26
“Let it out, and let me in.”
The Sheikh’s words barely registered as Lora convulsed through her climax, gasping and whimpering as the orgasm whipped its way through her like a serpent on the move. What he’d said right before he made her come still resonated in her head: “I’m here to claim my queen. To claim my woman. To claim my . . . whore.”
And she’d come just as he said that last word. She almost choked when she realized it, but she swallowed those rising sensations of guilt and self-consciousness and soon she was smiling as the Sheikh cradled her in his arms, the two of them intertwined on the bathroom floor.
He understands me, doesn’t he, she thought as she felt his fingers play with her hair. He understands what I need, the part of me that he needs to awaken. And I feel it waking up. That’s why my body reacted to that fantasy of being a whore: being his whore. That’s the part of my feminine that I’ve been denying in all these years of fairytale dreams and visions of being some princess in a white gown. Every woman has that private fantasy of taking off that pure white gown and putting on some red lipstick, being spread from behind and taken hard against the wall by the right man. Every woman wants to be a whore for the right man. Just for him. Only for him.
“Let it out,” he’d said to her. “And let me in.”
She nodded as those words finally sunk in, acknowledging what this night was about, what this moment was about, what this union was about. It was about reconciling everything, wasn’t it. The two of them. The two sides of herself. And perhaps the fact that she was going to be a mother of two soon.
“What about Marissa?” she asked suddenly as her thoughts jumped to those rumors. She almost smiled as she felt the jealousy surge through her, and she let the feelings come without trying to reject them. “I read that you were about to—”
“You were about to have an abortion, and I was about to marry a woman I hate,” the Sheikh said, drawing back and looking at her. “If that is not a symptom of both of us denying something within ourselves—perhaps punishing something within ourselves—then I do not know what is.” He paused and took a breath. “But when it came down to that final moment,” he asked quietly, “do you believe you would have gone through with it?”
Lora frowned as she studied his face. Then she shook her head and glanced down. “No,” she whispered, looking back up into his green eyes. “Would you?”
The Sheikh grinned, raising his eyebrows as if he’d just considered the madness of what he’d been thinking of doing. He shook his head as he broke the eye contact, and Lora frowned again as she saw him flinch.
“What?” she asked. “What aren’t you telling me? What is it about Marissa?”
The Sheikh laughed. “Ya Allah, there is nothing about Marissa. She is a shallow, immature, caricature of a human being. Being with her is like being with a cardboard cutout of a woman.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “In fact, perhaps that is why I was close to taking her back. I thought marrying her would be like not being married at all. I do not think she would even care if I got sex on the side as and when I wanted, so long as I kept it out of the gossip columns.”
Lora blinked as she looked up at him. God, he was serious, wasn’t he. “How can you say that? I thought you ended the engagement with her because she cheated on you!”
The Sheikh turned to her. He shook his head as he placed his hand on the round of her belly. “I left Marissa because she made a decision I could not live with. For a reason I could not live with. It was a betrayal worse than sleeping with another man. I might have even forgiven her for simple infidelity, but not this.”
“A woman has the right to choose, you know,” Lora said hesitantly, not sure if she was defending Marissa or herself.
“Fair enough. And I have the right to choose my woman.”
“Fair enough,” Lora said. “And you were about to choose Marissa until you found out I was pregnant. So where does that leave me? How can I trust that you came back for me and not for . . .”
“You were the one who left Johaar, I should remind you,” the Sheikh snapped, and Lora could see the fire in his green eyes. She’d hurt him, she suddenly realized, and the realization made her heart jump. If she’d hurt him, it meant he cared. It meant he was vulnerable. It meant . . . oh, God, what kind of a woman was she, to actually be thrilled that she had the capacity to hurt someone?!
“I left because . . . because I couldn’t . . . I mean, my marriage had just ended, Amir!”
“A marriage you should never have gotten into to begin with!” the Sheikh thundered.
“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t have done?!” Lora countered, not sure why she was raising her voice at him. Here she was naked and in his arms, and they were fighting? Really? Over what?
“I am in effect your husband and protector, by the tradition of Sheikh’s Privilege. The father of your son, Damascus. And of our unborn child. As such, I will happily tell you what you should and should not do, today, tomorrow, and for the rest of our damned lives!”
Lora almost fainted against him when she heard him say the words husband and father so casually but still with meaning, with deep meaning, the deepest meaning. She wanted to argue, to yell something at him, to counter with something—anything! But she was close to breaking point, where her mind was ready to give in to the madness and just say to hell with it. It was strange and twisted, but she was involved with this man and in a way she’d been involved with him for three years now. She’d pushed herself away and he’d pulled her back. And now he was here, naked and pressed against her, talking about being her husband and the father of both Damascus and their unborn child.
