Table of Contents

  His to Seduce (Sheikhs of Huzna)

  About the Book

  HIS TO SEDUCE

  Him

  Her

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Warning: Irredeemably twisted and deliciously dirty. Not suitable for all readers. No cheating. Cute and steamy happy-ever-after guaranteed.

  Uh-oh. Mr. Mine caught me secretly taking his photo...

  His name is Rashad, and he's one of the mysterious royal sheikhs of Huzna. But I didn't know it back then, and so I called him Mr. Mine.

  I first saw him in a cafe. A gorgeous stranger quietly enjoying his book with his coffee, and I instantly fell in love with him.

  He tells me from the start I'm too young, and he's not a good man, but then he loses his cool when he sees me with someone else.

  Just when Mr. Mine makes me believe he loves me back, the painful truth comes out, and he ends up breaking my heart instead.

  About the Book

  This girl has gotten under my skin, and she's gotten so fucking deep that I can no longer see reason.

  I want her, dammit.

  I want to know how it feels to run my fingers through the golden locks of her hair, want to fucking see how it looks when they're fanned against the pillows while her naked body writhes under mine.

  I want to have the sole fucking right to undress her and run my hands all over her body. I want to be the only one to know how gloriously small her boobs would feel in hands as big as mine, want to be the only fucking one to know the sweetness of her nipples, and how long I'd have to suckle until I'm drinking milk from her virgin tits.

  I want to be the first one to explore her pussy like it's a whole new fucking world, and I want to do so with everything of mine that moves. My tongue. My fingers. My cock. I even want to give her a fucking foot job, which I never once wanted to do for any other woman.

  I want to have all the time in the world to observe how her pussy would swell and quiver under my touch, want to fucking see how wet she could get before she starts dripping. I want to know how deep I can go before I tear into her hymen, want to know how much thickness her pussy can handle before its tight, sleek walls begin expanding. I want to know how hard and rough I can fuck her until she shatters into a wet, shuddering mess.

  I want to know what sounds she can make as I pleasure her. I want to know if she's the type to gasp or scream. Moan or whimper. Sob or cry out. I want to know how it would feel to have her whisper my name, want to know how much she can bear before she starts begging me to cum inside of her.

  I want to seduce and claim her in every way there is. I want to be the man to unlock her innocence, and I want to possess her so fucking completely that I've completely ruined any chance of her fucking another man.

  There are so many other things I want to do to her and with her. Filthy, dirty things that would make her blush and excite her. Maybe even scare and make her run away.

  I want her, dammit.

  I want her like I've wanted nothing and no one in this life, and I just fucking wish—-

  I just goddamn wish I had gotten to know her before I promised myself to someone else.

  HIS TO SEDUCE

  Bad Boy Romance

  (SHEIKHS OF HUZNA)

  by Marian Tee

  Copyright 2022 by Streak Digital Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Him

  The sky is still a slumberous shade of gray when I tiptoe out of the apartment, and I'm careful not to make any noise as I pull the front door shut. Grandpa Paco is an early worm like me, and I want to be sure I'm safe somewhere else before he gets up.

  The old man might be the most important person in my life, but I seriously need a break from his matchmaking schemes. I get that he's just concerned about my future, but I'm a die-hard romantic. I want to marry for love, and I won't settle for less.

  Rain starts drizzling down as I hop on my bike, and a cool breeze plays with the golden locks of my hair as I pedal down the road. That it's sunny or gloomy never matters to me; there's nothing I love more than being outdoors. I can already feel my worries fading away while I listen to birds chirp and watch morning joggers pick up their pace as they seek shelter from the downpour.

  The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore makes me miss home, but I remind myself that Isla de Flores is still way better compared to the rest of Miami. It might be a far cry from the Caribbean island I was born in, but IDF is still a small town at least, and it's cozy enough that I don't feel like I'm trapped within the dirty, crowded confines of a city.

  A picturesque B&B with its own in-house cafe eventually catches my eye, and I gratefully slow down just as lightning flashes overhead.

  The whole place is like a dream, with its arched windows revealing interior brick walls and copper-wired crystal bulbs hanging from tall, exposed ceilings. There are also flowers everywhere: vases of fresh blooms adorn whitewashed tabletops, vibrant clumps of bougainvillea cascade from multiple balconies, and raised garden beds of lavenders and touch-me-nots welcome guests by the entrance with scented greetings.

  I wish I had the time to soak it all in, but since I'm the one currently in danger of being soaked and at risk of contracting pneumonia, I reluctantly turn away and park my bike in a hurry.

  The words Mariposa House are carved on its heavy wooden doors, and my teeth start to chatter as soon as I step in. They obviously have the A/C on, and I quickly look around to look for some private place to dry myself.

  Show yourself, toilet—-oh!

  I catch a glimpse of a man seated at a corner table by the windows, and the rest of the world simply vanishes.

