Her Nightmare ✓

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D E V A N S H

Pari lay asleep, her body looking fragile and vulnerable in the soft glow of the moonlight.

A wave of guilt washed over me as I recalled how rough I had been earlier, the intensity of our passion overshadowed by my recklessness. Seeing her curled up like a ball tightened the knot of remorse in my chest.

I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. As I withdrew my hand from beneath her head, I quietly slipped out of bed and made my way toward the dressing table, the room dim and silent around me.

I began to search for the bottle of massage oil, feeling around the table in the darkness. It was a challenge to locate anything familiar, especially since I wasn't well-acquainted with this penthouse.

I often preferred to stay in my own residences across major cities rather than hotels, which I despised for their tendency to exploit my name for scandal. I never wanted any dirt thrown on my reputation, so I had made it a point to secure places to stay wherever my meetings and conferences were held.

After what felt like an eternity of rummaging, my fingers finally brushed against the familiar shape of the oil bottle. I returned to the bed, settling down beside Pari, my gaze fixed on her serene face.

The moonlight filtered in, casting a soft, ethereal glow around her. In that light, she looked like a dream—silky hair cascading over her shoulders, soft skin aglow, and plump lips that seemed to beckon for a kiss.

With a gentle smile, I leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek, a ritual I performed every night without fail. She had no idea about my nightly affection, and I had no intention of revealing it.

It was a simple peck, but it brought me immense peace. I cherished these moments too much to risk losing them by telling her, knowing she would start watching me to put an end to it.

She didn't particularly like cheek kisses, but I adored them.

I carefully pulled the quilt away from her body. Since she wasn't wearing anything, it made giving her a massage much easier without the worry of waking her.

Besides, she was utterly exhausted, and the chances of her stirring before morning were slim, especially with the aches I knew she would be feeling.

After a moment of self-recrimination for causing her discomfort, I finally warmed some oil between my palms. I began with her hands, my fingers moving gently, kneading away the tension with each stroke.

The warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips felt exquisite, and I let my love for her guide my hands, infusing each touch with care and tenderness.

Slowly, I continued to massage her arms, using gentle strokes that avoided any pressure that might disturb her peaceful slumber. Every now and then, she would stir, a soft murmur escaping her lips as she shifted in her dreams.

Whenever she did, I would halt my movements, brushing the back of my hand through her hair, coaxing her back into a deeper sleep.

Once her arms were thoroughly pampered, I took my time working on the rest of her body, each touch filled with care and affection. Massaging her back proved to be a delicate task; as I gently rolled her onto her side, she almost awoke, her eyelids fluttering.

I quickly but gently lulled her back into a serene slumber before she could fully regain consciousness.

When I was finally done, I repositioned her onto her back, allowing a few drops of oil to fall onto her stomach. While it wasn't strictly necessary, I thought, why not add a little extra?