My Arabian King: Enemies to Lovers (Desert Sheikh Romance Book 1) Page 8

  “I wanted to wake you up,” the sheikh murmured, “but I figured you needed more rest.”

  Harper didn’t answer, concentrating only on trying to get him off her as she thrashed and struggled under his heavy body. She had to get away before he figured out how aroused she was.

  “Harper...” The sheikh’s voice was strained. “What you’re doing isn’t helping.”

  She didn’t pay attention, only working harder to push him away.

  “All this wriggling is simply making me want you more.” And this time the sheikh grabbed one of her hands and shoved it down to where his penis was. Her fingers automatically curled around it, and the sheikh sucked in his breath as her grip tightened.

  “Harper.” Her name slipped past the sheikh’s lips in a hoarse groan of desire.

  Harper was aghast. And aroused. She hadn’t meant to hold him. But when she felt his erection, her fingers had just moved on its own.

  And now, for the life of her, she couldn’t make her fingers let go.

  Instead, her fingers started to move.

  The sheikh stiffened.

  Up, down, up, down.

  Oh God, why wouldn’t her fingers stop moving?

  “Akhtar.” More.

  And she found herself obeying his command, her fingers tightening even as they moved faster, stroking his powerfully twitching phallus up and down, and all the while loving the silky, steely heat of it.

  Before she knew it, she was already lifting her hips, her pussy aching, her body writhing restlessly.

  “Nem.” Yes. And the sheikh heeded her silent plea as his own hand moved between their bodies, stroking down her waist until he reached her soaking panties.

  One hard tear, and the scrap of lace was gone, and his long fingers came into contact with her aching mound.

  A gasp tore out of her as his fingers traced her folds at a painfully slow pace.

  Her grip on his phallus tightened. “P-please!”

  A moment later, one finger slid inside of her, and Harper’s body arched.

  Ooooh!

  She fell back against the bed with a moan, and this time she couldn’t stop moaning as the sheikh started fucking her with his finger. She tried to match his thrusts with the squeezing strokes of her fingers around his phallus, and soon her breathless pants began to fill the room, mingling with the rough grunts that came out of the sheikh’s throat.

  Suddenly, the sheikh pulled away, and she cried out in protest. “No!”

  The sheikh rose in his knees, his own hand gripping his phallus, while his finger still thrust in and out of her pussy. A moment later, he was jerking himself off, and another finger slipped inside of her. He fucked her hard with his two fingers, and soon she was crying out, and as he shot his load on her belly, she, too, was coming, her body shuddering as her own cum gushed out of her.

  The sight of her lying in sweet helpless abandon on his bed, his cum on her belly, was too damn irresistible for the sheikh, and with a groan Khalil bent down and captured her mouth with his. She kissed him back immediately, her innocent hunger more than a match for his desire, and she didn’t protest at all when he lifted her off the bed and carried her to the en-suite shower.

  Harper was in a quiet daze as the sheikh washed her almost like a devoted servant, and she couldn’t help but tremble when he started soaping her body, the strokes of his fingers becoming more and more a caress.

  “Such a docile little thing you are now, qalifa.” The sheikh’s tone was a husky murmur.

  “I guess...I’m just not the type to beat my head against the wall.” The words came out in little choked gasps, with the sheikh now fondling her breasts from behind.

  “You’ve made your decision then?”

  “I s-still need a week.”

  The sheikh almost smiled. His Harper had never been a pushover, and that she wasn’t going to change now was not displeasing at all. Even so, he wouldn’t make this easy for her. Pulling her closer, he licked her ear, and as she jerked, he said huskily, “At least give me a clue, qalifa. Are you likely to say yes?”

  He started tweaking her nipples, and she gasped, “Are you trying to seduce me into obeying you?”

  “Is it working?”

  She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to answer, but then the sheikh started nuzzling her neck as well, and when he started sucking on the too-sensitive skin, Harper whimpered—-

  And then it was gone.

