Sold to the Sheikh (9 page)

Oh God
…

The pleasure sparking through her from her clit to her pussy and back again pulsed to his rhythm, opening her wider, a little wider, with every beat, until finally he slipped all the way in and…

Oh GOD.

His entire hand was inside her, fingers curled in on themselves in a fist. She could feel every last, tiny movement, amplified until it was
all
she could feel. Everything else disappeared; she was full only of him, could feel only him, could only feel the orgasm he was giving her now slowly spreading over her, wrapping her in a dull glow instead of exploding from her core out to her limbs, her fingers, her toes. She had never felt anything like this before; it was like happy drowning.

And then he moved his hand.

He twisted it one way, then the other, and each movement sent little flashes of lightning through the cloud that enveloped her. Slowly, so slowly, he began to fuck her with his entire hand, and the cloud gathered, grew darker, and the pressure inside her was overwhelming.

When he rubbed her clit, the pressure broke.

Her whole body spasmed around his hand, starting from her vagina and spiraling out in an inexorable, violent wave of pleasure upon pleasure until her poor, overburdened mind went…

Completely.

Blank.

Stella had no idea how long it took her to come back to full consciousness. The usual period of blissful obliviousness, of fuzzy-headed happiness, seemed extended and stretched. Time wasn’t quite the same. Her face, all over her face, it felt like pins and needles, but pleasurable instead of painful. She tried to move her head, tried to talk, but failed. It took her a long time to realize that she was nestled against the Sheikh’s chest, her face pressed against his soft white shirt, her body cradled in his arms as he sat in the chair.

“Shhh,” he said, and she felt his lips on her forehead.

For the first time in years, Stella Spencer was completely fulfilled. At peace.

Happy.

By the time Stella was able to speak coherently enough that Sheikh Bashir even considered moving her—and he insisted on carrying her, holding her tight against his chest, propriety be damned—the alumni event had clearly been over for a while. The catering company was busy clearing tables and stacking chafing dishes, and no one bothered to give them a second glance. They just assumed she’d had too much to drink.

No one in the world could have guessed that Stella Spencer had just had the most mind-altering, world-shattering orgasm of her life.

No one at all knows
, she thought, looking up at Sheikh Bashir’s strong profile.
Not even him
.

Stella had never been able to come like that with anyone, ever.

I am in serious trouble
.

C
HAPTER 10

Bashir watched the city streetlights strobe past on Stella’s alabaster skin in something like a daze. They were moving aimlessly through the city in the back of Bashir’s car, the driver having been given simple instructions: drive. Bashir needed to think, and he wanted to do it encased in this quiet cocoon while holding Stella in his arms.

He’d had only one moment away from Stella Spencer since he’d had his entire hand inside her, when he took a moment to wash up, and even that had been too long. That was, clearly, insane. And yet he had felt their separation acutely, like the pain from a puncture wound. He had thought only of her lips, the way her eyes still fluttered, of the sounds she’d muffled when biting down on that leather chair. He had actually missed her, in the space of two minutes.

Insane.

The act itself was not something he’d anticipated attempting with her, not over the course of a weekend, and certainly not in the library of the Alexandria Club. It was only some sort of perverse providence that he’d had a packet of lube in his suit coat. But in that moment, it had seemed the only thing to be done. She had needed something bigger than herself, something overwhelming, to clear a path through all the emotional detritus that littered her mind, and free her to feel the things she needed to feel. He had seen it, plain as day, on her face. All his years of study, his practice at the art of reading, hadn’t left him with any doubt.

Yet it was all…out of sequence, was the only way he could think to put it. The extreme closeness that usually accompanied such an act was there, in a way—he felt it now, as her body relaxed into his, as her breathing slowed to match his own, as her thin fingers traced small, delicate patterns on the backs of his hands—and yet it was malformed, lopsided, incomplete. How much did he really know about her? He still did not know what had caused her such pain, and yet suddenly…

Suddenly…

He felt himself balanced on a precipice, on the verge of losing control completely. Perhaps he already had. Perhaps he had already fallen for this stranger. He had always meant to get inside her head, to give her a weekend of such intense pleasure that she would carry it with her for the rest of the life, taking his own pleasure as he pleased. He did
not
intend to need anything from her in return, besides her delicious body.

Bashir
, he admonished himself.
Thinking of yourself again.

“Stella,” he said, craning his head down so he could see the lines of her cheek. She looked up slightly from where she sat comfortably on his lap, her eyes still languid, still relaxed, yet with that spark of fire that he so loved.

Love is a dangerous word, Bashir.

“Stella, are you all right?”

Worry crossed her face. Already it seemed her mind was returning to its usual hyperactive state. Bashir tried again.

“Would you like to go back to your suite?”

Now a flash of disappointment and hurt played across her eyes, but she remained silent, trying to frame her words. Clearly afraid to say no to him. Damn. Another miss. He was truly disconcerted. Perhaps she felt the imbalance, as well, and needed it to be restored. Bashir took a deep breath, determined to get it right, even if it required him to open up more than he thought wise.

“Would you like to see my favorite place in New York?”

She sighed, relief and happiness flooding her face. “Yes,” she said. “That sounds wonderful. I don’t think I could quite get to sleep yet, anyway.”

It was hard to tell in the sodium-tinged light from the street, but Bashir thought she blushed.

“So what is it?” she said, and put her hand casually on his chest. Bashir felt his cock stir once again, angry at all he had been denying it. Stella shifted her weight, burrowing her ass a little deeper into his lap, and he wanted to groan.

Is that a smile on her lips? Perhaps not so innocent, after all.

“You’ll see,” Bashir said, then laughed at her pout. “All right, a hint: it’s famous the world over, but we’ll be the only ones there at this hour.”

“Do you get a special Sheikh pass?”

