Shared for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 10)

by Annabelle Winters

  Slowly he pushed into her, her mouth opening in time with the lips of her vagina, her eyes going wide and rolling up in her head at the sensation of being stretched like this was the first time, the first time she’d ever been fucked. He went slow but firm, his powerful hips pushing forward while rotating gently to open the walls of her secret cave.

  “So warm,” he groaned. “So perfect.”

  “Oh, God,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Oh, please go slow. I’m so stretched . . . oh, God!”

  She came just as the upward curve of Ephraim’s cock grazed her secret spot on the front wall of her vagina as it continued its journey into her depths, and the orgasm was so sudden and unexpected that she burst into tears from the sheer confusion.

  “Oh, God, what’s happening?” she wailed as Ephraim drove his shaft all the way deep and then stopped and held still, looking down into her eyes and caressing her hair as she came again for him.

  “Look at me as you come,” he growled as he held her hair away from her face and stayed there on top of her, inside her, all around her. “Look at me, Jan.”

  “What’s happening to me?” she gurgled as she stared into his dark green eyes, her orgasm binding her to him in a way she could feel in her depths. “What the hell is happening?”

  But Jan knew what was happening, even through that climax. She was opening up in ways more than just physical. Saying the words “Darius has offered me to you” made it real in a way that broke through the chains holding her to the real world, to its morals and beliefs. She was no longer Professor Janice Johansen, and this was no longer the world in which she had a cute little office in Pittsburgh and a classroom full of earnest students with iPhones. She’d stepped into a new world, an old world, a different world. And this world was taking her and would never give her back.

  She dug her fingers into Ephraim’s thick black hair as the tears rolled down her smooth cheeks, and he smiled down at her as he kissed those tears gently. She could feel his cock flex inside her, but the Sheikh held still, as if he wanted to make sure she was all right. As her orgasm finally released her from its clutches, Jan realized again how deeply she was locked in on Ephraim’s eyes, just like she’d been during that first orgasm. She’d read the research about how even strangers who hold steady eye contact for a few minutes develop feelings for each other. Had anyone studied what happened when the strangers were naked and climaxing during that eye contact? The connection scared her, the attraction terrified her, the need overwhelmed her. Was he playing her? Trying to get her to bond with him so he could control her? But the eye-contact trick worked both ways, she remembered as her climax whipped back and forth like the tail of a trapped beast. The bond works both ways.

  “I will take you, but I may not be able to give you back,” he whispered again as he began to drive those muscular hips, pulling back halfway and then plunging his shaft back into her.

  Jan’s vagina was opened all the way, stretched wider than she thought possible, and she was wet to the point where Ephraim’s girth was sliding in and out effortlessly, even though she could feel him pressing against every part of her inside walls. She spread her legs as far as she could, feeling the last of her inhibitions disappear as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth for his kisses, arched her back so he could suck her hard, pink nipples that were pebbled and erect like large arrowheads, bucked her hips in time with the Sheikh’s devastating thrusts.

  They moved together in heavy silence, just the sound of their bodies filling the room, his grunts and her whimpers, his growls and her wails, him thrusting and her taking, him driving and her clenching, the Sheikh and the professor, the king and the queen, the players in the game, playing each other, playing themselves.

  Jan came again, and this time she didn’t need him to tell her to look at him. She did it because she wanted to, did it because she needed to, did it because he’d asked her once and would never need to ask again. She held the eye contact as her climax paralyzed her insides, and in his eyes she saw herself, she thought.

  This time the Sheikh fucked her through her orgasm, all way up to heaven and back down to this strange new version of earth she’d slipped into. Then he cried to his god and seized up, his thick neck straining and his strong jaw clenching as his cock drove deep and flexed in preparation.

  “Look at me,” she whispered as she dug her fingers into his thick hair and clenched her vagina as hard as she could. “Look at me as you come.”

