The stillness of the night in Khan Haveli was almost deafening, with only the occasional rustle of wind slipping through the half-open window. The moonlight spilled into the room in soft streams, illuminating the space with a muted glow. In the middle of the bed, Meerab lay nestled against Murtasim, her back pressed against his chest. The steady rise and fall of their breathing mirrored one another, the tranquility of the moment providing a stark contrast to the storm brewing just beneath the surface.
Murtasim’s hand rested possessively on her waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the soft fabric of her nightgown. His touch was light but electric, sending waves of heat coursing through Meerab’s body. She shifted slightly, trying to suppress the shiver that his mere proximity evoked. But it was no use. Her body was betraying her, responding to every subtle movement of his fingers, every brush of his breath against her neck.
She closed her eyes, willing her heart to calm down, but the way his hand skimmed up her side made it impossible. She knew this man—his dominance, his passion, the intensity that always simmered beneath his calm exterior. And tonight, she could feel it more than ever.
“Murtasim…” she whispered, her voice barely audible but trembling with something deeper than uncertainty.
Her words hung in the air between them, but Murtasim didn’t respond. Instead, his hand tightened ever so slightly on her waist, pulling her back against him more firmly, letting her feel the heat of his body, the strength of his intent. The tension in the room thickened, crackling with an unspoken desire.
She tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened, tried to keep herself from surrendering so easily. But Murtasim knew her too well. He always knew how to break through the walls she built around herself, knew exactly what buttons to push.
“Meerab…” His voice was low, dark, dripping with raw desire. He wasn’t asking for permission; he was reminding her of what they both wanted. Of what they both needed.
His hand slid from her waist to her thigh, gripping it firmly as he let his lips graze her shoulder. She stiffened momentarily, trying to fight the inevitable pull of him. But his lips, hot and urgent, kissed a line up her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. The feeling of his mouth on her skin, his breath tickling her ear, was too much.
“Murtasim, stop,” she whispered, but the words lacked conviction, lost amidst the growing fire inside her. She could feel his lips curl into a smirk against her neck.
“Do you really want me to stop?” he murmured, his voice thick with challenge, knowing full well what her real answer was.
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Because the truth was, she didn’t want him to stop. Not tonight.
Murtasim moved swiftly, flipping her onto her back, his hands sliding under her thighs and lifting her legs until they rested on his broad shoulders. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that made her heart race.
“You said to stop…” he whispered, his voice taunting as his hands gripped her thighs tightly, pulling her closer to him. “But I don’t think you mean it.”
The position sent a jolt of electricity through Meerab’s body, her breath catching in her throat. She had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, yet so utterly captivated by him. Murtasim leaned over her, his body hovering above hers, and she could see the tension in his muscles, the restraint he was barely holding on to.
“Murtasim,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but her body betrayed her—arching toward him, craving the touch she was pretending to deny.
His grip on her legs tightened, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly began to move, pressing into her with a force that made her gasp. Her hands clutched at the bedsheets, the sensation overwhelming as her legs pressed against his shoulders, feeling the strength of him as he began to move with purpose.
