The Mogul Series
The Harem Diaries Series
Hearing the knock at the door as fluffed her curls, Lovie-Belle thought it must be the messenger the Shipmoore team said they would send over with the contracts she needed to sign before pre-production started. The meeting had been long though productive. She was especially excited about the ideas they had for the film and using her recent experience she knew that she would be an asset. After having a late dinner after she’d first gotten there and meeting Shipmoore brothers who reminded her a lot of the Al Rasheed minus the royal tittles she’d come back to the suite, showered and now it was her time to relax and decompress from her recent escapades.
Their family came from a long line of Black British middle class that had first made their fortunes in the Victorian era, having provided everything to the light from clothing and cigars to everyday sundries back when the aristocracy thought trade too far beneath them. They had married well and often to other middle-class minorities from the other British colonies.
Her heart gave a funny twist when she let her mind drift to one Al Rasheed brother in particular. She couldn’t go there. Nope. Focus on the present and the task at hand.
Her feet sunk to the plush carpet. She wiggled her toes in the plushness. She was so grateful to Flower for telling her how wonderful this hotel was the Mandarin was right off Hyde Park with spectacular views. It was a short walk to the tube to get to the British Museum, and all the hot shops and restaurants weren’t far. She loved visiting London. She’d need to find a flat since she would be here for at least a year shooting. The Bishop and Porter Shipmoore said they would have their family realtor contact her about places. She was glad she never settled on a place in LA, another thing Sadiq had selflessly done for her.
Her mind almost strayed to the past weekend again, but another insistent knock hastened her steps. It would do no good to think about Sadiq or regret anything she’d done. It was over. He’d no made contact after his initial dozen calls while she was in flight and couldn’t return them. The two days since there had been radio silence. She guessed he’d moved on to another fuck toy since he’d obviously gotten over her. She knew that was petty and childish, but that was where she was.
She snatched the door open a little harder than she’d intended. The bright plastic smile she’d pasted on her face faded as soon as her eyes settled on the figure standing in the threshold.
“Sadiq,” the words cut off on a squeak as he pushed through the entrance. Stumbling back, déjà vu slammed her back to the day in his office, only this time he swept her up into his arms.
His mouth claimed hers. His kiss consumed her. Any boundaries she had were toppled before they could form.
“Damn you,” he growled his hand gripped her ass hitching her up to his hard dick.
She wrapped her legs around him.
He spun them, pressing her against the door. He felt so magnificent. Pressed against the wall, caged by him, enveloped by his scent, his muscles flexing, his dick throbbing against her core, it was like coming home.
“Ah, God,” she gasped, her words a strangled plea. Pulling her mouth away, she kissed down his throat, sucking on the taunt flesh, getting drunk on his taste.
A knock sounded. He fisted his hands in her hair, pulling her away. “Who the fuck is that?” Tiger eyes flashed with rage. She unhooked her legs. Still, he pinned her against the door.
“A messenger.” Her eyes skated to his flexing jaw. He stepped back. His hand wrapped around her neck, holding her in place. “Neither Bishop or Porter asked you to dinner?”
“No,” she said with a stony pout. His hand tightened just a fraction more. Her eyes watered, but she never wavered as the door sounded again.
His eyes cut to the door. Not letting her go and holding her just out of sight, he opened it a crack.
“A package for Lovie-Belle Howard.”
“I’ll take it.” He got the large envelope and tucked it under his arm. Then signed the tablet with his left hand. Closing the door tossing the thick black envelope the Shipmppre insignia on a nearby table, he stepped back, he intensity of his gaze stripping her, ripping her to shreds with unsaid recriminations.
“Sadiq,” she swallowed, the words stuck in her throat as she watched him slowly shake his head back and forth.
Catching the knot of the robe, he tugged.
“Too late. The time for that was before you snuck out of my house like some sidepiece. Like being with me meant nothing. Like I was nothing.”
He stepped to her, dipped down, his lips brushing her earlobe. “I’m a fucking prince.”
He released her, pushing the material from her shoulders. Eyes smoldering, his gaze seemed to eat up the sight of her. His jaw hardened. His eyes raked her again. She felt her nipples bud. Her pussy wept. She rubbed her thighs together. He didn’t miss that either. His nostrils flared. He stepped into her space and swept her over his shoulder, striding to the bedroom.