The Sheikh's Virgin Mistress 3 (Jatar Sheikh 3)

“Of me?” He asked with marked concern.

“No. Of how you will think of me if I tell you all that happened.”

“I vow to you that I will cherish your confessions and it will in no way affect my feelings for you.” Omar said earnestly.

He then tenderly petted my cheek and then down my chest until he gently cupped my breast through the thin material of the nightgown. I couldn’t help it and cowered away from him and shook my head, gulping and swallowing roughly as a fresh wave of fear traveled up my body. He withdrew his hand and remained silent as he thought.

“Anna, I saw the marks on your body, on your breasts and I am fully aware of the violations.”

I held my breath as he talked and in a hoarse whisper said, “I don’t think he actually raped me.”

“No, he did not, but you were in their custody long enough for his threats to manifest horror in your heart. I am aware of the power of the mind and the sim

ple fact that you lived in mortal fear for well over twenty hours. That will change a person Anna. That will change a person for the remainder of their life. I am not blind to this fact and do not fear me love, do not fear that you wish no affection from me, this is perfectly understandable. I am not dissuaded from my ardor towards you, and I know that in time, and with patience, you will once again allow my touch without fear.”

CHAPTER TWO

Omar was so genuine with his feelings that I felt hideous for balking away from his touch. It was just that I couldn’t take it without feeling as if I should scream or fight back. As much as I tried to convince myself that it was Omar, and not my kidnappers, my body would flinch and recoil whenever he offered me any sort of affection. Even the few nights that he’d slept with me; it would take an extra dose of pain meds just to get my body to relax enough to allow it.

Then there was the nightmare, and even though I wasn’t raped, my brain seemed intent on telling me I was. It was a close thing I suppose, and the simple fact that Armand shot and killed the man just seconds before he was about to abuse me, didn’t help matters in the slightest. My body unfortunately felt as if it had been violated in the worst of ways, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d been desperately trying over the past three days to convince myself I could take Omar’s caresses and advances, but now I knew I couldn’t outthink this issue.

Maybe Omar was right, maybe I needed a real therapist to help me? What I knew I wanted more than anything was to see my mom, to talk to her and have the kind of comfort only a mom can give.

It was morning on the fourth day of my hospital stay and I was finally eating more than just jello or pudding. Most of the swelling in my jaw had diminished and although my left eye still ached and remained covered, the rest of me was slowly beginning to heal. All of the bruises that Omar had previously inflicted were assumed part of the torture I’d gone through at the hands of the now dead infidels, and neither Omar nor I had corrected the doctors when they’d assessed my body.

How they knew I hadn’t been raped remains a mystery to me, because only ten hours before my capture, I was so sore from the marathon sex with Omar that I found it uncomfortable to walk or sit. I still wonder if perhaps some of that hadn’t played into my now irrational level of fear at being touched in any way. Even by Omar, who I still loved immensely. I was hopeful that time would heal not only my outsides, but also my hidden, emotional self.

Omar was on his laptop at the small desk and after I finished my portion of oatmeal he came to me and sat on the bed. Being careful to not touch me, but close enough that I could reach out and take his hand, which I did. I asked, “Can we fly my mom in? If she’ll come. I need her.”

His face lit up with expectation, “Of course darling! Of course. I will get the pilot on the phone this instant.”

“No, not yet. I need to talk to her. She has no idea what happened, she will be upset and won’t be able to travel just yet. She has, well, she has issues. She is darn near agoraphobic and rarely leaves the house—never leaves our neighborhood.”

Omar gritted his jaw, “Does your father not help her with those issues? He is to be her strength—her support.”

I sort of snorted in reply, “You know my dad. He is too focused on his empire to worry about mom. Besides, he is never at home in Boston. For all intents and purposes, they might as well be separated or divorced.”

He reached out to pick up my hand, but he stalled. I grinned and reached over, setting my tiny hand in his big mitt. He stroked his thumb across my bruised hand from where the IV had been ripped out.

“When she is ready, just let me know. I can send servants to help her, to accompany her, make her feel safer?”

“Okay, thanks. I need to call her, but I’m not sure if I can handle it yet.”

Omar nodded, “She should know. When you’re ready—just let me know.”

I bit my lower lip in thought. “Maybe later today? The doctor said he wanted me to walk today, just to get some blood moving. My ankle still hurts though, so it won’t be a long walk.”

“Whatever you need. I am here to serve you.”

I let my overflow of emotions show on my face. Omar’s words melted me and slayed me at the same time. He seemed almost broken from the experience and the strong, dominant male I knew less than a week past, seemed no more. I was hopeful that as I healed, so would he. I missed his arrogant, assuming, commanding self. I missed us.

CHAPTER THREE

“Mom? Hi. How are you?”

“Oh darling! I’ve missed your voice. I am fine. How are you doing? Is it a fairy tale darling? Are you madly in love with him?”

“Um, yeah, it has been wonderful and yes, I am crazy in love with Omar. He is an amazing man, I think you will love him too. But mom, well, um, I have something I need to tell you, and I don’t want you to freak out. Okay? It’s kind of dramatic. Just know I am fine. Okay mom? I am okay now and I’ll be heading home soon.”