The Berber’s Touch
Tony couldn’t stop thinking about Farid. The encounter on the beach had been an explosion of raw, masculine energy that left him physically aching. Even in his office, the lingering soreness served as a pulsing reminder of the Moroccan man’s power. When he returned to the coast, the sight of Farid—lean, tanned, and radiating magnetism—sent Tony’s heart into a frantic gallop.
After a quiet meal where Farid shared stories of his Berber roots, Tony invited him back to his penthouse. It was a gesture born of kindness and a desperate hunger to see that beautiful body once more.
The atmosphere shifted the moment they were stripped down. Farid’s hands were calloused but gentle, mapping Tony’s skin with a reverence that felt like a prayer. When they collided, it was a clash of longing and heat. Farid claimed him with a fierce intensity, his strength overwhelming and intoxicating. Tony arched his back, surrendering to the rhythmic power of the man who had captured his soul and his body in a single, breathless summer.