33 days earlier...
A white cloth adorns the top of my head combating against the scorching Arabian sun. An instant after leaving one of my homes in the desert, my long-sleeve linen shirt and khaki trousers started to fuse against my skin. I tune out such discomfort as thoughts of the game consume me. While lying on my stomach on top of a clay building two stories up, I look through the scope of my sniper rifle. There’s a shopping center across the street. The streets are filled with drivers, bikers, and walkers. The vendors are bustling with business. Dirt, spices from the shops below, and camel dung all mix together, traveling up toward me.
Senses heightened, I have a choice view of the outdoor restaurant adjacent to me. There resides my next kill.
Four Arabs sit around a table, enjoying a feast of colorful meats and rice. Each man is weighted with armor and is equipped with automatic firearms in holsters. Shite, a waiter blocks my target for a second, dropping yet another tray of alcohol. Jaw tensed impatiently, I wait for a clear shot again. A few minutes later, I'm finally aligned with my target once more.
The mark leans against his chair. Cocky grin lifted up to the blistering sky as he takes a puff of his cigar. The bloody confidence of this wanker reads that he owns the world. The air in my lungs slowly passes away. My breathing stops. The Arab takes his first and last puff of his cigar. Not a single sound rings into the air as I squeeze the trigger of my riffle, equipped with silencer.
Nice.
A clean hole nestles right in between his eyes. It’s as if silence transcended upon the entire Arabian Peninsula. The mark slumps forward. Then a symphony of chaos ascends. His crew is up as if a fire was lit under their asses.
“Where did that come from? Fuck… Fuck…” I read their mouths, as they speak Arabic. Grabbing their AK-47s, they point in all directions, unsure of who will catch hell for this. I give a little chuckle at the symphony of shots firing in all directions.
Mission complete. Hard work done, time to play.
~~~
Nothing trumps the alluring seductiveness of Middle Eastern women. The Sheikh’s daughter, Princess Noor has these black marble eyes that hypnotize me and fade away each of my previous conquests. A portion of her jet-black tresses escape from the hijab, veil, that has been covering much of her face. The depths of her eyes are just a sample of Noor's forbidden beauty. She’s been secretly enticing me for days.
During my stay, the Sheikh has offered an array of gorgeous women in his golden palace. At the prime age of 35 years old, I know that Noor would forever be off limits to a Brit like me. The warning of doing as much as staring at Noor too long implies death. But the instant I laid eyes on her, in essence, I saw straight through the silk curtain of robes hiding a curvy figure. Today, I had followed her to a compound out of the confines of the Sheik’s palace.
“You will die for this,” Noor warns in Arabic.
I stop at the threshold, considering her words. Bollocks, Noor is right, her father would fucking murder me himself. Though the treasure I seek is hidden, Noor boasts confidence in the confines of all her clothing. She leans against the door with eyes that are begging me to own her. Then she slyly smiles, turns the knob and backs through the entryway, waiting for me to make a move.
I close the door and step into the dimly lit room. It’s all open spaces with one large bed draped with colorful silk linens, indicating that I’m not the first man Noor has brought here. There are probably rooms upon rooms that have heard her coy moans in this house. Since this is the first room, we’ll start here.
“Have you ever gotten on your knees before?” The left side of my mouth arches somewhat.
“Nope. What sort of princess bows?” Her eyes twinkle at my jousting. She licks her lips and untwines the cloth covering her beautiful face. I breathe easy.
“On your knees, then.” My gaze captures every bit of Noor’s golden body as she disrobes. She's naked, no bra and no panties. She teases me with her perky, tiny breasts, pink hard nipples, and clean-shaven pussy. Damn, I want her so badly, but hold it in as Noor slowly unbuttons my khaki’s and then pulls my trousers and boxers down. The princess falls to her knees.
Her warm, wet mouth starts enveloping the tip of my cock. Noor takes in another inch, and another inch until she is unable to fit anymore. She whimpers in anticipation. Just the thought of getting all my dick in her mouth makes her moan wildly. It's clear; she wants to get in even more of me. Noor’s head bobs up and down. Her tongue begins to twirl around the nerves of my manhood, making my toes curl and my muscular legs take an even wider stance.
