Free Sold to the Sheikh by Chloe Cox Page A

breathed deep, and obeyed. He looked into her, and she felt naked. All of the things she struggled to hide—her anxiety, her nervousness, her desperation to hide every bad thing she felt—all of them betrayed her, rose to the surface, showed themselves in her face. She turned away, trembling with tension.
    “You need to come,” he said.
    “Oh God, please, yes,” she breathed. “Take me back to the hotel.”
    “No. Here. Now,” he said, pushing her dress up over her ass.
    She startled, even though her hips ground towards him. “I can’t,” she said, wishing it weren’t true. “Not here. I won’t be able to—”
    “You can and you will,” he said, and pushed off the wall, dragging her over to the back of the low leather chair.
    “No, you don’t understand,” she said, but he ignored her and pushed her against the chair. He stood right behind her, trapping her with her belly pressed against the dark leather, and let his hands roam all over her body. Stella felt herself gush, the wetness sliding between her thighs, and then she thought of the party outside, of all the people congregating out there, of Creighton—Creighton, who was sure to tell someone that something had happened. Any minute now, someone was sure to come through those doors…
    “Sheikh Bashir, I don’t think I can,” she said. And then she moaned as he pulled her dress down, exposing both breasts. His hands were relentless, ruthless, pulling at her nipples and rolling the flesh between his fingers, mixing just enough pain with pleasure. But what if someone came in? What if…
    “Bend over,” he said into her ear.
    What?
    But Sheikh Bashir already had her dress bunched up in one hand, and he pushed her down over the edge of the chair, hard enough that Stella had to catch herself on the arms. She looked back over her shoulder, about to object.
    “Look straight ahead,” he ordered.
    Stella hesitated. Then he thrust two fingers into her.
    “Stella,” he warned.
    Oh God , she thought. What is happening to me?
    Her body melted around the feeling of him inside her, and she was done, past being able to find the words to object. She gripped the armrests and held her head up, her entire awareness folding around the intrusion of his fingers. From somewhere far away, she thought she heard him chuckle.
    “Good girl,” he said.
    He began to move his fingers inside her, around and around, slowly working her wider and wider. She was so eager for him that she felt her vagina open, and willed him in further. She wanted all of him. She no longer cared where they were; she wanted him to mount her right then and there.
    She tried to say “please,” but it only came out as a mewl. Again, he chuckled.
    “Then let us see how much you can take, Stella Spencer,” he said, and he pushed another finger into her.
    Stella gasped, but already she knew she wanted more, her ass angling up to him of its own accord, her leg lifting to spread for him and gain purchase on the back of the chair. He felt so good . She could already see her orgasm, like some distant, shining jewel, getting bigger and brighter all the time. His lazy strokes built it up to the point of bursting and then pulled back, again and again, until it seem to envelope her entire consciousness with the need to come.
    “P-please,” she said.
    He lifted her left leg a little more against the chair, and steadied himself on the small of her back. He pulled out of her long enough to spread her wetness around—she was so wet, so wet—and she heard the tearing sound of plastic, and the cool spread of a lubricant, and then the tips of his fingers were back at her entrance, but all of them this time, pushing against her opening, forcing their way in.
    “Unnhh,” she moaned, and instinctively tried to pull away, even though there was nowhere to go; it was too much, too much. Her body threatened to shut down.
    “No, Stella,” he said behind her. “Relax.”
    And with his other hand he began to rub