His Prisoner 21+

41

Emaan stirred from her sleep, her body aching in a way that wasn't unfamiliar but felt heavier this time. Each limb felt weighed down, and a dull pain radiated from her back and legs. Last night had been rough—more like a punishment than the lovemaking she wished it had been. But Emaan, too naive and deeply blinded by her love for Arzal, refused to see it as anything else.

She could feel a flutter in her chest as she took in his handsome, serene features. He looked peaceful in sleep, the sharp lines of his face relaxed. She admired him like this—vulnerable, distant from the ruthless man he could be when awake. Her fingers traced the outline of his jaw before she leaned in and kissed his cheek, then his lips softly. The kiss lingered, filled with a devotion that never seemed to falter, no matter how he treated her.

But there was little time to linger in bed. She knew Arzal liked his mornings structured, and she hurried to slip out from under the covers. Every movement made her wince, her body protesting the abuse it had endured. Yet, she smiled through the discomfort and padded softly to the bathroom, eager to wash away the remnants of the night and start her day. The warm water from the shower soothed her aching muscles, and for a moment, she let herself relax under its calming flow.

Once dressed and feeling slightly better, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She had breakfast to prepare before Arzal woke up. The routine was second nature by now—freshly brewed coffee, toast, eggs, and his favorite fruits. She set the table, meticulously arranging everything just the way he liked it.

Soon, Arzal appeared, looking sharp in his suit, exuding the commanding aura he carried effortlessly. His dark eyes met hers briefly, and there was a fleeting warmth in them. He walked over, kissed her softly on the lips, and murmured, "Good morning," before settling into his chair at the head of the table.

"Good morning," Emaan replied quietly, her heart fluttering at the small gesture of affection.

As Arzal took his first bite, he glanced up at her, smirking. His hand reached out, gently pulling her closer before kissing her hand. "Khari kyun ho?" he asked, his voice soft yet authoritative. Without waiting for an answer, he effortlessly pulled her into his lap. (Why are you standing there?)

Emaan giggled, her cheeks flushing as he playfully brushed his beard against her face. "Ap ko kuch chahiye hota isliye," she managed to say between her laughter. (In case, you needed anything. That's why.)

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Mujhe kuch chahiye hoga toh main khud le lunga," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Tum meri biwi ho, mulazim nahi." He leaned in closer, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered, "Aur mujhe toh sirf tum chahiye ho." (I will get what I need myself. You are my wife, not a servant. And all I want is you.)

Emaan blushed deeply, the warmth spreading across her cheeks until her face was as red as a tomato. She couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her lips, her heart fluttering at his words.

Arzal chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered state. "Look at you," he teased, "red like a tomato."

She shyly buried her face in his chest, feeling both embarrassed and happy. His charm was irresistible, and moments like these made her forget the darkness that sometimes clouded their relationship.

After he left for work, the house felt emptier without his imposing presence. Yet, Emaan was used to it by now. She kept herself busy, moving through her usual morning routine—tidying up the house, organizing things the way he liked, and ensuring everything was perfect for when he returned later.

As she was finishing up her chores, the housemaid, Uzma approached her hesitantly.

"Bibi, salam." (Hello, Madam.)