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I feel his lips curve against my hair, and just imagining the sheikh flash a dangerous smile almost has me whimpering.
Why?
Why aren't all these thingsnotmaking my skin scrawl?
"Your other choice, my beauty—-"
Even though I know those words are nothing but a lie, they still make me feel like I'm floating, and I hate it. I hatehim.Really!
"—-is me."
All I can do is gasp right after, with the sheikh spinning me around without warning, and I find myself suddenly confronted by the blaze of lust in the sheikh's eyes...just as something long, thick, and unbelievably hard starts pulsing between my legs.
"Which do you choose, Seven?"
Oh God.
I wait desperately for fear to kick me back into my senses. I want - no, Ineedto be scared just like I was a while ago, when I thought he was some psychotic gunman about to kill me.
To be afraid of him means my brain is still working, but as the seconds tick by, and with his golden eyes never leaving me, the fear just won't come back—-
Why? Why? Why?
Instead of being scared, I find myself pummeled by a fast-rushing plethora of sensual forces, and this time, each and every one of them is blisteringly shameful. My nipples have suddenly puckered into life. My breasts are swollen with need. And between my legs is this creamy flow of moisture that makes me want to scream and moan and cry and swear—-
I don't understand.
"Do you want to be arrested?"
My brain demands one thing, but my body clamors for the other, andoh God-—
The sheikh's fingers cup my chin, and I feel like I'm drowning under his gaze.
"Or do you choose me?"
My lips part, but even though no words come out, the way his golden eyes glitter tells me I don't need to say a thing. He hears the desires of my flesh just absolutely fine—-
Oooooooooooooh!
I end up gasping yet again, just gasping like an idiot as the sheikh goes down on his knees and pushes the tight skirt of my uniform up to my waist. My senses reel, and I stare at my surroundings in a daze.
Is this really happening?
I'm in myworkplace.And this is one of our hotel rooms. Same fancy wallpaper. Same carpet. Same furniture. And yet everything feels completely unfamiliar, and all because I have the sheikh now gripping the lacy sides of my panties.
God, oh God.
He slowly draws the scrap of fabric down my legs, and I actually find myself wriggling like a helpful little fool. My gaze drifts down as the heat of his breath blows against the bare, moist flesh of my pussy, and I grow even more disoriented.
How in the world have we ended up here?
No one has ever seen me naked before, and no one has certainly ever stared at my pussy the way the sheikh is doing now. I've never even been alone in a room with a man, and for these things to happen with Sheikh Saif of all people make me feel like all of this is just a dream.
And maybe, that's how I should think of it.
Thisis just a dream.
Just a dream.
