The morning sun filtered through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the breakfast table in Khan Haveli. As usual, the family gathered for breakfast, with Maa Begum, Anwar, Mariyam, Haya, Murtasim, and Meerab seated around the long, intricately carved table.
Murtasim was deeply engaged in a conversation with Anwar about Malik Zubair and the ongoing land dispute in one of the nearby villages. His focus was intense, and he was clearly concerned with the issue. Meanwhile, Meerab, seated beside him, seemed perfectly calm—outwardly, at least. Inside, she had other plans.
Let’s see how you like it, she thought, a smirk tugging at her lips as she recalled the events of last night.
As Murtasim spoke with Anwar, his voice serious and commanding, Meerab casually placed her hand on his thigh under the table. At first, it was innocent enough—a simple touch. Murtasim didn’t think much of it, assuming she was just being affectionate. He kept his focus on the discussion at hand, not sparing a glance at her.
"Chacha, we need to act swiftly. If Malik Zubair moves first, the property rights will be—" Murtasim suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his breath hitching as Meerab’s hand slowly began to slide upward. His eyes flickered in her direction, but she kept her gaze straight ahead, pretending as if nothing was happening. Her expression was the picture of innocence, but her actions were anything but.
He cleared his throat, gripping the edge of the table tightly, trying to regain his composure. Anwar raised an eyebrow at the interruption, and Murtasim quickly picked up where he had left off. "—jeopardized. We can't afford to lose any more time."
Meerab, however, was not done. Her hand ventured higher, her fingers brushing against sensitive skin. Murtasim, caught completely off guard, choked on the tea he had just taken a sip of, his body stiffening. He coughed, struggling to keep it together.
Everyone at the table turned toward him, concerned. Maa Begum’s brows furrowed as she asked, "Murtasim beta, are you alright?"
Murtasim shot Meerab a warning glare, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and disbelief, but she only responded with a sweet, angelic smile, her fingers still mischievously roaming.
"Just the tea," Murtasim croaked, his voice rough. "It’s a little hot." He forced a weak smile, but his eyes remained locked on Meerab, silently begging her to stop.
But Meerab was far from done. She gave him a hard, teasing squeeze, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Murtasim tried to focus on Anwar, who was still discussing the land conflict, but every nerve in his body was on fire.
"…the legal proceedings could take months if Malik Zubair involves the panchayat," Anwar continued, oblivious to the turmoil his nephew was enduring.
Murtasim nodded stiffly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice as he responded, "Yes, Chacha, we should—" His sentence trailed off again as Meerab unbuttoned his pants under the table. His eyes widened, and he shot her another incredulous look. This woman is going to be the death of me, he thought, already hard and sensitive from her earlier teasing.
Meerab, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered, calmly buttering her toast while discreetly tugging down his zipper and slipping her hand inside. She found what she was looking for and gave him another firm squeeze, her fingers wrapping around him with calculated precision.
Murtasim’s entire body tensed, his breathing coming in short, shallow gasps. He bit his lip hard, trying to keep any sounds from escaping, his hand gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. But Meerab was relentless. She increased her movements, teasing him further, making it nearly impossible for him to focus on anything other than the sinful game she was playing.
From across the table, Haya was watching everything with narrowed eyes. She couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, but she knew something was off. Murtasim seemed… distracted, his usually composed demeanor slipping. And Meerab—she was too calm, too innocent-looking. Suspicion gnawed at Haya as she observed the subtle, yet telling shifts in Murtasim’s posture.
Maa Begum noticed her son’s discomfort as well. "Murtasim, are you feeling alright?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "First Meerab wasn’t well last night, and now you seem to be under the weather."
Murtasim forced a tight smile, swallowing hard. "I’m fine, Maa Begum," he managed, though his voice was strained, barely holding back the groan that threatened to escape.
Meerab, thoroughly enjoying his torment, leaned closer, her voice sweet and innocent as she asked, "Are you sure you’re alright, Murtasim?" And then, with perfect timing, she gave him another hard squeeze.
His breath hitched, and he shot her a look that promised retribution—a look that said she would pay dearly for this later. But right now, all he could do was sit there, suffering in silence, as his wife continued her delicious torture.
"Yes," he ground out, barely able to speak. "I’m fine."
Anwar, completely unaware of what was happening, resumed the conversation about Malik Zubair, but Murtasim’s mind was far, far away from property disputes. His entire focus was on the woman beside him—the woman who had turned the tables on him so effortlessly, leaving him at her mercy.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Meerab removed her hand, leaving him aching and breathless. She shot him one last teasing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she buttered her toast and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
Murtasim sat there, still trying to regain his composure, his heart racing, his body burning with desire and frustration. He knew she’d gotten her revenge, but this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
As breakfast continued, Meerab remained calm, composed, and utterly satisfied with her victory, while Murtasim silently vowed to make her pay for this little stunt later. After all, two could play at this game, and Murtasim Khan never backed down from a challenge.
