The Sheikh's Surprise Mistress 3 (Jatar Sheikh Series Book 7) Read online

  Amir had shown me pictures, but I’d as of yet to see any of it in person. I did attend Anna and Omar’s wedding—actually where Amir and I first met—and I had been blown away by the opulence of Omar’s private retreat. It was also manmade islands, but on a much smaller scale than the whole Atlantis conglomeration.

  If I let myself think too long on the whole thing, I got stressed. Amir assured me I needn’t worry about a thing—his people had it all under control. He also said that if I wanted to participate in any of the planning, I was welcome to take over. He just wanted me happy. That right there was one of the many reasons I loved him so much. He was considerate to my feelings over and above the expected. I didn’t know any men half as cognizant of their wives’ feelings as Amir was to mine.

  I did say I’d like some American representation present in the menu and the decorations, but we had yet to figure that part out. I’d called my mom in Kansas to invite her and the entire family she’d created with the stepdad I hardly knew. They had four kids now, all pretty young, and I really didn’t know any of them. I hardly knew my mother, since she moved away when I was just nineteen and I was entering college and already living with Anna in our apartment.

  So, when my mom hemmed and hawed through excuses why they didn’t want to take such a long trip—even though I told her Amir would pay for all of it—I wasn’t surprised when she declined entirely. I didn’t let my disappointment show that she didn’t even want to meet her grandson. But, at least Melinda and Richard Potts would be there, and I did consider them more my family than my biological was—at least, in my heart that’s how I felt.

  As the time drew closer to the official ceremony and my unveiling into royalty, I grew a bit more excited every day. And, the diamond encrusted, strapless dress was going to look freaking fabulous on me!

  Chapter Three

  I went to the doctor and had an operation that would help keep my cervix closed, so I could hopefully carry to full term for the next pregnancy. It was an outpatient kind of thing, and not really a big deal. Although, we were told to not have sex for at least two weeks as there was an incision deep inside that needed to heal before penetration. The waiting was the worst part, but we both agreed we could endure.

  The days melted together, and before I knew it our two weeks had passed. I was totally settled into our life in the desert. Amir often drove us into town for a meal out, or we would take the jeep out to his oasis for a late evening swim. Amsi loved the water, and as a threesome we became nearly inseparable. Amir was as involved in Amsi’s care and development as I was, which I found sexy as hell.

  “You are such a good daddy,” I said to my husband.

  He waggled his eyebrows and pushed in closer to me, Amsi floating in the crook of his elbow and giggling as he splashed the water with balled fat baby fists. Amir whispered in my ear, “I want to make more babies with you, beautiful.” He nipped at my earlobe and grabbed my butt under the water, “And perhaps you should call me daddy more often?” He dragged my hand through the water to where he was hard and tenting the swim shorts.

  My eyes went wide, “Amir! Not in front of the baby.”

  “As if he will remember anything. He isn’t even a year old,” he countered.

  “Here, in the water?” He shrugged and gave me that half smile of his that slew me every time. “Um, okay,” I said with trepidation. I was still trying to figure out how we could manage a—in-water love session—and keep Amsi from going under. Then his first words bounced around in my head, and I pushed him away.

  “No—I mean—no more babies for a while. I’m just barely over what happened with Amsi.”

  He leaned in and kissed me tenderly on the lips, lingering and rubbing his nose against mine. “Of course, darling. I meant far off in the future.” He slated his mouth against mine and hungrily took my acquiescent moan. He spoke against my lips, “I do enjoy you calling me daddy.” His hand gripped my butt again, and he rubbed his hot length against my stomach.

  My eyes rolled and I pushed into him, “Is that so—daddy?” I dragged out the word and said it in a little girl, but still seductive tone. I realized we were on thin ice at this point, but I think we both knew what the other meant. After all, I did call him master and alpha on a pretty regular basis. The moniker daddy was also something exclusive to an American dialect, so I think he found it more a novelty than anything else. I didn’t know the Arabic word for dad, but I did for father, which also often meant, sire or protector. I said it now, seductively, and Amir hungrily responded by pinning his now fully erect length between our bodies.