  A cry of protest escaped her, and she felt the sheikh smile against her hair. “Do you have anything to say now?”

  “You’re a bully.”

  He laughed, but his voice was thick with lust as he said, “Only with you.”

  And then he was squeezing her breasts hard while rubbing his phallus against her butt, and Harper’s entire body trembled. His touch felt so good, and the sheer size and heat of his erection was driving her out of her mind. She couldn’t stop imagining just how good it would probably feel, once she had his penis buried inside her pussy, and shit, oh, shit, but didn’t that make her a huge slut?

  “I hate how weak I am with you,” she mumbled.

  “How weak?” the sheikh purred in teasing. “Will you show me?”

  “No.” The word came out a grumble, but when he pressed her against the glass wall of the shower Harper could only swallow hard, unable to even lift a single finger in resistance.

  A soft, sexy chuckle, and the sheikh whispered into her ear, “I think you’re already showing it.”

  “S-shut up.” But they both knew he was right, and when his hands moved down, she could only close her eyes and let the magic begin again.

  By the time they left the shower, she was flushed, weak-kneed, and unable to protest as the sheikh once again took charge, towel-drying her body before helping her to a fluffy bathrobe.

  She padded to the adjoining suite after, where her clothes were, and once dressed she seated herself before the vanity and was in the middle of blow-drying her hair when the sheikh came in. He leaned against the doorway upon seeing her, but his intense gaze made Harper feel so self-conscious she switched the dryer off, asking baldly, “What is it?”

  Khalil shook his head, lying, “Nothing.” The truth was, he had never stayed around for post-coital activities with any of his former lovers. It was the first time for the sheikh to see a woman grooming herself after being with him, and the sight of Harper blow-drying her hair felt strangely erotic – as well as too damn intimate.

  This is the point he should walk out, the sheikh thought, lest he forget that theirs was but a marriage of convenience.

  But instead, he found himself walking towards her. “May I?”

  She blinked. “Dry my hair?” At his nod, she said right away, “No.” It was too intimate, too embarrassing-—“Hey!” But it was too late, since the sheikh had already snatched the dryer from her hand.

  He switched it on.

  “I just said—-”

  “Bend your head, please.”

  And she found herself obeying the command. Damn it. Why was she such a pushover with this guy?

  The feel of the sheikh running his fingers through her hair was too damn sensual, and Harper crossed her arms over her chest when she felt her breasts reacting to the sensation, swelling behind the cups of her bra and her nipples turning hard in arousal.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  She was such a slut with this guy.

  The sheikh was similarly engrossed with what he was doing. He could not help imagining how it would feel, to hold these silky strands in his fist as he forced her to look up—-

  Why not do it now, the sheikh thought.

  And so he switched the dryer off, fisted her hair, and she gasped as he forced her to look up.

  He bent down, kissing her hard, his tongue driving deep into her mouth.

  And it was heaven.

  Sweet, lustful heaven.

  By the time the sheikh finally managed to lift his head, she was staring up at him with eyes made hazy by desire, and she was
panting ever so softly.

  She looked so damn sexy –

  Too much so.

  “Do not ever show that face to any other man than me, Harper Griffiths.”

  “This...face?” Harper blinked. “Do I have any other face?”

  The sheikh remained unsmiling. “I mean it, qalifa.” He pulled her up. “You. Are. Mine.”

  “Umm. Okay.” Harper was doing her best not to grin. She was also doing her best to remind herself that these me-Tarzan, you-Jane-mine approaches used to be a major turn-off for her, but why, oh, why was it different when it was the sheikh saying these things?

  “I mean it,” the sheikh warned her.

  “Yes, yes, I heard you.” It was really, really hard not to grin now. “But you do know I live in the smallest town in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska, right? The only eligible men in it are not my type.”

  “But they are still men.”

