And you know what, she thought as she felt both fear and desire whip through her, roiling her insides like the sea in a storm . . . yeah, you know what? Fuck it. I don’t wanna stop him.
Pen felt the Sheikh push his hands down her tights from behind, grabbing the waistband of her panties and pulling it up hard, wedging the cloth up inside her rear crack as she gasped and arched her neck back. She was against that sturdy old dining table, and he hoisted her up onto it like she was a doll.
She lay back on the cool wood and spread her legs, groaning as the Sheikh pushed his face into her crotch, licking her through her tights until they were soaked, glistening black satin shining in the yellow light of her living room.
“These need to come off,” she muttered, clumsily trying to push her tights down. She was experiencing a profound need to feel the Sheikh’s breath against her soft inner thighs, his lips teasing her clit, his tongue curling up inside her vagina. She wanted to feel her juices pour out of her and onto the Sheikh’s face, coating him like she was marking him as hers, just like he’d done to her in the backseat of that car three months ago.
“I need to come off,” the Sheikh whispered, grinning as he raised his head from between her legs and stood up straight, his cock straining to break free from his fitted pants.
“That’s a terrible joke, but under the circumstances I’ll let it pass without judgment,” Pen said with a giggle that quickly turned to a gasp when the Sheikh unbuckled, unzipped, and unleashed.
Suddenly Rafeez was naked in front of her, standing there at the foot of the dining table. His brown, hard, perfectly chiseled body was framed by her spread-out legs, and Pen just stared in awe at the Sheikh’s magnificent chest, broad like slabs of marble, his tight brown nipples staring at her like two eyes. The center line of his abdomen was so well-defined she could have counted every muscle along his flat stomach, and the sight of a thick vein curling around his muscular hips made her blink as she finally allowed herself to stare dead-on at his silently throbbing masterpiece of a cock.
Pen’s eyes were locked with the massive head of his mast, and although she knew her fingers were still clumsily trying to push those pesky tights down past her hips so she could grant him entry, she couldn’t look anywhere but there. At that.
“And what circumstances might those be?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips for a moment before slowly bringing his right hand around and stroking himself until his cock curved upwards, its dark red tip oozing with his clean, natural oil.
“Oh, shit,” Pen whimpered as she finally got her tights and panties down past her hips and realized she was soaking wet, dripping all over her dining table like she’d peed herself or something. It was filthy, vulgar, and exciting in a way that made her want to scream out loud, say to hell with the world and all the madness, that this was all she wanted, all she needed. “Please, Rafeez. Please.”
The Sheikh stepped closer until his balls were resting on the wooden tabletop, his cock straining as he stroked himself to an erection that seemed primed to explode at any second. Pen glanced up at his face, which was strained with arousal even though his green eyes were open wide and focused on her with a look that sent shivers up and down her body.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said, blinking as she realized she was exposed and spread before him, her tights and panties down by her ankles, her top pushed up over her boobs. But she wasn’t self-conscious in the least, even though seeing herself in this state of undress generally made her look away from the mirror. The effect this man had on her was incredible. It was uplifting, exciting, arousing . . . and it felt like . . . forever.
And then she understood the look in the Sheikh’s eyes. She understood the reason he’d come back. She understood why he’d spontaneously proposed to her three months ago even though it had made no sense. Hell, it still didn’t make any sense in a way—not until she looked into his eyes again.
Because his look said forever. You and me, forever.
“I want this,” the Sheikh said, exhaling as he glanced down along her curves, his gaze resting on her exposed slit. Pen saw how his breath caught when he looked at her pussy, how his cock flexed, every muscle in his washboard abdomen seizing up as he took in the sight of her sex. “I want this more than I’ve wanted anything, more than I’ve wanted anyone. It is more than lust. It is more than the needs of the body. It is the need of a man. The need of a king. I will not deny it any longer under some imagined responsibility, some misguided need to finish what my father could not. This is my need, and I will satisfy it.”
Pen’s eyelids fluttered as the Sheikh placed both his hands against the insides of her thighs, massaging her sensitive skin, his thumbs resting on the lips of her slit and kneading them open. She moaned wantonly and bucked her hips as she felt herself open up, her wetness pouring out of her, dripping down her slit and forming a dainty little puddle on the table beneath her raised ass.
Her eyes were watering too, and she could only see in flashes as the Sheikh got up on the table, grabbing her thighs firmly and sliding her back so he could get leverage. His cock looked enormous as it bounced between them while the Sheikh got positioned, and then suddenly he was inside her, his entry so silent and smooth Pen almost passed out at the feeling of being stretched and filled without warning.
“Oh, God!” she howled, almost choking on the words, her eyes flicking wide open when she realized he was so deep inside her it felt like the first time ever, the only time ever! “Oh, Rafeez . . . I can’t even . . . oh, shit!”
The Sheikh propped himself up on his powerful arms, and then he was pumping into her with all his power, his green eyes locked in on hers, his jawline tight and strained with the effort.