  “I need you now. This instant,” he said in a guttural, smoky voice. “I love it when you speak my tongue, and I’ve shown incredible fortitude these past weeks.”

  I slid my tongue into his mouth and tangled it against his, mumbling, “My tongue loves all of you, and the waiting is over—you can have me now whenever you wish.”

  Amsi stuck his wet fist in his mouth and then started crying. I guess we weren’t giving him enough attention. Amir refocused on his son, and I sunk down under the cool water. Amir shrugged and headed to the shore. “I will take you when we are home.”

  “Okay daddy,” I said in as flirting of a tone as I could. Amir gave me a sly wink and waded to the beach with Amsi.

  ***

  Amir and I had discussed my desire to be of some use to him in the running of his country. I didn’t want to let all of my Harvard years to go to waste. So, we decided I would enroll in the university and take courses on the law code for the United Arab Emirates. Eventually, I hoped to play into every aspect of Amir’s life. I wanted to be a proactive queen and not just a barefoot and pregnant broodmare to a sheikh.

  We had a few heated words over my desire to leave and attend classes. Mostly, I think it was Amir’s protective need to know where I was at all times. Not so much him wishing to keep me down and under his thumb. He was genuine whenever he discussed matters of state or even foreign affairs. I would offer my opinions, and he always considered them—never summarily dismissing me the way I fear most Arab men might have.

  I think in his ideal world, he would have kept me at home, and if not pregnant with multiple progeny, then at the very least barefoot and unseen by any other men—ever! He was quite possessive of me, but I liked it—at least, I did now that I was addicted to his attentions. I’d insisted that I had to be of use, and I was still unwilling to be just a mommy—I needed a job and a purpose and I wanted to use my education. So, he relented and nodded as he thought about it.

  “You will have to agree to at least one guard with you at all times.” I wrinkled my mouth and gave my version of the do I have to? expression. “Yes, I will insist on this one thing. I could not stand it if you were targeted as a possible source of income for a pirate.”

  “Pirate? In the desert?” I whined.

  He was entirely serious. “Yes, indeed. It will be known you belong to me—that you are a queen to my people—mother to my son. You could bring a handsome ransom to a kidnapper.”

  The thought hadn’t actually occurred to me, and I sat there thinking on it. Then it hit me what an easy target a child—especially a firstborn boy child—could be. My eyes shot to Amir. “That never crossed my mind! And Amsi, too?”

  He slowly nodded his head in agreement, “Indeed. I’ve already implemented tighter security precautions around the estate and forever more there will be guards assigned to both you and the boy. You are my prized possessions—both of you. Actually, there will be two men assigned to you while you attend university.” He leveled a steely gaze in my direction, “I’ll hear no dissent from you on this matter. Understood?”

  I gave him a begrudging nod of agreement.

  Then he let out a sardonic chuckle, “You will be required to wear a burka.”

  “Oh, hell no!” I rejoined way too quickly. Giving it no thought.

  “I can change the rules within our home and behind the safety of these walls, but I cannot change the customs of m
y people—the customs of generations of my culture. You will have no choice in this matter.”

  I whined, “I hate those things! Who wears full length black in a hundred and twenty degree temps? Who? It’s like torture!” My inner brat instantly resurfaced at being told something I didn’t want to do, and I snapped. “Your culture sucks! This is totally unfair!”

  Everything about Amir stilled and he pulsed his jaw. He said nothing, but I felt his anger and disappointment. Time stalled, and I knew two things in that instant. One, he was considering everything about our relationship—even marrying me. And two, he was asking himself if he loved me enough to persevere. By the set of his strong jaw, I think he also might have been considering how he could punish me for insolence.

