Murtasim leaned against the doorframe, his eyes glued to Meerab as she stood in front of the mirror. The maroon saree draped across her body, highlighting her every curve, teased his senses to no end. The fabric clung to her like it had been woven by gods specifically to test his patience.
Meerab fussed with the pleats of the saree, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. She had spent the better part of the morning complaining about how difficult it was to wear one, how she preferred her usual attire over this traditional, restricting piece of fabric. But for Murtasim, it was a sight so glorious, he couldn't stop staring.
She caught him watching her through the reflection in the mirror, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What?" she asked, her voice sharp, trying to mask the slight embarrassment from his intense gaze. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
Murtasim pushed off the doorframe and approached her with a predatory glint in his eyes. His lips curled into a smile that sent a shiver down Meerab's spine. "I was just thinking..." he said, his voice thick with want, "that saree would look much better on the floor."
Meerab’s hands froze mid-adjustment. Her heart did a weird flip at his words, but she immediately shoved it down, shooting him a glare. "Excuse me?" she snapped, though her voice trembled slightly.
Without breaking his stride, Murtasim closed the distance between them until he was standing right behind her, his chest almost brushing her back. He bent down, his breath ghosting over her ear, sending a wave of heat down her spine. "You heard me," he whispered, his voice low, husky. "This saree… it would look much better on the floor. And you..." His hand reached for her waist, lightly tracing the bare skin just above the edge of the saree. "...on your hands and knees."
Her entire body went rigid. For a brief second, she forgot how to breathe. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the primal intensity of his gaze burning her up from the inside out. Her throat went dry, but she somehow managed to turn and face him, her eyes wide.
"Murtasim!" she hissed, slapping his hand away, but her voice lacked its usual fire. "What are you saying? You’ve lost your mind!"
Murtasim grinned, his dark eyes brimming with mischief and desire. He reached for her again, this time pulling her even closer, their bodies now pressed flush against each other. He dipped his head to her ear once more, his lips grazing her skin. "Oh, I’m perfectly sane. It’s you who’s been driving me insane for weeks now."
Meerab felt the heat rise to her cheeks, her heart hammering in her chest. She tried to push him away, but his hold on her waist was firm, the way he touched her sending sparks through her entire body. She hated how her body reacted to him—how easily he made her lose control. But she couldn’t deny the tension that had been building between them for days. No, weeks. It was suffocating her.
"You need help," she muttered weakly, but her hands, instead of pushing him away, gripped the front of his kurta.
Murtasim chuckled softly, his breath fanning across her neck. "Maybe I do. And the only cure is right in front of me."
She wanted to protest, to say something cutting or snarky, but all her words evaporated when he tugged at the end of the pallu, letting the soft fabric fall in a graceful swoosh to the floor. Meerab gasped, instinctively clutching at her exposed chest, the blouse still covering her, but the sudden loss of the saree made her feel bare, vulnerable.
Her heart pounded as she looked up at him, her wide eyes filled with panic, but there was no hesitation in his gaze. Only desire. Raw, unfiltered desire.
"Murtasim...stop," she whispered, her voice trembling, though there was no real conviction behind her words.
He reached up, his hand cupping her cheek gently, his thumb brushing her lower lip. His touch was tender, despite the heat in his eyes. "Tell me to stop, Meerab," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Tell me, and I will."
