Morning light filtered into the small room, casting a soft glow across the floorboards. Murtasim lay on his back, wide awake, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. Meerab, still fast asleep, had unknowingly sought him out in her slumber. Her soft body was pressed tightly against his hard frame, her delicate hand draped around his taut waist, her face resting comfortably on his chest. Each rise and fall of his chest seemed to cradle her head, and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.
Murtasim’s grin grew wider as he realized the compromising position they were in. His fingers itched with temptation, and he finally gave in, slowly running his hand through the silky strands of her dark hair. It was soft—softer than he’d imagined—and the rhythmic motion seemed to stir something in him that he couldn’t quite place. He watched her with dark, amused eyes, waiting for the inevitable moment she would wake up.
And she did, slowly stirring as her senses began to return. Meerab shifted slightly, still half-asleep, nuzzling her face closer into the warmth she felt beneath her. Murtasim chuckled lowly, his fingers still lightly tracing through her hair.
Meerab blinked, her eyes fluttering open in the morning haze. The first thing she saw were Murtasim’s dark, intense eyes staring right back at her, filled with amusement and something else she couldn’t quite identify. Still groggy, her brain took a moment to catch up to the situation, and then it hit her all at once.
Her body tensed, her eyes widening as realization dawned. She gasped and shot up, pulling away from him. "What—what are you doing?" she screeched, her voice sharp and panicked. “Were you trying to take advantage of me in my sleep?!”
Murtasim just lay there, completely calm and utterly entertained. He let her rant, her accusations rolling off him like water off a duck’s back. His smirk only deepened as he lazily raised both hands in surrender, his dark eyes glinting with mischief.
"Take advantage of you?" he drawled, his voice laced with teasing amusement. “I think you’ve got it all wrong, princess.”
Meerab’s face flushed with anger, but before she could hurl another accusation, Murtasim, still smirking, subtly nodded his head towards her. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
Confused, Meerab glanced down, her eyes widening in horror as she saw what he meant. She had been the one clinging to him—her arms had been wrapped tightly around his waist, her body pressed against his like she belonged there. It hadn’t been him, after all. She had been the one who sought him out.
The color drained from her face, only to be replaced by a deep, furious blush. She quickly untangled herself from him, scrambling to her side of the bed, mortified beyond belief. Her heart pounded in her chest as she desperately tried to think of something to say, something to salvage the situation, but her mind was blank.
Murtasim sat up, thoroughly enjoying her mortification. “Well, well, well…” he mused, his voice smug and teasing. “It seems you were the one who couldn’t resist me, Meera. Don’t tell me you’ve been secretly wanting my body all this time.”
Meerab gasped, scandalized, her eyes wide in disbelief. “I—what?!” She stammered, completely flustered. “I did no such thing!”
But Murtasim leaned in, his expression wickedly amused. “Come now, no need to deny it. After all, actions speak louder than words, don’t they?”
Meerab, now fully red with embarrassment, opened her mouth to retort, but before she could say anything, a loud, insistent knock on the door broke the moment.
Both of them froze, the tension in the room immediately shifting. Murtasim’s teasing smile faded as he turned toward the door, and Meerab, still mortified, pulled the blanket around herself as if it could shield her from the world.
The knock came again, louder this time.
"Who could that be?" Meerab whispered, her eyes filled with panic. Murtasim, his expression now serious, stood up and quickly motioned for her to stay quiet.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered, his playful tone from earlier replaced by a sudden edge of caution. He moved toward the door, preparing himself for whatever—or whoever—was on the other side.