“How can you mean that?” she said, her voice trembling as her body shivered against his. “How can you say that so casually? How can I ever—”
“You are cold,” said the Sheikh, reaching up and grabbing one of the thick white towels from the rack outside the shower. “Come.”
He pulled her to her feet and wrapped the heavy cotton towel around her, reaching for another towel, which he draped over her head. He led her out to her bedroom, and though it was Lora’s bedroom in Lora’s house, she felt like the Sheikh was in charge, leading her to his own chambers, taking control.
“Sit,” he commanded, pointing at the bed, which was horribly unmade but looked warm and soft in a way that it never had in all those years Mark had been in it.
She obeyed, parking her naked bottom down on the sheets and drawing her legs up into her. The Sheikh got on the bed behind her, kneeling against her back as he dried her hair with the towel. Neither of them spoke, and Lora felt herself relax as she focused on her breathing and the sensation of her long brown tresses being gently pulled and dab-dried. It was the smallest thing, but it seemed deeply symbolic, like the Sheikh was answering her question about being her protector, her husband, her king . . . the man who warmed her when she was cold.
Soon she felt herself warming, and a moment later she realized the heat wasn’t just from the sheets and towels. It was coming from inside, from inside both of them.
Then she felt him shift against her from behind, and she gasped when she felt his hardness rise against her back as he whipped the damp towel across the room and leaned over her, kissing her dry, mussed-up hair, his long arms reaching down past her shoulders and massaging her breasts until her nipples rose to stiff peaks.
And Lora realized there was nothing more to talk about right now. Marissa, Mark, Damascus, abortions, unborn children, Sheikh’s Privilege . . . it was too much to talk about. That was why they’d suddenly been barking at each other with raised voices and hollow accusations about doubt and trust. This conversation, this relationship, this union had started with the draw of their bodies in that first kiss, and it would only be furthered by the draw of their bodies.
So she leaned back against him, lifting her arms up and letting the second towel fall away, gasping as she felt him press her breasts so hard it hurt. Then she leaned forward onto her elbows and raised her bottoms for him, every fiber in her shuddering as she felt him spread her from behind, his finger sliding beneath her as he pushed his face between her rear globes.
Lora felt his tongue circle her clean, freshly showered rim, and her eyes flicked open before glazing over from the sensation of being touched where she’d never let Mark even get close. It felt filthy, but somehow it was what she knew was needed right now. She needed to open every part of her body to him, and she knew he felt it too.
She heard herself whimper softly as the Sheikh licked her rear pucker and then slid his tongue into her hole even as he pushed two fingers into her slit from beneath. “Oh, God, Amir,” she muttered, almost choking on her own words. “That feels so . . . so . . . oh, my God!”
“I am going to take you from behind,” the Sheikh whispered from behind her, and Lora could hear the authority in his voice. It turned her on in a way that almost made her come immediately, and it was all she could do to simply take a breath and nod as her hair hung down over her face. “Then I am going to take you back to my Palace and marry you. You will give birth to our child. You will have many more children. In between all of that, I will take you when I want, how I want, as often as I want. This is my decision, and it is final. After tonight there will be no doubt what you are to me. You are everything to me! Everything and everyone! My wife, my queen, the mother of my children, and my goddamn whore when I want it. Is that clear?”
His words sent waves of ecstasy through her, even though Lora knew that if she considered them in the light of day they’d sound offensive and chauvinistic. But she understood what he was doing, that he was breaking down those final barriers, ripping away those beliefs that had made her run from him again and again, taking her to the brink of a decision she’d have regretted for the rest of her life. He was claiming her, body and soul, once and for all, always and forever.
So she nodded again, moaning as she felt him lick her rear hole until she felt cool and slick. She smiled as she felt him draw back and kiss her rear globes, coating her buttocks with his saliva like an animal marks its mate. She cried out when she felt him squeeze her bum and then slap her wet skin with his open palm, spanking her three times on each side until she could feel herself turning red and raw from behind.
He spanked her again, and then he pushed his middle finger into her rear hole, sliding it in slowly but firmly, holding it in there until she calmed down and managed to control her breathing.
Lora felt the Sheikh’s other hand slide beneath her again, rubbing her clit and pussy until she oozed her wetness all over his fingers and palm. He gathered her juices and rubbed her own wetness around her rim, massaging it deep into her clean asshole inch by inch with his fingers.
“Oh, lord,” she moaned when she realized the Sheikh was opening her up and now had two fingers from each hand inside her rear hole. “Oh, Amir, I can’t even . . . oh, please. Please.”
“Say it,” he whispered, and she could feel her rear pucker being spread as the Sheikh lined his massive cockhead up dead center with her asshole. “Say it, my queen. My princess in her white gown. My sweet, pure, innocent flower.”