  I also had a rush of knowing settle over me. This wasn’t just his culture. This was now also my culture, and soon to be the beliefs, principles, and culture of my baby boy. This was his country, his kingdom, and I was the queen mother. I really had no choice at this point. With these realizations came a wave of shame at my juvenile behavior and angst over the fact I’d very rudely insulted my husband and his country.

  “I am so sorry!” I left my chair and went to my knees in front of Amir who was still glaring at me as if he might discard me within the moment. “Please forgive me!” I wailed. “That was totally out of line and uncalled for, and I am such a spoiled brat sometimes.” He ground his teeth and continued to stare at me with an uneasy expression. I put my hands on his thighs, “Please, Amir. I am so sorry if I insulted you.”

  He inhaled through his nose. When he exhaled, his entire body relaxed. “You try my patience at times, Julie.”

  “I know! I know!” I responded with an ashamed expression.

  “I appreciate your repentance. I will however be punishing you later.” His tone was attempting stern, but I could hear his inner amusement filtering through.

  Now it was my turn to clench my jaw, “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see.” He leaned forward and held my chin firmly between a thumb and forefinger. “I will make sure you remember this infraction.”

  I didn’t know what else to say. Part of me was thrumming with anticipation at this proposed punishment—almost excited. The rest of me was apprehensive. The best I could do was bat my lashes and mutter, “Yes, daddy.” This elicited a deep belly laugh from Amir.

  Chapter Four

  By the time we were alone that night, I’d almost forgotten about this so called punishment. Amir had not. I was brushing my teeth when he strolled into the bathroom, sliding his belt from the loops in his pants. “You will assume the position now.”

  “What?”

  He slapped the folded belt against his palm. It made a dull sound of impact. “You heard me.”

  I gnawed my lip and gave it a good thought. My entire body was humming in anticipation, and my center was practically dripping. If it was from his show of dominance or just the anticipation of the sex to follow, I wasn’t certain. All I knew was that at this moment, I wanted nothing more than to be ravished by my sheikh.

  I surprised him. “Where do you want me?”

  “I don’t wish to hurt you, Julie, but I feel there needs to be some sort of amends made in regards to your earlier comment.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  He thought on it for a spell, and I patiently waited, studying his expression this time. In many respects, he was gentler than I would have been if the tables were turned. I was a bit of a brat, and I could honestly say I deserved a solid spanking for my earlier comments. But my husband did not desire to hurt me, and for that I loved him even more. He was nothing like the portrayals of men from his race, and it made me want to shout from the rooftops how much I adored him.

  “I’ve decided. I want you naked, at my feet. You shall kneel before me, and then you shall crawl and submit to me fully.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but he lifted a large finger and his eyebrows at the same time, silencing me. I dropped the robe on the floor and sunk down to my knees. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. I’d never knelt before him from a command, not like this. I’d knelt to give him oral sex, and I’d played at the submission game, but I’d never obeyed him when he commanded such from me. He actually had never commanded the act—I’d given it freely. Now that I was surrendering fully to his will, I could see how it was already affecting him. I lowered my forehead to the floor and pressed it to the tops of his toes with my arms back at my sides and my ass up in the air. I could hear his heavy breaths. He bent and stroked a warm hand down my spine and then lingered over my bottom, petting it and then squeezing it.

  He left then, and I knew what he wanted. I began crawling out into our suite, swaying my hips like a tigress in the savannah. I looked up at him and growled as I again went to his feet. His voice cracked with desire, and my entire body salivated. “Turn around and show me what is mine.”

  I did as he commanded, and as I spread my knees apart, I again lowered my chest to the carpet. I knew I was already shiny with lubrication, and I could feel it even more when the cool air of the room danced across my most vulnerable, damp folds. Amir hissed with desire, and my body rippled with gooseflesh. He knelt behind me and again stroked and petted me. His finger danced between my legs, and he hissed again. He fondled my sex and muttered, “You are swollen with need, my Julie.”

