Chapter 111

[ 935 words ]

Katia’s POV

Tagged location: Dubai.

No caption.

I looked at him. “You know what that’s going to do p>

“Yes,” he said, pocketing the phone with the composed finality of a man who had made a decision and was not revisiting it. “I know exactly what it’s going to do p>

I said nothing. But I didn’t ask him to delete it either.

Below the ridge on the far side, the dune dropped away into a valley between two larger formations. A traditional Bedouin camp had been set up – low tents in dark red and gold, lanterns already lit against the approaching evening, and the smell of coffee and cardamom carrying up on the warm air.

“Hassan’s family,” Julian said. “They’ve been running camps in this area for forty years p>

I looked at the camp. At the care of it, the authenticity of something that existed because it was real, not because it was staged for tourists. “You know them p>

“WEG has worked with the local Bedouin communities in this region for years,” he said. “Land access agreements, conservation partnerships,” he paused and looked at me with those eyes that always make me lose my mind, then spoke. “Hassan’s grandfather negotiated the original agreement with my father p>

I looked at him.

He was looking at the camp; the specific quality of his expression that appeared when he mentioned his father — contained, careful, something underneath that he had learned to manage but hadn’t learned to eliminate.

“Tell me about your father,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment.

“He was a man who understood that the most valuable things weren’t the ones you built,” he said. “They were the ones you preserved.” He looked at the desert. “He used to say that Dubai had the right idea — not because of the towers, but because the people who built the towers also understood the desert well enough to leave it alone.” He stopped for a moment. “He brought me here when I was twelve. Same camp p>

I looked at the dunes. At the light. At the man standing at the top of a sand ridge in a white kandura with the desert wind moving through it, talking about his father in the specific way people talked about people they had lost.

“He sounds like someone worth knowing,” I said.

“He was.” Julian looked at me. “He would have liked you p>

The light was doing something extraordinary now — the full

desert sunset beginning its final push, the sky moving through colours that

didn’t exist anywhere else, and the dunes catching each shift and throwing it

back amplified. Rose, gold, deep amber, something approaching red that was not

quite any colour I had a name for.

Hassan was at the camp below – just visible, a small figure

moving between the tents, far enough that the desert had swallowed all sound

between us and him.

We were entirely alone on the ridge.

Julian turned to me, his eyes dark, reflecting the dying gold of

the sun. There was no innocence left in the way he looked at me. It was a

silent, predatory claim. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of my neck,

and pulled me into a kiss that tasted like heat and salt and a night of

suppressed hunger.

We sank onto the dune together. The sand was still warm from the

day, fine as silk beneath us. Julian pushed me back slowly, his weight a heavy

pressure until my back was pressed firmly against the shifting amber slope. We

kissed for what felt like an eternity, our tongues tangled, our hands already

grabbing for each other, searching for skin beneath the layers of fabric.

He found the opening of my abaya, his fingers sliding over my

thigh to find the wet heat between my legs. He began rubbing slow, agonising

circles over my clit, his gaze locked onto mine, “eye fucking” me even as his

hand worked me into a frenzy. I reached into his kandura, my fingers closing

around his dick, rubbing the length of him with a firm grip.

“Katia,” he groaned against my mouth.

He pulled away just long enough to strip. He pulled the white

kandura over his head and discarded his boxers, standing before me completely

naked in the desert light. I didn’t wait; I shed the abaya and my own clothes,

kicking them aside until we were both entirely naked on the ridge. We came back

together instantly, kissing deeply while our hands continued to explore and

possess each other’s sex.

The friction was electric. Julian pressed the head of his cock

against my entrance, teasing the threshold, but then he decided against pushing

inside. Instead, he positioned himself so his length was pressed firmly against

my clit. He began to move his hips, a slow, punishing dry hump that used my own

slippery juices to lubricate the slide.

The sensation was devastating. Every thrust had his cock

slipping through my wetness, rubbing directly against me. We both moaned, the

sound swallowed by the vast silence of the dunes. Our eyes stayed locked, the

intensity of the look almost as overwhelming as the physical friction of our

bodies grinding together.

“Julian, just fuck me, please,” I begged and moaned his name,

the sound broken and desperate.

“Not yet, Katia.” He said, breaking the kiss, and moved lower,

taking my nipple into his mouth. He sucked it deep, his tongue swirling around

the peak. The sharp pull of pleasure made my thighs snap shut instinctively,

pressing together and trapping his cock even more firmly between us.

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