Riyadh Nights
"When American architect Sarah arrives in Riyadh to design a luxury hotel, she never expected her Saudi business partner Khalid to awaken desires she didn't know existed. 'Ana ahtajik' (أنا أحتاجك) - I need you - he whispered, and everything changed."
The Riyadh skyline glittered like scattered diamonds against the velvet night. Sarah pressed her palm against the cool glass of the penthouse office, her reflection ghostly against the city lights.
"You're still here." His voice, deep and rich like Arabic coffee, made her spine tingle.
She turned. Khalid Al-Rashid stood in the doorway, his white thobe pristine despite the late hour. At forty-two, he commanded attention without trying—salt-and-pepper stubble defining his sharp jaw, dark eyes that seemed to see everything.
"The designs won't perfect themselves," she managed, clutching her tablet like a shield.
"Taali hina," he said softly, beckoning. Come here.
Sarah's heels clicked against marble as she approached. The scent of oud and sandalwood enveloped her.
"Show me what you've created." His fingers brushed hers as he took the tablet, and electricity shot through her veins.
She was forty years old, a successful architect from Chicago, and she was trembling like a schoolgirl.
Khalid studied the 3D rendering, but his attention kept drifting to her reflection in the screen. Full curves beneath her modest blazer, thick thighs pressed together as she shifted nervously.
"Jameel," he murmured. Beautiful.
"The atrium design—"
"I wasn't talking about the building."
Her breath caught. "Khalid..."
"Ana ahtajik," he confessed, setting down the tablet. I need you. "Since the moment you walked into my boardroom, ya hayati." My life.
The first kiss was tentative—a question. The second was an answer, hungry and consuming.
His hands found her waist, spanning the softness he'd dreamed about. "Mashallah," he breathed against her lips. "Every curve, a blessing."
"We shouldn't—" she started.
"Tell me to stop." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Quli li." Tell me.
She pulled him closer instead.
They barely made it to his private suite on the floor above. Khalid pressed her against the door, his thobe pooling at their feet.
"Inti hilwa," he growled, nipping her earlobe. You're sweet. "I want to taste every inch."
Sarah gasped as his hands found the zipper of her dress. Fabric whispered to the floor, revealing the black lace she'd worn for courage—or perhaps for this exact moment she'd never admitted wanting.
"Ya Allah," Khalid groaned at the sight of her. Thick thighs, full breasts straining against delicate lace, soft belly he immediately kissed. "You are a goddess."
"Khalid—" She gripped his shoulders as his mouth traveled lower.
"Sabr," he commanded. Patience. "Let me worship you."
His tongue found her heat, and she cried out into the silent penthouse. Years of lonely nights, of failed relationships with men who wanted her smaller, quieter—all of it melted away under his devoted attention.
"Ahla shi shuftu," he murmured against her slickness. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Her fingers tangled in his dark hair as he brought her to the edge. "Aktar," she begged, surprising herself with the Arabic. More.
His answering groan vibrated through her core.
When she shattered, Khalid caught every tremor, every whimper. He rose, mouth glistening, eyes blazing with controlled hunger.
"Abi adkhil feeki," he rasped. I want to be inside you.
Sarah pulled him onto the bed, wrapping her thick thighs around his waist. "Then stop talking and do it."
The first thrust made them both gasp. Khalid stilled, forehead pressed to hers, savoring the sensation.
"Inti dhayqa," he groaned. You're tight. "So perfect, ya omri." My life.
"Harrak," she demanded. Move.
He obliged with deep, rolling strokes that set her nerves on fire.
They moved together like they'd been lovers for years, not hours. Khalid lifted her thighs higher, hitting spots that made stars explode behind her eyes.
"Ana qareeb," he warned. I'm close.
"Together," she gasped. "Sawa."
His thumb found her bundle of nerves, and they plunged over the edge as one, her cry mixing with his guttural Arabic praise.
Later, wrapped in silk sheets that cost more than her first car, Sarah traced patterns on his chest.
"What happens now?" she whispered.
Khalid lifted her chin, dark eyes soft in the moonlight. "Inti mali," he said firmly. You are mine. "Now, and every night after."
"Your family—"
"Will learn to love you as I do." He kissed her deeply. "Stay, ya rouhi." My soul.
Sarah had come to Riyadh to build a hotel. Instead, she'd found something she'd stopped believing existed.
"Na'am," she answered finally. Yes.
Khalid's smile outshone every diamond in the city below.