Sheikh's Revenge (3 page)

Shaking his head, Zahir ordered and waited for one more Scotch to be delivered to him before ascending the stairs. The club was three stories with a garden rooftop. That was the part that he’d found even more interesting than all the Victorian antiques scattered throughout the dance floor and upper-bar levels. This garden was the least populated place, most of the guests seeming to want to be closer to the dancing and liquor. But up here, there were tendrils of wisteria, gardenias, roses, and gorgeous carnations, all of them swirling into a rainbow of riotous patterns. When he’d first spied it a couple of hours ago, it had maybe been home to two or three couples, staring out toward the moon and the Boston skyline. Currently, there was only one other person out here.

The door shut behind him with a clang and the woman turned to him. Her dress was amazing, something she’d clearly made herself because he could imagine no place that would sell a gown with a medieval patterned corset that led to silk skirts with slits up both sides. The mask she wore was just as exquisite and clearly no cheap costume-store afterthought. It was comprised of a silvery metal that glinted in the moonlight and decorated with rhinestones and intricate etchings in the metal. It even had cat ears at the corners, making the woman before him an engaging catwoman, to say the least. The highlight to all of this were her soft red curls, hanging in long tendrils down her back.

“I’m sorry, miss. I thought I was the only one who’d be here,” he said. “I can leave if you need a minute.”

This place was so desolate that Zahir figured only people who needed to think or, well, brood would be the ones using it. It was such a quiet space, a contrast to the raucous pounding of the rest of the building beneath them as the party blasted into full force downstairs.

She surprised him by shaking her head and leaning carefully against the high balustrade around the roof. “I don’t own the roof, and I’m alright.” She frowned back at him, the lines around her face pulling low in her confusion. “Seriously, if you want to be out here, my sheikh, then you can be.”

He chuckled, remembering the robes he wore, and then gave her a courteous bow. “Then I appreciate that completely, kitten.”

“Meow,” she replied, winking at him as he came to stand next to her. “You smell like half a Scotch bottle.”

Zahir shrugged and offered her a bit of honesty. “I probably smell like a bit more than that. I haven’t had the best of days, to be honest. I thought the party may lift my spirits, but it hasn’t done at all for me what I thought it would. What about you, miss?” he asked, trying to see if she’d give him a name. To be fair, he hadn’t given the redhead his name either, but he answered to “sheikh” often enough in real life that the difference was negligible.

She shook her head and smiled back at him, her cheeks dimpling beautifully as she did. “I think that ‘kitten’ works well enough for right now. So, my sheikh, what brings you up here besides a bit too much of ye olde ale?”

“Well, I don’t feel I’m the only one. Was there a bit of Vodka in your cream?” he queried.

“I’ve had a few cosmos, I can admit that,” she said. “Alright, I can admit that I’ve had more than a few,” she added, sighing. “Maybe I did have one of those days, but do you want to tell me about yours?”

He shrugged. “I had a business deal fall to hell. I guess I should have known better than to trust a snake like the one I lost out to, but that’s the way it goes.”

Zahir surprised himself by being that honest with this stranger, but there was something about this delicate kitten that drew him in. Maybe it was her obvious vulnerability and her own wounded nature calling to him, or maybe it was her beauty—that pale skin and auburn hair under the moon and city lights.

“Then I’m sorry for you. That sucks, but at least you’re still a titan of industry or whatever,” she added thoughtfully, scratching a bit under her mask. “I don’t even have a job anymore.”

“Is that a new thing?”

She nodded. “It’s my own fault, too. I spilled coffee all over my boss like a complete idiot, and now I’m back to the job hunt but with the scarlet letter of ‘I’ over my chest for ‘idiot.’”

Zahir couldn’t quite help himself when she spoke like that, mentioning her assets. His eyes roamed lower and he spied the curves of her cleavage, lifted up high by the corset she wore. If she really did have a scarlet letter there, then no man would be able to look away. She had curves in all the right places, and maybe that was also what had drawn him to her over the parade of stick-thin blondes. So many men in America seemed to revile a real womanly body, but it had always turned Zahir on. This kitten was no exception.

