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It was the most nerve-wracking meal I ever had.
Seated beside me, the sheikh had not spoken a single word as he ate, only nodding in thanks at the attendants who served our food and gazing at me broodingly all the while.
Although I had lost my appetite, I forced myself to eat, not wanting my stomach to complain again. When we were done, I almost collapsed in relief. Thank God that was over. I had no idea what had gotten into the sheikh to make him so moody, but I just hoped it wasn’t because he had changed his mind about...us.
“Come. We must talk about your plans for the Chamber of History.” He offered his hand as he spoke, and I took it, hoping he wouldn’t notice how clammy with sweat my palm was.
As we strolled out of the dining hall and headed up to his suite, I asked, “What plans?” It was the first time I heard of it.
The sheikh only answered when we were inside his private suite. Waiting for the door to close behind him, the sheikh said succinctly, “I lied.” He swept me up in his arms without warning, making me gasp. “It was just an excuse to take you here.” He kept walking as he spoke, taking me all the way to his bedroom.
The sheikh's bedroom was as elegant as the outer room, but with more muted colors. The bed was huge – bigger than anything I had ever seen – and across it was a love seat with a luxuriously detailed frame. In one corner was another thick Aubusson rug, placed before a fireplace carved from marble and granite.
He lowered me to his bed, and it was so tall that even though I was seated on the edge, my feet still ended up dangling in the air.
“You look so young like that,” the sheikh murmured moodily as he moved away and walked towards the wine bar adjacent to the fireplace.
“Or you just have an abnormally tall bed,” I countered.
The sheikh smiled briefly but didn’t say anything else.
My nervousness increased as I watched the sheikh pour himself a shot of whisky. He caught me watching and asked, “Would you like one?”
I shook my head.
His lips twisted. “You do not drink?”
“I don’t like drinking,” I clarified, stung by his tone. “It’s not because I feel I’m too young for it.”
The sheikh didn’t answer, only lowering his shot glass back to the counter.
I felt hurt and defensive. “Are you implying I’m too young?”
“Aren’t you?”
“If you think I am,” I bit out, “then we don’t need to have this talk, do we?”
“Yes, we do, actually. Because I’d like to fuck you, and I don’t think you’d let me do that without...” The sheikh's lip curled. “A talk.”
Oh.
For a moment, all I could do was replay his words over and over my mind.
Because I’d like to fuck you.
Oh. God. Oh. God.
“Lady Ella, are you listening?”
I straightened. “Umm...” I saw that the sheikh had taken a seat on the bar stool, one foot perched on the stool’s footrest. His frown made me swallow and I said weakly, “Could you, umm, repeat—-”
“I said I wanted this to be private between us.”
Oh.
Conflicting emotions hit me at the words, but I knew it was a sensible request.
His eyes narrowed when I slowly nodded. “You will not argue about it?”
I asked quietly, “Should I?”
His gaze darkened. “You trust too much—-”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I blurted out.
“Yes,” he snapped. “You can trust me, but you cannot be as trusting with other people. Especially other men!”
The possessiveness in his gaze as he spoke made me shiver with longing even as a part of me questioned the reality of it. Had I truly heard him say that? Could he really think it was possible for me to want any other man with him around?
I wetted my lips.
The sheikh saw it, and his gaze turned darker, lust glittering in his blue orbs.
Ooooooh.
In a throaty voice that I never even thought I could manage, I heard myself ask, “Are you jealous?”
He stiffened. “I do not want to talk about such things.” It was the sheikh at his loftiest.
A smile broke over my lips. He could deny it all he wanted, but it was obvious. He had been – was – jealous. Over me!
“Stop looking at me like that,” the sheikh snapped.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said innocently.
“Temptress.” An accusation but said so huskily it made my body flame up.
Oh God, I was wet again.
“Come here.” Hunger underlined the sheikh’s growl.
“Yes, Your Highness,” I said meekly, but my eyes laughed at him. At that moment, I felt like we were equals, the sheikh's undisguised desire making me feel heady with feminine power.
When I reached him, he slid off the stool and placed me on it, lifting me up like I was no heavier than a feather.
“Open your blouse,” he commanded.
My wicked self rose to the fore, and I shook my head. “Tell me first that you missed me when you were gone.”
When the sheikh looked like he wanted to throw me over the nearest cliff, I pouted. It was the first time in my life I had pouted – or had any reason to pout – and it felt quite fun. Liberating even, that I also found myself fluttering my lashes. "Please?"
The last one seemed to do the trick, and even as the sheikh shook his head, he muttered, “Yes, you temptress, I had missed you. Your sheikh missed you. Every damn day I was away, I missed you, and there wasn't a second I didn't dream of fucking you.”
I gasped.
The sheikh's jaw clenched, disbelief stamped on his face as if he was unable to believe he had said something so revealing. Glaring at me, he demanded acerbically, “Are we finished now?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” I didn’t have to pretend I was meek this time, his explicit words rendering me limp with desire.
“Then open your damn blouse before I rip it apart and let you walk out here half naked!”
The callous words should have offended me, but it only made my pulse quicken and my breasts feel heavier. I really must be sick, to find his cruelty such a turn-on. But sick or not, I wanted him, and I was done denying that particular truth.
