He entered the room, breath hitching the moment his eyes met hers.
There she stood—draped in delicate black lace that whispered secrets with every breath of air, the soft candlelight brushing along her curves like a lover's touch. Her eyes shimmered, bold and nervous, burning with something she'd never shown him before.
"Rooh..." he whispered, the word caught in his throat, half reverence, half disbelief.
She walked towards him slowly, each step laced with mischief and innocence, the two sides of her soul dancing in harmony. Her finger found his lips, silencing him.
"Shh, tonight... let me make you feel loved, the way you always make me feel," she murmured, her voice a blend of silk and thunder.
He was frozen—not in reluctance, but awe. His heart raced. His pulse echoed hers.
She guided him to the chair and gently pushed him down, then climbed onto his lap, her arms circling his neck. The nearness of her, the scent of roses and rain on her skin, drove him wild with quiet desperation.
They fed each other bites of the meal she'd prepared—sweet, spicy, slow. Her fingers lingered too long on his lips. His eyes, darkened with desire, never left her face.
She gently unbuttoned his shirt, grazing his skin with her fingertips. He shivered. Not from the cold, but from her—the storm, the surrender, the softness that unraveled him thread by thread.
Her lips found the side of his neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His arms tightened around her, one hand splayed at her back, the other tangled in her hair. The world blurred into heartbeats.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse, tender, trembling with restraint.
She looked into his eyes—fearless, trusting, loving.
"You're not just my husband, Maan... you're my home," she whispered. "Let me show you how much I love being yours."
That night, in the quiet hum of candlelight and slow rain, they became poetry—two souls tracing every inch of love not just through touch, but through tears, kisses, whispers, and silent promises.
It wasn't just about bodies. It was about healing. Trust. Belonging.
And as the night gave way to the hush of dawn, wrapped in each other's arms, they knew—
This was love, in its purest, most passionate form.
YOU ARE READING
Talab
RomanceSome stories are not meant to last forever, but they do live in moments. Talab is not just a collection of stories. It's a collection of cravings. Craving for love. For closure. For one last conversation. For peace. For madness. For something that a...
