Sold to the Sheikh (15 page)

He threaded his hand through her matted hair, and Stella remembered how very sweaty and gross she was. And she did not want to be that sweaty, gross chick with Sheikh Bashir. Maybe she wasn’t totally ready to admit what she did want to be with Sheikh Bashir, but she knew it was not that.

“Um,” she said, pulling back and doing her best to smooth her hair down, “does this place have showers or something?”

C
HAPTER 18

Showers!

Just Bashir’s luck that this place considered itself a proper gym with a proper locker room. As though it wasn’t hard enough to control himself, to be away from her naked body, to know he
still
hadn’t had her, now he had to contend with the idea of Stella Spencer soaping herself down in a shower just a few feet away?

It wasn’t enough that this stupid date, his own brilliant idea, had done more to make him fall for her than vice versa. It wasn’t enough that he had to watch her incredible body sweat while she proved what she could
do
with that body. Any normal man would immediately think of all the other things she might do with a body that athletic and that in tune with itself, and Bashir’s sex drive, at least where Stella was concerned, was a few notches above normal.

And now she was showering.

Bashir paced the hall in front of the women’s locker room like a caged animal, at war with his growing, demanding dick.

~  ~  ~

The showers were spare, but more than adequate. Stella felt better as soon as she stepped under the steaming stream of water, and it wasn’t just because she’d felt all grimy. As soon as she had a few moments to herself, thoughts about that morning and her relationship with the Sheikh had crowded into her head. She hadn’t really had a chance to process everything, not on her own.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, though
, she thought, soaping herself down. It meant that she hadn’t had a chance to drive herself crazy with her usual series of what-ifs and rationalizations and doubts. The lack of downtime was forcing her to just plain
feel
, and what she felt under those circumstances continued to surprise her.

For example: the sore spot on her ass, when she ran a soapy hand over it, gave her goosebumps, even in a hot shower.

The memory of being bent over his knee, in
public
…and then the knowledge that, no matter how much heat built up between her legs, no matter how sensitive her breasts felt under the soapy suds, she wasn’t allowed to come unless he demanded it, was enough to push all those worries right out of mind again.

The fact was, she’d enjoyed it. She’d enjoyed being punished, being spanked, in public. More than enjoyed it: it had been a catharsis. She’d never felt so peaceful, so right with the world, so emptied of all distress and worry, as when he’d held her, just after. Even if they had talked about uncomfortable things that maybe she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Something about it had still felt right.

She’d never felt this sexy, or this desired. She’d never felt this
wanted
, which was strange, because he hadn’t actually done it yet. He hadn’t had sex with her. And yet every word he said, every move he made, made it perfectly clear that she was at the forefront of his thoughts, as though he wanted more than just her body.

It was a brand new feeling. She felt like a totally different woman.

It was that new woman who stepped out from the showers, with only a tiny, coarse towel held around her with one hand, just as Sheikh Bashir was closing the locker room door behind him.

Stupidly, Stella said, “This is the women’s locker room!”

Sheikh Bashir stared at her, his dark eyes flaming. Then he locked the door.

“Drop the towel,” he said. “
Now
.”

Stella obeyed reflexively. Her mind didn’t catch up to her body until the towel was already rumpled and useless at her feet. It was that Dom voice; it did something to her brain.

Why should she feel nervous about being naked in front of him? It wasn’t like it was the first time. Yet Stella felt the blush begin on her fair skin, felt the familiar feeling of exposure, of thrilling vulnerability, of being on display for his pleasure.

Sheikh Bashir raked over her body with those molten eyes, leaving her feeling helpless before him. He didn’t move, but even standing in the shadows, under the broken light at one end of the room, Stella could see that he was hard.

And he was huge.

“Lie back on the bench,” he ordered. “Look at the ceiling. And spread your legs.”

Moving slowly, and with an increasing sense of inadequacy, Stella looked around. The bench was a foot wide, plain, wooden. She bent to pick up the towel and spread it on the bench before perching on the edge. There, she hesitated.

