matter of moments. He could feel the tension melting away already, and he shuddered and almost came right then and there when he felt her cup his balls tenderly with her other hand as she jerked him back and forth, rolling her thumb over the massive head of his cock, spreading his own juice along his shaft to lubricate her motion. “Yes,” he groaned again as he saw her change position, deftly holding his cock and balls firmly as she did it, massaging and moving him close to ecstasy as she slowly straddled his legs.

  He looked down past his body, past his cock that was standing straight up as she jerked him. Irene was bent forward, her face flush with her own rising heat, her eyes wide and honest, her breasts full and heavy. The loose cotton gown was hanging open, and the Sheikh groaned again as he saw her boobs swing with her steadily increasing pace. Her already ample breasts had swelled to the size of melons, large and beautiful in a way that turned the Sheikh on to the point where he was coming to orgasm a lot faster during sex.

  The Sheikh reached for those smooth globes, and Irene smiled and moved forward so he could grab them. She moaned as his hands closed around her breasts, fingers clamping tight, and the Sheikh grinned when he saw her arch her neck back and position herself above his ramrod-straight cock, her pregnant belly softly pressing against his rippling abs as she leaned forward on his erection. Slowly she sank down on him, like she’d done the first time, and the Sheikh almost let out that roar when he felt his cock slide easily into her cunt that was so hot, so wet, so perfect that he would have come if he hadn’t gritted his teeth and clenched his balls to hold back.

  “Ya Allah,” he groaned, pinching her nipples. “I feel so good in you. Ride me, my woman. Slow and easy now. Ride me as I suck your beautiful breasts.”

  “They’ve become so big,” she muttered as she moved back and forth on his body, slowly riding his cock as he grabbed fistfuls of her asscheeks and started sucking her right nipple with extreme force, a desperate need, a deep hunger for her sex. “Much bigger than when I was pregnant with Sage.”

  “Good,” the Sheikh gasped, pulling his wet mouth away from her right nipple, staring at the erect red point of her left breast and taking in several breaths before preparing to ravage that other nipple. “I like it this way. I will make sure I get you pregnant every year for the rest of our lives. At eighty you will be carrying my heirs, your beautiful boobs rubbing up against my face as you ride your king to our one billionth orgasm together.”

  She giggled and then gasped when he advanced on her left nipple, licking it all shiny and pink before taking it into his mouth and beginning to suck. “I’m not sure what’s different this time, why my boobs feel so much heavier. Maybe it’s because . . . oh, God, that feels good. Oh, God, Bilaal. That feels so damn good!”

  38

  It always felt good when he sucked her nipples, but this time it felt different, deeply satisfying in a way that she couldn’t understand. She moaned louder as she rode him, squeezing her naked thighs against his hard, smooth body as she moved up and down on his cock that felt so thick inside her she thought she’d still be stretched when the baby came.

  “No, please, don’t stop,” she snorted when the Sheikh pulled his mouth away from her swollen nipples and reached up to pull her head down for a kiss on her open mouth. “Suck me like that again. Hard, Bilaal. Harder.”

  He grinned and licked her lips quickly before lowering his head and taking the pert crest of her nipple into his mouth again, and the moment she tasted what he’d left on her lips, Irene knew what was different this time.

  Oh, shit, I’m full of milk, she realized, instantly feeling the heaviness in her breasts as she rocked and rolled on his throbbing cock, riding him harder as ripples of ecstasy flowed through her from the way Bilaal was pinching and slapping her thighs and ass, bucking his hips into her with increasing force, lapping and licking at her breasts like an animal in heat.

  “Ya Allah, you taste sweet like honey,” he growled as he went from one nipple to the other, flexing his cock inside her as she shuddered and looked down at him. “I want to eat you up, my love. All of you!”

  She smiled and closed her eyes, feeling her pussy release a new round of wetness that dripped out of her, oozing down his shaft as it slid in and out of her slit. She could feel the base of his cock wet from her juices, and it aroused her beyond belief to know she must be dripping onto his heavy balls as he pounded and bucked up into her. She was starting to come, the orgasm rollicking towards her with a frantic buildup that was still slow in a way. Her mouth hurt from how hard she was smiling, and she thought back to her first pregnancy, when she was swollen with milk so bad it was painful and she had to squeeze out some of it just to relieve the pressure behind her throbbing nipples.

  That’s why I feel so heavy and full, she thought as her eyelids fluttered open when she heard the Sheikh cry out in what seemed like gleeful surprise. And that’s why it feels so damn good to have him do this, to pinch me, suck me, milk me . . .

  “Do I taste sweet?” she moaned as she saw her milk oozing from her left nipple as the Sheikh pinched her hard, pulling at the nipple as he sucked her other breast. “Like honey? Milk and honey?”

  “My goddess,” he roared, slapping her breasts as the clean white milk flowed from her. He rammed his cock up hard into her before leaning forward and licking her fresh cream, and she gasped and dug her fingers into his hair as she came.

  “Oh, God!” she screamed as that climax hit with the fury of the morning sun breaking through the last layers of mist. She was flowing from her breasts, her vagina, her mouth, even her nose, it seemed, rivers of ecstasy from every pore, and it really felt like she was exploding, erupting, leaving herself to join with the eternal mother, her pregnant body floating through milky-white clouds, accompanied by cherubs in robes of cream.

  In the midst of all this the Sheikh came with a grunt and a bellow, biting her nipple as he ejaculated up into her, his torrent of white heat blasting into her even as her own white discharge flowed down her sticky breasts, her convulsing belly. She looked down at him and gasped to see her husband with her lactate all over his face and beard, on his chest and shoulders. She moaned and whimpered as she felt him release again, his powerful hips pushing up into her, his cock still so hard and thick inside her as it pumped out his milk, his semen already starting to flow out of her even as he pushed mo
re into her.

  Her own orgasm was still shaking her, and she shuddered and jerked on him as she rode it to the last, reveling in every one of what seemed like a million secondary orgasms, until finally she felt the Sheikh relax inside her and drop his arms to his side.

  “Ya Allah, I do not know what happened,” he whispered, staring at her in awe as she finally stopped moving on him. He kissed her sticky breasts and grinned up at her, a weary, supremely satisfied smile. “But I do know that you are my queen, my goddess, and the mother of my children. Not to mention the bringer of orgasms that break me every time. I love you, Irene. By God, I love you.”

  “I love you, Bilaal,” she whispered, slowly raising her left knee off the bed and sliding onto her side before crawling up and snuggling beside him, her pregnant belly safely nestled between them. “And what just happened is that the morning started with you accusing me of marrying you for your throne, and it’s ending with . . .” She frowned down at her breasts, which were raw and red from the way he’d been sucking and pinching them, but would feel better eventually, now that the pressure had been released. “It’s ending with . . .”

  “Mommy, breakfast,” came the small voice from the other side of the door, and Irene almost died of shock until she realized that the bedroom door had swung shut on its own and Sage wasn’t tall enough to open it himself.

  “It is ending with breakfast,” grunted the Sheikh, licking his lips and closing his eyes, grinning as a mortified Irene yanked on his sticky beard before reaching for a towel and her robe. “So go see to it, Mommy. The ruler of the family is at peace, and he needs a few hours to himself to recover for his next feeding.”