The Sheikh's Surprise Mistress 2 (Jatar Sheikh 6)

“Can’t wait to go home.”

“Soon,” he reassured me.

“I haven’t asked you how you’re doing. You look tired,” I said.

He lifted his shoulders, “I am weary. It’s been a long month.”

It was then that I realized how long I’d been out of it. Drifting in sub-space as my body fought to live.

“How are you emotionally?”

“I am okay now. There was a moment where I thought I’d lost you—well, both of you.” His eyes met mine, and I felt his anguish.

He lowered his gaze and continued, “Even though I’ve lived a relatively short life, I’ve lived hard, done much. After the death of my first wife and our son, I understood what was truly important. I’d not made her the most important thing—person—I’d not made her feel important. Our boy was young as well, and I’d been busy with government. I was easily distracted from the family life. I fear I took it for granted. Then you came along and hit me like a train. You tumbled me this way and that. You ruined me, Julie.”

I made a strangled sound, but he lifted his hand to silence me. “No, I must continue. I swore to myself I would verbalize this when you recovered.”

He brushed a hand through his dark mop of hair that desperately needed to be trimmed. “Your strength—your stubborn, strong willed attitude—was something foreign to me in a female. Nothing I thought you wanted, was what you wanted. Yet still, you submitted to me. This was an amazing thing, Julie. This was as if another king were kneeling before me. I didn’t know how to deal with you—so I thought that marrying you—making you my wife—I thought that would cement our stations, and you would cease fighting me.

“When you refused my proposal in Boston, I was left flailing and without focus. I’d been certain I could keep you as mine, and you refused. I returned home and attempted to distract myself. Nothing worked. The day I crashed the Bugatti was an accident—it was not

a conscious choice I made—although that said, I also cared not at all if I lived or died. I was certain you were finished with me.”

He made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know where I’m going with this. All I know—I know this for certain—I want to make you and the boy my main focus. I want you to be the most important things in my existence. And if that means I share rulership of our family—if I must at times submit to you—then so be it, my warrior woman.”

His outpouring made my heart swell. I remembered the day he’d let me dominate him sexually. The day I’d felt in complete control and how empowering it had been. I breathed through my nose as I thought about his declaration.

“You’ve already shown me how important I am to you. You’ve already given me many concessions that I am fully aware a man like you rarely, if ever, gives to a woman. I don’t doubt your devotion, Amir. Please don’t doubt mine. When I married you, I made the choice to be your wife and under your rule.”

My expression softened, and I picked up his hand and kissed it.

“You’ve changed me, too—you know? I was strong through necessity before—it was how I survived on my own—how I made sure I succeeded. I had a devil may care attitude about attachments because I saw them as a liability—a weakness—which if we’re being honest—they are! But now I want that weakness, Amir—I want that liability because it is you and it is our child. I was just slow to realize this.”

I patted the bed and slid to the side, “And I miss being in your arms. You make me feel safe.”

He crawled up next to me and we comically arranged my tubes so nothing was strangling either of us or pinched off. He joked as he pulled me against his chest, “I love it when you’re helpless.”

We both laughed and I snuggled against the warmth of my man.

Chapter Eighteen

I was now able to walk on my own all the way down the hall and to the elevator that would take me to the infant ICU unit and my precious baby boy. When I first saw him, I was horrified at all the tubes and contraptions affixed to his tiny body. He was too small—like Amir had stated—much too small and helpless to be in the world alone.

I sat with him until my body told me I needed to lie down. I was still not permitted to hold him, but they told me soon. I talked to my boy as much as I could, again finding exhaustion hitting me after only an hour of being up. But, I was counting my progress in hour increments now instead of minutes, which was encouraging.

I’d been given permission to go home, but as a couple, we decided I would stay. We were given a larger room with a bigger bed, and Amir was now living with me in the hospital. We were sleeping together, too, but he’d not been intimate with me—even a little. Last night in his sleep, he’d grown hard, and I’d managed to turn enough to wrap my hand around him, but then he’d rolled over and pretended to ignore me—feigning sleep.

I asked the doctor about sex. He’d slyly grinned and said he didn’t see why not. I was healed well enough and since they’d surgically removed the baby, there was nothing at all wrong with my girl parts. I finished with a visit to Amsi, and then returned to our room to find Amir napping. I was happy he was resting, so I decided to join him. I drew the blinds and darkened the room and then popped out to tell the nurse I was locking the door and to leave us alone. I had plans.

I dropped my gown and traced a hand over my shrunken belly and the horizontal scar across my pubic line. It was still an angry red, and it itched, but it, like the rest of me, was well on the way to a full recovery. Now all I needed was to get my strength back. I found Amir watching me through narrowed lids. I offered, “The doctor said I could.”

His look of concern was almost funny. “No.”

“You can’t just tell me no. I need this, too. I know you do.”

“I am fine,” he said curtly.

I crawled up into the bed and his eyes followed the sway of my breasts. “No you’re not.” I sat on my bended knees and cupped my tits. “I’m sorry they aren’t as plump.”