“Ya Allah,” he muttered as he rammed into her, pausing for a moment, his neck straining in a way that made Pen think he was coming. But no, he pulled back and began pumping again a moment later, his shaft pushing against the inner walls of her vagina like it was plowing a goddamn tunnel through the center of her body. “It feels like heaven. You feel like heaven. I was a fool to deny it, to deny the most natural yearning of a man and woman: To have a child.”
Pen looked up at the Sheikh as she felt him flex inside her. She was coming, she realized as she watched this beast of a man above her, images of his muscular body coming through in splinters, like he was a picture put together with stained glass.
Oh, God, I’m coming, she thought again, blinking and then widening her eyes and mouth at the same time. She heard a low wail from somewhere, and it took her a moment to realize it was coming from her, from inside her. She was almost out of her senses as her climax built and built, that low, droning wail rising as the Sheikh drove into her, filling her, stretching her, taking her.
Through her splintered vision she saw Rafeez’s eyes roll up in his head, his dark red lips moving as he muttered something under his breath. Again she realized he’d lost himself in her, that his arousal was so extreme he couldn’t think of anything but his cock sliding in and out of her, his balls straining to unleash their load. She wanted it, she knew. She could feel her pussy clench and release in time with his powerful strokes. A part of her wanted to wrap her legs around him, press down on his powerful buttocks, milk his cock until he poured everything he had into her depths, filling her until she overflowed onto the goddamn table.
But as her climax continued its slow build to a height that almost scared Pen, she had a moment of strange clarity, a thought that although her body wanted it—and clearly his body did too—she needed to stop him. It was her responsibility. It was her duty. It was the reason he’d looked at her like that, like she was his queen, his strength behind the scenes, the woman who could stand beside him, behind him, with him. A woman with the strength to step in and reinforce her king’s decisions when he was in danger of losing control.
“No,” she whispered, not sure if she was speaking out loud or not. The
blood was pounding in her ears as her orgasm incredibly kept going. “Stop, Rafeez. You’ll regret it. We both will. It’s not worth it. Pull out and finish, Rafeez. Don’t compromise on something you’ve held close for years just to experience a moment of pleasure.”
“I am not pulling out,” the Sheikh growled, ramming into her so hard she screamed as his hips drove her ass into the hard wood of the tabletop. “This feels right, and I will finish it. Now spread wider for me. There we go. Ya Allah, you are so warm. So bloody tight inside.”
Pen was almost out of her mind as she felt herself spread at his command, her thighs pushed outwards as far as they could go. Her face and neck were wet with the Sheikh’s kisses, from the way he’d been licking her like an animal as he took her deep and hard. She almost howled in manic laughter as her orgasm reached up and pulled her down with it, pulled her under, made her buck her hips up to meet his entry, clench her pussy when he drove all the way in. She wanted to give in, to give up, to take everything he had. But then again came that thought that there was a reason he’d come back to her, a connection that went beyond that of the body, a duty that came along with being his queen.
So she pushed against his massive chest, trying to stop him from driving back into her. But although Pen was no spindly-armed weakling, even all her strength barely slowed Rafeez down. If anything he went faster, harder, like it was suddenly a race, a competition, a goddamn fight to the finish.
“You have denied me twice,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “I will not be denied again. You will take your king deep, and you will take him as often as he wants. Is that clear?”
Pen groaned as she felt him flex inside her, the head of his curved cock pushing against the front wall of her vagina, dragging its way along as he drove back. She was coming so hard she could barely even see, but somehow the chaos was giving her a single-minded focus that she knew she had to cling to. It was her duty. Her responsibility. It was what would prove she was a queen and not just a whore who bowed her head and quietly obeyed. She’d obey him, but on her terms. She’d obey him like a queen obeys her king.
“Of course I’ll take you,” she whispered, forcing herself to focus on his eyes. “Look at me, Rafeez. Stop for a moment and look at me. Look at me!”
She screamed the last sentence, and perhaps it was the shrillness of her voice, but the Sheikh suddenly stopped in mid-stroke, his green eyes instantly coming into focus.
“Listen to me,” she said, holding the eye contact. “Of course I’ll take you. As often as you want, as hard as you want, as goddamn deep as you want. And of course I feel the need . . . the same need you feel. But you made a decision for a reason. If you’ve thought about it and have consciously changed your mind, then that’s one thing. But if you’re just caught up in the moment, then we might be doing something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” She paused and swallowed. “And I can’t be the cause of that. I won’t be the cause of it.”
“You already are both the cause and the effect,” said the Sheikh. He stroked her hair, his hands slowly moving around to the back of her neck and gripping tight. “You have ignited a need in me that has caused me to question everything. My decisions. My plans. Everything. I want you, Pen. I came here for you. I want you, and—”
“Then take me, and me alone,” Pen whispered, looking up at him as she suddenly thought of Charlotte Goodwin and that strange conversation about adopting the twins. Those messages between Randy and Charlotte looked real enough, she told herself as she tried to fight the feeling that she was about to do something twisted, horrible, and downright wrong. What kind of a woman gives her kids up for adoption because of a man?! What kind of a woman gives her kids up for anything?!
“What do you mean?” said the Sheikh. “You have two children. Do you mean you would be willing to be with me even I do not adopt them as my own?” He blinked and took a breath. “I have considered that option myself. In fact I was ready to suggest it, but now . . .”
