One Hour in Business Bay: The Way He Looked at Me

I don’t rush. And I don’t let you rush either.

When you come to see me in Business Bay, you’re not just booking a room - you’re stepping out of your own life for a while. My place is quiet, clean, private. Tucked inside one of those glass buildings that looks like every other from the outside, but inside, it feels like nowhere else. The lighting is soft. The scent is warm. The air always seems slower in there.

I host alone. No one else answers the door. No one watches or listens. No one interferes. It’s just me — and for the next sixty minutes, it will only be you.

I open the door already knowing how to read the look on your face. Some men are nervous. Some act overconfident. Some just look relieved that I’m real. I always am. I don’t wear heavy makeup. I don’t perform. I’m not the woman you saw in a filtered photo — I’m warmer than that. More present. More grounded. And I never pretend to be something I’m not.

The first few minutes are quiet. You sit down, I pour a drink, and we let the tension dissolve between us like sugar in hot water. You can talk, or not. I know how to carry a conversation without asking anything too personal. And I also know how to stand in silence, slowly unzipping the moment until it becomes something physical.

My movements are slow for a reason. Everything I do in that hour is deliberate. The way I touch your shoulder when I lean in. The way I sit beside you with one knee tucked under me. The way I lock eyes with you a little longer than necessary. I’m not trying to act sexy — I’m letting you feel what it’s like to be wanted. Not bought. Not managed. Not consumed. Just…wanted.

There’s something about one hour. It’s short enough to keep us sharp, but long enough to let us forget everything else. In that hour, we explore things quietly. I notice how your fingers tremble slightly when they touch my waist. I feel the shift in your breath when I move onto your lap. I memorize the way you look at me when you're trying not to say something out loud. And I match you, move for move, until the space between us isn’t space anymore.

You won’t need to explain yourself. You won’t need to lead. You don’t have to impress me or outthink me. I don’t need any of that. I need you to be here. Fully. Because I am.

And when it’s time to leave, I won’t ask for anything more. I’ll walk you to the door, maybe touch your hand one last time. You’ll walk out into the Dubai night like you just left somewhere safe. Like something that had built up inside of you had just finally found a way to leave.

That’s what one hour with me feels like.

You won’t look at the clock once.