My Controlling Sheikh

by Tee, Marian

  It was a very functional room, and the only source of recreation offered was the mahogany bookcase in one corner, stacked with business literature and several nonfiction titles in English and Arabic. Classical music played in the background, with just the right volume to soothe the ears.

  Something weird struck me, and I blurted out unthinkingly, “There’s no TV.”

  Seated behind a curved glass desk, the sheikh nodded, saying simply, “I find it a distraction.”

  I shook my head. “Figures.” He was one of the world’s most serious-minded sheikhs, whose jet-setting lifestyle consisted of purely political trips abroad. I could search the Internet forever, and I knew I’d never find a photo of him, say, dancing in Sao Paolo, raving in Ibiza, or sailing his yacht in Alaska.

  My gaze drifted to the sheikh's desk, and another thing struck me – the lack of personal mementos. No framed photos, no souvenirs from his travels – there wasn’t anything but tons of paperwork, a huge-ass monitor, and a wireless keyboard.

  It was a sad sight, but I pushed away all thoughts of pity. He wasn’t going to win any sympathy from me, not when he made me lose sleep almost every night, waiting for his call. He hadn’t even sent me a text message. Not even one!

  “Lady Ella?” The sheikh's tone was quizzical.

  Reluctantly, I looked his way, unable to stop sulking.

  His icy blue eyes narrowed. “You are...angry.” His tone actually held a note of surprise.

  Bastard, I thought. Out loud, I asked sarcastically, “You think?”

  “Why are you angry?”

  The note of puzzlement in his voice made me scowl. “Very funny.” Did he really think I’d buy that?

  The sheikh leaned back against the chair, a frown darkening his face. “Enough with the innuendos. If you really do not want to tell me then you wouldn’t have sulked so obviously.”

  “You—-” But my irritation was more because he was right. I wanted us to talk about how he had been an ass.

  The sheikh crossed his arms against his chest. “Well?”

  I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You promised you’d call!”

  His eyebrow remain arched, his expression unimpressed. “And?” His tone bordered on bored.

  I wanted to strangle him.

  Astonishment flickered in his gaze. “That truly is the reason?”

  God help me, I was this close to killing the sheikh.

  “Come here,” the sheikh suddenly said.

  I threw him a look of disgust. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Do not make me ask the second time, ukhayyah.” His voice lowered, his voice commanding and authoritative at the same time as he said, “Come to your sheikh.”

  And just like that, it happened again.

  One moment, I was mad as hell, the next moment I was panty-soaking wet and unable to do a thing about it. The sheikh only had to use that cruelly beautiful voice of his, and I was aroused beyond belief.

  The realization had me torn between self-loathing and helplessness.

  Why, God?

  Why did he have this effect on me?

  He was the sheikh, the king's heir, and a man I was forbidden to yearn for.

  So why couldn't I stop myself from wanting him?

  Even now, I found it impossible to take my gaze away. In my eyes, he was the most beautiful man alive and would always be so. Black hair that was amazingly soft to touch, a face that was perfectly carved, with blue eyes that could seduce with just a glance, and oh, don't even get me started on his body. Muscular was such an understatement, with the way every inch of his lean but powerful form had been toughened during his years in the army. Even now, with the sheikh dressed in loose traditional robes, there was no mistaking his strength, no mistaking the sheikh's commanding aura—-

  “You are staring.”

  I mentally cringed. Busted again.

  “Also, you are making it hard for yourself,” the sheikh admonished.

  Cheeks still red from being caught staring, I asked, “What am I making hard for myself?” I genuinely didn’t understand.

  “You’ve been staring from afar,” the sheikh answered lazily. “Why make it hard when you can come near and see everything...up close?”

  I nearly expired at the words. God, how could he say such things with a straight face and get away with it? The words should have made him sound obnoxious, but all I could think of was that it was true. I was making it hard for myself. Just a few steps and I could be near all that deliciously beautiful hardness—-

  The sheikh smirked. “You’re practically undressing myself now, ukhayyah.”

  Aaaargh.

  He crooked a finger. “Come now. Do not make me wait any longer.”

  Ugh. I wished I could deny him, just to dent his ego a little, but I couldn’t. The more arrogant he was, the more my stupid, sick self wanted him.

  “Your face is an open book,” the sheikh noted.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “Don’t I?” the sheikh contested. “Right this moment, are you not hating yourself, unable to deny how much you want me?”

  Shit.

  Not only were his words true but they also served to me throb down there even more. There was just something thrilling about the fact that the sheikh knew I wanted him.

  The sheikh was looking at me knowingly, as if aware of how I struggled just not to drown in need of him. Suddenly, he laughed. “Stubborn and proud as always.” As he spoke, his wicked blue gaze raked over my body, slowly, from head to toe.

  When his eyes lingered on my breasts, I could feel my body reacting, my breasts becoming heavy with need at the attention it received. My nipples extended and as his gaze continued to caress that part of my body, and they started to ache as they pebbled hard against my school blouse.

  The longer he stared, the hotter I felt, the wetter I became.

