Chapter 30 – Under the Desert Moon

The moon hung low and fat over Dubai that night—full enough to wash the city in silver, bright enough to make the sand dunes outside the city glow like spilled milk.

Adeyemi had rented a small desert camp for the weekend—just her, Malik, Layla, and Zara. No agency involvement. No cameras. A private Bedouin-style setup: low cushions around a fire pit, canvas tents with open sides, lanterns strung between palm fronds. The air smelled of wood smoke, cardamom, and the faint salt of the gulf carried on the wind.

They arrived at dusk. Layla immediately kicked off her sandals and ran barefoot toward the dunes, laughing as the sand swallowed her ankles. Zara followed with her sketchbook, already looking for the perfect angle to capture the firelight on skin. Malik carried the cooler of wine and fruit, glancing back at Adeyemi with that slow, knowing smile.

She walked behind them in a loose white kaftan, hair down, bare feet sinking into the still-warm sand. The heat of the day lingered on her skin, making everything feel languid, heavy with possibility.

They ate around the fire first—grilled lamb, dates stuffed with almonds, flatbread dipped in olive oil and za’atar. Wine poured freely. Conversation drifted from light things (Layla’s latest shoot disaster) to quieter ones (Zara’s fear of turning thirty alone).

When the fire burned low and the moon climbed higher, Layla stretched like a cat on the cushions.

“I’m going inside,” she said, eyes flicking between Adeyemi and Malik. “Unless someone wants to join me.”

Zara closed her sketchbook, smiled slyly.

“I’ll come. But only if you promise to behave… at first.”

They disappeared into one of the tents, laughter trailing behind them.

Malik looked at Adeyemi across the dying flames.

“Alone at last,” he said quietly.

She stood, let the kaftan slip off one shoulder.

“Not for long if you don’t move faster.”

He rose in one fluid motion, crossed the space between them, and pulled her against him. The kiss was slow at first—tasting of wine and smoke—then deeper, hungrier. His hands slid under the kaftan, palms warm on her bare skin, cupping her ass and lifting her so her legs wrapped around his waist.

He carried her to the largest cushion pile near the fire—low, wide, covered in soft blankets. Laid her down gently. Knelt between her thighs.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pushing the kaftan up to her waist. “All this light on your skin.”

She arched a little, letting him see—moonlight painting her thighs silver, shadows pooling between them.

He didn’t rush.

He kissed her stomach first—slow open-mouthed kisses down the center line. Then lower, tracing the crease of her thigh with his tongue. When he finally put his mouth on her it was gentle—long, lazy licks that made her hips lift. He sucked her clit softly, then harder when she moaned. Slid two fingers inside—slow, curling upward—while his tongue circled steady.

She came quietly—thighs trembling around his head, a soft gasp swallowed by the night. He kept going until she whimpered, oversensitive, then rose up over her.

“Turn over,” he said.

She did—on her knees, ass up, face turned toward him. He stripped slow—shirt, trousers, boxers—letting her watch. When he was naked he knelt behind her, rubbed the thick head of his cock along her slit—teasing, coating himself in her wetness.

Then he pushed in—slow, deep, stretching her wide.

She moaned into the blanket—low, raw. He filled her completely, pausing when he was buried to the hilt to let her adjust. Then he started moving—long, deliberate strokes that dragged every ridge along her walls. She pushed back to meet him, wanting it deeper.

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 mixed with the crackle of the fire, her moans rising, his low groans answering.

When she came again it was harder—body locking down, walls pulsing around him so tight he cursed. He didn’t stop—kept fucking her through it, deeper, until she was shaking, whimpering, begging for more.

He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, hooked her legs over his shoulders. Looked down at her—eyes dark, hungry.

“Want to see your face,” he said.

Then he slid back inside—slow this time, letting her feel every inch. She wrapped her legs around his waist, nails digging into his back. He fucked her with long, rolling thrusts—deep enough to make her gasp every time he bottomed out.

She came a third time—head thrown back, mouth open, a broken cry tearing out into the night. He followed right after—burying himself deep, groaning her name as he pulsed inside her, hot and thick.

They collapsed together—sweat-slick, breathing hard, bodies still joined.

When he finally pulled out he rolled onto his back, pulled her against his chest.

“Still green?” he asked, voice rough.

She laughed—breathless, sated.

“Still green.”

From the other tent came soft moans—Layla and Zara, lost in their own rhythm.

Adeyemi smiled into Malik’s shoulder.

“Sounds like they’re having fun too.”

He kissed her forehead.

“Good. Everyone should feel this free.”

Outside, the desert moon watched over them—calm, full, silent.

Inside the circle of cushions, four people kept breathing together.

No cameras.

No scripts.

Just skin, firelight, and the quiet certainty that desire—when chosen—could feel like home.

To be continued…