The Sheikh's Surprise Mistress (Jatar Sheikh 5)

He slid that final increment and obliterated the last bit of separation between our bodies. His other hand went to my thigh and slid partially up and under my skirt. In an eager tone he interrupted me, “Yes—you feel it as well.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

I bit my lip and nodded. That was all I could do. All I could manage as his hand slid higher on my thigh. I struggled to breathe, and the too tight corset wasn’t helping. My breasts jiggled with each gasp, and a shiver began deep inside my body. “I don’t understand…”

“Shhhhh.” He moved his hand on my neck enough to run his thumb over my lips. “Give into me, princess. Trust me.” I batted my lashes, and that internal shiver went full throttle. I had to clamp my mouth shut so my teeth wouldn’t chatter. “Is this fear?” he questioned, feeling what my body was doing.

“No—um—no.”

He gave me a sly grin. “Ahhh, indeed.” His hand slid higher, and his grip at my jaw tightened. His face came closer, but he didn’t kiss me. His strength seeped into me, and I fo

ught not to sway in place. His warm breath smelled of whisky and spices, “Ask me, Julie. Beg me.”

I involuntarily clenched my jaw. I never asked, never begged. His hand met the apex of my body, and his meaty finger stroked up the thin line of cotton covering my entrance. He pushed harder, and the cotton dampened. The look he gave me and the sound he made told me he knew exactly what I was fighting to confess. He pushed harder between my thighs, and my body flooded with heat. I closed my eyes and took a deep inhale through my nose.

He chuckled then and kissed me. It was tender and lingering, but not overwhelming. Correction, the fact that he was holding back—teasing me—was overwhelming, but I was still trying to fight it. “You want me, Julie. All you must do is ask,” he whispered at my mouth.

I didn’t mean for my breath to shudder out of me, but it did, and it was so telling he kissed me even deeper. I swallowed his moan of delight when our tongues met and tangled. I couldn’t halt the sound my vocal chords produced in response. His hand trailed up my legs. “Beg me, princess. Julie! How can you deny this?”

His middle finger breached my entrance, and he danced it through my folds, making me ache for more. I involuntarily pushed my hips into his grip. He rumbled in his chest. My words were almost silent, “Amir, yes.”

He abruptly pulled away, and for a second, I thought I might orgasm right there in the booth. His other hand traveled down my arm, and he placed my shaking palm against the silk of his slacks. He was rock hard and throbbing. I could feel the heat through the material. I muttered, “Oh God.”

“You. Must. Ask. Me.” His words were clipped and abrupt, and forceful.

I couldn’t stop my fingers from curling partially around his thick girth. Now it was his turn to shudder. I met his eyes, “Amir, take me..”

His eyes showed how much I’d just pleased him, “I need you this instant.” He lifted his hand in the air, and one of his men quickly left. “I will take you in the limo now. Later, I will take you again, and you will beg me until neither of us can go on.”

My weak nod must have been enough, and he quickly stood and pulled me up. I wobbled and for a second I was certain I was going to fall down. Amir is a big man, much bigger than any other male I’ve been around. I also just discovered how strong he was as he hefted my hundred and twenty pound frame up against his chest. He kissed me as I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a startled sound from being swept up like a child. He hurriedly strode from the restaurant out to the waiting limo.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In the limo, he went to his knees and without words, slid my skirt up almost to the crease where my thighs met my torso. He said something to the driver, and the security glass rose as the car went into motion. He spread my legs even farther apart, and he studied me, my body, my soaked panties. With practiced ease he unclipped the garter fasteners for my thigh highs, and then he methodically removed my panties.

I was shaking from head to toe. I’d never been this aroused my entire life. I felt small and fragile—another anomaly for me—and the way he was on his knees made me feel as if he were worshipping me. This made me uneasy. I was treading water in an ocean of uncertainty. I realized I’d never been with a real man before—an experienced, adult man who knew exactly what he wanted.

“Stunning. You are perfect—my ideal—fantasy come to life.” He continued to mutter these random phrases as I watched him. He’d not taken his eyes off my body—my heated, soaked, attention-seeking body. When he lowered his slacks and boxers together to puddle at his knees, I noticed how sure he was, how certain of his control.

His shaft popped free as if it were on a spring. It was gorgeous. Golden mocha and glistening. The tip was already wet. His big hand gave me full body goosebumps as he stroked himself a few times—I couldn’t take my eyes off of his display. It was erotic as hell and a mysterious kind of foreplay that left me feeling as if my entire body was melting to a puddle of desire.

I raised my eyes to lock with his and his lashes went half-mast. He tilted his chin, and I knew what he wanted. I slid off the seat and to my knees. He went up into the seat, and I turned. “May I?” He seemed shocked that I would ask—then immensely pleased. I licked at him and lapped his sweetness into my now flooded mouth. I took him as far into my mouth as I could. I couldn’t take more, but I used my hand, and I stroked and sucked and drew on him with my lips until he was swearing in a foreign tongue. Even though I had no idea the meaning of words he used, I knew he was swearing up a storm.

“I must take you now, Julie.”

I didn’t hesitate and scrambled up into his lap. He held his impressive length and guided himself to my wetness. With a small cry of ecstasy, I sheathed him—all of him—and I sat down hard against the bristly hairs of his groin. We both cried out, and without a moment to rest, he held my hips and ground himself in and out of me a few times.

“Oh God—Amir.” I whimpered.

He growled at me, “Beg me, female. Show me your passion.”

I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t contain the overflow of pleading and begging as he lifted and cupped my ass and began pounding his hardness up and into me. I beseeched him as if he were a god and I just a mortal. It was as if I were about to die, and he was the only one that could save me. He responded to my cries like a madman, and I climaxed so intensely, I might have momentarily passed out.

When we were both done—he came a second time shortly after I flooded out over his shaft with my release—I laid in his arms, limp against his chest, and he held me.

I’d never felt closer to someone—never considered this kind of connection possible—and the scary part was I hardly knew him. Even scarier was how shattered I felt inside—how much I wanted more—and the thoughts racing through my head were all of defection to a land covered in sand.

As promised, Amir made love to me the entire night and well into the next day. It was a great feeling, though, and I relished every wince. I did not, however, like leaving. I don’t think Amir liked it either because he was silent as I gathered up my things.

I tried to joke and lighten the mood, “Talk about walk of shame. Two mornings later and the same dress. That might be a record.”