POV: Amara
The night in Marrakesh didn't seduce—it devoured.
The lanterns above gave off a soft, golden light, casting gentle shadows over the velvet cushions and the patterned walls.
Somewhere beyond the carved wooden doors, I could hear drums beating in the distance. But in this quiet little riad, time seemed to slow down. Everything felt still. And in that stillness, I felt eyes on me.
Ezra's eyes burned into me first—oceanic and restless, half-lidded with interest and danger. He reclined with the comfort of a man who knew exactly what effect he had. Loose linen shirt open to the navel. Skin golden, jaw shadowed. He sipped his whisky slowly, like every movement was a tease.
Rami stood in the corner, arms folded, body taut. He was darker, quieter, still. But the way he looked at me—God. Like he was already peeling the dress from my body with his mind. Like I was his.
"Amara," Ezra said, voice velvet. "What are you running from?"
I smiled without answering. Instead, I took the whisky from his hand and drank, slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed mine as I handed it back—electric.
Rami stepped forward. "She's not running. She's choosing." His voice was deep, a rumble. "And she's not choosing lightly."
Ezra tilted his head, amused. "A poet, as always."
"I don't need poetry tonight," I said, standing. "I need something real. Something very real"
They didn't move. They didn't speak. But everything shifted. The air thickened, taut with unspoken promises. I could feel them closing in—not just in space, but in intention.
"Show me," I said."
That was all it took.
Ezra rose first, his body fluid, hands sure. He stepped behind me, pulling my zipper down with one long drag. Fingers ghosted over my bare back, tracing the curve of my spine.
Rami moved to face me, brushing his knuckles over my cheek before tilting my chin up to kiss me.
His mouth was deliberate—slow, anchoring, possessive. Ezra's lips followed at my neck, warm breath flooding my skin, sending a shiver through me.
"Let us undress you," Rami murmured against my lips. "Piece by piece. Until there's nothing between us."
They did. Together. Every touch designed to tease, to test. Ezra knelt and slid my dress over my hips, kissing the skin as it was revealed. Rami unclasped my bra, tracing the tender under-curve of my breast with a thumb that sent a jolt straight to my core. His mouth followed, hot and open.
My knees buckled. Ezra caught me.
He laid me down onto a thick Moroccan rug.
The fabric was soft but their hands were softer. I reached for Ezra's shirt, tugging it free. His body was lean, lithe, and begging to be touched. I scratched lightly down his chest and felt him exhale, hard. Rami was slower to undress—more deliberate—but the moment his pants dropped and his cock sprang free, my mouth parted involuntarily.
Ezra kissed my belly, tongue teasing my navel, before sliding lower. He pulled my thighs apart, breath ghosting over my wetness. Rami moved behind me, pulling me onto his lap, skin to skin. His fingers wrapped around my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples as Ezra licked slowly between my legs.
He circled first—lazy, maddening spirals. Then a flick. Then pressure.
I gasped and tried to move but Rami held me in place.
"Feel it," he growled in my ear. "Let him break you open first.
Ezra's tongue was ruthless now, licking and sucking like he meant to unravel me completely. I gripped Rami's thighs as I cried out, my body arching. He didn't stop. He kept going until my legs shook.
I shattered. Loud, raw, undone.
Then came Rami
He laid me down, kissed my forehead like he was about to worship, and slid inside me with one slow, deliberate stroke. I cried out again—he was thick, deep, filling every inch like he belonged there. Ezra watched, stroking himself slowly, eyes glued to the way Rami moved inside me.
Then he came closer.
He knelt beside me, kissed my mouth—hungry this time—then offered himself.
"Take me," he said. "Let me feel your mouth."
I opened for him.
I sucked Ezra while Rami fucked me from below. I was stretched, filled, surrounded. Every moan Ezra made vibrated through me. Every thrust Rami gave sent Ezra deeper into my throat. They moved in rhythm, perfectly synced, perfectly wrecking me.
It was dizzying. The power. The surrender. The way I was theirs.
They shifted again—Rami's mouth now between my legs, tongue slow and greedy.
Ezra kissed me hard as he slid inside, slow and thick, stretching me all over again. I gasped into his mouth.
He moved like he wanted to imprint the memory on my body. Deep. Fluid. Patient.
Rami watched us with dark, hungry eyes before moving to my side, feeding kisses into my neck, my shoulder, my hand.
When Ezra came, he groaned my name like a prayer.
They weren't done. No, not done yet.
Rami took me from behind next, hand in my hair, body crashing against mine with wild, focused force. Ezra kissed me gently, cupping my breasts, grounding me while Rami pounded me into oblivion.
My second orgasm hit hard—raw, trembling, too much.
And still, they didn't stop. They passed me between them, worshipped me, used me, loved me—until we were nothing but sweat and sighs and tangled limbs.
After, we collapsed into one another. No words. No explanations. Just shared breath and quiet awe.
Rami was first to stroke my back. Ezra pulled the throw over us, brushing my hair behind my ear again like he had earlier—but this time, gentler.
Outside, Marrakesh pulsed. But here, inside the riad, something sacred had happened. Something animal and emotional and terrifyingly real.
Maybe it was just the night.
Maybe it was something else.