A Night in Palm Jumeirah

I arrived at his penthouse just past 9. The road leading into Palm Jumeirah always feels like a transition - like you’re leaving Dubai and stepping into a quieter world where time slows down. The building was one of those glass towers that always smell like orchids and polished marble. A silent elevator carried me up to the 43rd floor.

He opened the door shirtless, barefoot, holding a glass of something golden in one hand and a half smile in the other. He didn’t look nervous - just unsure if I’d match the version of me he had built in his head. That happens often.

The apartment was dim, lit only by a floor lamp and the distant city lights outside the wide glass windows. Music played softly - low, jazzy, moody. The kind of music that fills the room without asking for attention.

He offered me a drink, then stood there watching me sip it like the act itself was part of the service. Men in Palm Jumeirah don’t want a body - they want presence. They want to feel like they’re in control of something elegant. And I know how to become that.

We talked a little. His voice was deep, slightly gravelly. He told me he had just returned from Singapore. I told him I liked the view. Both of us lied a little. That’s part of the foreplay.

Eventually, the space between us disappeared. His fingers traced the strap of my dress before he asked permission with his eyes. I nodded. Everything moved slowly. Intentionally. There was no rush in his touch. He kissed like someone who had waited for a long time - not just for me, but maybe for something that made him feel again.

On the couch, my legs over his lap, his hand resting on my thigh while he talked about nothing and everything. He asked what perfume I was wearing. I said I couldn’t remember. Truth is, I remember everything. Especially how a man looks at me when he doesn’t want me to leave.

It wasn’t about lust by then - it was about escape. For both of us.

When I stood at the window afterward, fixing my hair, he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and whispered something I won't repeat. Not because it was dirty - but because it was honest.

I left around midnight. The palm trees outside swayed slightly. The city hadn’t moved. But I had.