“What . . . what do you want me to say?” she gurgled, spreading her thighs and arching her back as she felt herself open up in a way she didn’t think was possible.
“I want you to repeat after me,” the Sheikh muttered, and she knew he was as far gone as she.
“Anything,” she whispered. “Anything, Amir. I’m yours. Oh, God, I’m yours. What do you want me to say?”
“That you’re going to be my elegant queen. You’re going to be my perfect princess. You’re going to be my wholesome wife. You’re going to be the loving mother of my children,” he whispered, slowly pushing forward. “But right now all you want is to feel me inside you. All the way inside. Say it. Say it. Say it.”
He entered her as she said the words, and the feeling of being stretched open from behind almost made her pass out with ecstasy. It felt so filthy, so dark, so forbidden that Lora could barely speak. But somehow she said the words as the Sheikh pushed his enormous cock into her tight rear, spreading her cheeks wide as he did it.
“I’m going to be your elegant queen,” she whispered as she felt the head of his cock push past her entrance.
“I’m going to be your perfect princess,” she moaned as she felt him go two inches deep and wait.
“I’m going to be your wholesome wife,” she muttered as she felt his shaft stretch her dark inner walls as her mouth hung open from the sensation.
“I’m going to be the loving mother of your children,” she groaned as she felt the curve of his erection slide deeper into her anus, so deep it seemed unreal. “But . . . but . . .”
“But right now,” Amir whispered, leaning across her back and reaching one hand around to her breasts, sliding the other one through her matted brown triangle and parting her slit with his fingers. “Right now what do you want? What do you want, my queen, my princess, my wife? What do you want?”
“Oh, God!” Lora cried as she felt his thumb on her clit, his fingers in her cunt, and his cock drive all the way deep into her asshole. “Oh, God, Amir! Oh . . . oh . . . fuck!”
She came the moment the obscenity escaped her lips, and her eyes rolled up in her head as the Sheikh started to pump into her from behind, his thrusts taking her orgasm to a level she didn’t think was possible. She came again as he curled his fingers against the front wall of her vagina and massaged her clit with a fury that made her snort and shake as he rammed his beast of a cock into her, his hips pounding against her rear cushion so hard the bed was moving in time with them.
The orgasms came in waves, again and again until she was wailing like a banshee as the Sheikh fucked her through it, roaring in Arabic as he pinched her nipples and slapped her buttocks, pulled her hair and rammed himself into her again. Lora was convulsing as her climaxes hit one after another like it was a time-lapse photograph, and before long she could barely see as the tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Come inside me,” she muttered as she felt herself go almost insane with the steady onslaught of secondary orgasms. She barely knew what she was saying, but the words were spewing from her wet lips as the Sheikh pounded her from behind like a man possessed. “Come inside me. Deep inside me. Inside my . . . my asshole.”
Hearing herself say things that would have mortified her an hour ago was bringing her to a frenzy of erotic need, and she bent her head and looked between her swinging breasts, gasping when she saw the Sheikh’s heavy balls slapping against her as he took her hard and deep. She felt that devilish smile slide back onto her face, and she reached down between her thighs and clutched his balls, holding them as she moved in rhythm with his thrusts.
“Ya Allah,” he roared, and she knew this was taking him over the edge, that he was about to explode into her depths with a ferocity that would take her breath away. She could feel his balls tighten in her palm, and although she was being completely dominated by her king, her Sheikh, her husband right now, she also felt strangely in control. Control from beneath. Control from below. Control behind the scenes. That was what a king needed from his queen, was it not?
“Come for me, Amir,” she whispered as she pulled on his balls, still looking down through her own cleavage and spread-out thighs at the sight of his muscular brown hips crashing into her as he drove into her anus. “Fill me like I’m yours. Like I’m your queen, your wife, the mother of your children. Like I’m your royal whore.”
With a bellow he came, his body seizing up, his fingers digging into her buttocks so hard she knew there’d be marks there in the morning. His final thrust almost made her choke, but she held on, squeezing her buttocks together and tightening her asshole in a way that she somehow knew would drive the Sheikh wild. She felt the walls of her anus contract around Amir’s thick shaft, and from the way he roared in pleasure she knew it was heightening his orgasm in a way he’d never experienced.
Then she smiled, gently, sweetly, fluttering her eyelids like a shy princess, pursing her lips like an elegant queen. No one could see her do it. It was just for herself. Just to let herself know that she was indeed all these things, all these people, all these women in one. She smiled as he filled her rear with his hot semen. She smiled as he smacked her bottoms and clawed at her breasts. She smiled as he pumped one last time and then collapsed in a heap on top of her from behind, his cock still deep within her canal. And she kept smiling as her buttocks clenched hard and firm, as if she’d decided she wasn’t letting go. Not this time.
Not this time.