Slowly, my fingers started to move.
One by one, the buttons of my blouse came undone. Inch by inch, I revealed more of myself, and I caught my breath as I felt the cool blast of the air conditioning caress my skin. Unable to help it, I raised my gaze to the sheikh, and I was mesmerized. The anger had faded in his eyes, replaced with such hunger – such possessive need – it made me want to offer myself to him.
Whatever my sheikh wanted, I would do it for him.
The sheikh began to fondle my lace-covered breasts, his large hands more than capable of covering the pale round globes completely.
His touch had me moaning as I struggled between feeling so shy and aroused. Even with all that we had done, everything still felt so new and I couldn’t help worrying that he would find me terribly inexperienced.
“Relax, ukhayyah,” the sheikh murmured.
“I’m t-trying.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I love your breasts. They’re so damn big, I could feast on them forever.” He squeezed my breasts, as if to emphasize his point, and the aching sensation inside me deepened.
I tried to stifle my moans, but the sheikh shook his head. “No one will hear us from here.” He released my breasts, murmuring hoarsely, “Now, bare them for me, ukhayyah.”
My hands shook as I pulled the cups of my bra down. I whimpered as my too-big breasts spilled free, and whimpered again as I heard him suck his breath and look at my breasts like he wanted to devour them.
“Feed them to me, ukhayyah.”
Shivering with wanton pleasure at the words, I cupped my breasts and offered them up to him.
For a moment, all he did was stare, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Oh, God. The way he stared—-
And then suddenly it was there, his mouth on my breast.
Aaaaaaaaah.
I whimpered, moaned, and sobbed as the sheikh suckled on my nipples. Hard and long, possessively and hungrily, like a man who had thirsted for the taste of my nipples for an eternity.
I looked down at his bent head, and I became so, so much wetter.
The sheikh was sucking on my breasts.
The thought had my hands slowly moving, my fingers sinking into his silky dark hair, and holding on to him, I pushed my nipple deeper into his mouth.
More, I begged silently in mind. Suck on it more, my cruel, beautiful sheikh.
When the sheikh released my nipple, I cried out in protest, but the sound soon turned into a moan when he only took my other nipple into his mouth, laving it with the same hungry attention.
Out of my mind with need, I could only melt into his hold, wanting more of the piercing ache that rocked my body as my sheikh continued to suckle.
When he suddenly released me, I looked down at him, dazedly. He was stopping...again?
I saw him frown, his head turning towards the door, and that was when I realized the private intercom mounted on the wall was ringing insistently. Answering the call by voice command, the sheikh asked, “What is it?”
“Your Highness, I am terribly sorry for bothering you at this time, but I fear something has come up that warrants your attention.” Luke, the sheikh's personal assistant, sounded urgent as he spoke.
The sheikh slanted a glance at my way.
It's okay, I mouthed while quickly buttoning my blouse.
“I will be out with you in a minute,” the sheikh told Luke and ended the call. When I was dressed, the sheikh cupped my face. “I am sorry for this.”
“Duty calls,” I tried to say lightly but failed. With a shaky smile, I simply promised him, “I won’t be selfish.”
“You have no reason to be,” he said just as simply. “I am coming back to you as soon as I can.”
And he did, sooner than I expected, but when he returned, his handsome face was blazing with anger.
“Your Highness?” I stammered, not sure if I had something to do with his black mood.
The look the sheikh sent my way answered my question, and I flinched. His voice menacingly soft, he said, “Remind me, ukhayyah. What did I make you promise before I left? Do you remember?”
I whitened at his words, realizing with terrifying clarity what this was about.
He knew. He knew about the Sheikh of Layla.
The sheikh pointed at the door. “Get out.” When I could only look at him, shaking, he roared, “Leave before I throw you out!”
Tears pricking my eyes, I rushed out of his suite and almost bumped into Luke, who was waiting outside the sheikh's door. He took one look at me, and his face softened. “Oh, Lady Ella.”
I didn’t dare blink, not wanting to cry. I didn’t believe I deserve to. “He’s so angry,” I whispered. “What I did – was it really that bad?”
Luke silently handed me the tabloids he held in his hands.
I took them, and the headlines were horrifying. The more I read, the worse they got. The media here was virtually accusing me of being an experienced seductress, an ambitious American gold-digger determined to have her own kingdom.
As one tabloid pointed out: like mother, like daughter.
“I thought writing letters would be harmless.” Shame colored my voice.
Luke winced. “Unfortunately, they are far from being harmless.” Pausing, the sheikh's aide then said carefully, “I understand that as someone who had not been born in the kingdom, certain nuances of our culture may not make sense to you. However, Lady Ella...you cannot also close your eyes to the truth. You are a member of the royal family now, and even if it is just for the sake of showing respect for our customs and traditions, there are rules that you are expected to uphold.”
“In kingdoms such as ours, communication between unmarried men and women is always restricted and conducted in supervised settings. Even exchanged glances are frowned upon and there are many cases when such have been the bases of hasty engagements. I hope you bear this in mind next time, milady.”
“I will,” I promised determinedly. But, I thought painfully, I wasn’t sure if the sheikh would still care that I did.