  The Sheikh roared in pleasure as he rammed into her one last time, and as she felt Ephraim’s heavy balls slap against her bare skin and tighten up as he blasted his royal load into her, she grinned up at the ceiling like a madwoman and thought, “Perhaps I don’t want you to give me back, Ephraim. Perhaps I don’t want you to give me back.”

  20

  What if she does not want to come back to me, Darius wondered as he stared at the silver cup of tea that had once been steaming hot but was now cold and congealed. Perhaps I should have slept with her again instead of holding myself back. Perhaps I should not have told her everything. Perhaps I should have kept her for myself. Ya Allah, what have I done?

  The Sheikh walked through the long hallway of the southern wing of Noramaar’s Royal Palace. A warm breeze oozed its way along the sandstone floor as Darius walked barefoot past these seldom-used rooms of his sprawling palace. This had been where the old Sheikhs of Noramaar had kept the women of their harems, and Darius smiled tightly as he walked into an enclosed courtyard and stopped near the black marble fountain that had been turned off and drained years ago.

  There were doors lining the walls that faced the courtyard and fountain, each door painted a different color, some of them with Arabic inscriptions above them, others with symbols, a few with jewels embedded into the old teakwood frames. Darius smiled as he walked to one of the doors and ran his fingers along the inscription. It marked the rooms of the nikaabi, women of the harem who could be shared with guests of the Sheikh so long as the guests were of royal blood. To the left were the rooms of the wakaabi, women who could be offered as rewards for great service to the kingdom. Generals and soldiers were often the ones graced with the gift of a night with the wakaabi.

  Finally Darius stopped near the last door, marked with a single diamond. These were the chambers of the shikaabi, the women who came here untouched and would never be touched by any except the supreme Sheikh himself. The king’s private stock. Ah, the days of old!

  Darius laughed out loud and shook his head as he slammed his palms against the door. The history of man and woman is a strange story, is it not, he thought as he touched his head to the old teakwood and then turned and walked back to the fountain. Adam and Eve. Samson and Delilah. Romeo and Juliet. He laughed again as he thought of those famous couples of myth. The choice to be together brought about the downfall of each of those couples. Had there ever been a great love story that did not end in tragedy?

  “Perhaps Jan’s theories are correct,” he muttered as he looked down over the wall of the black fountain. He saw the levers to turn the water back on, and reached down and slowly released them, smiling as the old pipes gurgled and spat and slowly began to serve up their flow once more. “Perhaps those stories were tragedies because they denied the true history of man and woman, that the story of one man for one woman is a myth, a fiction itself.” The Sheikh dipped his hand into the warm waters of the fountain and took a breath. “Of course it is a myth. Look at these rooms of the old harem. Look at the history of infidelity in every culture, society, and household. Look at every ruler from Genghis Khan to Henry the Eighth to Cleopatra to the queens of the Russian empire. They all loved many in their lifetimes, many at the same time. Jan is right. Our true nature is not what we think it is. It is not what we want it to be. She is right. By Allah, she is right!”

  And so what will be the story of Jan and Darius and Ephraim, the Sheikh wondered as he stepped into the fountain an
d stood there, knee deep in the warm water, surrounded by the empty rooms of this palace of fantasy. A tragedy? A farce? Or a love story?

  Who knows, he decided as he stepped out and headed back down the sandstone hallways, pulling out his phone along the way and breathing hard as excitement whipped through him. It had been two days since he’d been back in Noramaar, and by now he had no doubt that although Ephraim had taken Jan, she’d also allowed herself to be taken, which meant only one thing: It was time to bring them all together.

  But where, he wondered as he dialed Ephraim’s private line and waited, wondering why he would expect Ephraim to answer, wondering if he even wanted Ephraim to answer. Where to meet for the first time? A hotel suite? A palace? Europe? South America? Paris? Rio?

  The answer came to Darius just as Ephraim answered.

  “Two days, Darius?” came Ephraim’s deep voice over the phone. “It takes you two days to call to check on your woman?”

  “My woman?” said Darius after a moment’s pause. “Or our woman?”