  “Yup, but they say ‘moo’ rather than ‘hi’.” Color stained the sheikh’s high-boned cheeks when he realized she was joking, and Harper could no longer keep herself from laughing.

  He cupped her cheeks, growling, “You may tease me all you want, but I am serious. Everything has changed.” And right now, Khalil was furious with himself. He shouldn’t have given her his word about this one-week thing. Or at least, he should have laid the law down and told her that she could think all she want in his palace, where he could keep her to himself.

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Harper dismissed. “They’ve seen me in your company for eight years, and everyone thinks—-” She grimaced. “I’m just your friend.”

  That was then, the sheikh thought, when his prank-loving cousin Tarif had not yet released an announcement to the papers, saying that he had been secretly in love with Harper for eight years.

  Chapter Eight

  The sheikh had warned her of Tarif’s prank and the “significant” consequences that would come with it, especially when the press realized no statement of denial from his house would be forthcoming. She had dismissed his warnings, thinking that no one would be stupid enough to fall for his cousin’s prank.

  But she was wrong.

  As soon as she had stepped out of Lincoln Airport, she realized right away that the whole world was apparently that stupid, hence the shitstorm that had become Harper’s life for the past six days.

  The press hounded her everywhere, reported her every move, threw questions and insinuations at her every chance they got. Thank God the sheikh had been a stubborn bully, ignoring her protests about having her own security, and when he had introduced them to her, she had recognized the trio of guards right away.

  The custody goons, Harper had gasped.

  The three men’s expressions turned stonier while the sheikh coughed.

  They have been with the Ramilian army since their teens and are among the best of my own security. The sheikh gestured to the men, saying, Please introduce yourself.

  I am Amir, anisdi. He appeared to be the eldest and the leader of the group.

  I am Farid, anisdi. He was the largest of them, with the most ferocious scowl.

  I am Kamil, anisdi. The last seemed to be the least communicative, his tone colder than the two.

  But Harper by then had been thinking of something else.

  Amir. Farid. Kamil.

  AFK, she had blurted out.

  The sheikh had frowned. Is that not an acronym for – away from keyboard?

  Yeah, it is, but-—And Harper had pointed to the three bodyguards. That’s what I’m calling them – whoa!

  Her so-called AFK was scowling at Harper like they wanted to work for the enemy so they could have an excuse to kill her instead.

  I don’t think they like me, she had said uneasily.

  The sheikh had done his best not to smile, telling her soothingly, They will warm up to you in no time.

  Remembering this made Harper’s lips twitch. Yes, well, that hadn’t exactly happened, but since the AFK had been extremely good at handling the press and getting rid of anyone they considered a threat to their future queen, she wasn’t going to complain.

  If not for those guys, Harper was sure one of the paparazzi would have manhandled her already, desperate as the whole pack seemed to be in their quest to be the first to dish out a scoop on Sheikh Khalil Al-Atassi’s “secret love.”

  As always, Harper’s nose wrinkled at the term, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. How could the whole world be so blind? The sheikh had lovers left and right in the past several years, and they could still believe that he had been in love with her all these years?

  It made her realize that people would believe what they wanted to believe – and this terrified her. Because the truth was, she wanted to believe the same thing, too. She wanted to believe that the sheikh had been in love with her all these years, albeit unconsciously. She wanted to believe this so badly, and wasn’t that the most horrible thing?

  The sheikh had tried calling her numerous times on the first day, and in the end she had sent him a short message to put an end to his attempts. I need time and space to think. The sheikh had not tried to contact her after that, and until now she didn’t know what to feel about it. On one hand, it showed that he cared enough to respect her wishes. On the other, it could also mean that she meant so little to him that he could so easily put her out of his mind.

  So what now, she wondered. Time was running out, and she knew if she didn’t make a decision soon – the sheikh might marry someone else.

  And if he did, Harper forced herself to think, so what?

  Would it hurt her to see him belong to another woman? Yes.

