Sold to the Sheikh Read Free

Spencer. She’d stumbled in with such unassuming beauty and authenticity, and then she appeared to actually challenge him.
    He suspected that she challenged everyone, in a way, perhaps without realizing it. So on her guard. So protected, even while unable to hide that authenticity. He’d never forget the way she raised her eyebrow when she’d said, ‘ Excuse me?’ Such a simple gesture, nothing obviously remarkable about it, and yet, somehow, it drew him in.
    He’d laughed. No one spoke to him like that. And from the moment he saw her, he’d felt…
    He’d been trying to put it into words. In fact, he had to be able to put it into words—to name it, to own it—before she arrived for his standard submissive evaluation. Otherwise he had very little hope of staying in control, and the only thing a man in Bashir’s position couldn’t afford was to lose control with a woman. Especially one like Ms. Spencer.
    There was a hesitant knock at the door.
    His time was up.
    “Enter,” he said.
    Stella opened the door just wide enough to slip through and closed it quickly behind her, as though she were afraid that someone might notice. She stood very close to the door, keeping her hands on the handle behind her while her chest moved up and down with rapid little breaths. Her large breasts were still pressed high and tight by that sleek dress that only accentuated all of her delicious curves. The flush that had started to spread across her skin in Lola’s office had only intensified.
    “So…hi,” she said, and gave an awkward little wave.
    Why was that so endearing? Why was her obvious bumbling—her determination in the face of such social ignorance—attractive? It was like he’d been possessed. Bashir breathed deeply and counted to three.
    “Come here,” he said, and beckoned for her to stand before him. The room was luxurious—if simple—compared to his luxury suite downstairs. Bashir found the sofa on which he sat to be quite comfortable, the bar was well stocked, and the bed, over on the other side of the room, was large. Stella glanced over at it nervously.
    “We won’t have need of that quite yet,” he said, and her creamy shoulders seemed to relax a little.
    Good. Bashir didn’t want her frightened. He wanted her overcome. These evaluations had a purpose. He wanted to find out what made her tick, what turned her on, what turned her off. He’d always delighted in putting subs through the best scenes of their lives, but something about Stella Spencer suggested there might be more to it this time.
    He watched as she walked slowly forward until she stood a few feet in front of where he sat, and he tried his damnedest to figure out what it was about her. She wasn’t particularly graceful, she didn’t have the studied allure of most of the Volare women, and yet…and yet …
    “You wanted me to present myself,” she said, and then frowned, apparently embarrassed by such an inane statement. Or perhaps she disliked the phrase itself, with all its implications. Bashir was intrigued when, a second later, she looked into his eyes with an air of defiance. Of pride.
    Best to be absolutely clear, then.
    “You haven’t presented yourself yet, Stella,” he said. “Take off your dress.”
    She flinched. Her face was as open to him as it had been in Lola’s office, as it had been in the Pearl Room. Perhaps this was what drew him to her, these flashes of openness, of intimacy. Now he watched her cycle through disbelief, her mind churning behind those blue eyes, and run up against…desire. Her face was a mask of confusion. She needed his help.
    “I said: take off your dress, Stella. Now .”
     
    ~  ~  ~
     
    Sheikh Bashir’s voice filled the room like a thunderclap, penetrating Stella’s mind with the sudden violence of a force of nature and compelling her to act. She very nearly actually did it. She’d nearly taken off her dress just because he’d told her to. She came back to herself, her thumbs already