Shiddat

fifteen

Rubab's pov

Taha stood at the door with a hot water bag and a plate of food.

I sit immobile in bed because I didn't expect this from him.

With an expressionless face, he came towards the bed and sat beside me, his feet touching the floor.

I looked at him with question and confusion, but seeing him sitting beside me makes me feel something unknown. Yesterday night's events start coming to my mind, and suddenly I feel like my buds are standing out against my kaftan.

I don't try to cover my stand-out buds with shawl or scarf because I don't feel the need for it.

My inner thoughts breaks with a soul-crushing cramp in my lower abdomen. I clutch my abdomen while groaning in pain.

"Rubab... I am sorry, Habibti," Taha said hurriedly, helping me sit with my head resting on the headboard. He puts the hot water bag on my abdomen over my kaftan, and I close my eyes in relief.

This traveling makes it worse for me, and I am missing home really badly. I am missing Mumani really badly. Tears gather in my eyes thinking of my family, but I don't allow them to fall.

I open my eyes in shock as I feel his hand on my feet. He is sitting near my feet, massaging them with utmost care.

I hurriedly pull my feet to me. It's not right; he can't do this. Why is he showing this much care for me? But he grabs my feet and starts massaging them, saying, "Sorry, Habibti. I don't want to hurt you in your painful days, but it's too urgent to leave camp."

I gulp, seeing him at my feet. Okay, it's a common thing between husband and wife, but when both are not in love with each other, it's just a marriage of situation. Then why?

"Taha," I say meekly. He tilts his head and looks at me with his ocean blue eyes.

"You don't have to do this. I'll be fine," I say more like a whisper.

He remains silent, so I give up and let him massage my feet because they are hurting really bad.

After some time, he says, still massaging my feet, "Habibti, please don't show your hairs to any men. They are mine to see." He looks into my eyes.

His possessive words don't sound irritating to me because, to be honest, I never show myself to anyone. Mumani raised me to be a good Muslimah. I never live like modern Turkish girls. I am not defaming them; it's just that I always like modest clothes whenever I am outside home.

Even if it's a situationship, I said qubool hai to him, and in the eyes of Allah, we are married. So I nod at his words.

My nodding brings a full smile to his face, and his dimples show up. But my breath hitches feeling his lips on my feet. "Thank you, Habibti," he says, still pressing his lips on my feet.

My throat goes dry seeing the sight in front of me. He is kissing my feet. "Allah Allah, ye  kaise kar sakte hai, Taha?" I say timidly.

But he didn't Said anything so i said

"Taha, please don't kiss my feet," I say because it's way too intimate then that consummating thing when he is sucking on my breasts, because that time some strange clouds covered my mind so i wasn't in sense and ecstasy consume me but right now I am in my Full sense.

"Why?" he says, pecking my feet again, and my cheeks turn crimson.

"Because they are feet," I say dumbly, and he chuckles at my answer.

"They are not just feet, Habibti. Mere bachho ki jannat hai inke neeche," he says, pecking my toes, and I get shocked listening to him.

It's not trigger me , so I just lower my gaze. Then he stands up, walks to me, and sits beside me with food.