Sultan:Her Desired Man(18+)

Reaching heights☠⚕

Sultan's POV

The first thing I registered wasn't the silence, but the utter peace. For the first time since I was a teenager knee-deep in shady deals, the ghosts weren't whispering. I was sleeping heavy.

Then the soft, quick sound of breathlessness hit me, followed by a constant, irritating Tink! Tink! Tink!

I opened my eyes.

The room was still dark, lit only by the faint glow outside. And there she was. Mishti. Fully naked, exactly how I left her, trying to pick the lock of the door. Not with a pin or anything smart, but scratching at the electronic keypad with her bare fingernails, desperately hitting the numbers I knew she didn't have.

A sneer pulled at my lips.

"You can't open it, sweetheart."

She spun around like a spooked kitten, eyes wide and startled—caught.

I straightened up, rising from the bed in just my boxers. The sight of her instantly brought back last night's savagery. She quickly lowered her eyes, a pink flush spreading across her chest.

"Why the hell do you want to run, Mishti?" My voice was rough, low.

She avoided my gaze. "I need to leave."

"Didn't I make you feel absolutely wanted last night?" I took a step closer.

"You also made me feel used," she shot back, finally meeting my eyes, which made me frown harder.

"Are you always this stupid?" I scoffed.

"Sultan, whatever happened was nothing," she said, her voice shaking but firm. "Consider it a one-night stand."

That word. One-night stand. For a notorious fuckboy like me, hearing that term, tossed out so dismissively by her, hit harder than any bulletproof vest I'd ever worn. It felt personal, like a tiny stab right into the cold, empty space where my heart should be. I hated it.

I closed the distance in two strides, gripping her arms gently but firmly, pulling her flush against my chest.

"What are you truly afraid of, Mishti? If you stay here, with me, nobody—and I mean nobody—will dare touch you or even lay an eye on you."

"But you will," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You will touch me, strip me, lay your eyes on me."

I smirked. "That's different. That's my right."

Her eyes watered, the tears finally overflowing. "Sultanji, there is a difference between your world and mine. I am not... a whore. I am not one of those girls you think I am. Yes, I slept with you once, and then last night, twice. The first time, I was broken and desperate for a distraction from my miserable life, and the second time? I felt this strange, deep empathy for the pain I saw in your eyes. That's why it happened. But I'm not a whore."

She began to cry bitterly, repeating, "I am not..."

I cut her off, my mouth instantly finding hers for a brief, soft peck. It froze her mid-sob.

"I know," I murmured against her lips. "I know you're not like that. I've never felt this desperate to sleep with any woman like this before, but when you denied me last night, I was hell-bent. You are a pure soul, but you can't deny that you like me. You are the only woman who has ever made me feel like a man, not just a weapon."

Her eyes fluttered, flustered by my confession.

"I slept without worries, Mishti," I admitted, the roughness gone from my voice. "Without my past ghosts haunting me, when you were sleeping on my chest all night."