The Sheik and the Slave

"So it seems. While I scour the whole of Arabia looking for you after Yasmeen had you kidnapped, I find out you are spreading your legs for half of England," he looked down into her sea-colored eyes.

"What?" she asked him, shocked.

"Yes. Yasmeen has been returned to her family in disgrace. But I shouldn't have bothered. Perhaps I should bring you back to Arabia to satisfy myself and then my brothers when I tire of you."

Katharine struggled underneath him.

"I never meant to deceive Majeed. Please believe me. He and Rana were nothing but good to me."

"No, you need do nothing, princess. Men just flock to your honey," he sneered.

With that, Mohammed moved his hand between her thighs. Katharine was mortified. She could deny him with her words, but she knew her passage was already slick with her juices.

"Spread your legs, princess," he said.

"No," she argued. She tried to squeeze her thighs together, but his hand parted them. He released both her hands and she tried in vain to push at his shoulders.

"How much honey do you give them?" he asked. His fingers moved into her and she opened her thighs to him.

"That's it," he whispered into her ear.

Katharine’s fingers clutched his shoulders as his fingers moved into her tight, wet passage. The tightness surrounded his finger as the warm core enveloped him.

"Mohammed," she said. She wanted him so badly, but she couldn’t tell him.

He spread her thighs and moved between them. She was all the more beautiful in her ruby red dress and diamonds, even though he preferred her scented with jasmine in a world of sand and heat.

“Don’t deny me,” he said. He pulled her into a sitting position on the bed and impaled her deeply upon his thick cock.

“Ah!” she cried out, even as he shushed her.

Once she settled into the rhythm of the new position, he quickly had her mounted on top. She was confused at first.

“Ride me,” he said. His words were delicious in the cool room.

She began to bounce up and down on him as he opened the bodice, spilling out her breasts. His hands went to her waist and he could tell she was near climax. As she started to tumble into oblivion, he joined her, and his seed settled deep inside her.

The room was quiet again, except for their heavy breathing. It eventually subsided.

"You will come back to Arabia and join the harem," Mohammed told her. His ego would allow no more, though he wanted her at his side.

Katharine pulled back and tugged at her bodice.

"You are insulting. I am offered marriage here, yet I'm to go to Arabia and be your whore?"

"What can your Englishman give you?” Mohammed sneered. “I can give you servants and a palace, even inside the harem. I can give you what you need,” he said arrogantly, buttoning himself up. “After all, I am willing to take the leavings of an Englishman.”

"Leavings? How dare you. I've done nothing to be ashamed of."

"There was talk of you in the ballroom. You fainted. They think you are pregnant. Used goods. They think you couldn't wait until the wedding night."

"I couldn't. Why should I?" she asked. She raised her head haughtily. Let him think that she was used. Let him think what he would.

She alone knew that the only man who had even known her sexually was before her. She lay before him on the bed, legs spread and dress bunched up around her slim thighs.

Mohammed's hand slid up her thigh. "So what would one more mean to you? You are so experienced. So used to a man."

Katharine shivered as he moved the silk dress further up her thighs. He spoke to her in Arabic. The words were half coarse, half loving as he spoke of his need for her.