  I was, I wanted him something fierce at this point, and when just one of his fingers entered me, I cried out. Even just his finger felt big as it pushed on my inner walls and filled me up. “So tight,” he whispered as he continued to slide it in and out, softening my insides to a receptive kind of pulsing, wet, aching need. My nipples were so hard and jutting, I found it uncomfortable when they rubbed against the carpet. My pussy was soaking out through the apex of my thighs, and my insides were boiling. He crawled in closer to me, pressing his thighs to mine while I stayed in this prostrate position. He spread my stance just a tad more and then lifted my bottom up higher, angling my pelvis so he could see every inch of me.

  With the tenderest of caresses, he slid his warm palms over my ass. Over and over he rubbed me gently. His hot length often pushed against me or skidded across my skin. Right now, he was sliding it through my sodden folds. He continued to growl at finding me so wet, often just saying the one word, “Wet.” As if it alone was erotic as hell. He held his cock and slapped my ass with it—the sound was lush and thick and just added more to my frenzied state of arousal.

  I whimpered, “Fuck me, Amir. Please.”

  He danced the slick crown of his shaft around and against my pussy, teasing me with it. I moaned and lifted my butt higher in the air and spread myself apart with my hands. He hissed and seated himself just at my entrance, his head throbbed as my body pulsed and spasmed I anticipation. He slid in just past his broad crown and stalled. I was incredibly tight now, but also so lubricated, I knew this was going to be an amazing session for both of us.

  I continued spreading myself with my own hands, and he held me tightly at my hips. He took shallow strokes, coating his cock with my serum and driving himself deeper with each shove. I was darn near climax, and he wasn’t even all the way inside. He stretched me, filled me, pushed on my walls and inhabited me in a way he’d never done. It was good. It was darn near intoxicating, and we’d done nothing. My pussy dripped. Amir was in me and part of me, and I could feel I was going to cum—I was going to explode. I pushed that last final bit and fully met his thrusts. His hands shook and he held me fast, pinned to his groin with his long, thick cock buried in me. He hissed out a breath, “So tight.”

  “Fuck me, Amir,” I gasped.

  “So tight, Julie—I fear damaging you. Hurt you.”

  “No—good—it’s okay.” His hands held me tightly, and he pulled back just a little, and then slid home again. “Yes! More. Take me, Amir!”

  He made that frustrated sound again, and I pulled away and then pushed myself back over him in a fluid, forceful motion. He hissed
and his grip on my bottom trembled. I repeated the maneuver, and before I could fully sink over him, he took over and began a long, slow glide in and out of me. It was delicious! It was orgasmic. I cried and braced myself as his girth owned me, took me, impaled me.

  When the climax overtook me, it was anything but slow and rolling. It pummeled me into the ground, over and over, ravaging my body from the inside out. Amir was a beast behind me, his thighs were bouncing against mine, rubbing me with his bristly hairs, and his shaft was ramming in and out of me.

  When Amir climaxed and his muscles allowed him to relax, he did so by draping himself over my back. He was still deeply inside my body, and still occasionally jerking through an aftershock. He wrapped his arms around me and held me with my back pressed to his sweat-soaked chest. I purred my delight and reached back to touch his thigh. It was all I could do, but I had to touch more of him. He panted as his head drooped over my shoulder, and in a rare moment for the man that never swore –he whisper-spoke, “Most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”

  I think I replied with, “Me too.”

  When he slid free of my body, he did so with an audible popping sound, as if we’d created an internal suction device. We both made sounds of amusement, and then he picked me up and carried me to the bathroom. He sat me in the chair by the window and then drew a hot bath. He joined me in the tub and insisted on caring for me. He washed my back and stroked my breasts. “You are such a good girl. You amaze me, Julie. You are a warrior and temptress and the most seductive female I’ve ever known. Do you know how much you please me?”