Her mother nodded. “Yes. That’s why we never did Christmas growing up. My mom never did it because Margot never did it.”
“But we do Christmas now,” Elle had said, still frowning as she rubbed the cross absentmindedly.
“Well, of course, honey. I’m not going to deprive you of a Christmas tree and presents and caroling and all that because of something that happened eighty years ago to someone else!”
Elle had nodded, but for some reason the last bit of what her mom said felt strangely hollow as she touched that cross again.
Happened to someone else. Someone else. Someone else?
14
Elle awoke with the distinct feeling that it was Christmas morning and she was sixteen again and had just emerged from the deepest, filthiest, most unmentionable dream possible, and the foremost thing on her mind seemed to be that she just HAD to change her panties before rushing down to open her presents. Yes, she couldn’t go downstairs with her panties all wet like she knew they were from that filthy dream. There were cousins and aunts and pets and goldfish downstairs for Christmas breakfast, and they would all know that Elle’s panties were wet, and they would all know that she was a bad girl, a dirty girl, a filthy girl.
So Elle started to sit up, already reaching for the bottom hem of her nightshirt so she could pull those telltale panties off and bury them at the bottom of the laundry pile. But then she realized she wasn’t wearing that nightshirt and ohgod she wasn’t even wearing panties and holyshit her thighs felt much larger than she remembered and her bed felt much larger than she remembered and the room looked different and where was her pink pin-up board and why wasn’t she able to sit up and what was that weight draped across her stomach as she lay on her side and whose arm was that on her and whose body was that pressed against her naked back and what was that long, hard thing shifting against her shockingly large bottom . . .
“Good morning,” he whispered into her brown hair that was tangled and twisted, and Elle felt the air rush out of her as all the images came rushing in.
“Oh, God, did I . . . did I pass out?” she said into the pillow, her voice sounding thick and full to her. “Oh, shit, is it morning? How long was I out?! Shit, shit, damn, shit, f—”
“Relax, Nurse Easton,” the Sheikh chuckled against her neck, his stubble tickling her in a way that made her want to wriggle and giggle. “It is the middle of the night still. There is no emergency.”
Elle sighed, the air coming out with a whoosh as she relaxed for a moment and closed her eyes as she told herself she wasn’t going to think about what had just happened and why she was naked in a patient’s bed, naked with the patient, naked with the NAKED patient!
She tried to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a stifled laugh, part mortified embarrassment, part hazy disbelief, part filthy excitement at that lingering sense of being sixteen on Christmas morning, in bed with wet panties . . .
“Oh, God, I had totally lost track of where I was,” she said finally, rubbing her eyes as she felt him move against her, this man whom she barely knew but was now sharing a bed with.
“Where did you think you were?” he asked, kissing the back of her neck in the most familiar way, a way that should have made Elle feel uncomfortable but instead sent a warm tingle through her.
“Home. My childhood home, I mean.”
“Hmm,” he said against her. “It is comforting?”
Elle blinked as she thought of those telltale panties. “Well, sorta. I guess.”
“OK,” he said, his voice soft, deep, steady. “Then close your eyes and go back there. Come. How old are you?”
“Sixteen, I think.”
“And what is happening around you, my sixteen-year-old Eleanor Easton?”
She giggled as she closed her eyes and felt herself drift so easily as his heavy arm held her steady against his warm, hard body. “Well, it’s Christmas morning.”
“It is Christmas morning,” he whispered in that smooth accent. “And where are you?”
“In bed,” she answered. “In my single bed.”
“In bed,” he whispered in that low voice. “Sixteen-year-old Eleanor Easton, at home in her little single bed, on Christmas morning. How very wholesome.”
Elle giggled again. “Um, yeah, I guess.”
Now she felt the Sheikh’s body move as he laughed gently. “No? Not so wholesome? Ah, go on. Go on, please. What is happening with innocent little Eleanor?”
“Innocent, yeah. I mean, I had a boyfriend but we never went past kissing and some other stuff.”
“Well, that is indeed very innocent and wholesome. So what is it that is making little Eleanor feel unwholesome on Christmas morning?”
