BY YOUR SIDE

2

CHAPTER 2

Zayed leaves the villa, the powerful engine of his car a low growl in the night. He arrives at a discreet location, a private lounge tucked away in an upscale part of the city, far removed from the glittering chaos of The Diamond Lounge.

Inside, a group of men, dressed in expensive suits, await his arrival. They rise respectfully as he enters.

"Ahlan wa sahlan, Sir," one of them says, bowing slightly. (أهلاً وسهلاً - This means "Welcome").

"Gentlemen," Zayed replies, his voice calm and commanding. He acknowledges each of them with a nod. The atmosphere in the room is one of deference mixed with a hint of apprehension. These are his key distributors in Cape Town, and they are aware of the incident at the club.

The conversation begins cautiously, revolving around general business matters. Zayed fields their questions with practiced ease, projecting an image of control despite the undercurrent of unease. He speaks of future shipments, profit margins, and the continued expansion of their network.

As the evening progresses, the topic of the previous night inevitably arises, broached delicately by one of the older men. "Sir, there are rumors circulating about the events at The Diamond Lounge. Some unpleasantness."

Zayed meets his gaze directly, his expression unwavering. "There was a minor dispute, quickly resolved. Certain individuals acted foolishly and paid the price. It is a closed matter. Our business continues uninterrupted."

He emphasizes his words with a subtle firmness that discourages further inquiry. His authority in this circle is absolute, built on a foundation of wealth and a reputation for ruthlessness. The distributors nod, accepting his explanation without pressing further. They understand that asking too many questions can be detrimental to their health.

Later in the evening, Karim arrives, his presence adding another layer of authority to the gathering. He exchanges brief, curt greetings with the distributors before joining Zayed.

"Everything proceeding as planned?" Karim asks his brother in a low voice.

"The narrative is holding," Zayed replies. "They are cooperative. Any concerns about the Rodriguez cartel?"

"Our contacts in Durban have relayed that they are agitated," Karim says, a frown creasing his forehead. "They are asking questions. We need to expedite our departure."

"It is already arranged for the end of the week," Zayed reminds him. "We just need to maintain a low profile until then."

As the evening draws to a close, Zayed makes a point of engaging in brief, personal conversations with each of the distributors, reinforcing their loyalty and ensuring their continued cooperation. He exudes an aura of power and control, effectively masking any lingering concerns about the loose end he has left at the hotel.

Leaving the gathering in the early hours of the morning, Zayed feels the weight of his responsibilities. The business in Cape Town is nearing its conclusion, but the unexpected complication of Ingrid remains a nagging concern. He glances out at the city lights, the glimmer of a memory, her defiant eyes, her unexpected vulnerability flashing in his mind.

He knows he needs to resolve this situation swiftly and decisively, before it jeopardizes everything they have worked to achieve.

Zayed directs his driver back towards the city. The hotel where Ingrid is being kept is indeed one of his properties, a discreet establishment favored for its privacy and high-end security. He arrives and takes the private elevator directly to his presidential suite on the top floor.

The suite is spacious and opulent, designed with dark wood and plush furnishings. He walks straight into the en-suite bathroom, the steam already rising from the oversized shower. He strips off his expensive suit, the weariness from the long night settling upon him. The hot water cascades over his tense muscles, washing away the remnants of the evening's dealings.

Stepping out of the shower, he grabs a thick, white towel, wrapping it loosely around his wrists. His dark hair is slicked back, still wet from the shower. A knock echoes through the suite. He walks to the door and opens it. His bodyguard stands to the side, allowing a woman with striking features and a confident air to enter. Zayed nods curtly at his bodyguard, a silent acknowledgment, and closes the door behind the woman.

Without a word exchanged, Zayed walks towards the expansive leather couch in the center of the living area and sits, the towel slipping from his grasp to pool on the floor. He remains completely naked, his powerful physique relaxed yet radiating a quiet command.

The woman understands the unspoken arrangement. She drops the expensive leather coat she is wearing, revealing a figure accentuated by high, six-inch heels. Her eyes lock with Zayed's as she walks with a deliberate, sensual gait towards him. Kneeling before him, her gaze remains fixed on his as her hands begin to explore his body, tracing the lines of his stomach down to his groin.

He hitches, a subtle reaction to her touch. She lowers her head, her

dark hair brushing against his thighs, and her lips close around him, her mouth taking his manhood in a slow, deliberate suckle.

Zayed pulls back slightly, his hands gently framing the woman's face, stopping her ministrations. He looks into her eyes for a long moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his features.

Then, he takes her hand and helps her rise from her kneeling position. He leads her towards the large bed, the silk sheets cool against their bare skin.

He lies down, stretching his long legs out on the plush surface, his gaze never leaving hers. With a low murmur, he instructs her in Arabic, a language she seems to understand, guiding her with a subtle gesture towards his backside. He explains, in a low, husky voice, the particular pleasure he derives from this act, describing the sensations in detail, his eyes half-closed in anticipation.

The woman, her expression now a mixture of understanding and practiced compliance, moves to obey his command. She kneels beside the bed, her hands caressing his thighs as she positions herself. Her lips then begin to explore the sensitive area he has indicated, her tongue flicking and swirling with a practiced expertise.

Zayed closes his eyes, a low groan escaping his lips as the sensations intensify. His hands clench the sheets beneath him, his body arching slightly. He guides her movements with small shifts of his hips, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

A deep pleasure washes over him, a primal satisfaction that momentarily eclipses the complexities of his business and the unexpected presence of the woman held captive in his other hotel. In this moment, there is only the raw, physical sensation and the practiced intimacy he has orchestrated.

The pleasure intensifies, building within him until a series of involuntary contractions ripple through his body. He groans deeply, his head falling back against the soft pillows as he ejaculates, his semen flooding the woman's mouth.

She continues her ministrations until the last drop is spent, then swallows his release, her eyes meeting his with a practiced neutrality. Zayed watches her, a sense of satisfied look washing over him. He reaches out and gently wipes her lips with his thumb, a fleeting gesture of acknowledgment.

He moves back on the bed, reaching for the discarded towel and wrapping it around his waist. "My guard will see you are paid as arranged," he says, his voice now calm and detached.

The woman nods, her expression unreadable. She gathers her clothes, dresses quickly, and leaves the suite. Zayed rises from the bed and walks to the closet, selecting a simple yet elegant outfit, a dark, long sleeved Henley shirt and tailored dark trousers. He dresses swiftly, his mind already shifting back to the situation with Ingrid.

He leaves the presidential suite, followed by two of his men, and takes the elevator down to the floor where she is staying.

He finds Zara in the living area of Ingrid's suite, calmly reading a newspaper. "Where is she?" Zayed asks, his tone direct.

"She is taking a shower, Sir," Zara replies without looking up from her paper.

"Leave us," Zayed instructs her. "Wait outside with Ahmed and Khalil."

Zara nods, her gaze briefly meeting him before she steps out of the suite, closing the door behind her. Zayed walks further into the living room, placing his phones on a nearby table.

The door leading from the bathroom to the bedroom opens, and Ingrid steps out, a single towel wrapped around her body. Her hair is wet, and she looks around, confusion on her face. "Zara, I heard voices. Who are you talking to?" she asks, her eyes then landing on Zayed.

A jolt of surprise runs through her. She freezes, her hand instinctively tightening on the towel. In her surprise and sudden stillness, the towel slips, sliding down her smooth, clean skin to pool at her feet, leaving her completely exposed. Her body, untouched by tattoos or markings, stands bare before him.