Arabian Nights #2
Privacy was never a problem. When I needed space, he gave it.
When I needed him, he was there, sometimes with chocolate, sometimes just holding my hand, wordless.
Living with someone wasn’t perfect. There were late-night negotiations about merging our routines, and more than one argument over which side of the bed belonged to whom.
But the truth was, we were building something real.
Not just sharing a penthouse, but making a home.
Yet, we never really talked about monogamy or if our relationship left space for bold, new adventures.
Thursday evening, November 15
“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my colleague, Vera Richland,” Alistair introduced me to a group of men at an elaborate outdoor lounge in a luxury hotel in Dubai.
We arrived in Dubai after a week in Abu Dhabi for an oil and gas conference.
After working at Orion for a year, I’d learned the oil industry was still a lonely place for a woman, no matter how many female leaders made the Forbes list. Evenings with business associates were often male-dominated social events.
“Alistair, when you said you were bringing a colleague with you, you never told us she would be a beautiful woman,” one of the men exclaimed. He grinned, shook my hand, and winked. “I would have worn a better suit. I’m Omar Khan, from Aventure Petroleum.”
Wow. Just wow. The man was strikingly tall and handsome, with gorgeous tawny skin, wavy dark hair, and chocolate eyes that would melt your heart. His designer shirt and slacks accentuated his athletic physique.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mister Khan,” I greeted, moving closer.
Feeling confident, I tilted my head and revealed my signature smile of womanly mystery to Aventure Petroleum’s CEO.
I already knew about the guy after researching his company, a client of ours.
“I hear you want to expand Aventure’s exploration goals. ”
“Please, call me Omar,” he said, gesturing amicably with open palms. “Please, I insist.”
“Shukran,” I replied in Arabic, thanking Omar. “You can call me Vera.” I glanced at Alistair, who was on the sofa discussing petroleum business politics with the group. He placed his hands on his knees, observing Omar with a sharp eye.
“Vera, take a seat,” he called out. “Have you tried smoking shisha?”
“What’s that?” I asked, sitting down to face the glittering lights decorating the old town of Dubai across the river.
“It’s a type of tobacco you smoke from a hookah, like the one my colleague, Khalid, has,” Omar explained. He pointed at a thin man puffing out white smoke after inhaling from a pipe connected to an intricately decorated instrument with an hourglass-shaped base.
Half an hour later, I enjoyed the relaxing effect of the shisha, flavored with mint, while discussing a possible merger between two dominant oil service companies, which would likely monopolize the industry’s service segment.
“It’s most unlikely to happen,” Alistair declared, but Omar shook his head.
“Scotty, anything is possible in this industry. It will be the year’s most striking oil merger bid—”
“It will die a hostile death. The justice department is going to file a lawsuit to stop the deal. I’m telling you, Omar, this merger poses plenty of antitrust problems in many markets,” Alistair argued.
After a long pause, Omar turned to me with his charming grin. “Vera, do you think the merger will happen?”
“No, because it will stagnate competition and innovation,” I began.
“You see, both companies have over ninety percent of their respective revenues from products and services in which they compete with one another. The competition in these product lines disappears if they merge, leaving only one major competitor to compete for the big contracts.”
Alistair nodded and took a sip of his Scotch. “The bottom line is our country’s president is objecting to the proposed merger,” he said. “The justice department is filing an antitrust lawsuit, and with the president’s support, the project faces an imminent cancellation.”
I smiled, knowing Senator Paul McGrath was an adamant supporter of both the president’s stance and the justice department’s lawsuit.
Paul was a machine pumped with aggression and unafraid to bark and bite anyone who stood in his way.
He and Alistair shared this trait. Alistair provided support to the political forces that stood against the merger.
It was nearly midnight when we walked into the hotel club. I’d spent the week in my usual tailored business suits and below-the-knee dresses, which Alistair had recommended for the UAE. I adjusted my silk YSL dress, the hem settling somewhere between my knees and ankles.
Inside the club was another universe—music pounding, the place packed with business executives and women who looked like they’d just stepped off a Paris runway.
Gold jewelry flashed. Stilettos. Dresses that were little more than strips of fabric.
I must’ve looked openly stunned with my mouth wide open and fluttering, wide eyes.
Omar leaned in, voice low. “It’s different here. Five-star hotels and private clubs are like international zones. What happens inside gets overlooked. Just don’t bring it out onto the street.”
Alistair’s mouth quirked. “Dubai loves its rules. But if you’re the right kind of guest, you get a different set.”
“You mean a guest with power and money,” I murmured, snapping my jaw shut.
A man in a dark Armani suit and gold rings strolled toward us, flanked by two women dressed like Bond girls. He glanced at me, then turned to Alistair and Omar.
“La-a,” Omar furtively dismissed, cutting the air with his flat palm.
Alistair instinctively placed his strong arm around me, glaring at the man in Armani.
“What did he ask?” I questioned.
“He asked if you were for sale,” he growled.
“Oh.” I burst out in laughter, stroking my man’s tense left shoulder. “It’s getting late. Shall we say goodnight to Omar and his colleagues?”
“I’ve organized a private show,” Alistair said. “They’re quite exotic. I think you’ll like them.”
“Hmm, I’m intrigued,” I hummed, glancing at four exquisite European escorts flirting with Omar and Khalid.
“The women will be joining us,” Alistair murmured hotly into my ear. I felt his lips tickle my earlobe, arousing my nipples, which hardened to the hot thoughts dancing in my head.
Moments later, we were in a private lounge watching an ornately embellished belly dancer, who entertained us with her figure-revealing costume and the hypnotic moves of her art.