Noor delights in it as if she’s a pro. Her mouth has yet to fully appeal to me, even though she's already taken in 5 inches. Half my dick is getting no attention. “Deeper, Noor.”
Again, she opens wider, becoming more vigorous as her mouth waters even more. She slides her mouth slowly up and down my cock, miraculously tasting more every time...6 inches. 7… 9… She's almost there as the rhythm increases and my moaning begins to match hers.
My release is hard, creating an explosion as cum mixes with Noor’s saliva. Noor sucks every bit of my seed, and then licks the creamy seed seeping from my crown.
“Mmmm.” She dabs the tip of her plush lips with a manicured finger.
~~~
That was only round one. Three days later, while sitting in a gilded chair, I peer through the turquoise sheer drapery teasing the curves of her body. “Noor.”
“Yes, Vic,” she replies in a coy tone. My member swells with need. I know she's sleeping off the sex from an hour ago, but I must have her again. The door opens before I can command her. I’m not the least bit worried; the Sheikh knows nothing of this private place.
“Excuse me, madam.” Burt the Butler enters, his penguin suit perfectly displayed. He's seen each and every one of my conquests naked. But noticing Noor’s face, he scoffs. “Your majesty…Noor.” He apologizes, and then quickly looks toward me with cold gray eyes.
Noor’s golden cheeks flush with peach swirls as she places the covers over herself. Bloody hell, she is so fucking good at this coy game. But neither I nor Burt is fooled.
“Excuse us.” I stand up, grabbing my pair of black khakis on the floor. While pulling up my trousers, I take one last look at her beautiful body before stepping out of the room with my butler.
He closes the door and we stand in the 24k gold wallpapered hallway. Burt’s prudish eyes are even with mine, since we are of matching height. But he’s at least 50 pounds lighter. Having known me all of my life, he reprimands me as only he can do. “I came to provide you with two propositions, but am I to believe that nuptials with Noor are in the question now?”
“Give me these propositions,” I reply, not at all interested in Burt’s latest bout of hysteria.
“If the Sheikh is made aware that you’re bonking his daughter Noor, you’d be done. Victor, do you have a death wish? How would your mother...” Burt stops ranting mid-sentence. He clutches his chest with a white-gloved hand. “You are Victor Wesley Thomas D’Ross, Duke of Arlington. Not a daft wanker. You’re cognizant of your royalty. How dare you act so… so… beastly?”
“Easy. Noor begged for it.”
“Are you off your trolley? Every day we've been here, Noor has been in drapes and linens,” Burt scoffs. “How did you even conceive that what was underneath those drapes was something so invaluable. Something worthy of your life?”
Leaning against a gilded statue with a huff, I cross my legs at the ankle and explain, “Burt, don’t insult me. I read women. I can decipher how beautiful one is, draped in a brown-paper bag. The telling is all in the eyes. I’m sure anything the Sheikh could toss at me, wouldn’t stop me from fucking Noor again. Besides, I didn’t conquer any new territory; moreover, you viewed Noor’s body. She’s the epitome of beauty!”
“Granted she is indeed beautiful,” he replies, baffled. Having been assigned to me for the duration of my life, I am now confident that I’ve weighed down the old man, as Burt forgets duty, instead adding, “A very voluptuous body nonetheless, but…”
“Tell me about these two propositions, Burt.” I angle toward my goal.
“No. I refuse.” He clutches a smart tablet to his chest; it consists of glass electronic invitations sent by mail. I had only just requested a new assignment, and am happy to have options, so I snatch it away. Burt sulks and provides the other before the fragile electronic can fall on the ground.
Two pages are open. I slide my fingers across, from one to the next. I’m unsure of which prize would hold my interest more over the ambidextrous Noor. Then I flip back and forth between my potential targets. For whatever reason, I expect to see a sign, some type of reason in their eyes. Though the reason is no concern of mine, the vetting which is completed by the X-Member organization has obtained enough information to consign the two men to their deaths. How could these seemingly simple men garner the attention of the X-Member, an underground, elite, and discrete assassination service?
