Grateful for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 16)

by Annabelle Winters

  Pen heard a mechanical whirring noise, and she fluttered her eyelids open to see a partition rising up between them and the driver. A moment later it was just the Sheikh and her, and suddenly he was pressed close against her as she pushed into him, arching her back and moaning as she felt his lips tease the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His hands slid around her to the front, firmly closing on her breasts and pressing them so hard she cried out as she felt her wetness flow into her panties so quick she wondered if she’d peed herself.

  And then he whipped her around, pushing her against the padded door of the moving car, swinging her leg around him so she was spread and breathless before him, staring at the massive peak in his trousers, the need written all over his handsome face.

  “I was not going to do this,” he grunted, rubbing her mound through her beige slacks, his thumb somehow resting perfectly on her clit, the contact sending a surge of arousal through Pen as she almost choked in shock.

  “Oh, really,” she managed to say, pushing her hips up involuntarily as her body responded to his touch, every fiber in her calling out “Take me!”

  The Sheikh grinned. “No, not really. I was always going to do this. Just perhaps not so soon.”

  “We can wait until we arrive at the town square if you want,” she muttered, taking deep breaths as the Sheikh slowly undid the side zipper of her fitted slacks. He caressed her bare hip as he slowly peeled her slacks off, taking her panties down along with it until she felt the cool leather seat beneath her bare bottom and realized she was naked from the waist down, spread wide in the backseat of a Middle Eastern Sheikh’s golden Range Rover as it sped through the desert.

  What’s happening, she thought, closing her eyes as she smelled herself in the climate-controlled interior of the car. She knew she was wet, dripping all over the smooth white leather interior. But she didn’t give a damn. She couldn’t give a damn—not with the Sheikh’s fingers driving through her brown pubic curls, his thumb pressing her clit like a button as he opened her slit wide with the fingers of his other hand.

  He brought his face close, licked her twice as if to taste her. Then he smacked his lips and grinned, balancing himself with one knee on the seat and the other foot firmly planted on the floor as he unbuckled and unzipped.

  His black silk underwear was so peaked with his erection that Pen couldn’t stop staring. She could see a shiny patch of wetness that had oozed through the cloth where his cockhead was pushing against the silk, making it look like a black dome sticking out at the end of a pillar. Then Rafeez pulled the waistband of his underwear down, releasing his cock, and Pen cried out loud when his glistening rod sprung out, gently bouncing as the car raced along the street.

  “Oh, shit, that’s beautiful,” she gushed, turning red when she heard herself speak. She reached out and stroked his glistening shaft with her fingertips, smiling when she saw how his cock flexed at her touch. Oh, God, he wants me so bad, came the thought, and it made her even wetter to see the Sheikh’s erection throb as she stroked him. She wanted him too, inside her, all the way inside, filling her, flooding her, fucking her.

  He groaned as she stroked him again, his body hardening as his green eyes rolled up in his head. He let her touch him as he muttered in Arabic, and then he reached for a small compartment near the seat partition and pulled out a condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth and pushing her hand away from his cock as he rolled it on.

  Pen felt a sudden pit in her stomach when she saw Rafeez’s magnificent shaft get shielded by the cold, lifeless latex, and she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. This was absolutely the right thing to do, wasn’t it? It’s what he should have done the first time. It’s what she’d demanded he do the first time, right? So why was she feeling sick about it? Why was she . . . why was she about to do and say the unthinkable?

  “You don’t have to,” she said, feeling a different sort of sickness rise up in her as she reached for his cock, stroking it again and gently tugging at the bottom of the condom, slowly rolling it up, unsheathing his cock as the Sheikh stared down at her fingers even as he groaned in pleasure at her touch.

  “What are you doing?” he said, his voice strained with arousal, his jaw tight, his eyes glazing over as Pen pulled the condom off past the bulb of his cockhead, massaging his massive shaft with one hand as she cupped his balls with the other. “Ya Allah, what are you doing to me?”