She’d been exposed to the Sheikh, but never quite like this. Not under these lights, and not so…explicitly.

“
Now
, Stella,” he growled, and Stella quickly lay back, her breasts falling slightly to the side, her eyes trained on the ceiling.

Was this how he would take her? Right here, on a bench, in a locker room? She wanted him more than anything, wanted to feel him on top of her, wanted to feel him driving inside her, again and again, but…like this?

God, yes, even like this she wanted him. She wanted him however he’d have her. With a great gulp of air, she spread her legs.

“Yes, Sheikh,” she whispered.

And then she waited.

He didn’t make a sound as he approached. The very next thing she felt were two massive hands on the undersides of her thighs, lifting her legs up and spreading them wider. She almost lifted her head, until she remembered his command to stare at the ceiling. Stella bit her lip instead, and waited.

She heard a low, guttural growl, an animal sound, and then there was a hot, wet mouth on her pussy, and she arched mindlessly to the ceiling. Stella grabbed hold of the bench beneath her, struggling to keep her balance, squirming against the Sheikh’s hungry lips, but there was no release, no comfort—his hands held her firmly in place while his tongue licked her slit from one end to the other. Stella had never been totally comfortable with this; she’d never been completely at ease with being so open and vulnerable, but now she didn’t have a choice.

The Sheikh probed her mercilessly, laving her folds, working his way up to her clit. She whimpered at the unrelenting pressure, and yet he held her fast.

“Please,” she said, her brain veering into dangerous territory, “please, it’s too much…”

He sucked gently on her clit, and her moan betrayed her. She wanted to cry when he pulled his mouth away, and at the same time, she wanted to cross her legs and hide.

“I will do what I want,” he said roughly, “and I want to make you thrash. You will come for me now, Stella.”

He lifted one leg over his shoulder and spread the other wide, opening her even further. Stella whimpered again, and gripped the bench below even tighter. Her abdominals all bore down on her pussy, the tension sudden and straining, almost painful. She closed her eyes, and tried to ride the sensation as his lips wrapped around her clit.

He sucked on it, drawing it into his mouth and applying pressure with his tongue, and just when Stella thought she couldn’t take more of such an otherworldly feeling, he slid two crooked fingers into her.

“Oh my God!” she burst out, and felt her legs begin to shake. The Sheikh bore down on her harder, more insistently, his mouth coaxing her clit to greater and greater heights and his fingers rubbing and pressing against her g-spot. Every nerve, every individual, jumping, live nerve in her body sung in harmony to what he did to her. All sensation drew down, and gathered, swollen, around the hot button inside of her, and for a horrible moment Stella felt like she had to pee. She raised her head and tried to shift, but the Sheikh pressed down now on her belly with his free hand, as though trying to make a bridge inside her from his fingers to his hand, and the swollen feeling exploded outward.

Stella felt like she was drowning in an ocean that came from her, from which waves welled up and crested from her core, flowing over and through her and obliterating everything in their path. Her boneless limbs flailed helplessly, and she might have fallen if the Sheikh’s arms hadn’t been there to steady her, to hold her, to catch her.

This time she came to still shuddering, still at the mercy of her own aftershocks. The Sheikh rose up between her legs and looked down at her shivering, naked body. Through the haze of aftermath, Stella could see one thing: he was still hard.

“Get dressed as soon as you are able,” he said, his eyes never leaving her nakedness. “We have plans.”

He turned to leave. Stella called out, “Wait!”

He paused, his hand on the door. “This once,” he said, “I’ll forgive the lack of decorum. What is it, Stella?”

She rose, and tried to cover herself, suddenly embarrassed. But it was now or never. She wouldn’t feel so free, so relaxed, except after one of the Sheikh’s massive orgasms.

“Why haven’t you…” She couldn’t look at him. “Why haven’t you fucked me?”

There was a long pause. When he spoke, his voice was even, though with a trace of strain. A promise of something.

