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

Fatim nuzzled his face back into the soaking folds of her pussy, needing the scent of her, but wanting to make sure she didn’t miss one ounce of available pleasure. He swiped his tongue over her swollen clit and then took it between his lips. He sucked and prodded and kissed her until she cried out, more shudders wracking her body.

“Fatim, pleasssse,” she squeaked. Nonsense tumbled from her lips. All he could do was rest his chin on her thigh and smile.

A few moments of lazy, utterly satisfied silence went by. Finally, a long sigh escaped her.

“That,” she said, “was lovely.”

Fatim loosened the silk ties around her wrists, propping his head on his palm to look down at her. “I wanted to see if you’d ever tell me no.”

“Why would I say no to any of what we did?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t, necessarily. I just don’t hear you say the word ‘no’ very often. Or, ever. Thought I might see if I could get you to say it once.”

“Well, you picked the wong activity to try it on,” she said, laughing weakly. The smile slowly faded from her face. “But I know I’m a people pleaser. It’s something I’m working on. It is hard for me to say no. But I wanted every bit of what just happened.”

Fatim drew lazy patterns over her lower belly as it gently rose and f

ell with her breaths. “Something you need to work on then. Along with Nara, it seems.”

“Hey now,” Calla teased. “I’m not the only work in progress here. Did you get to work delegating your responsibilities? Or finding the new assistant?”

He laughed, casting her a guilty look. “Not quite.”

“See? We’ve both got some big items on our to-do lists.” She smiled wide. The teasing didn’t bother him. It wasn’t often he liked lovers—wives or otherwise—to interfere in his business matters, but with Calla, he felt surprisingly at ease with it. It was almost natural.

“You might be right.” He smoothed his palm over the swell of her belly, feeling that familiar rush of heat and lust though his body. It was time. Again. “But we’ve got something else a little more pressing on that to-do list for tonight.”

Calla’s giggles filled the room.

13

This was it. The big day.

The luncheon with the highest ranking ladies of the tribe.

Calla’s stomach had been in knots the whole morning, so badly that she couldn’t even have her morning cup of coffee. She’d been preparing for this event as if the women alone had the power to kick her out of the tribe. And in a way they did—acceptance was critical here, and their opinions really meant more than what Fatim thought of her. Of course they’d all bow to Fatim and his choices, but Calla wanted them to speak highly of her in private too.

The one secret weapon she had in her arsenal, though? Her upbringing. The countless hours of traditional training, of late-night classes, of etiquette and Arabic drills. She had that in her back pocket, and she was here to show these ladies just how much of a sheikh’s wife she could be.

She showed up in her semi-traditional best, since obviously the tribal wives wouldn’t want her wearing one of her outrageously different creations for an event like this. She kept her makeup minimal and muted. Accessories, tasteful. And smile, bright as the sun.

Fake it till you make it. There might not have been any greater piece of advice for someone in her position, assuming the role of Queen of Amatbah.

Calla breezed into the formal dining room, which buzzed with conversation and laughter. Fifteen women. One by one, attention settled on her. Conversation died down. She arrived at the head of the table and executed a textbook-perfect curtsy, which was customary in Amatbah for greeting distinguished members of the tribe. Calla tried to keep her voice level as she called out over the din.

“Good afternoon, everyone! Thank you for coming to this luncheon today.”

Chairs scraped; throats were cleared. Plastic smiles came her way.

“It’s lovely to see all of you again,” Calla said, clasping her hands tightly, partly to keep herself from wilting under the attention. “And some of you, for the first time. I’ve called this luncheon because I’d like to hear your thoughts. As the highest-ranking tribal leaders’ wives, you all have a wealth of information, and I’m eager to learn.”

Calla went on to explain, in between appetizers being served and ice-cold water being poured, that she was nothing but a proper shiekh’s wife, and she intended to represent their tribal king to the best of her ability. Once her prepared monologue was out of the way, she smiled out at the table. “Now, any thoughts?”

There was an uncomfortable silence while forks scraped china plates and gazes darted around the table. Finally, Sharisi, who she’d first met just days before, cleared her throat.

“I think I speak on behalf of all the tribal wives when I say that we are curious and hopeful for you to step out of the shadow of your husband.”

Her frank words elicited a murmur of approval. Heads nodded, and excitement thrilled through the room.