  Pen had no idea what she was doing. All she knew was that she needed him inside her, and the need was so strong she was almost sickened by it. She’d had a million conversations with Willow about having kids, and while Willow had wanted to be a mother her entire life, Pen had been more-or-less ambivalent about it.

  “Maybe the need will kick in at some point,” Pen had said when they’d discussed it a few years ago, after Willow and Randy had decided to adopt. Willow had been wondering about whether she’d always regret not carrying her own child, not experiencing that rite of womanhood, of giving birth. Pen had waved it off, saying not every woman had a burning need to get knocked up and go through the pain of labor and delivery, so Willow should just chill and be grateful that they lived in a time and place where a same-sex couple could adopt a child.

  “You’ve never felt that need?” Willow had asked.

  “Nope,” Pen had replied without hesitation. Then she’d shrugged. “Maybe it’ll kick in at some point.”

  “Yeah, it will. When you get to the end of your Dirty Thirties,” Willow had whispered, reaching out and tweaking Pen’s nipple, making her scream in surprise.

  “Or when the right guy shows up,” Pen had said, slapping Willow’s hand away and shielding her breasts as the two of them laughed like naughty schoolgirls.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that,” Willow had replied, rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her drink. Then she’d shrugged. “But all right. I think it’s possible that when you see the perfect set of cock and balls—gross, by the way—your pussy will open up like Aladdin’s Cave. Open sesame! Put your seed in me! Make me a mommy! Knock me up and turn me into the pregnant bitch I was born to be!”

  They’d almost died laughing that night, the two of them getting drunk out of their minds, talking about things that would never be repeated because they were so lewd and gross. Two weeks later Willow and Randy’s adoption had come through: Twins from Colombia—a boy and a girl. And then everything had changed. Willow was a mommy without much spare time, and Pen was left behind: just a godmother in her Dirty Thirties . . .

  Pen suddenly came back to the present as she heard the Sheikh groan in pleasure once again. She glanced down at herself spread wide, her slit open like Aladdin’s Cave, the perfect set of cock and balls at her fingertips, that need to take him into her so strong she could barely breathe. One look at the Sheikh’s expression, the way his eyes were rolling up in his head, the way his muscular neck was flexed and thick just like his cock . . . shit, one look at him and she knew he was in her control, at her mercy. He’d come whenever she decided, wherever she decided!

  She felt a tingle move along her hips, through her buttocks, up along the center of her slit, and in that moment she swore she felt something like static electricity making every strand of hair on her brown triangle stand up straight as it they were opening up a path. She pulled him closer by his balls, which felt heavy and full in her soft hand. A long trail of pre-cum had oozed from the tip of his cockhead and was dripping down onto her mound, the sensation sending ripples through her body. Everything seemed perfect. Even the vibration of the car’s engine seemed in tune with their bodies. This was meant to be, wasn’t it?

  Then for some reason a strange memory flickered into her mind. A memory of the title of an online article she’d seen when she’d looked up Rafeez’s name out of curiosity, to see whether he really was a Sheikh. But she’d gotten a phone call related to Willow’s funeral arrangements just then, and all that grief h
ad taken her away from the distraction of the Sheikh, making it seem trivial at the time.

  Now, however, for some strange reason she could clearly see the headline in her remembered snapshot of the search results:

  Middle Eastern Sheikh Vows to Never Father an Heir.

  She hadn’t had a chance to click on the article, and in fact she couldn’t be sure the article was even about Rafeez. It was possible his name just happened to be in the text somewhere, which made it show up in the search results. And then with all the madness of Willow’s death, Pen had never followed up on it. She hadn’t even remembered it until now.

  Now or never, came the thought as she heard the Sheikh groan again, saw how his eyes were barely open, how she was pulling him to her, the head of his cock at her opening. He began to push, looking down at her, his tongue darting out as his shaft began its way into her slit, opening her wide as she felt herself getting filled.

