Page 8 of Sheikh's Virgin Love-Slave

Chapter Five

What the hell am I thinking?

Her mind was reeling. She felt like a kid’s toy motor that just kept whirring and spinning without ever going anywhere. This was nuts. It made no sense. She wasn’t angry with Ravi—correction, Sheikh Shamon—like she was at the good-for-nothing-asshole that was her father, but she wasn’t about to fall into bed with him either.

Except now, she was panting from the very touch of him; she could still feel his lips on her ears and smell the exotic scent of his masculine musk mixed with something that smelled vaguely of cinnamon. Her belly was flaring with warmth and a wetness was threatening to pool between her legs. Her heart thudded even harder than it had when she first awoke in Dubai.

Storming into her room, she was relieved that no servants were in. A few guards were stationed at either end of the hallway, but if Sabella had been there, Bridget would have lost her mind and her manners. The other woman could have Sheikh Shamon for all Bridget cared. Really. She didn’t want him. She wanted to be home, back at her crappy eleven-dollar-an-hour job and her empty life with too many Ben and Jerry’s cartons in the freezer, especially after she’d been cheated on. It was nothing compared to the sheikh’s lap of luxury, but it was hers.

“This is nuts,” she said out loud to herself as she carefully pulled off her dress and locked her door behind her. It was already shut, but there was no point in running the risk that someone would sneak up on her. Reaching for her bra, she pulled that off as well and then headed for the dresser. There had to be more underwear, and hopefully pajamas around here somewhere. “I can’t be attracted to him! He talks a good game, but he still kidnapped me. Sane people don’t do that. I…”

Then she remembered the way he made her feel, the heat of his breath on her ear, the force of his lips as he sucked hard on her skin, the strength of his hands on her shoulders. When she first saw him upon arriving at his mansion, he’d been the most striking man she’d ever seen. From his all-consuming jade eyes to his broad shoulders and towering physique, Kevin looked like cheap canned dog food next to him. Hell, Brad Pitt in his prime looked like dog food next to Sheikh Shamon.

Almost unbidden, her fingers found their way to her nipples. Maybe she could just indulge her desires this once. It didn’t hurt to fantasize, did it? No one would ever know, and tomorrow she could lie to herself. She would go back to the life she knew, be the dependable, boring, good girl she’d always been—the perfect contrast to her father’s lunacy. But tonight, just for a few quiet moments, Bridget could pretend she was Sheikh Shamon’s.

Walking to the bed, she pulled back the covers and sheets and then set the pillows where she preferred. Then she made sure to slip out of her panties so that she was as naked as the day she’d been born. Sliding onto the bed, she propped her body up on the pillows and let her fingers explore. To her, in her wildest fantasies, these were the large hands of Sheikh Shamon. No, Ravi’s. It was Ravi’s hands running over her breasts and tweaking her nipples ever so slightly.

It didn’t take long to raise both of them to pebbled peaks as the warmth in her belly spread to her core. Wetness flowed from between her legs, and she felt she was more ready for a man who wasn’t even there than she’d ever been for her scant, previous lovers. Closing her eyes, she imagined what it would feel like, the heft of him leaning over her as he worshipped her soft mounds with his fingers and his mouth.

But it still wasn’t enough. While her right finger and thumb teased one nipple between them, she traced her left hand over the rest of her torso. Her fingers dipped slowly a few times in and out of her belly button, and she arched her hips as heat started to consume her, like flames licking at her limbs.

Then she reached her mons, that triangle of skin at the apex of her thighs. Running her hands through her soft, well-kept curls, she brought her hand lower until it found her folds. They were slick and ready for her touch, so she obliged, not playing or delaying gratification any longer. She used her thumb to put pressure on her pearl, while she eased two fingers in and out of her channel.

But in her heart of hearts, she wished that it was Ravi doing it. She could imagine his length deep inside of her, his fingers playing with her areola, his thumb pressed tightly against her nub of nerves. The heat was rising now, like standing too close to a roaring camp fire, and she arched her hips again. She needed to climax, needed it more in that moment than she needed even air. Thrusting her hand inside of her, she bit her lip to keep from screaming, to keep anyone from possibly overhearing as the fire flared through her as severe and intense as a scorching forest blaze.

The rhythm intensified as she plunged in and out. In and out.

Her rose bud pulsed against her thumb. Finally, she pressed just right against her sensitive nerves and then came with a flurry of heat and light and fire, her body aflame, even as she imagined that hint of cinnamon wafting through her nose, that flash of jade eyes watching her.

When she fell back completely boneless to the mattress, Bridget took long gulps of air and tried to steady herself.

I want him, but I can’t… He stole me from my home.

Yet, how much better would it feel with Ravi inside of her, with his devilish tongue whispering sweet nothings in her ear?

She didn’t know, but she was starting to desperately want to find out.

***

Ravi knocked on the door the next day bright and early. She groaned and looked over at the clock by her bed, which still read only seven o clock. Considering her shock, her jet lag, and then the exhaustion that sprang from her best orgasm of her life, Bridget was still pulling herself together.

“Wow, he must be eager to get on with it,” she said, slipping out of bed and rushing to her dresser for anything at all. It resulted in her putting on a pair of jeans and the first available t-shirt inside, a fact that Ravi was more than happy to share with her.

“That’s an interesting look,” he mused, smirking at her with a look but so delicious and infuriating that it should be illegal in most sovereign nations.

She reminded herself that no matter how strong her attraction was to him, no matter how he called to her and set her blood boiling, she needed to ask to go home; back to her life as a normal person.

“Well, I don’t have a royal stylist, but I manage,” she said.

“Well, I’ll send one of the older female servants around here to help you pick out what’s appropriate for today’s activity. Denim will never do.”

She frowned. “First of all, you said I could go home if I wanted tomorrow.”

“Yes, but I didn’t say what time tomorrow.”

“Second, no more Sabella for me?” she asked, feeling her heart pump wildly. Bridget wasn’t even sure what she wanted. Part of her desperately wanted out of this craziness. Her instincts screamed at her that anyone who was even tangentially connected to her father was a bad person and that associating with him would eventually lead to even bigger problems, and heartbreak. At the same time, Ravi had been nothing but generous with her, and could she really turn down a chance to feel the real thing after literally panting after it last night? “Sid something happen?” she asked, struggling to keep her mind on the events of the day stretching out before her.

“Sabella had some cross words with me this morning, and she doesn’t seem to always remember her place. Besides, I think you’ll feel better today with someone who doesn’t carry such sharp barbs.”

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