Chapter 116

[ 1,218 words ]

Katia’s POV

The Gulf was enormous around us. The city is small at the horizon.

“It’s not simple,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t p>

“Delia p>

“The arrangement with Delia ends when it ends,” he said. “It was never going to be permanent. Both parties understood that p>

“And the contract p>

“The contract is between our companies,” he said. “Not between us p>

I looked at the water.

“Aiden,” I said quietly.

He was quiet for a moment. “Tell me about his father p>

I looked up.

His expression was careful. Not probing — careful. The way he was careful with things that mattered.

“I don’t know who he is,” I said. “I never found out p>

Julian held my gaze. Something moved in his expression that I couldn’t fully read — a flicker of something that arrived and was managed before I could identify it.

“Does Aiden ask?” he said.

“He asks,” I said. “He’s beginning to ask more specifically p>

Julian nodded slowly. He looked at the water. He looked back at me. “He deserves to know,” he said quietly. “When the time is right p>

“I know that,” I said.

We sat with that for a moment – the specific weight of it, the thing neither of us was saying directly, sitting between us on a yacht in the middle of the Gulf of Arabia with the city small at the horizon and the water old and deep around us.

Then Julian reached across the table and took my hand.

I looked at our hands. His over mine, the Gulf light catching the lines of them.

I turned my hand over and held his.

The Gulf was enormous around us. The city was a jagged, glittering line on the horizon, but out here, the water was a deep, restless turquoise that seemed to pull at the very edges of my control.

Julian reached across the table and took my hand. I turned my hand over and held his, my skin humming where we touched. The conversation about Aiden—about the fathers we don’t know and the ones we lose—had stripped away the last of the professional armour.

“Katia,” he whispered.

He didn’t wait for me to answer. He stood, never letting go of my hand, and led me to the oversized sun pad at the stern of the boat. The crew was gone, the engines were a distant, rhythmic thrum, and the “eye fucking” that had been building since the moment we entered the yacht reached a fever pitch. He looked at me like he wanted to dismantle me.

He pushed me back against the cushions. I felt the heat of the sun-warmed leather against my back as he hovered over me. We started kissing—not the tentative exploration of the desert but something hungry and certain. His hands were everywhere, possessive and rough, grabbing at my hips and my chest through my clothes.

Julian’s hand slid between my thighs, his fingers finding the centre of my heat through the thin fabric of my dress. He began rubbing slow, heavy circles over my clit, his eyes locked onto mine, watching the way my pupils dilated. I reached for him, my hand diving into his linen trousers. I found him hard and straining, my fingers curling around the thick, pulsing length of his dick. I rubbed him hard, mirroring the pressure he was applying to me.

He broke the kiss with a ragged groan and stood just long enough to shed his clothes. The linen hit the deck, leaving him completely naked in the harsh, beautiful Gulf light. I stripped off my own clothes, my skin prickling in the salt air, until we were both exposed.

He came back down on top of me, his weight a heavy, welcome anchor. He didn’t go inside me immediately. Instead, he positioned himself between my legs, his cock pressing firmly against my wetness. He began to move his hips in a slow, punishing dry hump. The friction of his skin against mine, the way he slipped through my juices without ever fully entering, was a torture of the best kind.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a jagged rasp.

I met his gaze, my breath coming in short, shallow hitches. He watched me come apart as he increased the pace, his length sliding over my clit with every thrust. I reached down, my fingers finding his balls and then sliding up to stroke the base of his dick while he worked.

He leaned down, taking one of my nipples into his mouth and sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. The sensation shot straight to my core. I arched my back, my thighs clamping shut around his waist, trapping him even more firmly against my clit.

The added pressure was the breaking point. Julian let out a guttural sound, his movements becoming faster, more desperate. I felt the first wave of release crash over me, my internal muscles pulsing as I sobbed his name. A second later, I felt the hot, heavy spurt of his seeds against my stomach and thighs as he came with a force that left him shaking.

We lay there for a long time, the sun beating down on our damp skin, the only sound the gentle lap of the water against the hull.

“Katia,” he said eventually, his voice steadying.

I looked at the sky, the turquoise water, and the man who had just undone me. “Don’t,” I said softly. “Don’t say anything at all p>

He didn’t. He just reached out and pulled me back into his arms, and for a moment, the city on the horizon didn’t exist. But right now I had more questions than answers.

“Why p>

“Why, what?” he asked.

“Every time you don’t fuck me, am I not appealing to you p>

“Listen, I am holding myself not to do something I will regret. I want to fuck you, fill you up with the huge cock until you forget your name, but with Delia in the picture, I can’t do that. I don’t want you to be accused of taking your sister’s husband or anything along the lines of being a home wrecker p>

He looked at me for some time, and then he went on. “You are so fucking sexy and you deserve better p>

“So we are just going to dry hump every time p>

“For now, yes.” He was honest; we dressed up.

The crew brought us back in at four o’clock. The city grew as we approached — the towers rising, the marina filling the view, and the specific smell of Dubai returning as we left open water.

I stood at the bow on the way back and watched the skyline assemble itself and thought about a man who had brought me to the desert and the top of the world and the middle of the Gulf in three days and had not once asked me for anything I wasn’t willing to give.

At the pier Julian helped me off the boat, his hand in mine, brief and certain, the contact of someone who had stopped pretending it was incidental.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” I agreed.

The car was waiting.

I got in.

I did not look back.

I didn’t need to. I could feel him watching until the car turned the corner.

I always could.

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