The Sheikh’s Wife Arrangement (The Safar Sheikhs 1)

“We have to give the people what they want.” The wedding guests moved away to form a path as Fatim cut through the crowd. Chants erupted—Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

“Like right now?” Calla asked, a brow lifted.

Fatim grunted as he hoisted her in his arms, being careful not to strain the dress. She giggled as he threw her around. When she was eye level with him, he leaned forward for a kiss.

This one was just as electrifying as the first, stiffening his cock immediately. He grunted through the kiss as the rest of the world fell away. The cheering people, the rhythmic clapping, all of it. The world shrank to just him and Calla, the weight of her in his arms both provocative and perfect.

“Time for the tent,” he breathed once the kiss broke. He tossed her over his shoulder, and she giggled, kicking her feet playfully as he took the final steps toward the tent. A royal assistant waited there, had the heavy tarp of the tent already rolled back so they could step through. The flap thudded down to the ground once they were inside. Calla gasped.

“Holy crap.” She lifted her body to get a better look at her surroundings. “This is the tent of my dreams.”

Fatim hefted with a laugh but didn’t lower her to the ground. He took a moment to absorb the royal tent, trying to see it through her eyes. Lanterns hung from various points in the pitched tent, casting an amber glow over the thick, hand-stitched rugs. The music and chatter from outside had receded to a dull roar. Throw pillows dotted the rugs, and a low-lying sofa sat toward the back. Fatim had requested silken drapes in lush reds and burnt orange, which hung from the center post and then were gathered back to the tent walls, creating a cozy yet bohemian feel. Beneath the draping fabric was the focus and the prime directive of the royal wedding tent: the king-sized bed, outfitted with impossibly soft white sheets.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” She sighed. “I could live here.”

Fatim swallowed hard, his mind still on that kiss. He dug his fingers into the backs of her thighs; his mind went foggy. Everything about this place, the weight of her in his arms, begged him to take things further.

“Are you going to put me down?” she giggled, kicking her feet a little.

“I don’t want to ruin your dress,” he teased. “Now that you’re in my arms, you should stay here.”

“Hm. I think you kinda like having my butt in your face.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.” He slid his hand up the lacy covering of her dress, tracing the curve of the back of her thigh. His hand practically throbbed the closer he got to her pussy, as though it served as a homing device nearing its base. Calla wiggled in his grip as his hand crested the curve of her ass.

“Is that too much?” he asked quietly, almost afraid of her answer. Now that they were in here, he knew what he wanted: Calla. No faking it. No make-believe. Just pure, enticing, breathy Calla.

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She shook her head, wriggling under his hand. Urging him to continue? He moved his hand down the length of her dress, fingers reaching for the hem, and then traced his way back up the length of her bare leg. Goose pimples sprouted in the wake of his fingers. When his hand reached the back of her thigh, he paused. She breathed heavily, fidgeting over his shoulder.

“Calla?” he asked.

She whimpered. “What?”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

The answer whooshed out of her. “God, please yes.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed his hand up, finding the sweet seam where ass cheek met thigh, the lace edge of her panties, and then, just a bit to the center…the tell-tale moisture. Calla inhaled sharply.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

His cock was hard as a rock as he moved his hand back and forth over her ass cheek, drawing measured breaths that served to keep his cool. He needed to check himself before he took this too far. This was business. Even though that didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun, Calla needed to be on board.

“Calla.” He carried her to the bed and lowered her gently. She looked up at him, eyes wild and dark. Some hair had loosened from her updo over the course of the night, and seeing her there, mussy and in that dress, nearly broke him. He balled his fists, resisting the urge to push the dress up to her hips and take this where he so desperately wanted. “I need you to tell me. If you want this.”

His implication weighed heavily between them. Her chest rose and fell as she stared at him.

“I do,” she whispered.

“Just making sure,” he said, searching out the hem of her dress, unable to prevent himself from touching her. He ran his fingers over the bony part of her ankle. “This isn’t part of the job description. This is…extracurricular.”

Her eyes drifted shut, and she nodded vehemently. “Absolutely. Consider me clocked out.”

He grinned, skipping his fingers over her shin, then up along the heat of her thigh. Clocked out, but not checked out. Elegant Calla was enjoying every second of this, it was more than obvious. He gritted his teeth as his fingers met the lace edge of her panties once more.