“Now what?” Pen said, not sure how to handle that sick feeling rising up in her even as she moved beneath him on the smooth wood tabletop.
Rafeez shook his head. “I cannot do that. If I take you as my queen, I will take everything that comes with you. Everything and everyone. I will not be able to look at myself in the mirror if I turn my back on the children that you have committed to raising on behalf of your friend.” He paused, running his hand along her cheek, making her shiver and tremble. “Your friend to whom I will eternally be grateful, Pen. Perhaps it is my duty to help raise her children. Perhaps it is our combined duty. An act of gratitude for bringing us together. It is the right thing to do, and I will do it. Yes?”
Pen stared up at him, not sure what to say. A part of her was warm and glowing inside from what he’d said. But another part of her still felt sick and wretched, and as the Sheikh slowly began to move inside her again, Pen tried to push away the thought that perhaps she herself wasn’t doing the right thing. What if Randy and perhaps even Willow really did want Charlotte to have those kids? Wouldn’t it be wrong for her to ignore that and keep the twins anyway? What was the right thing to do?
What the hell was the right thing to do?!
21
“You will marry me. Be my queen. Your adopted children will be our prince and princess. And the children to come will be more princes and princesses,” Rafeez said, flexing inside her and driving his powerful hips hard between her thighs. “The transition to democracy will proceed regardless of how many princes and princesses we might have clamoring for the throne of their father. To hell with them. If any of them want to lead the kingdom of Zahaar, they can run for office and earn the right to do so.”
The Sheikh pumped harder into her as he spoke, as if his words were powering his drive, his excitement fueled by the new vision forming in his head even as he reveled in the ecstasy of feeling this woman from the inside, deep inside, all the way deep.
A new vision, he thought as he clenched his jaw and felt his balls begin to seize up in preparation for the explosion he could sense coming. An explosion of inspiration. A vision for his kingdom and his personal life all in one. A vision brought into focus by this woman.
His woman.
His queen.
“The vision is true,” he whispered as he flexed his buttocks and gripped her head so he could look into her big brown eyes as he came. “I know it. It is perfect. It has all come together because you and I have come together. All the years of denial, the internal conflict, that heavy feeling that I would need to forsake marriage and children for the sake of my kingdom . . . it was misguided. It was an illusion, and your arrival has shattered that illusion. Now I know that the challenge is to raise our children with the same values, the same vision, the same selflessness that I feel, that my father felt but was not able to act on.”
He glanced down at her, searching her face for a glimmer of understanding, a sign of agreement, a display of the same joy he was feeling. But instead he saw her pretty round face twisted in turmoil, her eyes clouded by doubt, her lips trembling like she wanted to say something but could not.
“What is it?” he whispered, slowing down even though his balls ached to release their load into her warm valley. “Speak. What is it?”
“It’s . . .” she began to say, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s . . . oh, God, Rafeez. I’m a horrible person. No matter what choice I make, I’m a horrible person! I can’t . . . OK, let me up. I can’t let you do this without telling you everything.”
She started to talk, and the Sheikh listened, his eyes locked with hers as he lay there on top of her, still connected to her from the inside. Then he heard her mention the name Charlotte Goodwin, and he had to blink and swallow hard.
“Stop,” he commanded. “What did you say? What was that name you just mentioned?”
“Charlotte Goodwin. Oh, excuse me: Doctor Charlotte Goodwin, PhD. She’s a profes
sor or something, not a medical doctor.”
“Professor of Middle Eastern Studies,” muttered the Sheikh, his head spinning as he slowly peeled himself off Pen and stood upright, naked and hard. His body still wanted Pen, but his mind was elsewhere. Perhaps his mind was nowhere! How in Allah’s name did Charlotte get involved in this?
“Actually, I don’t know what she teaches,” said Pen, as she propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him. “How do you know what she teaches?”
“It was Charlotte’s wedding that brought me to this frozen corner of the world to begin with,” the Sheikh said, his head still spinning, his mind still running circles around itself as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Was it coincidence? No. Nothing that Charlotte had ever done was coincidence. Everything in her life had been calculated, measured, planned out . . . and executed with cold precision. Which made it all the more strange when Rafeez thought about the pieces that didn’t seem to fit: The nondescript man she’d chosen as a husband; this crazy attempt to adopt someone else’s adopted kids!
“There is something else going on,” muttered the Sheikh. He rubbed his jawline and went to the window. “Because this does not make sense. Charlotte has about as much maternal instinct as a goddamn turkey feather.”
“Hey, don’t make fun of my turkeys,” said Pen from behind him. “They’re super protective of their loved ones, and they can get pretty darn fierce when under threat.”
The Sheikh turned, smiling and raising an eyebrow when he saw that his curvy queen had slid off the table and was standing before him, naked and perfect. He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close as the two of them stared out the window. A warmth passed through the Sheikh as he felt how well her curves fit with his body, and even though his mind was still swirling with the revelation of Charlotte’s insane attempt to adopt the twins, he felt secure that somehow, someway, he and his queen would figure this out.
Grateful for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 16) Page 10