“So, I am to murder an English prophet or an American inventor? Hmmm…” I push the English prophet’s profile away. The prophet is located in England. This will force Burt and I closer than I wanted to be to home; no matter how shoddy this Man of God appears to be, I'd rather play it safe. I’m veering toward the black inventor. The person requesting his assassination is anonymous. Doctor Jonah Whitson’s profile photo doesn’t strike me in any manner at all. I could murder him from two miles away with an Accuracy International sniper rifle. The inventor’s location provides an abundance of prime opportunities. It would be quick, too. So that in itself deters me. Too easy. Too quick. It all takes me closer to Arlington.
Burt tears through my thoughts with, “Forget the propositions, Victor. We aren't leaving Dubai until you propose marriage to the Sheikh–”
“Marry the Sheikh?” I joke, my attention still fully engulfed with each kill. But word choice with Burt is always amusing. Hmmm, I consider the timeframe of each – fly to the United States and expire the mark, and then back to London for the prophet. Yes, I could murder them both. Shite, their deaths will come too easily.
“You know what I mean! Ask for his daughter’s hand! We've just been gifted everything under the sun for the murder of one of his adversaries.”
“That was nothing.” The Arab that I murdered a few days ago was a simple mark. The Sheikh has more than just a strong-arm on the entire country but murdering one’s own family doesn’t sit right by him. In addition, who can you trust to take out your own blood? The entire dynamics would just ruin how people perceive him. So, I came in to smoke the financial advisor, who was also the Sheikh’s brother-in-law.
“Our finances put us in a semi-reputable state,” Burt begins making plans as if he’s pitching the marriage idea to somebody who gives two fucks. An oil heiress, Princess Noor, and myself? We both have billions. So, what? Their billions stymie the few that I have and then there’s my hobby. My love for murder. She’d just get in the way.
The Sheikh would offer his daughter as a possession. I have no need for a possession–with a heartbeat– in my field, unless I’m enjoying down time. That is after getting the business of being a royal Duke out of the way.
“Okay Burt the Butler, take it easy.” I give a calming chuckle, finally putting the glass tablet on the statue’s ledge beside me. His eyes narrow at the nickname I bequeathed him as a child. “I’m not marrying Noor. America is best. What if this prophet is the real deal? Don’t want to murder the Messiah,” I joke, reading how many people the guy “saved” during Evangelistic event. After murdering the American, another assignment might come in, one that whisks us opposite of Europe. I can live on the move.
My royal duties can be handled via phone conference. I can stop in once a month for the D’Ross Enterprise business meetings.
“There's nothing funny about this mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Victor. Of all your hobbies and vices, this is the only one that you pursue on a daily basis. God forbid you seek a new hobby. Those fencing courses at age four only made you worse as a child.” Burt pauses briefly, then continues to babble, “And now you are murdering people for the cost of gassing up your private jet. Tosh!”
“We’ll ride first class.” I pat his shoulder. “Good idea?”
“Commercial? Good idea, eh?” Burt is stumped. He's the only one I allow to debate with me, and even now he knows his limitations as he decides to keep mum, since I’m not to be persuaded.
“Let's enjoy a few bleach blonds, or how about a few runway models? Burt, you choose. Then I can murder Dr. Whitson and we will head home for a while.” At the mention of my palace in Arlington, Burt is momentarily placated. I quickly accept the American assignment, press the button for self-destruct and allow the smart tablet to fall into one of the magenta, blue and gold clay pots in the hallway.
POOF. The sound resonates against the walls as Burt mumbles about retirement. Not at all worried about his usual tactic, I retreat to the room that I've been sharing with Noor this past weekend.
She's comfortable and naked again, eating green grapes. “Vic,” she flirts. I recall how I had placed a grape into her pussy, taken it out and made her eat it. I'd even made her tell me just how good it tasted, enticing me to eat her out. Noor had yet to convince me to reciprocate. I consider giving her one more chance, but America is calling and I've only ever been there for Vegas.
“I release you, Noor.”
Dark gaze clouded, she looks at my hard face. “Release me?”
I nod slowly.
Her eyebrows lift as realization sinks in. Tears stream down Noor’s cheeks, just like all the other women that have preceded her and all the beautiful women that will follow hereafter.