The Sheikh’s arm was moving down along the raised curve of her naked hip, fingers teasing the tops of her white stockings, goosebumps rising as Elle felt his cock harden against her bottom, its length firm and thick against her rear crease.
“Little Eleanor had a dream,” she whispered now, eyes still closed, body gently moving against his. “A bad, naughty, filthy dream.”
“About her boyfriend?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her cheek, the sound sending a strange vibration along the length of her body even as Akbar’s cock tightened against the length of her rear cleavage, its bulbous tip down at the intersection of her thighs, the crevasse of her crotch.
“No,” she whispered, the smile long gone as her mouth hung open, the saliva coating her lips just like fresh wetness was oozing from the top of her slit. “Another man. A stranger.”
“A mysterious stranger,” the Sheikh whispered as he caressed the thick of her thigh, slowly sliding his right hand between her legs from behind, fingers digging in as he raised her right leg while she lay there on her side. “A dark, mysterious stranger?”
“Yes,” she whispered back, and now the arousal was rising fast, and she could feel the cool air against her open crotch as the Sheikh raised her right leg and guided his erect cock into the space between those stockings, the trail between her thighs, the canal that led to her cunt. “Oh, God,” she whispered as she felt the swollen tip of his cock make first contact with her slit from behind and below, from beneath and around. “Oh, God, Akbar.”
“Say my name again,” he whispered as he flexed his cock against her slit, slowly opening her up as he kept her leg raised just enough to give him passage.
“Akbar,” she said, shuddering as her arousal surged once more.
“Again,” he growled, and now his cock was opening her up, spreading those dark lips between her creamy thighs, her white stockings. “Again. Say my name, my little Eleanor in her single bed.”
“Akbar,” she muttered. “Oh, God, please.”
“Akbar, can you make me come like a big girl,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Say it. Akbar, can you make me come like a big girl,” he ordered.
“Akbar . . . Akbar, can you make me . . . make me come like a big girl,” she repeated as the fantasy began to take hold and the sense of being sixteen and wet suddenly got so goddamn real that she gasped and closed her eyes tight as she felt the head of his cock feel so big against her little vagina, her tight little pussy.
“Like a big girl,” he said.
“Like a big girl,” she moaned.
“Like a bad girl,” he said as he pushed the head of his cock just past the lips of her pussy and held it there, flexed and swollen, his girth opening her up and threatening an entry so deep that she almost came right there with the filthy anticipation.
“Like a bad girl,” she whimpered as she felt the walls of her vagina clench, like her pussy was trying to pull him inside, all the way inside, just like that bad, naughty sixteen-year-old girl with the wet panties wanted, wanted so bad, wanted so hard, wanted so deep, so goddamn deep . . .
“Like a bad girl,” she said again as she felt the Sheikh ease his tremendous cock an inch farther, an inch deeper, stretching her wider, making her need rise, her depths now call
ing to be filled with the desperate innocence of that horny little Catholic girl who wanted to hide her panties so no one could see. “Like a bad girl. A bad girl. A bad, bad, filthy girl.”
And with each word he went farther, deeper, his cock hardening inside her as he told her what to say, told her what to think, told her who to be. Soon he was so deep that Elle’s mouth was open wide as her eyes clamped shut, and she could feel herself being stretched wider than she had ever thought possible, and he was pushing deeper somehow, his cock feeling bigger somehow, his hardness pressed up against every inch of her inner walls, deeper, deeper, so deep, so hard, and she was muttering as the walls in her mind closed in just like the walls of her cunt were closing in, and she heard his voice again, that dark, mysterious Sheikh’s voice, the man who had tasted her from the inside and was now about to . . . about to . . . about to . . .
“Say it,” he growled, the strain of arousal poignantly clear in his voice, his fingers digging deep into her thigh as he held her leg up and maneuvered the curve of his incredibly long, menacingly dark, glistening shaft deeper into her. “Say it.”
“What?” she gurgled. “Say what?”
“Fuck me, Sheikh Akbar,” he rasped, his breath hot against her just like his cock was hot inside her. “Fuck me like a bad girl. Fuck me, Sheikh Akbar. Say it or I stop. Say it.”