Grinning, Bashir puffed out his chest a bit. “As a matter of fact, I do. But this isn’t a formal visit. No one will know. I prefer to visit this place as Bashir, not as a representative of Ras al Manas.”

“Bashir has his tricks, too?”

Bashir raised his eyebrows, and slid a quick hand between her thighs, stopping with just enough distance to flick at her vulva. She inhaled sharply. “Sorry,” she breathed. “Sheikh.”

“Much better.” He squeezed her thigh, and felt his own body respond again. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep himself from taking her, begging and true submission be damned. “An old friend of mine once helped the head of security at this place with a family matter, and he introduced me. I do have a special pass, as Bashir.”

And then, for the first time in a long time, Bashir felt the presence of that old friend everywhere. Mark Kincaid. For a second it even overwhelmed his sense of Stella, striking a deep pain in his chest at the memories of his greatest failure, and of his long-dead friend. His only true friend.

The touch of Stella’s hand on his cheek pulled Bashir back to the present. Startled, he looked down. Her face, still that curious combination of open and closed, of vulnerable and guarded, was a portrait of empathy. Sympathy. Caring. Genuine feeling. For the second time in a single night, Bashir was possessed of an impulse to go further than he thought wise.

“He was an old friend who passed away,” he heard himself explain. “Mark Kincaid. He was my closest friend at Cambridge, and we used to attend those otherwise unbearable alumni functions together. This was the first time I’d been to one since his death, years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her hand on his face was soft, yielding. Gentle. There was something primal about it; she asked nothing, only gave affection, and it made Bashir want to give it in return. And yet could he trust it? Could he really be that lucky? He had thought so once before, and his logical mind knew it would be foolish to think so again, and yet…

“I would have avoided it entirely,” he said. “I would have preferred to spend the evening locked away in a room with you, but I had to catch Creighton at an informal gathering. I think that is why I was distracted. Why I made the mistake of leaving you alone.”

He expected her to stiffen at his mention of Creighton, but she didn’t. She continued to stroke his cheek, and the warmth and weight of her body pressed on him insistently, demanding his attention.

“It turned out ok,” she said, smiling shyly.

Bashir burst out laughing. So it had.

She moved her hips, grinding into him, and unthinkingly Bashir reached for a plump breast. Her pleased sigh told him she had been angling for his touch; she was so close, so desirable, so demanding to be fucked good and hard. And then again, softly. And then again…

Bashir buried himself in a kiss. She was as sweet, as soft, as ever. He was sure he could get her to beg already. Why was his goal of her true submission, of her revelation of all her personal demons, so important to him? It was; it was deadly important. Bashir wanted nothing more than to bury himself to the hilt inside Stella Spencer, and yet he would not do it without submission.

Could it be that his obsession with control was misplaced? Yet the need to keep control, and the upper hand, in relationships had been a painful lesson to learn.

Could it be something he needed to unlearn? With her? A woman he barely knew?

“Stella,” he said.

He never learned what he might have said next. His phone rang, with a distinctive chime. Only one number was assigned that ring tone, and there was only one reason they would call at this time of night. It was as though the universe knew he’d been speaking of Mark.

As gently as he could, he shifted a concerned-looking Stella off of his lap.

“Yes?” he answered. Then, not wanting to hear the details over the phone, he didn’t let the caller respond. “Is it bad enough to come in?”

“I’m afraid it is, sir.”

“All right. It will be a few minutes, I’m in the city.”

Immediately tense, he leaned forward and rapped on the divider that separated them from the driver. The last thing Bashir wanted to do was take Stella to the site of
his
greatest wound, but he didn’t have much choice.

“We will be making a detour,” he said grimly.

C
HAPTER 11

Stella was going to have to learn to stay on her toes.

First, what had happened in that library, was just…there were no words. She still couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t even believe it was physically
possible
, let alone that she’d done it. That he’d done it to her. And that it had been so overwhelmingly powerful.

It had been like someone pressed her reset button. She’d come to, not as a blank slate, exactly, but somehow more open, more settled. As though the usual post-orgasm glow and sense of rightness with the world had just gone deeper into her soul.

Well, it had certainly gone deeper.

She could tell she would be sore, but it already felt like the good kind of sore, the kind you get from an incredible workout. Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

She
still
couldn’t believe it.

Even more incredible had been how close she’d felt to the man she knew as Sheikh Bashir. They had nothing in common, and yet she had never felt closer to a man as when he had carried her down to the waiting car. Well, she assumed they had nothing in common; she didn’t actually know very much about him, as a person.

Which made this all so strange. And what made it so special when he’d offered to share his favorite place in the city. And when he’d mentioned his friend. There had been real pain on his face, pain that reminded her that behind the huge, imposing Dominant she had come to know, there was a real man.

A man she just might be falling for. Which freaked her out beyond anything she’d experienced so far.
It’s just a weekend, Stella
, she thought.
Do not lose it. Don’t let him in or you’ll really be in trouble when the weekend is over and he decides to leave
…

That terrible thought had just crossed her mind when the Sheikh’s phone rang. In a flash he’d gone from relaxed and sexy to rigid and grim, and where he’d seemed so close to her before, he now seemed a million miles away. Stella would have been hurt if it weren’t so obvious that there was something else going on.

Well, she was a little hurt, anyway. A little concerned. Because the truth was that she wanted to be a part of this part of the Sheikh’s life, too. She wanted to be able to comfort him, as he’d comforted her. To give something back.

Get a hold of yourself, Stella, that is nuts.

So she’d stayed silent as Sheikh Bashir had directed his driver to go to “Carthage House,” wherever or whatever that was. She’d tried not to intrude as he retreated into his own shell in the back of the car, aware of the boundaries between them, and yet wanting to cross them with someone for the first time since her divorce.