  Is this what you call love at first sight?

  His short raven-black curls are all tousled while the bronze muscles of his arms seem a flex away from bursting out of the thin sleeves of his shirt. He's so, so beautiful it's as if his every feature has been sculpted by angels, and I love it even more that his gaze is fully focused on the book that he's reading.

  Am I dreaming, self?

  It's just so rare to see a man enjoying an actual book in public these days, and a hot one at that. I look around to see if there could be another woman walking back to join him, but all I see is a guy texting behind the cash registrar.

  If he really is alone, would it be safe for me to assume that he's also single? Can I just call him Mr. Mine from now on, and—-oh!

  Have I made some kind of noise without being aware of it, and that's why Mr. Mine is suddenly staring at me?

  I don't think I have, and I don't think I'm dreaming either.

  He's really staring at me, and just when I start thinking it might be the same for him, and Mr. Mine has also fallen in love with me, that's the moment I see his gaze lower to my chest...and stay at my chest.

  Oh gosh.

  Does this mean Mr. Mine is quite the perv?

  This should probably make me mad, but then I remember that I actually don't have any chest to speak of, and another gasp breaks out of my throat as soon as my glance drifts down to my body.

  Oh my God, self!

  Rain has turned my striped top semi-translucent, and I realize it's made me seem like I've been flaunting my boobs at Mr. Mine for the past thirty seconds.

  I hurriedly cross my arms over my chest when Mr. Mine rises to his feet, but instead of walking towards me as I hoped feared, he disappears into a door behind the counter, and I immediately have this urge to knock my head against the wall.

  You are such a fool, self!

  I can't believe I almost convinced myself that someone like Mr. Mine has fallen head over heels for me at first sight. I used to think having oodles of 2D boyfriends is enough to give me a Ph.D on love, but that obviously isn't the case, and I now have my first lesson in real-life romance.

  Just because the world stopped turning for you...doesn't mean the world also stopped turning for him.

  Got that, self?

  I fidget on my feet as my newfound knowledge on unrequited love makes me consider leaving. What's the point of prolonging my torment when he obviously doesn't find me attrac—-

  "Holy whack-a-moley!"

  Mr. Mine is apparently a ninja in disguise, with him suddenly standing in front of me.

  "Apologies."

  His voice is deep but soft, and is that an accent I'm hearing? I'm not quite sure if I'm right, but what I'm certain of is how the sound of his voice has my boobs swelling against the still-wet cups of my bra.

  "I'm sorry, too," I say sheepishly. "I know I have the weirdest expressions—-"

  Mr. Mine gently cuts me off. "I thought you might want this." He hands over a package wrapped in plastic, and I blink in surprise when I realize it's this brand new set of uniform, and it's exactly the same with what the guy behind the cash registrar is wearing.

  How did he ge

t a hold of this?

  Does it mean he works here, too, or does he own the whole place?

  To put it very simply, all I want to know is if the cafe is the best place to see him again, but before I can say even one word, Mr. Mine is already nodding at a door behind me—-

  "The ladies' is that way."

  His tone is polite but firm, and it's daunting enough that all I can do is nod meekly in mute thanks before turning away.

  You are such a shameful coward, self!

  I'm usually this really upbeat person, and my friends back home have even taken to calling me Mad Maddy over the years because I can be so crazy positive even at the worst of times. I've never found myself tongue-tied or intimidated...until now.

  Until him.

  And surely...surely that can only mean what I'm feeling is real, and I am truly in love with Mr. Mine?

  Uh...no?

  That's my inner voice of reason groaning at such logic, and if Grandpa Paco were to know what thoughts are currently running through my mind, I'm pretty sure it will have him marry me off to one of his friends' sons or godsons or whatever other kind of son there is, and he won't even care if I'm screaming and kicking while he drags me down the aisle.

  Oh, what to do, what to think, what to feel?

  I can only sigh as I get out of my wet clothes, and I sigh again when I catch my reflection on the full-length mirror.

  I'm being a fool, aren't I, self?

  Even if I can prove that what I feel for Mr. Mine is real, what would be the point when he doesn't seem to find me attractive at all? He's seen me almost naked, and instead of making him want to kiss me, what he did instead was swiftly look for something I can change into.

  It's almost like he can't stand the sight of me naked, and um...ouch?

  My gaze swings back to my reflection, and all I can do is grimace.

  So my boobs are rather small, fine. But just like the size of a man's package isn't supposed to matter, then shouldn't the same apply when it comes to a woman's boobs? And besides—-

  Have you forgotten, Maddy San Jose?

  When I was young, one of Nanny Rosa's favorite bedtime stories to tell was how Mama and Papa fell in love, and how Mama, even though she was not the prettiest girl in the island, had won Papa over because of the beauty of her heart.

  Character over looks, duh!

