•••
"You're trembling beneath me, and yet you dare to utter another man's name? You truly don't know what line you've crossed, wifey."
•••
As Osman began to rise, Aamirah, still flushed and trembling, reached out and gently held his hand. Her touch was feather-light, but it anchored him. Her eyes, wide and unsure, flickered up to meet his, and her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling with innocence and trust.
"Only if you promise... to be gentle."
His jaw tightened at her words and yet, his lips curved into the faintest smile-shadowed, reverent.
He leaned down, lifting her hand to his mouth first, then pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knee, so tender it made her heart twist.
"Always," he murmured against her skin, "with you-always."
But even as the words left his mouth like a vow, there was a flicker in his eyes-something darker. Something he didn't say aloud. Because the truth was... he could be many things, but gentle was not always one of them. Especially when the storm inside him had tasted her softness once.
Still, he would try. For her.
"can you turn the lights... off... please," she fumbled, eyes darting away, her voice nothing more than a breath as she nervously played with the hem of her dress.
He said nothing-just nodded, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he rose slowly. Towering. Dominating. Yet strangely calm.
He reached for the switch, and the room fell into darkness, save for a faint halo of silver moonlight spilling through the edges of the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls.
Then, he turned back to her.
"Lie down on your stomach," he said gently. There was softness in his tone, but the command beneath it was unmistakable.
Aamirah obeyed with a pounding heart, her limbs trembling as she settled into the center of the bed. The sheets felt cool against her skin. He slid a pillow beneath her stomach, lifting her hips slightly-positioning her with quiet precision.
She clutched the sheets tightly, knuckles pale, her breath hitching as she felt the bed dip beside her.
Then came his hands.
He pushed her clothes down slowly, her pants and inners sliding away in a single, practiced motion. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as the cool air kissed her exposed thighs, her modesty vanishing with the soft rustle of fabric.
His large, calloused hand grazed the bruises he had tended to once in silence. Now he touched them again-not in regret, but reverence. As if every mark left behind made her more his.
She wasn't voluptuous, but what she had-her delicate curves, her soft frame-he accepted as if it were a sacred offering. A possession no man would ever dare to claim but him.
She felt the heat of his palm lingering on her bruised skin, sending shivers down her spine. And worse still-an ache, a heavy pulse that had begun to throb between her thighs, low and aching, making her body betray her shyness.
She buried her face in the crook of her arm, cheeks burning, heart thundering.
And behind her, he exhaled slowly.
He didn't need to see her eyes to know she was blushing. He could feel it in her tension, in the way she gripped the sheets, in the breathless silence that lingered between them.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt his warm breath fan over her exposed skin, her toes curling involuntarily, fingers tightening around the sheets beneath her. His lips-firm yet tender-brushed over her bruised ass with such reverence that it stole the air from her lungs. She wanted to protest, to whisper stop, but the words tangled in her throat, lost to the heat that coiled low in her belly. What is he doing? And why it felt so right?
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𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬
Romance••• "Just because I haven't touched you as a husband should, that doesn't mean I won't," he said, his voice low and menacing. Her knees felt weak, and she didn't dare move from where she stood, his presence overwhelming her completely. She could b...
