As twilight deepened over Hyderabad, the opulent estate of Murtasim Khan shimmered under the soft, golden light of the setting sun. Inside the master bedroom, Meerab had meticulously set the stage for an evening of passion. The room was a sanctuary of sensuality: candles flickered in delicate glass holders, their warm light casting a seductive glow over the room, while rose petals scattered across the bed added a touch of romantic allure. The air was thick with the heady scent of jasmine and sandalwood, mingling with the subtle hint of expensive perfume.
Meerab, clad in nothing but a sheer, tantalizing nightgown, awaited her husband with eager anticipation. Her bare skin glistened in the candlelight, accentuating her curves and creating an enticing silhouette against the luxurious silk sheets. Her heart raced with both excitement and impatience as she lay provocatively on the bed, her legs slightly parted, the thin fabric barely concealing her form.
Her thoughts were consumed with the anticipation of their intimate rendezvous. She had been longing for this moment for days, her body aching for Murtasim’s touch. Her mind was a whirl of desire, each minute of delay making her more desperate. She had planned every detail, but little did she know that the evening was about to be fraught with unexpected interruptions.
Murtasim, having just finished a long day of dealing with various estate matters, finally stepped into the room, his eyes widening as they took in the sight before him. The room, prepared with such care, was a testament to Meerab’s desire and anticipation. He felt a rush of excitement, his body responding to the provocative display laid out before him.
But just as he began to close the door behind him, the insistent knock of Bakhtu, his ever-busy servant, shattered the romantic bubble. The knock came with a sense of urgency that Murtasim couldn’t ignore.
“Forgive me, Sahib,” Bakhtu called out from the other side of the door, “but there’s an urgent issue with the land deeds that requires your immediate attention.”
Murtasim’s face darkened with frustration. He turned to Meerab, who was now clearly disappointed. “Not again,” he muttered under his breath, then sighed. “Meerab, I’m truly sorry. I need to take care of this.”
Meerab, her mood souring, looked at him with a mix of irritation and longing. “Murtasim, this is the third time tonight. Can’t it wait just a little longer?”
Murtasim hesitated, clearly torn between his duty and his desire. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”
As Murtasim left to handle the urgent matter, Meerab lay on the bed, her frustration mounting. Hours ticked by, and as the moon rose high in the sky, she found herself in a state of restless anticipation. Her patience was running thin, and each passing minute only heightened her desire and irritation.
When Murtasim finally returned, he looked both exhausted and desperate. The romantic setup had lost some of its allure, and Meerab’s mood was now one of frustration and impatience. But Murtasim was determined to make it up to her.
“I’m back,” Murtasim said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and urgency. He walked towards the bed, his gaze fixated on Meerab, who had repositioned herself to be even more enticing. “Meerab, let’s not waste any more time.”
Just as he approached, another knock came at the door. It was Bakhtu again, his voice carrying an apologetic tone. “Sahib, there’s a situation with the workers that needs your attention immediately. I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.”
Meerab’s eyes widened in disbelief. She sat up, her frustration boiling over. “This is getting ridiculous! Can’t you just tell him to wait?”
Murtasim, his frustration matching hers, looked at her with a mix of regret and desire. “I’m really sorry, Meerab. I swear this will be the last interruption.”
