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Ahmed leaned against the bridge at Canal Saint-Martin, watching the Moroccan tourist across from him. Slim, dark eyes full of curiosity, the guy was clearly looking for something more than sightseeing.
“You new here?” Ahmed smirked, stepping closer.
The tourist nodded. “First time in Paris.”
“Then let me show you the real city,” Ahmed said, his voice dripping with confidence.
Minutes later, they were at Ahmed’s place. The door barely closed before Ahmed grabbed him by the waist, pulling him in close. The Moroccan’s breath hitched, but he didn’t resist.
“On your knees,” Ahmed ordered.
The tourist obeyed instantly, his hands shaking as he reached for Ahmed’s bulge. The Algerian growled, gripping the back of his head, forcing him deeper.
“This is how a true Arab gay night in Paris goes,” Ahmed murmured, guiding the submissive tourist to his rightful place.
By the time dawn broke, the Moroccan had learned exactly what it meant to be owned by an Arab gay alpha.