  Ephraim was silent, but Darius could hear him breathe. “Darius, how well do you know Jan?”

  “Well enough. How well do you know her, Ephraim?”

  Ephraim laughed, but it was a measured laugh. “Well enough to know that there is much I do not know about her. Do not underestimate her, Darius.” He paused and took a breath, his voice going cold in a way that told Darius everything he needed to know about how well Ephraim “knew” Jan by now. “And do not underestimate me, Darius.”

  “I am wary of making any estimates in this game,” whispered Darius. “None of us knows how this will play out.”

  “Yet each of us knows how we want it to play out, yes?”

  Darius frowned as a chill ran through him, the sensation transforming into a steady buzz that troubled him. What was Ephraim saying? That he wanted Jan for himself? Had she told him everything? Had they already fallen in love? The thoughts came quick and hard, and Darius had to take several breaths before he remembered that much of this game would be played in their own heads, with their own emotions, their own doubts and uncertainties, needs and wants, ambitions and aggressions.

  “Do we, Ephraim? Do we truly know how we want it to play out?”

  Ephraim laughed. “I know how you want it to play out. The three of us, Jan between us.” He snorted. “Or Jan on top, rather. Queen of two kingdoms. The grand Sheikha who unites two kingdoms on the brink of war. Ya Allah, I do not know whether to laugh or cry at your childish idealism.” A pause and then his pitch deepened. “Perhaps it is indeed time for Noramaar to have a new ruler. Perhaps the good Sheikh Darius has lost his mind. That is what happens when you do away with your harem and spend your days holding your royal cock in your hand and holding these delusions in your mind.”

  Darius breathed deep and ignored the insult. “And is your harem bringing light and joy to your nights, Ephraim? If so, please return Jan to me and that will be the end of it.”

  “Return her to you? She belongs to you?” Ephraim laughed. “Ah, you have showed your hand, Darius. You already feel the possessiveness of a jealous lover. You are not prepared to play this game, because you have allowed her to get under your skin.”

  Darius smiled, his eyes narrowed and focused. “And you have showed your hand too, Ephraim. I hear it in your voice. She has gotten under your skin too.” He paused, and when he heard the heavy silence on the other end of the line, he knew he was right. “Do you see why I chose her? Why it had to be her? Why it had to be a woman who could stand up to the two of us? Stand between us? Stand above us if it comes to that? Do you see, Ephraim?”

  Ephraim was silent for a long time, his breathing the only sign that he was still on the line. “Yes,” he said finally. “She could stand up to the two of us. Stand between us. Mentally, intellectually, and physically. She could handle us both.” He took a trembling breath and whispered softly: “She could take us both.”

  Darius felt that old excitement of competition roar through him as he gripped his phone so tight it almost cracked down the middle. It was time. Time to take this to the next step and see how it would play out.

  “Noor Island,” said Darius quietly. “Two days.”

  Ephraim paused. “Noor Island,” he said slowly. “In the middle of the Golden Oasis? It is too small to land a plane. We can only get there by boat.”

  “I think you can find a boat, yes?” Darius said. But he knew what Ephraim meant: Noor Island was a patch of raised desert, dead in the middle of the vast Golden Oasis. It was neutral territory, land owned by neither kingdom. But it was also small and wild, the desert plants so overgrown that not even a helicopter could land there. The bed of the oasis near the shoreline was shifting sand, with water levels that could change overnight, making it dangerous to bring a large boat in to shore for fear of running aground.

  “We have palaces the size of football stadiums, mansions in Europe and South America, properties in Asia and Australia, and you want to meet on a patch of sand in the middle of nowhere?” said Ephraim, half laughing.

  “The Golden Oasis is not nowhere. It is everywhere,” said Darius. “That is the place. Why, are you afraid of the rumors of the peculiar island snakes of Noor Island, vipers and constrictors that eat each other and are always hungry for fresh meat?”

