As the morning sun streamed through the dusty windows of the safe house, its golden rays danced across the room, spilling over the scattered remnants of the night. The light touched Meerab’s face gently, coaxing her from the depths of sleep. She stirred slightly, feeling the warmth of Murtasim beside her, and for a moment, she was cocooned in the tranquility of their shared embrace.
Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. Panic flickered momentarily in her chest until the memories of their escape came rushing back. They were safe—together—away from her father and the looming threats that hung over them. She inhaled deeply, catching the musky scent of Murtasim mixed with the faint aroma of sweat from their night of passion. She looked down, her bare chest rising and falling beneath the light sheet that partially covered their bodies, and a blush crept across her cheeks as she recalled the intensity of their connection.
Turning to her side, Meerab found Murtasim sprawled next to her, his face softened in sleep. The tension that usually accompanied his presence was absent, revealing a rare vulnerability. His dark lashes brushed against his cheeks, and his hand rested on her torso, a silent guardian even in slumber. She couldn’t help but smile, marveling at how innocent and peaceful he looked, a stark contrast to the deadly bodyguard he was to the world.
Feeling a surge of affection, she leaned closer, lightly pecking his pink lips. He twitched but didn’t wake, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Her heart swelled at the sight, and she couldn’t resist tracing the back of her palm over his cheek, enjoying the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. As her hand drifted down, her fingers twirled around the curl of his mustache, her heart racing with an emotion that went beyond the physical.
An idea struck her. She wanted to do something special for him, to show her appreciation for everything he had done and for the passion they had shared. But as she attempted to move, a dull ache throbbed in her lower body, and she blushed, recalling their fervent night together. Despite the discomfort, her heart fluttered with excitement at the memory.
Careful not to wake him, Meerab slipped out of bed, feeling the cool air brush against her skin as she stood. She glanced around the dimly lit room, her eyes falling on Murtasim's discarded shirt crumpled on the floor. With a soft smile, she picked it up, the fabric warm from his body. She slipped it over her head, the shirt hanging loosely on her small frame, reaching just below her butt. The sight of herself in his shirt made her feel cherished and connected to him in a way that sent shivers of delight through her.
With determination fueling her, she made her way to the kitchen. As she entered, the small space revealed itself to be well stocked, with shelves lined with food supplies and utensils. It felt foreign to her, a world she had never stepped into before. The thought of cooking terrified her; she was her father’s princess, accustomed to servants and luxurious meals prepared with precision. But today, she wanted to do this for Murtasim.
Glancing around, she bit her lip, uncertainty creeping in. Where should she start? As she rummaged through the cabinets, she felt a wave of sorrow wash over her. She missed her father, the man who had always been her protector, but she knew that right now, he was angry with her. The image of his disappointed face pierced her heart. Yet deep down, she believed that once his anger cooled, he would forgive her, and with time, accept Murtasim with open arms.
Determined to push those thoughts aside, she focused on the task at hand. Meerab opened the refrigerator, and her eyes landed on a carton of eggs and some vegetables. “Okay, I can do this,” she whispered to herself, feeling the pressure of her inexperience.
With a deep breath, she began. She turned on the stove, a small flame flickering to life, and placed a pan on top. As she cracked the eggs into the pan, she felt a rush of excitement. The sizzle of the eggs echoed in the quiet kitchen, and she smiled, her confidence growing. She remembered Murtasim saying he liked his eggs scrambled, so she began to stir them gently, adding a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
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