Meerab lay sprawled on her stomach, her legs slightly bent at the knees, casually swaying in the air as she immersed herself in the book resting beneath her elbows. Her hair fell in loose waves across her shoulders, and the afternoon sunlight bathed her figure in a warm glow. The entire scene was serene—completely peaceful—unaware of the storm brewing just beyond the door.
Murtasim entered the room, his steps quiet but his gaze instantly drawn to the sight before him. His wife lay there so effortlessly, her body so relaxed and tempting in the way her kameez rode up slightly, exposing the smooth curve of her lower back. A spark flickered in his eyes as he took in the way her legs swung back and forth, her body looking utterly comfortable, completely unguarded.
For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes darkening with every passing second, the sight of her stirring something deep inside him—something primal. She hadn’t noticed him yet, completely absorbed in her novel, and that fact only added fuel to the fire building within him.
The swing of her legs—casual, innocent—drove him mad. It was playful, teasing, and she didn’t even know it. His lips curled into a mischievous smile as a sudden idea formed in his mind. Before he could second-guess himself, Murtasim moved toward her silently, his smirk widening.
Then, without warning, his hand came down in a quick, firm *smack* against her backside.
*SMACK!*
The sound echoed in the quiet room, startling Meerab out of her reverie. Her book flew out of her hands as she gasped, her entire body jolting with shock. She immediately turned her head, her wide, disbelieving eyes meeting his dark, mischievous gaze.
"Murtasim!" she shrieked, her voice a mix of outrage and confusion, her cheeks instantly flushing with a combination of surprise and embarrassment.
Murtasim stood at the foot of the bed, one hand resting on the mattress, his posture relaxed as he leaned slightly forward, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face. He raised his brows in mock innocence. "What?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement. "You looked like you needed some… attention."
Meerab’s jaw dropped. She blinked at him, her mind racing as she processed what had just happened. "Attention?" she repeated, her voice raising slightly as she sat up on the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You *spanked* me!"
Murtasim shrugged nonchalantly, his smirk never faltering. "It got your attention, didn’t it?"
Her mouth fell open in disbelief. "Unbelievable!" She grabbed a pillow from beside her and hurled it at him, hitting him square in the chest. But Murtasim only laughed, easily catching the pillow in his hands.
"I thought you’d like it," he teased, his voice lower now, more suggestive. His gaze remained locked on her, enjoying the flustered look on her face.
Meerab glared at him, but the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. She was clearly embarrassed, but there was something else there too—a heat that she couldn’t quite push away. She tried to compose herself, taking a deep breath before huffing, "You can’t just… go around spanking people!"
Murtasim chuckled, climbing onto the bed with the same lazy confidence he always had when he knew he had the upper hand. He crawled closer to her, his movements slow, predatory. Meerab could feel the tension rising between them, the air growing thicker as he approached.
"And yet," he murmured, his voice dripping with teasing amusement as he leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear, "I didn’t hear you say stop."
A shiver ran down her spine as his warm breath brushed against her skin, and her heartbeat quickened. Her glare faltered, and she shifted uncomfortably, trying to maintain her composure. "You’re impossible," she muttered, turning her head away from him, though her cheeks remained flushed.