  Ephraim laughed. “Snakes and desert islands. What other way to let this twisted tale play itself out, yes? All right, Darius. Noor Island. I am sure Professor Johansen will be thrilled. She is a biologist by training, after all. You, me, and Jan, in a pit of snakes. Let the games begin.”

  Darius grunted as a vivid image of that night back at Oxford came to mind. But instead of that slim Scandinavian princess between them it was a curvy American queen spread wide and filled deep, from top and bottom, front and behind, inside and outside. He pushed the image away, but the imprint remained, almost like it was a vision of an event that had already happened.

  “Noor Island,” Darius said, somehow knowing that Ephraim’s mind had travelled to the same place in that moment. “The three of us and the snakes. Bring your own anti-venom.”

  21

  “Snakes?!” Jan said, both eyebrows raised, both hands on her hips. “A desert island with snakes? What is this, a B-grade horror movie? Will we be staying in a shack that has a shelf full of chainsaws and nail-guns?”

  “There is a old guest house on the island, built a hundred years ago. Not a palace, but hardly a shack,” said Ephraim. He looked up from the duffel bag he’d been packing and cocked his head. “And why chainsaws?” He pulled out a pronged rod made of brushed aluminum. “A snake-pole is much more effective. Besides, snakes are more afraid of us than we are of them.”

  “That’s so not true. Humans have evolved to notice and avoid any movement on the ground. For our ancestors, stepping on a snake was pretty much a death sentence,” said Jan, eyeing the snake-pole and shaking her head as she wondered for the millionth time what the hell she was doing here. Was she really about to go on a camping trip with two Arab kings who’d kidnapped her one after the other? Even those ditzy teenagers in the horror flicks weren’t this dumb.

  She’d spent four days with Ephraim, but after that first savage night of lovemaking she’d stopped him from taking her even when he came at her half-naked, his cock leading the way, erect and heavy. There were a few occasions where she was sure he wouldn’t stop, but he stopped every time. It surprised her, actually, because she’d been clearly aroused in his presence, and they’d been close enough to understand that the attraction was there and it was real. But every time she said no, the Sheikh had backed off. Not just that, but he’d held on to his need in a way that made her own need rise: He’d stayed hard, refusing to pleasure himself, refusing to allow anyone else to pleasure him.

  And Jan knew there were women in the Royal Palace of Habeetha whose sole function was to pleasure the Sheikh. She’d seen it in the way they
looked at her when she passed them in the hallways. They always lowered their heads and covered their faces with their hijabs when in her presence, but they couldn’t hide what was in their eyes. Did they love him? Did they hate her? Were they simply worried about losing their jobs?

  But Jan had other things to worry about, and it wasn’t the harem or the wildlife. Over the past four days Ephraim had showed her the capital city of Habeetha, where almost all the population lived. The streets were smooth and perfect, and the buildings were a wonderful mix of old sandstone bungalows and modern highrises. He’d taken her to the southern division of Habeetha, showed her the grand casino and gambling houses, pointed out the clean, well-lit brothels where well-paid women could safely choose to practice civilization’s oldest profession under the protection of the Sheikh’s city guard.

  As for guards, Jan couldn’t help but notice the abundance of uniformed men stationed all over the city, at street corners, in marketplaces, outside mosques and prayer halls, near shopping malls and movie theaters, striding through the streets, patrolling the date-palm lined parks and playgrounds. And then Ephraim took her to the north of the city, to the banks of the Golden Oasis, where his army had their barracks.

  “The military cantonment,” he said as their gold-plated Range Rover glided through the freshly paved streets lined with young date-palms, past rows of identical sandstone barracks, down toward the shoreline where groups of uniformed young men were being marched and exercised as if in preparation for war. “The result of my biggest mistake as Sheikh.”

  Jan had stared wide-eyed at the scene, swallowing hard as a chill rose up from the base of her spine. She’d known about the opening of the borders, about the young men flowing in and joining the military to complete their five years of service. But seeing the extent of it was shocking. This was not a simple problem.