The arousal was so raw and raging that she could barely speak, and even when she found the strength she couldn’t say the words. It was like something was stopping her from saying it, a part of her that was screaming out a warning, that good girl inside her that was saying no, saying be careful, saying don’t let the bad girl wake up, don’t let the darkness peek in from the corners, don’t, don’t, don’t, for the love of God DON’T!
“Fuck me,” she spat into the pillow, and the sound of those words coming from her mouth made every hair on her body rise up, made every fiber go to full alert, and she could feel something shift in her, something rise in her, wake up in her . . .
“Fuck me,” she muttered again, the words coming out with a hesitant confidence now, her mouth twisting into a sneer as she heard herself speak, and now she licked her lips and said it one more time, her eyes suddenly opening WIDE just as she felt the Sheikh RAM his cock all the way up inside her from behind, hard, deep, thick, long, just like that bad girl wanted, that bad girl who was proudly holding her wet panties up for all to see, cackling like a teenage witch as parents and priests and teachers and beasts all hid their eyes and crossed themselves and clucked and cawed and judged and mawed. “Fuck me, Sheikh Akbar. I’m a bad girl, so fuck me like a bad girl.”
15
With a ROAR he pushed his way into her, full length now, all the way deep, every muscle in his arm flexed with the strain of holding her smooth thigh up, his muscular hips pivoted and driving full force already, pumping with power that scared him, power that shook him as much as it was shaking Elle’s body as she braced herself on the bed, her cheek pressed hard against the white pillow, her mouth opening and closing, urgent gasps pushing out of her each time he pushed back into her.
Ya, Allah, he thought as he recalled how he had laid with her for so long as she slept in his arms, her naked curves testing everything in him, testing the very essence of the man he was. Yes, he had held himself back until she woke, though a part of him wanted to push his way into her, right then and there, fuck this beautiful, soft, curvy American nurse as she slept, claim her with his cock just like he had claimed her with his tongue, wake her up with an orgasm just like he had knocked her out with an orgasm.
But he did not, he would not, he could not. And only when she awoke and Akbar realized that he had managed to restrain himself even though he had stayed painfully erect against her tempting flesh, nobody watching, nothing there to stop him from taking what he wanted, nothing but his character, his essence, his core, his goddamn soul . . . yes, now that he realized he had not crossed the threshold of temptation, had resisted that deepest, darkest side of him that he knew existed, Akbar felt a rush of euphoria, a surge of energy, a flash of optimism, hope, light, light in the darkness, light in his darkness, her light in his darkness, Eleanor’s light glowing in Akbar even as Akbar’s darkness invaded her as he pushed into her once again, groaning as she moaned, growling as she whimpered, grunting as she gurgled, ROARING as she wailed.
She is my complement as I am hers, he thought as he turned his body now, pushing all the way in and holding as he flipped her onto her stomach, keeping his cock in her as her thighs clamped together between his legs, and he grunted as he felt his cock being squeezed between her thighs, holding the position as long as he could before pulling himself out so he could spread her from behind and re-enter.
His cock slid out with a sucking, empty noise, the seal was so tight, and a long trail of pre-cum mixed with her feminine juices came out along with his gleaming shaft. She snorted and heaved as he smacked her bottoms, slapped her buttocks, spanked her ass until her magnificent cheeks shuddered before him, the smooth white skin turning streaked red as he struck her again, now reaching with his left hand and grabbing her hair, making her scream as he pulled tight, yanking her head back as he slapped her once more, rubbed his cock, and then forced his way back into her warm slit, between those spread-out thighs, those shimmering stockings, those glistening globes . . .
“Ya, Allah!” he shouted as her heat welcomed him, enveloped him, swallowed him, and he gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw and pulled hard on her hair as he rammed into her, his hips slamming against her buttocks as she cried out in pain, called out in pleasure, coughed and gurgled, spat and sputtered.