“Because you have yet to fully submit.”

He left her there, to think about what that would mean. No, she knew what it meant. It meant giving up every part of herself. It meant telling him things…it meant being completely at his mercy. She wanted him more than anyone, more than anything, she’d ever wanted in her entire life. The possibility of never knowing what it would feel like to have him inside her, plunging ever deeper, claiming her in every possible way, was not something she wanted to contemplate.

But what if she wasn’t able to submit? What if she just couldn’t bring herself to be that open? To be that vulnerable?

What if Robert had damaged her so badly that she was simply…broken?

C
HAPTER 19

Bashir wouldn’t say that he was nervous. He would never use the word ‘nervous.’ It was a weak word, and the connotation was undeniably one of the anticipation of failure. Bashir did not anticipate failure, and he was not uncertain.

He was, instead, in a heightened state of awareness.

He remained silent during the drive to their destination, preferring instead to allow Stella’s own sense of anticipation to grow to meet the enormity of the occasion, and to give himself a chance to admire her in the dress that he’d had delivered. A shimmering, silver affair, with a slit that reached nearly to her hip, showing off one beautiful leg. He could tell that she felt out of place in such finery, but she would thank him for it later.

That is, if she did not walk out on him.

He had consulted the investigative report that he’d had commissioned, and he’d interviewed Roman, but in the end he had relied on his own intuition. He’d made his choice of destination based on the facts, yes, but it was his instincts that told him the confrontation itself was necessary. And his instincts were never wrong.

Of course, just because it was necessary did not mean that it would go well.

Roman had only given him bare facts, unwilling to give insight or to speculate as to Stella’s inner feelings, and that was as it should be. That was for Stella to reveal to Bashir herself. He could only hope that she would choose to do so.

Bashir restrained himself from touching her with great effort. His better angels were regrettably silent as he contemplated having her right there, in the car. If she chose instead to leave, this would be his last chance to know her body, to feel her luscious flesh quiver around his cock, to make her come, screaming, with him inside her. But these were not honorable thoughts. He blamed them on the dress, and turned to look out the window so that he would not be tempted further.

It was a pointless exercise. She reached out and grabbed his hand just as the car pulled up to the restaurant. It might have been a temptation too far, except for her reaction as the signature awning came into view.

“Is this where we’re going?” she asked. Her voice was painfully small. Bashir steeled himself. He had not expected this to be nearly as hard on him as it was on her, but he felt her discomfort more acutely than he’d ever felt his own.

“Yes,” he was all he said. He got out and held open the door for her, wondering how long it would take her to realize that this was all deliberate.

He led her the short steps across the dirty pavement, noting the tension in the lines of her body, the way she seemed to try to make herself look small, protected, unnoticeable. She was preparing herself to be hurt. It made him incredibly sad, especially when he thought about the joyful, lusty woman she had been only a few hours before, laid out on that locker room bench.

He hadn’t been able to help himself. It was all he could do not to plunge into her. Bashir was proud of his self-control, and his ability to take the long view, but the sight of her, still pink from the shower, breasts trembling, legs spread…that had tested him. It had tested him sorely. But to take her like that would have ruined what he wanted to achieve later that night.

And he was very,
very
much looking forward to what he would do to her later.

Stella clutched onto his arm as the doorman held open the gilt doors, and it seemed to Bashir that it was an impulse, that she had been trying to manage on her own, but at the last second had needed the support. He gladly gave it, not wanting her to suffer needlessly, and only wishing he could offer more.

Rococo’s was one of only a few three-star Michelin restaurants in New York City. Even in the so-called capital of the world, Michelin was famously stingy with their stars; Bashir rarely agreed with their assessments, but for cachet, or for impressing young women, one could not do better than a Michelin three-star. Anyway, it wasn’t his type of place. The converted meatpacking plant had been transformed into a dizzying array of gold, silver, and glittering crystal; even the plates were gold-plated. Bashir did not like to judge such things, but only the newly rich thought that this was a good use of their money.