“I doubt you’re an idiot. Sometimes accidents happen, and there are other jobs out there.”

“Not always in this economy,” she said, her voice high and reedy. Her shoulders heaved a bit, and Zahir rushed forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders.

This woman was clearly falling apart and she needed contact, anything to help keep her going.

“Well this is a huge city. I’m sure there’s something out there.”

“You sound like my brother,” she said, her breath still hitching, even as she buried her face deeper into his shoulder. “He’s trying to be optimistic but it took me so long to get this one crappy job. I mean, my boss sounds a little like the guy who backstabbed you. He was an arrogant jerk and I was getting ulcers from working for him, but at least I had a paycheck and such. I have so many classmates in my design program who can’t get a job outside of doing custodial work. I mean, being a verbally abused personal assistant isn’t much, but it is still better in some ways than being a janitor. I just….I know Mom and Dad will give me an ‘I told you so’ about studying art and such. Right now? I can’t say I’d think they’re wrong.”

He shushed her a bit, reaching one hand higher to stroke her soft, red curls. “So you’re an artist? Do you paint or is it graphic arts?”

“Clothing,” she said. “I know, how dumb is that? I should be in New York or something for fashion.”

“Did you make your dress?” he asked, and he found his hand straying over the soft velvet of her corset, then the smooth silk of her skirt. He let it rest there on her left side, just inches from the slit by her thigh. “It’s exquisite.”

She nodded and suddenly she seemed breathy for completely different reasons. “This and the mask. I have so many sketches and pieces I’ve made. When I get really stressed, my automatic reaction is to sew.”

“Again,” he said, letting his hands caress the soft skin of her white, creamy thigh, “it’s amazing, just like you.”

“I…” she hesitated for just a moment. “What are we doing here?”

He grinned back at her before squeezing her thigh and then running his fingers higher to trace under her skirts and at the edge of her panties. “We’re doing anything we want.”

***

This is nuts
.

She’d come to the party with Will and watched him disappear through the crowd to hang out with old college friends. Then she’d found her way to the roof after about four cosmopolitans and become lost in her thoughts. Addison didn’t even know what time it was, and yet, here she was kissing this amazing man—one with eyes that seemed to shine gold under the moonlight and dark hair like coal. Even as their kiss deepened, she could feel his fingers playing with the waistband of her panties. Fingers that felt a bit calloused, and even that intrigued her, were stroking her skin.

She was usually such a good girl, but look at where that had gotten her. Addison was twenty-three, unemployed, and had debt choking her. The only reason she wasn’t back home was because her brother was letting her stay as his roommate. Maybe tonight she could give in to what passion dictated. They didn’t even know each other’s names or what they truly looked like. If it were just for an hour on this roof and in this sumptuous garden, couldn’t she be happy?

The sheikh stopped for just a moment and reached up with both hands to remove her mask. Addison shook her head and backed away just a bit.

“No,” she said. “I think it’s better with the masks on.”

“And no names?” he asked, his tone amused and not angry. Maybe he was as interested in the stolen moment and in the game as well.

“You’re the sheikh and I’m your kitten for the night,” she said, her voice taking on a husky edge that she didn’t recognize, that she’d rarely heard from her own throat before. Maybe the cosmos had given her more than liquid courage. For the night, part of her seemed like the vixen she’d never been before and could never be under the full light of day. “Isn’t that enough?” she said, stroking his chin and then kissing him again, her tongue plundering his mouth, twisting with his tongue in a rhythmic dance.

The sheikh’s hands were roaming over her body, one tangling in her long and always unruly hair and the other moving back under her skirts. His fingers found their way under the lace of her panties, stroking at the soft hair over her mons. She shuddered at the gentle touch of his fingers, the soft probing as he went lower and towards her most secret and sensitive lips. When the sheikh reached her folds, he spread them wide and then slipped two, thick fingers into her core.

She gasped and, unbidden, arched up her hips to meet his thrusts.

Looking up into those eyes, the ones that shone like gold, Addison moaned her response, “That feels so good. I need more of you, please.”