  Pen was still clutching his balls, and she realized it was the only reason the Sheikh hadn’t rammed himself all the way in by now, perhaps pumping his way to orgasm inside her already. He clearly wanted to, and hell, so did she! That was why she was here, wasn’t it? Unfinished business? A need so primal it couldn’t be denied? And yet she was holding him back from thrusting in all the way, that strange memory mixing with the other strange moments in the little time she’d shared with the Sheikh: That obsession with coming inside her, like it was a deeply forbidden need; the way he’d been startled when she rolled off the condom but yet he let her do it, let her take control of his need, let her . . . decide?

  Once again she glanced into his eyes, the memory of her own voice coming back in a whisper. “You don’t need that,” she’d whispered to him as she ran her fingers along his erection. “Come here. Come in. Come inside me.”

  No, she suddenly decided. Not like this. I’m not that person. I’m not that woman. God knows my body wants this. Hell, maybe my mind wants it too. But what about my heart? If I let him do this without knowing the full story, will I be able to live with myself?

  Then suddenly Pen pulled on his balls, forcing the Sheikh to draw back. He grunted in surprise, his face twisting in a grimace of momentary anger as the massive head of his cock slid out of her slick vagina, a long trail of pre-cum mixed with her secretions still connecting him to her.

  “No,” he grunted, trying to push back in. But Pen was firmly in control with her hold on his balls, and he tightened his jaw and looked into her eyes, narrowing his gaze. “I am so close. I need to finish in you. You need it too.”

  Pen blinked as she tried to hold his piercing eye contact, his narrowed green eyes both angry and surprised at once. Then she shook her head, looking down along her body at his massive brown cock sticking straight out above her smooth, creamy white stomach. “Not like this,” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes as she wondered if she was mad, if she was denying her own damned destiny, fighting what felt right in so many ways, overruling her body, her mind, and even the damned King of this land!

  And then, without daring to think about it any more, she reached her other hand down, grasped his cock around the shaft, and furiously jerked him back and forth until with a roar he exploded all over her bare belly.

  11

  “Ya Allah!” the Sheikh roared, his body tensing up for a moment and then shattering into a convulsion as she brought him to orgasm with her hand. “No!”

  He looked longingly at her slit, and for a moment he almost grabbed her by the throat so she’d release her grip on his balls and let him seed her with the last of his discharge. But the car made a turn just at that moment, and the Sheikh’s right hand was pushed against the seat-back so he could keep his balance. Then it was too late, and she was pumping him with all her strength, bringing forth every drop he had, his climax erupting like a volcano, his seed pouring out onto her belly, her chest, her boobs . . . everywhere except where he wanted it to go.

  Finally he collapsed on her, his spent cock still throbbing as it lay flat against her soaked belly. He was panting, he realized. It was one of the strongest orgasms he’d ever had—and it was just from her hand! He was still angry in a way, but he also knew he was smiling. She’d disobeyed him, defied him, damn well denied him! Again! Who was this woman?!

  Whoever she is, the Sheikh decided in that moment as he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, big brown eyes that seemed to know him even though it was not possible since they had barely spent two hours in the same space . . . yes, whoever she is, I must hold on to her.

  “I will have you flogged,” he mumbled into her hair as he kissed her face and then dropped his head down in exhaustion.

  “I think you’re the one who just got flogged,” she whispered back, her voice sending shivers through the Sheikh, her scent sending sparks through his body, the feel of her body against his making him think of a future that he’d dismissed as impossible: A future with a woman who was actually capable of understanding what he was doing, why he was doing it, and what it would take to support his decision.

  “I think I have ruined your scarf,” he said, pulling back to look at her and then frowning when he saw that he’d come all over the scarf that was half-undone.

  She looked down and nodded. “At least it saved my blouse. Oh, wait. Nope. You got some all over my top too. Wow, that was quite a load. Very impressive.”