“Look how she’s handling the swords,” I commented, clapping at her courage and coordination as the sharp blades whirled in the air. She juggled the weapons with finesse while she danced with fervor.
Alistair lounged back on the sofa, flanked by two love nymphs who pressed in close, their mouths scattering kisses across his skin, slick bodies sliding against his.
At his request, they were naked and glistening with oil, perfect for his hands to roam.
Tonight he wore the player’s mask, devilishly handsome and untouchable, letting them peel open his collar and rub their palms over the hard plane of his chest. He raised his glass and took a slow swallow of his favorite poison—whiskey, smooth and burning.
Khalid sat in a dark corner, lost in the passionate embrace of the other two women who planted kisses in more places on his body than a world map. The other men, except Omar, had left the club and gone home to their wives.
Omar was the youngest in his group, the only one unmarried.
A dream of dominance, he leaned close as we shared a shisha, smoke curling between us in slow, easy rhythm.
My gaze kept finding his, those dark, magnetic eyes holding me longer each time.
Heat radiated off him, raw and forceful yet strangely tender at the core.
His scent—musky, spiced, intoxicating—wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into the mystery of his dangerous charm.
The arousing feel of his thigh next to mine sent sparks and chills up my spine as my vaginal walls clenched, eliciting a familiar slickness between my legs. “I want you to touch me,” I whispered into Omar’s ear and placed my hand on his.
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at Alistair. “What does he think? Your company is our best supplier, and Alistair is a man to be feared.”
“Feared?” I asked, running my fingers down Omar’s hard abs.
“He’s influential, well-connected, and quick to anger. A man like that is dangerous.”
I glanced at Alistair. His nod was subtle but sure when he noticed my fingers circling Omar’s wrist. One of the women had already unzipped his pants, her hand working his cock with slow strokes.
The other pressed a bare breast to his mouth, and he drew her nipple between his lips while his fingers slid expertly over her slick folds.
On the coffee table, a neat stack of condoms waited, like part of the performance.
“I think you’re safe. There won’t be any burning of bridges tonight,” I promised, admiring Omar’s sharp facial features. I kissed his cheek, then his pouty lips while guiding his long, nimble fingers to explore between my thighs.
Omar kissed me back with hungry urgency, his mouth devouring mine like a man tasting water after days in the desert. My hands roamed over the lines of his body, greedy for more, until I found the hard bulge straining against his pants.
“My sweet flower,” he breathed. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”
“I want you too,” I panted, breath breaking against his as his mouth claimed mine in hungry, unrelenting kisses. Our bodies tangled closer, hands roaming, exploring, desperate to know more. In the background, the music throbbed while the dancer spun, her movements a slow, tantalizing blur.
“We’d better stop.” Omar’s tone hardened as he lifted me off his lap and set me back on the sofa. His face tightened, eyes darting toward Alistair.
Alistair had already shoved the women aside. He rose, adjusted his open shirt, and stalked toward us with a dangerous calm. The dancer froze mid-spin, sensing the shift in the room, and lowered the music to a faint hum.
“Vera, I’m going back to the apartment. Care to join me?” he asked tersely, his frame towering over me. His face held no trace of pleasure, just the tight strain of barely contained anxiety.
Omar rose and extended his hand to Alistair. “Forgive me. It’s time I head home. As always, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Your company’s technology never disappoints.”
“We’ll talk early next week,” Alistair replied. “Good night.”
“Good night, Omar,” I stood up with my handbag in tow. I took Alistair’s hand and walked away from our Arabian dream.
The cab ride back to Alistair’s Palm Jumeirah penthouse was cloaked in silence.
He didn’t speak, not a word, his jaw locked as the city lights blurred past the windows.
Inside the apartment, we slipped off our shoes and crossed into the living room.
Only then did he face me, his hands closing around my arms, rubbing warmth into them as if to anchor both of us.
“You’ve been through a lot this year,” he said. “I won’t let you walk into something we might regret.” His eyes flicked to my abdomen, a fleeting glance that carried the weight of my tubal ligation reversal, the fragile hope we’d carried since I moved into his home.
“I’m fine,” I said, holding his gaze. “Doctor Cohen did everything she could for me at Saint John’s. I’ve healed. I’m ready to move forward.”
“I’m not talking about just your physical well-being. I’m referring to your mental and emotional health,” he said, rubbing my shoulders.
“Scotty, you’re my soul. I trust you, and I know you won’t do anything to make me unhappy.”
“What happened tonight—I don’t feel it’s right. I can’t...Fuck.” Alistair cursed. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair before slamming his palm on the wall behind me.
“But you have my consent,” I said, flinching a little.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you, sweetheart. I struggled to give you space with Omar tonight. I’m a jealous guy,” Alistair admitted, lowering his voice. “I’m working on my outbursts. I’m seeing my therapist when we return to Lester Harbor.”
“Are you taking your medication? Is the dosage something you should talk about with your doctor?”
“I skipped a dose, but I’m back on track.”
“What happened tonight?”
“You,” Alistair declared. His taut and flushed cheeks ticked while his hands fisted into balls of anxiety.
I sighed and pulled his body into mine. “Do you want to talk about boundaries?”
“Can we try something I’ve never had?”
“I’ve got an open mind, and I’m always up for something new. Tell me, babe. What exciting adventure would you like to go on?” I unzipped Alistair’s pants to feel the warmth of his hardening cock.
“Pure monogamy,” he said, grabbing my ass cheeks. “No more third parties. Just us.”
I didn’t get a chance to answer. Not with his mouth claiming mine, not with his body pressed against every inch of me.
Somewhere in the heat, one truth broke through.
I was his. Always.