  All I need is to be patient and strategic. He might not find me physically attractive at the moment, but one thing I'm always confident about is my ability to make people like me. I take after Mama that way, and I just know that once we start talking, Mr. Mine is sure to fall for me like Papa fell for Mama, and sexual attraction will naturally follow.

  So keep thinking positive, self!

  I leave the ladies' with a renewed swing in my step, but when I search for Mr. Mine, the cafe is completely empty, and my heart breaks when I realize he's well and truly gone.

  Grandpa Paco says that true love like what my parents had is rare, and that his own six marriages and subsequent divorces are proof of this. He also says that all the stars in the sky were aligned for my parents, and even though it might seem like I can't say the same for Mr. Mine and me—-

  This can't be the end, self.

  It can't be.

  God wouldn't let me meet Mr. Mine if he's not my destiny, and I refuse to believe anything else.

  There has to be something here to give me hope, just something or anything—-

  Aha!

  Is that Mr. Mine's book I'm seeing?

  Could he have left it deliberately, maybe with his name or number or Instagram handle or whatever it is he wants me to use to contact him?

  I trip over my own feet in my haste to get to my table, and the guy standing behind the cash registrar looks at me like I've lost my mind when I reach for the book like it's the Holy Grail.

  But rather...it's just a leather-bound copy of The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

  Okaaaay.

  Is this supposed to be a subliminal message for something? Am I suppose to infer that winning Mr. Mine's heart is a far more serious battle? Or is this the universe's way of telling me the stars are anything but aligned for me and Mr. Mine?

  No matter.

  I can always realign them myself, and with this persevering thought in mind, I flip the book open, and a boldly scrawled message on the title page immediately catches my eye.

  Try not to be wet the next time I see you.

  Her

  Acheron was right.

  It's my first thought when I see her enter the cafe for the second consecutive day, and my cock is already hard and swollen like a motherfucking monster by the time her wide-eyed gaze collides with mine.

  Countless women have tried to play the blushing card in my presence. Some of them were genuinely shy, but most of them were simply playing coy. A good many others have attempted to seduce me from the get go, and there have been more than a few who tried sneaking into my hotel room naked...and their legs already wide open for my dick.

  Women have tried everything under the sun to get me in their bed, and I thought I knew all there was to know about them. The female sex is supposed to be the greatest mystery on earth, but all they are to me these days is a way to relieve my boredom.

  They're good for a few hard fucks, but it's always only a matter of time before I lose interest of them.

  That's how it's always been...until her.

  She's the only one to affect me the way she does, the only girl I couldn't stop thinking of even when I have yet to feel her skin or taste her lips.

  And I'm not used to this, dammit.

  The strength of my desire for her doesn't make any damn sense, but here I am, in deep fucking trouble with a huge boner to match, and all because I saw the way her heart-shaped face glowed upon seeing...me.

  Everything about her is the exact opposite of what I normally look for. She's too damn young for one, and I've never been the type to get a kick out of robbing the cradle.

  The women I fuck also tend to be ravishingly beautiful and voluptuous, and this girl is anything but. She's more innocent and cute than hot and fuckable, and thanks to yesterday's weather, I also know she possesses the daintiest pair of tits I've ever seen in my thirty-years-plus of existence.

  Her long blond hair and amber-colored eyes are nice enough, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Everything about her is nice, just all tiny, sweet, and nice...and while it might seem like I'm damning her with faint praise, it's actually the opposite.

  It's her air of niceness that captured my interest from the very beginning, her overall sweetness that irresistibly draws me in.

  The first time our eyes met, she nearly had me catching my breath like some boy from middle school who's seen his first pussy in real life. All she did that time was look at me like I'm her whole fucking world, just fucking look at me like I'm her dream come to life, and God help me, but I actually found myself wanting it to be true.

  I just want her, dammit.

  She turns me on like no other woman has, and it's all because of how she looks at me. I want her even though I'm good as engaged, and I want her to the point that reason has ceased to matter.

  If she wants me to be her world, then so be it. If she wants me to be her dream come to life, then that's what I'm going to be. There's just something about her that tempts me to break all the rules and start playing with fire...which is exactly what I'm doing now.

  Fucking playing with fire...regardless of the consequences.

  Thoughts of her have kept me up all night, and even though I told myself this morning that I was only coming back to the cafe to visit my friend—-

  That same friend told me point blank I was lying to myself.

  You're here because she's gotten under your skin.

  And it's true.

  But she's not the kind of girl you can fool around with.

  Those were Acheron's words as well, and I know it's his subtle way of asking me to put an end to this madness before someone gets hurt.

  Before she gets hurt.

  And he's right, of course.

  Because this is madness.

  Just plain fucking madness to want a girl when I already gave my word to marry someone else.

  So put a fucking end to this, you bastard!

  Nothing good can ever come out of this obsession.

 

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