  The Sheikh laughed, slowly separating himself from her, feeling his cock stick to her belly as he reached for a stack of white silk napkins emblazoned with the seal of the Royal House of Zahaar. He wiped her smooth belly first, then gently dabbed the drops of semen from her matted pubic hair. Already he could feel his cock stir as he touched her, and he saw her stomach move as she gasped. He continued to rub her with the white silk, placing the cloth over her crotch and massaging her through it, his fingers finding her clit and pressing down on the stiff nub.

  She came almost immediately, and the Sheikh felt his cock stiffen when he realized how aroused she’d been, how close she’d been, what it must have taken for her to stop him from coming inside her.

  You can trust this woman, Rafeez thought as he watched her close her eyes and moan as she came under his touch. He glanced down at the silk square of cloth covering her triangle. It was soaked with her juices, and he pushed his fingers into her cunt, his breath catching as he saw how the shining silk took on the shape of her slit as she shuddered her way through another orgasm.

  Yes, you can trust her to make the right decisions. You can trust her to support you, to back up your decisions, strengthen your resolve. She has the heart of a queen, the conscience of a priestess, the mind of a leader. But does she know it? More importantly, does she want it?

  She grabbed his hand to stop him, shaking her head as her neck strained with the force of her climax. She moaned so loud the Sheikh was certain the driver would hear even through the soundproof partition, but it no longer mattered. There would already be rumors just from Pen’s arrival at the Royal Airport. And so they might as well confirm the rumors, yes?

  “Yes?” he said, grinning as he watched her lips tremble. She was still coming, he could tell. Still coming, though he wasn’t even touching her anymore. “Yes, my little farmgirl?”

  It took almost a full minute for her to open her eyes, and when she did she just smiled and looked up at him. “Firstly, I’m neither little nor a farmgirl—whatever the hell that means in your twisted, chauvinistic mind.”

  The Sheikh took a breath, raising an eyebrow as he let his gaze travel up and down her body. He took in the sight of her pronounced curves, her heavy breasts, her wide hips, solid love-handles that were getting him hard as he pictured flipping her over and holding on as he rammed himself into her from behind. He blinked and shook his head to get the image out of his mind. He knew they would be arriving at the Royal Palace in just a few minutes, and rumors aside, it might be a little disturbing for his staff to catch them na
ked and wet, their exalted God-King pumping into some American farmgirl’s rear.

  So Rafeez let out a sigh and shrugged. “All right. I will grant you that. You are not little.”

  Pen’s mouth opened wide with indignation, her eyebrows going up, her brown eyes big and round as she stared up at him. “OK, you just called me fat! Unbelievable! Get off me, you pig! You body-shaming misogynist!”

  The Sheikh groaned and shook his head. “Ya Allah, I should have known it was a trap.” He glanced down at his cock, which had filled out again and was gently bouncing with the car’s motion. “Clearly my own body is unable to hide its shame. Do you need more proof that I love your body? That I want your body? That I am going to take your body, again and again?”

  Pen laughed, slapping at his cock, which only got harder at the contact. “Take my body? You sound like an alien. But all right. Clearly your Neanderthal hind-brain is drawn to my womanly curves, so I’ll let you off the hook. But farmgirl? What’s that about?”

  “Are you not a farmgirl?” said Rafeez, raising the other eyebrow.

  “Are you not a misogynistic ape who fetishizes Western women?” said Pen, raising both eyebrows.

  “I fetishize all women equally.”

  Pen laughed. “Well, that’s much better. An equal opportunity ape.”

  The Sheikh grunted. “You know that calling me an ape is racist. Degrading. Politically incorrect.”

  “Oh, I call every man an ape,” said Pen innocently. “It’s got nothing to do with the color of your skin.”

  “It must be my gorilla-sized cock,” grunted the Sheikh, glancing up through the tinted windows and sighing. “Which I must now squeeze back into my trousers since we will be pulling up to the front entrance of the Royal Palace.”