Dhaagey: The Ties that Bind Us [Tere Bin FF]

61. heat

Author's Note: Helllllo! We're getting closer and closer to the end, y'all. I am a little emotional. But also I gasped when I realized that the number of people responding to the poll is so much larger than the number of people liking/commenting on the chapter, I literally thought everyone left so it's nice to see there's actually many people around - SO THANK YOU FOR STICKING AROUND! Onto the next chapter, after which we just time-jump here and there until the end!

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Murtasim couldn't take his eyes off her. He should have been finishing his own packing, maybe checking their flight times, but instead, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, grinning like a fool while his wife huffed.

Meerab was kneeling on the floor beside the open suitcase, pouting aggressively at every item she folded. Her bathrobe hung loosely around her, gaping just enough at the chest that he had to breathe slowly.

Her skin was covered in hickies.

From her neck, down the elegant slope to her collarbones, blooming over her pretty little tits, dotting her stomach in clusters, trailing down to her thighs. He knew exactly where each mark was, because he had put them there, one by one, with slow, deliberate precision.

The sight made heat coil in his gut.

He still remembered her giggles, those breathy, uncontrollable little sounds she made, when he'd told her he was trying to draw his name in hickies on her stomach.

He'd managed the "M."

Barely.

Then she'd twitched her hips and whimpered at the wrong moment, and he'd lost all artistic discipline, grabbed her thighs, and fucked her into the mattress instead.

He had zero regrets.

He shook himself out of the memory, forcing his mind back to the present before he ended up with another problem straining against his clothes.

Her hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head, little curls falling around her neck and cheeks.

He could see her frown at a tangle of bikinis in the corner of her bag. She picked up the tiniest one, a scarlet scrap he'd nearly lost his mind over when she'd first worn it, and sighed so dramatically that he almost laughed.

He chuckled, turning back to the kitchen. He grabbed the two coffees from the Nespresso machine, the one she liked with too much milk and sugar, his own strong and black. Carrying both, he padded over and lowered himself to the floor beside her, setting the cup by her even though lunch would arrive shortly.

She took it automatically, still pouting, muttering, "Thank you," in the softest, most adorable voice.

He nudged her shoulder, voice teasing. "What's wrong now?"

She took a sip, her lips curving a little at the edges, that contented sigh he loved leaving her. Then she pointed, mournful, at the line of tiny bikinis. "These are so cute," she mumbled.

He grinned, glancing at the red one, trying to take it from her hands, "I don't think 'cute' is the right word..." His fingers lingered on the fabric a second too long.

She whacked his hand away, shooting him a half-hearted glare. "Don't. I won't get to wear them again," she whined, voice pitching up with genuine distress.

He leaned back on his hands, studying her. "You can wear them again."

She shook her head, lips turning down. "When? I can't wear these at home. Or, you'll have to take me on vacation and get us a private pool. But what if I get fat and nothing fits? Like, what if I get pregnant and have babies and stretch marks and then I can't wear them, or they won't look good –"