My Accidental Billionaire Husband (Katia and Julian) novel Chapter 98

Dry Humping In The Desert

~Katia~

The light was doing something extraordinary now – the full

desert sunset beginning its final push, the sky moving through colours that

didn’t exist anywhere else, and the dunes catching each shift and throwing it

back amplified. Rose, gold, deep amber, something approaching red that was not

quite any colour I had a name for.

Hassan was at the camp below – just visible, a small figure

moving between the tents, far enough that the desert had swallowed all sound

between us and him.

We were entirely alone on the ridge.

Julian turned to me, his eyes dark, reflecting the dying gold of

the sun. There was no innocence left in the way he looked at me. It was a

silent, predatory claim. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of my neck,

and pulled me into a kiss that tasted like heat and salt and a night of

suppressed hunger.

We sank onto the dune together. The sand was still warm from the

day, fine as silk beneath us. Julian pushed me back slowly, his weight a heavy

pressure until my back was pressed firmly against the shifting amber slope. We

kissed for what felt like an eternity, our tongues tangled, our hands already

grabbing for each other, searching for skin beneath the layers of fabric.

He found the opening of my abaya, his fingers sliding over my

thigh to find the wet heat between my legs. He began rubbing slow, agonising

circles over my clit, his gaze locked onto mine, “eye fucking” me even as his

hand worked me into a frenzy. I reached into his kandura, my fingers closing

around his dick, rubbing the length of him with a firm grip.

“Katia,” he groaned against my mouth.

He pulled away just long enough to strip. He pulled the white

kandura over his head and discarded his boxers, standing before me completely

naked in the desert light. I didn’t wait, I shed the abaya and my own clothes,

kicking them aside until we were both entirely naked on the ridge. We came back

together instantly, kissing deeply while our hands continued to explore and

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Dry Humping in The Desert

possess each other’s sex.

The friction was electric. Julian pressed the head of his cock

against my entrance, teasing the threshold, but then he decided against pushing

inside. Instead, he positioned himself so his length was pressed firmly against

my clit. He began to move his hips, a slow, punishing dry hump that used my own

slippery juices to lubricate the slide.

The sensation was devastating. Every thrust had his cock

slipping through my wetness, rubbing directly against me. We both moaned, the

sound swallowed by the vast silence of the dunes. Our eyes stayed locked, the

intensity of the look almost as overwhelming as the physical friction of our

bodies grinding together.

“Juljan, just fuck me, please,” I begged and moaned his name,

the sound broken and desperate.

“Not yet, Katia.” He said, breaking the kiss, and moved lower,

taking my nipple into his mouth. He sucked it deep, his tongue swirling around

the peak. The sharp pull of pleasure made my thighs snap shut instinctively,

pressing together and trapping his cock even more firmly between us.

Julian groaned, a raw, guttural sound of approval at the added

pressure. I started shaking beneath him, my core tightening and snapping as the

climax hit. I felt him pulse against my thigh, his seeds spilling hot across my

skin as we both came at the exact same moment, our bodies tensed into hard

lines against the cooling sand.

We lay on the dunes for a long moment, tangled and breathless,

watching the final sliver of the sun disappear.

Slowly, we stood and began to dress, restoring our attire piece

by piece.

“We should go down to the camp,” Julian said, his voice a jagged

rasp as he straightened his kandura.

I looked at him, my heart still racing, the scent of the desert

and Julian Windsor all over me. I had no idea why I thought I could survive

him.

We stood on the ridge and watched the sunset happen.

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215

Dry Humping The Thin Desert

Below, Hassan had returned to the camp. The lanterns were

brighter now against the deepening sky. The smell of the coffee was stronger.

“The camel,” Julian said.

I turned. Hassan was leading a camel up the far side of the dune

toward us a large, extraordinarily unimpressed animal that moved with the

specific gait of something that had decided long ago that the opinions of

humans were largely irrelevant.

I looked at Julian.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I have ridden exactly zero camels in my life,” I said. “This

feels like an aggressive starting point.”

“All the more reason,” he said.

I looked at the camel. The camel looked at me with the profound

indifference of its species.

“I wasn’t concerned about the challenge,” I said. “I was

concerned about the dignity.”

“Your dignity is completely intact,” he said. “Hassan will take

a photograph.”

“That is significantly worse.”

But I got on the camel.

It stood up in the lurching sequence of a camel standing – back

legs first, then front, a motion that required holding on with both hands and

abandoning any pretence of composure. I held on. I did not fall. The camel

reached its full height and stood there, enormous and indifferent, while the

desert spread around us in the last of the extraordinary light.

Julian, standing below with his phone, apparently Hassan was not

needed for the photograph after all, looked up at me.

“Intact,” he confirmed.

“I hate you,” I said pleasantly.

He laughed.

The real one. The unguarded one that arrived before he could

Dry Humping th The Dec011

decide whether to let it, the one I had been cataloguing since the first time I

heard it and had never quite managed to stop cataloguing since.

The camel exhaled in what sounded like agreement.

The Bedouin camp was everything the dunes had promised and more.

Hassan’s family received us with the complete hospitality of

people for whom hosting was not a performance but a philosophy. Small cups of

bitter Arabic coffee with cardamom. Dates. The low cushioned seating inside the

tent, the lantern light, and the sound of the desert outside reduced to a soft

wind against the tent walls.

~Julian’s POV~

We sat across from each other on low cushions, the coffee

between us, the camp quiet around us. The rest of Hassan’s family were present

but at a respectful distance – the particular cultural intelligence of people

who understood when guests needed space.

Katia held her coffee cup in both hands the way she held

everything that mattered with complete attention, nothing casual about it.

“This week,” she said. Not a question. Just placing the words in

the air between us.

“This week,” I agreed.

She looked at her coffee. “Julian. Whatever this is-”

“I know what it is,” I said.