Chapter 29 – Night Bloom

The heat in Dubai had finally cracked—just a little—enough for the evenings to carry a faint, welcome breeze off the gulf. Adeyemi had spent the day alone: long swim in the building’s rooftop pool, a new poetry collection open on the lounger beside her, skin still warm from the sun when Malik knocked at her door after 10 p.m.

He stepped inside carrying nothing but a small bottle of chilled rosé and that slow, knowing smile she’d come to crave.

“No bag tonight?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

He set the wine on the counter, turned, and looked her over—bare legs under a thin cotton slip, hair still damp from the shower.

“Tonight I only brought myself,” he said. “Thought you might want to unwrap something different.”

She laughed low, stepped close enough that her breasts brushed his chest through the fabric.

“Then unwrap slowly.”

He didn’t speak again for a while.

He kissed her first—standing in the kitchen, slow and deep, hands sliding up her thighs to cup her ass and lift her onto the counter. The cold marble made her gasp against his mouth. He swallowed the sound, tongue stroking hers while his fingers slipped under the slip, finding her already bare and wet.

He broke the kiss, dropped to his knees between her spread thighs.

“Look at me,” he said quietly.

She did—eyes locked on his as he leaned in and licked one long, flat stripe from her entrance to her clit. She shivered, hands gripping the edge of the counter. He didn’t rush—kept her gaze while he sucked gently on her clit, then dipped lower to push his tongue inside her, tasting her fully. When she started to rock against his face he slid two fingers in—slow, curling upward, stroking that spot that made her breath hitch.

She came quietly at first—thighs trembling, a soft moan slipping out—then louder when he sucked harder, fingers pumping steady. Wetness coated his chin; he drank her down like he’d been thirsty for days.

When she finally stopped shaking he stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and pulled her off the counter.

“Bedroom,” he said. “I’m not done tasting you.”

She walked ahead of him—slip falling off one shoulder—knowing his eyes were on her ass the whole way.

In the bedroom he stripped slow—shirt first, then trousers, boxers last. She watched from the bed, legs parted, fingers lazily circling her clit while he revealed himself: thick, dark, heavy, already leaking at the tip.

He climbed over her, kissed her again—letting her taste herself on his tongue—then moved down her body. Kissed her breasts, sucked each nipple until they were hard and aching. Kissed her stomach, the dip of her waist, the crease of her thigh.

Then he turned her onto her stomach.

“Ass up,” he murmured.

She obeyed—knees spread, back arched, face pressed to the pillow. He knelt behind her, spread her cheeks with both hands, and licked a slow line from her clit to her back entrance—teasing, tasting, making her moan into the sheets.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He ate her from behind—tongue circling her clit, then pushing inside her, then higher, rimming her slowly while his fingers slid back into her pussy. She rocked back against his face, whimpering, already close again. When she came this time it was harder—body shaking, a raw cry muffled by the pillow, wetness dripping down her thighs.

He rose up behind her, rubbed the thick head of his cock along her soaked folds, then pushed in—slow, deep, stretching her wide.

She gasped—half pain, half pleasure.

“Fuck… so full.”

He paused when he was buried to the hilt—letting her adjust—then started moving—long, deliberate strokes that dragged every ridge along her walls. She pushed back to meet him, wanting it deeper, harder.

He gave it to her.

One hand on her hip, the other reaching around to rub her clit—fast circles that matched his thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, her moans rising, his low groans answering.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growled.

“Now,” she gasped. “Fuck—now—”

He slammed in deep one last time, fingers pressing hard on her clit. She came apart—whole body locking down, walls pulsing around him so tight he cursed. He followed seconds later—burying himself completely, groaning her name as he pulsed inside her, hot and thick, filling her until she could feel it leaking out around him.

They collapsed together—sweat-slick, breathing hard, his weight heavy and comforting on her back.

After a long moment he rolled off, pulled her against his chest.

“Still green?” he asked, voice hoarse.

She laughed—breathless, sated, happy.

“Still green.”

Outside, Dubai glittered on—neon, traffic, endless night.

Inside, two people who had found each other in the heat kept breathing together.

No cameras.

No scripts.

Just skin, salt, and the quiet satisfaction of wanting exactly what you were given.

To be continued…