The Desert King’s Housekeeper Bride

Imagining her skilled lips around his length and the sweet release they would quickly bring, he gripped his magnificent member, stroking it to its full impressive length. He could hear the pad of her walking, the swish of drapes as she drew nearer, and he continued to stroke himself slowly, waiting for her soft gasp of approval, knowing that no words would be uttered as Christobel entered…her duties were as urgent as they were apparent…

Effie had thought he was out—the silence, along with Stavroula’s instructions, had indicated he would be in the desert now. As she had walked to his sleeping quarters, her only thought had been the beauty of her surrounds, that here in the desert had been created an abode as stunning in its own right as the palace, but walking into the room she had frozen.

He was beautiful.

It had been her first thought as his raw, naked form had greeted her.

Even the opulent jewel-coloured bed, with its feast of cushions and silks, looked shabby in comparison to his gleaming beauty.

His muscles rippled beneath silky olive skin, his jet hair was wet from bathing. His eyes were closed, his lashes forming shadows that cast down to razored cheekbones as Effie’s own eyes too slowly wandered down.

Wide shouldered, his arms were long yet muscular, his chest smooth, his stomach taut and flat, with an ebony trail that snaked from his umbilicus. One muscular leg was flat on the bed, his knee raised up on the other leg, and then her eyes saw what she never should have.

Oh, a dresser might hold a towel, might avert her eyes.

But she had never been of that status.

And surely a dresser wouldn’t expect to see this.

But in that split second, before her eyes shuttered, she saw long, slender fingers, loosely holding his vast member. He was stroking the taut rigidness in slow sensual strokes that had Effie standing rigid, and for an appalling, shame-filled second she watched with morbid fascination, because quite simply it was the most beautiful, most erotic thing she had ever seen. She knew she should silently leave, should make a discreet exit, and that was what she attempted, but her own body didn’t seem to be working any more. The broom she had been holding so tightly dropped to the floor with a heavy thud as Effie let out a horrified breath.

‘I’m sorry…’ Covering her eyes as his snapped open, she tried to back off, tried to turn around, but her legs were like jelly. ‘Your Majesty, I am so very sorry…’

He was off the bed in a trice, but her hand over her eyes wasn’t going to stop her from hearing his rapid curse, nor the terrifying feel of him thundering across the room towards her.

‘Where’s Christobel?’

‘She couldn’t come, Your Highness…’

She was tempted to fall to her knees to beg forgiveness, but to be on eye level with that… All she could do was stand with her eyes covered and say over and over that she was sorry, so very, very sorry!

‘I should have called out—it was my fault for creeping up…’ She could hardly breathe, the desert heat nothing compared to her flaming face and she was drenched in sweat, just appalled. ‘I will go…’ she pleaded, her legs moving now. ‘You just carry on…’ She wanted to be calm, only she wasn’t, wanted to take away his embarrassment a touch… They would be here for days, after all.

‘Carry on?’ he demanded. ‘Carry on what?’

‘Pleasuring yourself.’ Effie cringed, then attempted a more sophisticated air; actually peeled off her hand from her eyes, relief drenching her as she saw he was at least now covered with one of the bed throws. ‘As you have every right to. I’ll go now!’

She turned, walked quickly, just desperate to get out of there, stunned when a hand grabbed her wrist, when Sheikh King Zakari Al’Farisi spun her around to face him—fury in his inky black eyes.

‘You think I was pleasuring myself?’ he shouted. ‘I am Sheikh King Zakari Al’Farisi— I do not have to pleasure myself.’

‘But…’ Effie frowned, stunned at his rage, as if only now was he embarrassed, only now was he aggrieved, her eyes widening in horror and realisation. When next he spoke that wide mouth she had once seen parted in pleasure was now twisted in contempt.

‘You,’ he roared, ‘were the one sent to pleasure me!”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE could never go out there again.

Never!

Face-down on her bed, writhing with humiliation, sobbing in utter shame and fear, Effie considered her options.

