Page 33 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

He puts his hand on my leg, stopping me from moving. “Eat first. We can dig them out together.”

Max’s hair is sticking out at all angles, and he looks as rough and gritty as I feel, but he’s still the best sight I’ve ever woken up to.

“What?” He asks when he catches me looking.

“Nothing.” I smile, almost glad the storm swept in and forced us to stop. It dragged us out of our lives and made space for us to notice what was between us. “Just thinking that this place is a bit magical, even if it didn’t work out for Teddy and Cyril.” I nod in their direction.

“Maybe.” He smiles and takes a drink. “Or maybe we needed to find the right time.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PRESENT DAY

MAX

After eight days in Egypt, seeing the sights, riding, and camping, we end the trip by crossing the border into Libya to visit the war memorial in Tobruk. The guide then took us back to Cairo in an air-conditioned four-wheel drive—bloody luxury. The coast road is a lot more direct than riding through the desert.

As Harrison predicted, when the sandstorm hit and we lost contact, the guide spent the night panicking. After that, he never let us out of his sight. The four-wheel drive stalked us through the desert, giving me an eerie reminder of Cyril trying to flee from the Italians. It also meant the camp wasn’t set up when we arrived at the stopping point because the guide was with us.

It also meant we didn’t get a minute alone.

Being delivered to the hotel for our last night in Cairo meant we could enjoy a shower and sleep in a proper bed. But we were both so shattered, all we did was wash and collapse into bed. Twin beds, which isn’t what I was hoping for, but I know better than to ask for them to be changed because why would two guys want only one bed?

Lying in the predawn gray, my body aches as if it’s never going to forgive me for putting it through all that desert motorbike bullshit. I glance over at Harrison. His back is to me, the sheet barely covering the paler cheeks of his ass.

I blink, and I’m Cyril pressed up against Teddy, whispering promises they’ll never keep. I’m Djau worshiping Ay as he fucks him.

My dick has not been affected by the desert. If anything, I am desperate to be touched after days of nothing. After years of being just friends.

I can’t go back.

I need him.

This time, we can finally be together.

How many times has the cave Djau died in called to us, and we never heard it, never made the journey? I know nothing about curses and magic, but the Ancient Egyptians believed in them, and the tombs of pharaohs were cursed to deter tomb robbers. Clearly not much of a deterrent since Djau and Ay had a thriving business before the betrayal of the scribe.

Perhaps some kind of ancient magic brought us back together, and I was gifted a glimpse of the past to ensure I got it right. Emboldened, I slide out of bed and pad over to Harrison, slipping in behind him. There isn’t much room, but we don’t need much.

I put my arm around him, and he covers my hand with his and drags it over his abs. Hair tickles my fingertips, and then the hot, hard length of his morning hard-on is waiting for me. I explore the shape of the head, the curve of the crown, and trace a vein to the base.

Do I grip his dick the way I do mine?

My hands are dry and rough, and there’s no lube. God,we shouldn’t even be in the same bed. But no one is going to burst through the door, and I don’t want to go back to mine.

My cock is nestled in the crack of his ass, and I want to keep exploring his body.

“You won’t break it,” he murmurs. His voice is rough, like he’s half-asleep.

I smile and press a kiss to the back of his neck as I wrap my fingers around his cock and give him a slow stroke. There’s no sweat and grit now, and his hair smells like the vanilla hotel shampoo. I bury my nose against him, wanting to breathe him in as I stroke and caress. The tip of his cock becomes slick.

I’m tempted to lick my finger and take a taste. Would that be weird?

Fuck it. I bring my thumb to my mouth and sample his pre-cum, before coating the rest of my fingers in spit so the next stroke I make is smoother. He rocks his hips, thrusting into my hand and teasing my cock with the grinding of his ass.

I want more.

I remember Cyril’s promise to Teddy and, feeling brave, release Harrison’s dick. I adjust my cock, sliding it between his thighs so my length is trapped by his hot flesh.

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