Her Awakening

Chapter 33: Awakening to Denial

(mature-ish)

I woke up to the soft rise and fall of Jalal's chest beneath my cheek, his arm draped protectively over me. The warmth of his body against mine, the subtle scent of his skin—it all made me feel cocooned in something deeply comforting. For a few moments, I lay there, eyes closed, just soaking it in. The wildness of last night felt like a dream, a blur of music, laughter, and desire, but this... this was real.

I tilted my head up slightly to see Jalal still asleep, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted. I couldn't resist. Slowly, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling as he stirred, his arm tightening around me. His eyes fluttered open, that familiar warmth in his gaze as he looked down at me.

"Morning, Princess," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," I whispered back, tracing lazy patterns across his chest.

We lay there for a while, tangled in each other, till we decided to go wash away yesterday's fun. We brush our teeth side by side like a newly wedded couple, washing our face with a little skin care. I took a quick shower then wrapped one of his oversized shirts around myself, and padded to the kitchen to make breakfast while he took his turn to shower.

As I cracked eggs into a pan, Jalal came up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist, kissing the back of my neck. I could feel his wet hair drip onto my skin, making me shiver. He smelled of soap and warmth, and I almost forgot about the eggs sizzling in the pan.

"Smells good," he said, nuzzling my neck.

"Thanks. I figured we deserved something a little less... liquid this morning," I laughed, referring to the drinks we'd downed the night before.

Once breakfast was ready, we sat at the kitchen island, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the morning. But there was one more thing we hadn't gotten to yesterday—my presents.

"You didn't open your gifts last night," Jalal said casually, gesturing to the neatly wrapped boxes stacked on the counter.

I'd almost forgotten about the chaos of last night. With a smile, I grabbed the first one—a beautifully wrapped bag in rich burgundy paper—and tore it open. Inside were designer handbags, one after another, each more stunning than the last. But when I opened the smallest box, my breath caught. There, nestled in velvet, were car keys.

My eyes shot up to Jalal's, wide with disbelief. "You didn't..."

He just smiled, like this was the most natural thing in the world. "It's in the garage. Go look."

I felt the air leave my lungs. "Jalal... I can't accept this."

His smile faltered, but only for a moment. "Why not? It's a birthday gift."

"I mean, look at all this!" I gestured to the expensive bags, my voice rising slightly. "You've already done so much for me. You're paying for my apartment—hell, you furnished it! This is too much." My words tumbled out faster than I could control them. "I don't want you to feel like you have to keep giving me things."

He set down his fork and reached across the table, his hand warm as it wrapped around mine. "Melissa, I do these things because I want to. Not because I have to." He gave me that look—the one that always made my defences crumble. "You deserve nice things. Let me do this for you."

I stared at him, torn between my pride and the undeniable love in his eyes. And, of course, he had a way of convincing me when I was on the verge of saying no.

Reluctantly, I sighed. "Fine. But you need to stop spoiling me like this."

He smirked. "No promises."

Later, after breakfast, we curled up on the couch together. I was wrapped in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder as a movie played in the background. It felt like the perfect day—until Jalal brought up the one topic I'd been dodging for weeks.

"So... anymore thoughts on meeting my family?"

My stomach tightened. I had been avoiding this conversation for a reason. His family was a big deal. A huge deal. Meeting them meant our relationship was getting serious—really serious. And in my culture meeting the family means marriage and that scared me.

I faked a casual shrug, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know. Soon, I guess."

He was silent for a moment, and I could feel the shift in the air. His arm, which had been loosely draped over me, grew tense. "You always say that," he said quietly. His voice wasn't angry, but there was a sharp edge to it that hadn't been there a moment ago.

I looked up at him, trying to gauge how upset he really was. "It's not that I don't want to meet them," I started carefully. "It's just... it's a big step...".

Jalal didn't respond immediately, and that made it worse. He just stared at the TV, his jaw tight, his fingers absently tapping against his leg. Finally, he spoke, his tone too calm. "I get it."

But he didn't get it. And I knew he wasn't fine. He wasn't one to explode, but the weight of his silence was suffocating.

"Are you mad?" I asked quietly, bracing myself for his answer.

He didn't even look at me. "No," he said. But the clipped way he said it told me everything I needed to know.

I tried to reach for him, sliding my hand over his, but he didn't pull away. That gave me a false sense of comfort, even though deep down, I knew things weren't okay. Not really. We finished the movie, but the weight of the conversation hung between us, unspoken yet unavoidable.

Later that evening, after dinner, I curled up in bed with a book, waiting for Jalal to join me. The shower was still running in the bathroom, steam creeping out from under the door. I tried to focus on the words in front of me, but my mind kept drifting to Jalal, to that look on his face earlier.

When the water finally shut off, I glanced up just in time to see him step out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his hips, low enough so it drew attention to his deep vline. His skin was still damp, from here I could smell the manly scent of his shower gel, beads of water glistening as he ran the towel over his broad shoulders. My breath hitched as I watched him, unable to look away. He knew exactly what he was doing, moving slowly, deliberately, drying himself off with a smug smile that made my heart race.

When he caught me staring, his grin widened. He dropped the towel, and I gasped looking down at his well adorned member for a second before he turned around, with his back to me he walked into his walk-in closet, coming back out his lower half covered in loose basketball shorts. He sauntered over to the bed, the shorts barely hanging on, and for a moment, I thought he was about to finally break the tension that had been simmering between us all day.

But instead, he leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and whispered, "Goodnight, Princess."

And just like that, he climbed into bed, turned his back to me, and left me hot and bothered.

I blinked, lying there in stunned silence, my body still humming with need. What just happened?

The next day, it happened again. Jalal teased me relentlessly—neck kisses, lip biting, ass grabbing, giving me just enough to make my pulse race—but never enough to satisfy me. Every night, I was left aching, craving more, only to be kissed on the forehead like a child.

It didn't take long for me to figure out what was happening.

I was being punished.