  Oh God, I was so wet, I felt like anytime it could start leaking down my legs.

  The thought had my head reeling, and when I heard the sheikh speak again, my imagination had run into overdrive, making his words sound godlike – something to be obeyed without delay.

  “Come, ukhayyah.”

  I moved like a puppet at the command, slowly closing the distance between us. I had never been a weak girl. Even when it had felt like it was just Ruth and me against the world, I had never lost hope, never lost the courage to fight.

  But with this sheikh?

  He was my weakness, my sickness, my obsession...and the sheikh knew it.

  My knees were threatening to give out by the time I reached him. This close, I could see the undisguised lust glittering fiercely in his eyes, and I whimpered at the sight, the knowledge that the sheikh wanted me as much as I wanted him causing a tingling sensation to run down my spine.

  “Closer.”

  At his whispered command, I took one last step towards him, which left me standing between his long, muscular legs. This close, I had to press my thighs together, a desperate but futile attempt to kill the gushing flow of wetness between my legs.

  Kiss me. Don’t kiss me. The thoughts that ran inside my head were contradictory and confusing, making me fidgety and anxious. As the silence stretched between us, becoming unbearable, I finally looked up—-

  The first thing I saw was the sheikh's smirk. You can’t wait for it?

  Oh!

  I wanted to smack the smirk off his face, had even raised my hand to do so, but the sheikh moved too swiftly for me. The next thing I knew, he was already pulling me towards him, his hand around my nape.

  A second later and his mouth covered mine.

  I gasped again, but the sound was lost in his mouth. The kiss was deep and hard, and my toes curled as the heat from our fused mouths spread throughout my body.

  The sheikh lifted his head, rasping out, “Open your blouse.”

  The words gave me a little back of my sanity. Oh God, what was I doing...again? And after he had broken his
promise, did he really expect me to roll over and do whatever he asked?

  “No!” I tried to pull away, but his fingers snapped around my hips like chains, keeping me in place.

  His eyes narrowed. “Open it.”

  “Go to hell,” I snapped. “After what you—-”

  The sheikh growled, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.”

  I froze.

  “I’m not...used to this.” He glared at me, as if he held me responsible for making him admit such a thing. “I grew up, with my father breaking his promise to me over and over again, and his advisers here in the palace telling me that it is to be expected and that I should not be selfish. They have drummed it into my head that as the heir, I must understand the king will sometimes have to put the kingdom before me, the way I shall do so as well when I am king.”

  Silence followed his rare and unexpected admission. I could only look at him, my heart aching a little as I read between the lines. No wonder he found it so easy to be cold and isolated, I thought. It was how he had been raised, and everyone had made it seem like it wasn’t wrong.

  Releasing me from his hold, the sheikh raked a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of trouble. “Why do you not say anything?” His voice was almost accusing.

  My heart still torn between aching for the sheikh's isolated childhood and wanting to indulge in a self-righteous sulk, I chose my words carefully. “I see where you’re coming from, but...”

  I looked at him helplessly. “I’m not sure I can manage not to be selfish. I can’t even honestly say I believe it’s bad to be selfish in this case.”

  When the sheikh remained silent, I added in a rush, “I get it, you know. I get it that when duty calls, but...three days, Your Highness. You were there three days, and you couldn’t even manage one short text? Even just to let me know you’re safe and I’m not watching some dead ringer for you strutting about, acting like you, while you’re God knew where, bound and kidnapped—-”

  The sheikh blinked. “You’ve watched too much TV, milady.”

  I glared at him. “The point is,” I hissed, “you should have called!” Like a normal boyfriend. “You should have known I’d be worried.” Like a normal girlfriend. “Because I...” Because I care, more than I should.

  Tears pricked my eyes, and suddenly I felt so hopeless. What was I doing? Did I really think this would lead to anywhere?

  The sheikh was stiff, his jaw clenched. “Because you...what?”

  I couldn’t say it. “I need to go.” The sheikh was visibly stunned, but he had to realize that he wasn’t the only one who had the right to be moody. I started to turn away, but the sheikh caught me from behind and he yanked me towards him.

  I stumbled backwards, my back hitting his chest. His arm circled my waist, imprisoning me in an embrace. “Because you what?” the sheikh demanded.

  I shook my head.

  He pulled me closer to him, in an embrace that shouldn’t be between us. “Tell me.”

  I tried to struggle away, but his lips touched my ear, making me shiver. “Tell me—-”

  I choked out, “Because I care!”

  We both stilled at my words.

  But before the sheikh could answer, my stomach growled, the sound shattering the tense silence between us.

  Oh. My. God. Did my stomach just do that?

  The sheikh's body was rocking against me with soundless laughter.

  “Shut up.” I wanted to die.

  This time, he laughed out loud.

  “It’s only because I didn’t get to eat lunch,” I protested, shamefaced. “It’s not like I’m a glutton—-”

  “I know.” The sheikh's voice had sobered. He turned me around in his arms, and when our eyes met, I saw that his had turned brooding. “You care too much for me.”

  Ouch. No ordinary guy should have such confidence to say that with a straight face either.