  Would it always hurt? Yes.

  Harper’s fingers dug into her palms as she forced herself to confront the last and most important question of all.

  Would it hurt enough to make her wish she’d married him instead?

  IT WAS ONLY EIGHT IN the evening when the sheikh returned to the privacy of his suite. Although festivities continued elsewhere in the palace, Khalil had made his excuses early, having realized that his tension was putting a damper on everyone’s mood. It was not their fault he had chosen the world’s most stubborn woman to be his bride, and he was now paying the consequences for it.

  A day had already passed since the so-called deadline of his offer of marriage, and he still hadn’t heard from her. He knew that was already an answer in itself, but a part of him refused to accept it. Harper Griffiths was the ideal woman to be his wife and queen. Every cell of his blood told him this was so—-

  But should that even matter if she didn’t want to marry him?

  And could he blame her if it was so?

  Thanks to the daily reports that her guards had submitted to him, the sheikh had been able to monitor her even from the palace. Being linked to him so publicly hadn’t just turned her life upside-down. Her life was now a living hell, and it would continue so even if they did not end up marrying.

  A knock interrupted his thoughts, and the sheikh said wearily, “Enter.”

  “A guest awaits you at your private receiving room, Your Majesty.”

  He frowned. “Who is it?”

  “I w-was not told, Your Majesty,” the aide stammered. “I was only asked by Sheikh Tarif to report to you and that your presence in the receiving room is immediately required.”

  Khalil nodded. “I will be there shortly.” And if this turned out to be one of Tarif’s pranks again, it would be their fists talking after.

  When he entered the receiving room, Tarif was alone, no guest in sight, and Khalil frowned. “Where is the guest then?”

  Seeing the grim look on Khalil’s face, the other sheikh said swiftly, “Before you even ask, I did not ask you to come on a lark.” Tarif grimaced. “And I know you must be sick of hearing this by now, but I can only apologize again for the unintended consequences of my action. I had thought you’d have persuaded her to come back with you and would thus be properly protected from the press.”


  “Your first apology was more than sufficient, brother.” The sheikh’s smile was self-mocking. “And if anything, your greatest sin was that you had placed too much faith on my powers of persuasion.”

  “Maybe.” Tarif’s tone was casual. “Maybe not.”

  The sheikh’s gaze narrowed. “If you are about to start playing another game—-”

  The door of the en-suite restroom opened, and Khalil stiffened when he saw Harper stepping out. She hadn’t yet seen him, her head turned towards Tarif. “Have you told him I’m here?” she was asking.

  “He hadn’t.”

  Harper whirled around with a gasp.

  Behind her, Tarif said, “She had her guards contact me, asking if I could help her surprise you. She was, however, worried that you wouldn’t welcome such a surprise. I told her she was being foolish about it. Don’t you agree, brother?”

  “Not just foolish.” But although the words were directed at Tarif, the sheikh’s intense, dark gaze didn’t once leave Harper’s frame, which was now visibly trembling. “I would say,” the sheikh drawled, “it’s downright stupid.”

  Even as her heart slammed against her chest at his words, she managed to grumble, “Are you calling me stupid?”

  Instead of answering her, Khalil said to his cousin, “May you excuse us, Tarif?”

  “Already on my way out, and I’ll let the guards know that you are not to be disturbed at all costs.”

  And then they were alone.

  The sheikh was staring at her, silent, unmoving, and so damn handsome it made Harper realize that what she had read in books were true. Looking at a person could actually hurt.

  Are you surprised? Are you happy I’m here? Do you still want to marry me? Those were the questions she wanted to ask. But when her lips parted, no words came out, and Harper realized in shame that fear had turned her into a coward.

  She couldn’t ask those questions. She just couldn’t. How could she when she was afraid he’d answer no to any of them? And so she stared back at him, even when it hurt to look at him, and it hurt even more when she realized that this could be the very last time she’d see him before he broke her heart—-