“I have so many plans for you, kitten,” he said, his voice low and sensual, promising her everything that she’d always wanted. “Just lie down on the ground so I can get to you the way you deserve.”

“God, yes,” she said, even as his knuckles brushed over her pleasure button and waves of pleasure rushed through her core.

She hated him pulling out just for a bit so that she could ease her way to the concrete of the roof. Laying there, she eyed him again, attempting her best come-hither look. The way his erection was visible, pushing up the layers of his robe, and his nostrils seemed to flare under the confines of his modest make made Addison think that, oh yes, she was affecting him as much as he was her.

“Now,” he commanded, “you need to pull your skirts up to your chest. Will you do that for me, kitten?”

She nodded and did as she was told.

Then her sheikh got to his knees and crawled up over her. Addison relished that, feeling the heft of him above her and catching a whiff of his scent—the Scotch mixed with exotic spices like turmeric as well as cinnamon. Everything was exciting about her mystery sheikh. There were things she would ask him if the rules of their game were different. But this was about the mystery, and after this, they’d never see each other again. But if she had just this pleasure, then it would be worth it.

He reached down even as he grinned at her, snaking his fingers under the waistband of her underwear and then tugging hard. The elastic and lace tore away and she yelped a bit, realizing that she’d be unable to wear underwear on the way home.

“Hey! I can’t be commando in a cab!”

“You will be and the cabbie should be so lucky,” he growled, his large hands gripping each thigh and spreading her apart.

Once again his fingers were playing with the soft skin of her sensitive and secret lips, and the contact made her stomach flare with warmth and her body so wet and ready for him.

“Please, no more waiting, my sheikh.”

“But isn’t that part of the fun? Part of the torture of it all?” he asked, kissing his way up her left thigh, his lips soft and moist against her skin. “Isn’t that the real reason for the foreplay, kitten? So that you can anticipate exactly what I’ll do to you and almost die waiting?”

“I want
la petite mort
and I want it now,” she hissed, digging out the old expression from her knowledge of French and pop culture. “Now.”

The grin spread wider on her sheikh’s face even as he finally loomed low over her slit. Sticking out his tongue, he started in earnest, lapping at her delicate rosebud. The strokes of his tongue were gentle at first, slow and sweet, and she ground against him, hoping he’d understand how much more she’d require.

He thrust his tongue a few times deeply inside of her.

The sheikh pulled back long enough to smirk back at her. “There is no sweeter nectar on Earth than the juices of a beautiful woman. Have no doubt that you’re beyond appetizing, kitten.”

He dove back to her then, and this time his tongue was flicking fast and furiously against her pleasure button, even as he eased his thick thumb inside of her. She screamed loudly, and it felt like all of Boston would have heard the sounds escaping from her throat. Addison wasn’t sure she cared. The pleasure was building from his ministrations.

He added a second finger in with his thumb and began to suckle from her rosebud. It was no longer even just waves of pleasure washing over her. No, that final combination of his finger and thumb deep inside of her and his mouth sucking at her sent her far over the edge. It was if a tsunami hit her full force, every edge of pleasure sweeping her under.

She cried out again and came, her body shaking from the joy of it all.

Even as she went boneless, panting beneath his efforts, Addison felt him continue to scour her, his tongue lapping up all of her juices eagerly.

He was serious about the nectar thing
.

Her cheeks flushed at that thought. She’d dated in college and even a bit in high school and had a few lovers. Until now, she’d never had a man who wanted to reciprocate pleasure. Most of the guys she dated loved oral sex…if it were
for
them. The one or two she’d been able to coax into going down on her always treated it like an odious chore. The sheikh clearly was reveling in it, and that made her pleasure even that much more exquisite.

It had been a very long time, if ever, since she’d felt like she could truly be pleasing to a man. After all, she always felt just a bit too curvy. She always agreed that her hair was too unruly and curly and her skin was too pale.

As the sheikh finally finished and shifted on the roof to lay beside her, his hands stroking her hair again, Addison actually believed for a bit that she
was
beautiful.