  But the sheikh could and did because he wasn’t any ordinary guy. The thought wanted me to face-palm myself. This is what you get, Ella, falling in love with a sheikh – and the king's heir at that.

  I forced a smile for the sheikh's sake. “I know,” I told him simply. “I wished I didn’t, but...” I knew I didn’t have to finish it.

  Moments passed, and I hoped and feared what he would say next.

  But in the end all the sheikh did was stroke my cheek with his knuckles, murmuring, “Later, Lady Ella. Let’s dine together for now, and after, we will have that talk I promised you.”

  The Talk

  It was the most nerve-wracking meal I ever had.

  Seated beside me, the sheikh had not spoken a single word as he ate, only nodding in thanks at the attendants who served our food and gazing at me broodingly all the while.

  Although I had lost my appetite, I forced myself to eat, not wanting my stomach to complain again. When we were done, I almost collapsed in relief. Thank God that was over. I had no idea what had gotten into the sheikh to make him so moody, but I just hoped it wasn’t because he had changed his mind about...us.

  “Come. We must talk about your plans for the Chamber of History.” He offered his hand as he spoke, and I took it, hoping he wouldn’t notice how clammy with sweat my palm was.

  As we strolled out of the dining hall and headed up to his suite, I asked, “What plans?” It was the first time I heard of it.

  The sheikh only answered when we were inside his private suite. Waiting for the door to close behind him, the sheikh said succinctly, “I lied.” He swept me up in his arms without warning, making me gasp. “It was just an excuse to take you here.” He kept walking as he spoke, taking me all the way to his bedroom.

  The sheikh's bedroom was as elegant as the outer room, but with more muted colors. The bed was huge – bigger than anything I had ever seen – and across it was a love seat with a luxuriously detailed frame. In one corner was another thick Aubusson rug, placed before a fireplace carved from marble and granite.

  He lowered me to his bed, and it was so tall that even though I was seated on the edge, my feet still ended up dangling in the air.

  “You look so young like that,” the sheikh murmured moodily as he moved away and walked towards the wine bar adjacent to the fireplace.

  “Or you just have an abnormally tall bed,” I countered.

  The sheikh smiled briefly but didn’t say anything else.

  My nervousness increased as I watched the sheikh pour himself a shot of whisky. He caught me watching and asked, “Would you like one?”

  I shook my head.

  His lips twisted. “You do not drink?”

  “I don’t like drinking,” I clarified, stung by his tone. “It’s not because I feel I’m too young for it.”

  The sheikh didn’t answer, only lowering his shot glass back to the counter.

  I felt hurt and defensive. “Are you implying I’m too young?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “If you think I am,” I bit out, “then we don’t need to have this talk, do we?”

  “Yes, we do, actually. Because I’d like to fuck you, and I don’t think you’d let me do that without...” The sheikh's lip curled. “A talk.”

  Oh.

  For a moment, all I could do was replay his words over and over my mind.

  Because I’d like to fuck you.

  Oh. God. Oh. God.

  “Lady Ella, are you listening?”

  I straightened. “Umm...” I saw that the sheikh had taken a seat on the bar stool, one foot perched on the stool’s footrest. His frown made me swallow and I said weakly, “Could you, umm, repeat—-”

  “I said I wanted this to be private between us.”

  Oh.

  Conflicting emotions hit me at the words, but I knew it was a sensible request.

  His eyes narrowed when I slowly nodded. “You will not argue about it?”

  I asked quietly, “Should I?”

  His gaze darkened. “You trust too much—-”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” I
blurted out.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “You can trust me, but you cannot be as trusting with other people. Especially other men!”

  The possessiveness in his gaze as he spoke made me shiver with longing even as a part of me questioned the reality of it. Had I truly heard him say that? Could he really think it was possible for me to want any other man with him around?

  I wetted my lips.

  The sheikh saw it, and his gaze turned darker, lust glittering in his blue orbs.

  Ooooooh.

  In a throaty voice that I never even thought I could manage, I heard myself ask, “Are you jealous?”

  He stiffened. “I do not want to talk about such things.” It was the sheikh at his loftiest.

  A smile broke over my lips. He could deny it all he wanted, but it was obvious. He had been – was – jealous. Over me!

  “Stop looking at me like that,” the sheikh snapped.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said innocently.

  “Temptress.” An accusation but said so huskily it made my body flame up.

  Oh God, I was wet again.

  “Come here.” Hunger underlined the sheikh’s growl.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I said meekly, but my eyes laughed at him. At that moment, I felt like we were equals, the sheikh's undisguised desire making me feel heady with feminine power.

  When I reached him, he slid off the stool and placed me on it, lifting me up like I was no heavier than a feather.

  “Open your blouse,” he commanded.

  My wicked self rose to the fore, and I shook my head. “Tell me first that you missed me when you were gone.”

  When the sheikh looked like he wanted to throw me over the nearest cliff, I pouted. It was the first time in my life I had pouted – or had any reason to pout – and it felt quite fun. Liberating even, that I also found myself fluttering my lashes. "Please?"