Sold to the Sheikh (6 page)

“Sheikh,” she began, and then realized she didn’t even know what questions to ask. She was too disoriented. The pulsing in her core hadn’t yet dissipated, and thinking about anything else was like trying to talk over a fire alarm. Every thought led back to how she might get him to let her come.

He grabbed her hand, and gave it a squeeze. In the dim light she could see that he was smiling.

“I know what I need to know for now, Stella Spencer,” he said, still striding ahead of her. He led her directly to the elevator bank, and pressed the button.

What? What does he know? What could he possibly have discovered?

“Now where are we going?” she asked. She pawed at the hem of her dress with her free hand, just to give herself something to do. The Sheikh’s shoulders, barely contained in that fine suit, were incredibly distracting.

Sheikh Bashir did not deign to answer her, but instead simply pulled her in after him as the elevator doors opened. Stella stumbled, crashing into his chest.

That didn’t help.

She stayed there, breathing in his exotic cologne and his own spicy scent, feeling the heat of his chest on her cheek. Maybe if she asked very nicely, he might let her come…

“Stella,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“The door has opened.”

He peeled her off his chest, and this time put his arm around her waist to guide her out of the elevator. They were on the floor just below Club Volare, where the luxury suites were located. As they approached one large, expensive looking door, Stella’s brain finally caught up with the rest of her: this was a hotel suite. Men only brought women to hotel suites for one reason. This was it. She was about to get her wish.

Can I really do this?

It wasn’t what she’d expected to think. She’d been so dazed by what had happened in the Black Room, by Sheikh Bashir’s uncanny perceptions, by the completely unexpected way she’d responded to, well, spanking. By the way she simply responded to
him
. But now the reality of the situation, and all the attendant expectations, crowded in on her. She would technically be paid for sex. Put whatever sort of gloss you want on it, but that’s what was about to happen.

And she hadn’t been with anyone since her husband. Her
ex
-husband. Not since she’d been humiliated and left, not since she’d finally become convinced that she must just be crap in bed, not since…

Oh God,
she thought,
what if I really am terrible? What if he decides I’m just not worth it?

Stella fought the urge to run away as Sheikh Bashir punched in an access code and the door swung silently open. She stared rigidly ahead as he led her into the beautiful room, too anxious to even look at the Sheikh.

I can’t do this
, she thought.
I can’t—

“Stella,” Sheikh Bashir said, and gently pulled her into another kiss.

It was even better than the first one. Softer and sweeter at first, as though he really was just trying to calm her, until he began to lose himself in it. Stella felt the lust in him, the hunger—hunger for
her
—and with gratitude she let go of all those terrible thoughts and replaced them with one word:
yes
.

But Sheikh Bashir pulled away. “Not yet, Stella,” he said. “Remember my rules. You will submit, and you will beg.”

A little electric thrill ran straight through her. She was almost prepared to beg
now
. And yet, what could further submission mean? The Sheikh only smiled, and dragged his hand up the side of her body to give her nipple a little pinch.

“’Til tomorrow, Stella,” he said.

And just like that, he left her alone in the richest room she’d ever seen in her life.

Stella would have been embarrassed to admit how long she stood there in the foyer of her gorgeous suite with the empty look of a lobotomy patient. It took a while to return to normal levels of functioning, but when she finally did, she found everything had been provided for. There were clothes in the closets, food in the refrigerator, wine in the…well, it looked like a wine closet. A temperature controlled wine closet.

There were towels in the marble bath.

Stella did a full inventory, but eventually had to admit three things: no matter what she did, she wasn’t going to get the Sheikh out of her mind, her body wasn’t going to stop telling her to get an orgasm any way she could, and that marble bath was just too inviting to pass up.

She had every intention of masturbating in that bath. And yet, to her frustration, and with no small amount of wonder, she found that she couldn’t.

The incredible truth was that she didn’t want to disobey Sheikh Bashir al Aziz bin Said. Stella Spencer wouldn’t come until he commanded it.

C
HAPTER 7

She was truly a rare find.

Bashir hadn’t had this much fun with a woman since Cambridge, only this time, he was aware of the woman’s true intentions. With no surprises waiting in the wings, he was free to simply enjoy her. And Stella Spencer was a continual source of joy. It was as though she were incapable of dishonesty or calculation, and putting a surprised smile on her face was quickly becoming Bashir’s favorite pastime.

He wished he could have stayed the previous night, to see her reaction to the room and all the little comforts he’d requested, but Bashir was only human. If he’d stayed, he would have spent all night inside her, but it wouldn’t have been the quite the experience he knew it could be for either of them. Some things took time and preparation.

At least now he got to see her reaction to the dress.

“Is this real?” she said, holding it up at arm’s length like it was some sort of priceless artifact. She was wrapped in one of the hotel’s plush cotton robes, and nothing else. Her hair was still slightly damp, and her soft, pale skin had a certain glow to it. The effect was…distracting. Bashir kept wondering what she tasted like.

Ridiculous
, he thought.
Stay focused.

“I am told it is made by a very important designer,” Bashir said. “You may, of course, keep it. It has been tailored to your measurements.”

Stella looked at him as though he had spoken in tongues, then burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and blushed, which was yet another distraction for Bashir’s tortured cock. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s an incredible gift. I just have no idea where I could wear something like this.”

“You will wear it tonight,” Bashir said, “while you serve me at an event that I am obligated to attend.”

Her round blue eyes widened, and her lips parted as she caught her breath.
Delightful.

“Serve you?” she said.

“You recall the service you saw yesterday in the Black Room?” Bashir asked. She nodded, and her robe fell open an inch more as she remembered to breathe. It was too much. Bashir crossed to her and buried his hand in her robe. Her nipples were already hard.