“Come for me,” he growled as he pumped into her, looking down on this magnificent woman spread before him, her arms holding on to the forward sides of the bed, the proportions of her hourglass figure making the Sheikh’s balls seize up with the pent-up release that he had been denied for hours, that he had denied himself for hours, that this woman had made him hold onto even as she slept defenseless in his arms, controlling him from her helpless state, making him do battle with his own character before granting him access to her beauty, her warmth, her light . . .
“Come for me, my angel of light,” he muttered as he looked down at her trembling buttocks, releasing her hair and spreading her rear cheeks with both hands as he pushed down on the small of her back, making her curve up into him as he pushed into her and pulled out, pushed back in and withdrew again, pushed back in harder as his heavy balls slapped against her wetness, the bed creaking and rattling as he thrust and pumped, rammed and flexed.
“Come for me, my pure white angel,” he said again as he spread her rear cheeks and looked down at her dark red pucker, clean and round, delicate and perfect. “I can feel how wet you are, my snow-white angel. How filthy wet you are for me, how the angel in you is wet for the demon in me, how she is spreading for him like you are spreading for me, how she is wet for him like you are wet for me.”
“Oh, God, what’s happening,” she whimpered through her shudders as Akbar went harder now, deeper now, fast and rough, his thumb circling her asshole as he pounded her body into the mattress, her face into the pillow. “Oh, God, this is too much. Oh, God, I can’t be here, I can’t be doing this, I’m not doing this, I’m not here, I’m not her, I’m not me, I’m not that woman, I’m not that girl, I’m not, I can’t, I haven’t, I wouldn’t, oh God, oh God, oh GOD!”
And as she started to shake and sob, flail and thrash, her orgasm looming just like his was almost here, the Sheikh reached below, reached for where his cock was sliding in and out of her slick vagina, and he gathered their combined juices on his fingers, brought them to his face and inhaled deep, taking in the smell of sex, the smell of her sex, the smell of THEIR sex, and he smiled again and leaned forward as he pushed his entire length back into her and held, flexing his cock as he brought those fingers to her lips, pushing them into her mouth, holding them in there as he held his flexed cock tight in her.
“Taste us, my angel o
f light,” he whispered as he felt a convulsion begin to go through her body as her buttocks shivered against him. “Taste us, and then come for me. Come for me, come for you, come for us, for all of us.”
And he pulled those fingers out of her mouth, pulled his cock back halfway as he did it, and then, just as the Sheikh pushed his cock back in, he slid that slick middle finger into her rear hole down to the knuckle, spreading her cheeks and forcing it in, feeling the last of his self-control leave him as that release pushed its way to the surface like a glacier plunging off a high cliff after its slow but unstoppable descent, the majesty of its flow ending with the chaos of its shattering crash into the dark ocean.
And only when the Sheikh felt the world go silent as his balls seized up and delivered their load deep into the stocking-clad angel spread before him . . . yes, only then did Akbar realize with the strangest of calm that this was the only woman he had entered without a condom. The only one. The goddamn ONLY one.
16
“Will you carry something for me?” that woman whispered through the mist that surrounded Elle, through the magical fog that made it hard to even breathe let alone see, the haze that was inside her head and outside, like this woman was inside her head and outside it, inside her body and outside it. “Will you carry what I was unable to carry? Will you?”
Elle looked down at herself as she hunched over and held on, and she saw her breasts swinging wildly as the Sheikh pumped into her from behind, and she could see all the way down past her trembling flesh, see her thighs spread wide, those white stockings looking dark in the shadow of the Sheikh’s muscular thighs, and she could see his thick shaft sliding in and out of her like a goddamn piston, his heavy balls swinging and slapping as he grunted and growled, and now her vision narrowed back up to her chest, and there was a flash of light suddenly, blinding light, and she blinked and gasped when she realized it was that dangling cross, that old gift from a lover, that piece of lovingly crafted metal that had been carried across three continents, passed down three generations, pulled out of a box three weeks ago, now carried up three floors, and it was up here with her, up here with them, with him and her, Elle and Akbar, angel and demon, darkness and light, the healer and the wounded, the nurse and the soldier, Margot and—
Stockings for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 5) Page 6