Wander out now into the desert and disappear for ever?

Or put on a smile and make dinner?

The desert seemed the gentler option.

How could she possibly face him now? Yet how could she not?

Was that what Stavroula had meant by on call day and night?

Nothing was too much trouble for the King?

And he was furious with her too! Her rabid apologies had only made things worse!

Her job was over, except she couldn’t even leave… Effie wept at the hopelessness of it all—even her womb was weeping in sympathy, proving the impossibility of her plight. For even if she were of that sort, even if she did know how to pleasure not just a man, but the King, it was her monthly time and she couldn’t.

And she was stuck here for days!

‘Here!’

For the second time in an hour she froze.

Face-down in the pillow, she froze at the deep sound of his voice, felt his imposing presence in the room. Only this time it was without anger, his voice utterly calm and even when next he spoke.

‘I have made you a drink… Take it…’

The King had made her a drink!

Stunned, she turned over and looked at the tiny jewelled cup he offered. She took it, lifting the cup to her lips and tasting the thick sweet syrupy coffee, taking comfort from its warmth. Though the sugary drink wasn’t exactly helping her to recover from her shock. If anything she was more stunned than ever that Sheikh King Zakari was not just in her room, but actually talking to her without anger, her confusion increasing when finally she dared to look and saw that there was almost a smile on his face.

‘Can I know your name?’

“Effie.’ She struggled to get up, to remember her place. ‘Your Highness, I cannot tell you how sorr—’

‘Enough!’ He halted her stammering repeat of an apology with one word and after a moment’s consideration he actually sat down on the bed beside her and just stared at her for the longest time.

For an hour Zakari had heard her weeping.

As he had dressed, his initial anger had faded into wry amusement. Zakari didn’t do embarrassment—a flash of anger perhaps, for what she had thought she had found, but embarrassment—no.

He had heard her embarrassment, though.

And, once his anger and disappointment that Christobel had failed to arrive had faded, he had realised what had happened—and had also realised her fear.

And, given they had several days still to spend isolated in the desert, he had chosen, as he often did, to address the latest problem to arrive in his life directly.

‘I thought you were Christobel—she was due to arrive this afternoon and naturally when I saw her case come out of the helicopter…’

‘She left the palace this morning, Your Highness.’ Effie’s teeth were chattering; she was terrified of speaking directly with the King, yet she was grateful for the chance to explain herself. ‘I was chosen as a replacement at the last minute. There was no time for me to pack—I have to wear her things…’

Zakari glanced at her generous flesh, but didn’t comment.

‘I thought you were in the desert, that you wouldn’t return till sunset. I wanted to prepare your room for you.’ Effie gave a helpless shrug. ‘Stavroula did say that I am to be on call day and night, that nothing was to be too much trouble for you. She tried to make it clear to me what my duties would be and I was so eager in my acceptance, I truly didn’t understand… I don’t know about these things.’

‘Stavroula meant cleaning, preparing my meals—if I require a drink or conversation perhaps…’ Zakari explained. ‘What happened this afternoon—’ he dismissed the entire event with one flick of a manicured hand ‘—Christobel and I had our own private arrangement…’

‘Oh…’ Effie frowned, realising only now why the irresponsible, rather lazy Christobel held such an esteemed position!

‘So I’m not here for… I mean, you don’t expect me to…’

‘No.’ Zakari withered at the very thought, though he didn’t show it. He was used to reed-thin, groomed and skilled lovers—the thought of this plain, plump, blushing woman taking Christobel’s place made his response quite definite!

‘And you do need a housekeeper?’

He neither wanted nor needed a housekeeper, but as he stared down at her tear-streaked face something unfamiliar twisted inside him, the same twist that had responded to her cries, and the same twist that had sent a king to make a maid a drink.

‘Yes…’ He frowned at his own response—confused that he was actually placating her, when always, always it was the other way around. ‘I do need a housekeeper, but not tonight. Unpack your things and then rest. You will commence your duties tomorrow.’