Trish Morey - Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh - Exposed - The Sheikh's Mistress / Stolen by the Sheikh / Fit For a Sheikh

‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘You are so close, Sienna. So beautifully close. Let me watch you as I give you pleasure. Let me see you orgasm in your blue jeans.’

And then that feeling was upon her again—that out-of-this-world, flying-to-paradise feeling was sweeping her up and away, orchestrated by the relentless and expert caress of his fingers. And suddenly she had begun to cry out—little cries of astounded pleasure—until the fierce pressure of his mouth blocked out the sound and her body shattered into a million beautiful pieces.

For countless seconds she felt the spasms of her body shuddering to a slow halt, the sticky warmth of contentment. She was aware of Hashim stroking away the hair from her sweat-sheened brow.

‘How can that have happened?’ she whispered, half to herself. ‘How?’

Unseen, he smiled. How little she knew—and how much he had to show her! He lifted her chin so that he could stare down at her with black eyes which mocked and lanced. ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘Do you see how much you have to learn?’

Lying curled in his arms in the aftermath of her orgasm, she was at her most vulnerable. ‘Perhaps I do,’ she agreed drowsily.

Maybe when you first gave your heart to someone it was difficult to claw it back again. With Hashim there had always been a sense of something left uncompleted —hadn’t he said so himself? Maybe this really was the answer. If she saw more of him then mightn’t it diminish some of the magic which surrounded him? Which made her see him as she failed to see other men?

‘So you will agree to be my mistress?’

She turned her face up to his and opened her eyes very wide. ‘Only on a strictly informal basis.’

‘And will you come back to my hotel now and let me give you dinner?’

And, presumably, bed. But that was what a mistress should do—and who was she to complain if it meant that Hashim would make love to her?

‘I’ll need to go home and get showered first.’

He gave a slow smile of anticipation. ‘We’ll have a bath together,’ he said. And he would send out those disgusting clothes of hers to be laundered.

CHAPTER TEN

Six months later

‘YOU are late,’ Hashim said coldly, as Sienna walked into the hotel bedroom.

‘Only a little.’

‘I have been waiting,’ he said ominously, ‘for over an hour.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ Sienna slipped off the soft green cashmere coat she had allowed him to buy her for Christmas, its emerald faux fur collar gleaming in the pale winter sunshine. It was the only thing she had allowed him to buy—and then only because it was Christmas. Even though—as she had teasingly pointed out—he didn’t actually celebrate Christmas.

‘But you do!’ he had growled.

In a way, it frustrated him that she had steadfastly refused to be showered with the gifts which he thought were her due—but then, he didn’t have a monopoly on frustration. She had discovered early on that it went hand-in-hand with the pleasures of being a mistress.

It was such an unreal existence.

So many of their meetings were conducted in secret —behind the closed doors of hotel rooms—while they lost themselves in each other’s arms. Sometimes they would slip out to a discreet restaurant for a meal—though always shadowed by the ever-present bodyguards.

It was easier in Paris or some of the Spanish cities —which afforded more anonymity—but being abroad only increased Sienna’s sense of unreality. The certainty that this relationship could not last, and her fear of when it would end. Whether it would be less painful if it happened sooner rather than later.

It was as though what they had between them was so fragile that any kind of analysis might shatter it. And it wasn’t even something she could talk to her girlfriends about—and certainly not her mother. When you had an ordinary relationship—were having those ordinary fears about where it was headed—then friendly advice was yours for the taking.

But being a mistress was an indeterminate occupation, frowned on by society in general—both his and hers. For it flew in the face of the family values which most people believed in, deep down.

Only in her case she was not strictly a mistress. Hashim didn’t have a wife waiting at home. Instead he had a country—which was far more demanding.

She turned to watch him as he pressed a button on the wall and the heavy drapes slid silently to a close, blocking out the daylight and enclosing them in their own private world.

Hand provocatively placed on her hip, Sienna raised her eyebrows as he turned round. ‘You complain that I’ve kept you waiting, and yet you haven’t even kissed me hello yet!’

Exasperated and turned on, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Hello.’

‘And hello to you, too.’

He rubbed his forehead against hers. ‘How you love to make me angry, Sienna.’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said seriously. ‘It’s just that you work yourself up into a complete state when I don’t do exactly what you say.’

‘But you never do what I say.’

‘Ask me something—anything—and I will!’

He took her face between his hands and looked down at her. ‘Will you kiss me again, my noncompliant and informal little mistress?’

She lifted her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck, giving a little yelp of pleasure as their mouths collided in a kiss which this time was much more than a greeting. It was a hard, hungry and frustrated kiss. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a month, and he wasn’t supposed to be here for another fortnight.

But he had sandwiched in an extra trip to London on the way back from the States and called her at the last minute. Sienna had decided not to play games for the sake of it and had agreed to change her diary around. And bought a new set of underwear.

In between the frantic unzipping and unbuttoning of their clothes there were fractured bursts of conversation.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he groaned.

‘Good.’

He reached down and slid off first one high-heeled shoe and then the other, caressing a silk-clad ankle on the way. ‘You’re supposed to tell me that you missed me, too.’

‘That…oh!’ She shivered as he rippled his fingers up over a stocking-top and circled the satin flesh above it. ‘That is what I would call fishing for a compliment.’ She gulped.

His hand halted. ‘So you didn’t?’

‘You’ve only been gone a month.’

‘Only? ’ he questioned ominously.

She reached down and guided his hand back again. ‘Yes, yes, yes—I’ve missed you. I’ve thought about you constantly and dreamt of this moment! Is that better?’

‘Much better,’ he murmured. ‘If it is true.’

Oh, yes, it was true, she thought as he carried her over to the bed and put her down in the centre of it. She had missed him more than he would ever know and more than she would ever tell him. She might have been a novice when she started her affair with Hashim—but she was growing to learn the rules. And the number one rule seemed to be always keep something back.

She had recognised early on that her Sheikh was a natural hunter—and that like all hunters he enjoyed the thrill of the chase. He was never more passionate than when she didn’t leap into line. It wasn’t the hardest psychology in the world to work out that a man for whom the world jumped would be fascinated by someone who didn’t.

And for Sienna it was less about game-playing than protecting herself. Stopping herself falling deeper in love with a man who could never reciprocate the emotion. But holding back love wasn’t as easy as playing hard to get. Love was like sunlight outside the dark of a barn—there were always cracks and crevices for it to come flooding inside.