“Yes,” she said faintly. He had surprised her, but now her eyes were half-closed. Bashir rolled her breast in his hand with satisfaction. She should feel at least some of the torture that he did.

“You will serve me as they did,” he said. “You will anticipate my needs, you will obey my commands, and if I so desire it, you will bend over so that I may take you in that expensive dress, wherever and whenever I feel like it. Or even if I simply want to enjoy the view. Is that clear?”

He saw the shiver run through her.

“Yes,” she said.

“Good,” Bashir said. “Now I want to watch you get dressed. Take off this damn robe.”

~  ~  ~

Bashir found the Alexandria Club to be quite boring, but it was often where Cantabridgian events were held in New York. Foolish, really; Cambridge alumni could certainly afford their own building. But Bashir knew his irritation wasn’t entirely due to the environs. He no longer had the best associations with these events. They used to be bearable only because Mark would be there, and they’d have as much fun as they’d had at Cambridge together.

That was all in the past, of course. Mark would not be there.

But Cecil Creighton would. Bashir knew him in college mainly by reputation, as an ass, and now, later in life, as a powerful executive at the international construction firm his family still controlled. There were only so many people in the world one could turn to if one needed an oil pipeline built quickly, and there were even fewer if one needed it to go undetected so that one might siphon off the oil reserves of one’s neighbor. Creighton was one of those men, and Bashir strongly suspected that he had been in contact with groups who wished to steal from Ras al Manas. Protecting the assets of his country—and his family—was a responsibility he could not shirk, even if he would much rather have stayed in the confines of Volare with Stella.

Stella. She stood next to him on the landing above the main hall, bursting from the low scoop neck of her tight, expensive black dress, failing entirely to hide her nervousness. Again, it charmed him. Even with the pain she worked so hard to hide, with what he’d come to think of as the great wound, even with that wearing her down, she still managed to be open to the world. She was like a raw nerve that wouldn’t flinch. The combination of bravery and vulnerability was both inspiring and…

Bashir stopped himself short. That was not a productive avenue of thought. Undoubtedly Stella Spencer unnerved him, undoubtedly she was special, but it was unlikely she would be a miracle match for him. Or, even if she was, that she’d be ready for it, or that he could trust her to remain true. He wouldn’t get his hopes up, not when the likely outcome was an inevitable political marriage.

An inevitability that would certainly come sooner rather than later, if he could not convince Creighton that it was in his interest to ally with Ras al Manas. His family’s patience for his proclivities was always in direct proportion to his usefulness.

“Stella,” he said, frowning. She seemed distracted, peering down below at the mass of well dressed, powerful people milling about the large, well appointed hall. He needed her to remember why she was here. He needed her to be present.

“Yes, Sheikh?”

“Display your breasts for me.”

She jerked her head back, and then turned toward him, obviously not certain if she had heard correctly.

“Here?” she said, and looked down again at the party below. They were alone on the landing, but, of course, anyone might look up at any time. Which was the point. Bashir glowered.

“If I have to repeat myself, Stella,” he said, “you’ll spend the rest of the night that way.”

She looked up and blanched. She could tell he was serious.

Bashir saw her hands shake slightly as she raised them to her breasts, and knew it meant that she was experiencing a spike in adrenaline, in focus, in sensation. She hesitated, only momentarily, and when he frowned she moved quickly, as though plunging ahead, and pulled her dress down over her nipples.

“Do not close your eyes, Stella,” he said, and reached out to brush her cheek. “Be aware, in this moment. Be fully in this moment, or you will have failed to serve me.”

Tension colored her face at the mention of failure. Another interesting tidbit.

Obediently, she opened her eyes, her pupils full and black, pushing the blue of her irises into a fine, bright ring. So open to the world. So brave, in her way. Bashir let his hand trail lightly down her neck to tweak one sensitive nipple, and smiled when she jumped.

“Remember that I own you, Stella,” he said. “Remember that you are mine, that you are here to serve me, that you will feel what I tell you to feel, when I tell you to feel it. We begin tonight.”

She swayed slightly, beneath his touch, and once again Bashir had to fight the urge to simply ravish her. “Clothe yourself,” he said. “I have business to attend to. And then I will attend to you.”

C
HAPTER 8

Stella did
not
like Cecil Creighton. She didn’t like how he kept throwing back those scotch and sodas, she didn’t like the way his fleshy face ruddied the more he drank, she didn’t like the way he wore his sense of entitlement like a suit of impenetrable armor, and she didn’t like the way he didn’t even bother to hide the way he looked her at her.

Which made it all the more confusing that she was somehow very excited to be sitting on the Sheikh’s lap while the two of them talked. The Sheikh had found them a private room off the main hall, full of books and what looked like actual illuminated manuscripts hidden away under protective glass. It wasn’t technically “in public,” but Stella was very aware of Creighton’s eyes upon her. And she was very aware that Creighton knew she belonged, in the very literal sense, to Sheikh Bashir.

She shook her head slightly, biting her lip to keep from smiling.
Belonged to Sheikh Bashir
. How easily she’d thought that. How easily it had made her wet.
This is nuts
.

But as long as Sheikh Bashir held her, it felt as though no one else really mattered. Creighton didn’t matter, except as a spectacle. It was like Sheikh Bashir had provided her with a tiny audience, just to excite her. And it did.

“Where’d you find her?” Creighton asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. His red-rimmed eyes were covetous. Again, Stella was torn between disgust and arousal. They spoke of her as if she really were just a possession.

Sheikh Bashir tightened his arm about her waist, and lifted the other hand to absently fondle her breast.
Oh my God, he’s really doing that.
Stella felt her nipples harden, and knew they would be visible through her dress. “It wouldn’t matter,” Sheikh Bashir was saying. “She’s one of a kind, and she’s mine.”