LET ME HATE YOU

Amaan's PA

When Asmaira woke up the following day, she sat up startled, finding herself on the couch instead of outside. Amaan's words flashed in her mind, and her head instinctively snapped toward the bed. Finding the bed neatly made, she assumed he had already left for the office as he did every day.

With her mind preoccupied with the intention of meeting Feriha and asking for her help, she grabbed her clothes and mindlessly opened the bathroom door without looking. Her train of thought broke, and she skidded to a halt, finding Amaan wrapped only in a towel. The abrupt stop caused her feet to slip, and before she could fall, a hand shot out, grabbing her waist and pulling her up.

A gasp escaped her mouth as a strange rush went through her body, finding herself held in Amaan's arms. With his hair dripping wet and his jaw freshly shaved, he stared at her in confusion. The faint scent of jasmine enveloped him before his eyes were drawn to the softest brown eyes staring back. The heat from her palms went straight to his spine, slithering south. The feeling was intensifying with each encounter with her, and he couldn't pinpoint the emotion he was experiencing. However, Asmaira's wide eyes swirling with anxiety and her flushed cheeks snapped him out of it.

"S-Sorry," she stammered, lowering her eyes, only to shut them tight, realizing he was only covered by a towel.

"I didn't mean to," she quickly added, pushing him away with her forearms.

Frightened that he would misinterpret her actions, she was desperate to escape his grasp. Asmaira felt as though time held a strong grudge against her, as she kept ending up trapped by him in one situation or another.

"I didn't know you were so desperate," Amaan said, but instead of pushing her away, he pulled her even closer, catching Asmaira's breath in her throat.

"No!" she screamed when Amaan lifted her and set her down on the counter.

With one arm still wrapped around her waist, he placed the other just behind her hip, making her rigid in his hold.

"What did we discuss about looking in the eyes and talking?" he feigned casualness even though he was an absolute mess inside.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she refused to open her eyes and witness their proximity or the impropriety of their posture. Her mind chanted, Move away.

Her senses heightened, and so did her fear. The smell of his body wash, the way her clothes were soaking up the water droplets on his body—her heart pounded in her chest.

"Don't.....I s-said it was a mistake. Move," her tiny voice and futile push did nothing.

"Do you have a habit of looking at naked men, Asmaira?" he drawled, realizing something new about his wife that he could use against her.

Offended by his words, she raised her hand, only for him to grab and lock it behind her back. That only pressed her closer against his chest, and her eyes snapped open in dread.

"See, it wasn't that hard to look at me while talking," he said.

"I'm s-sorry, please leave me," she whispered helplessly.

"First, falling into my arms, and now the slap. Are you making excuses to touch your husband?" he leaned into her neck and murmured in her ear.

"You can be frank with me. Are you craving a man's touch?" he teased, seeing her ears turn red.

Asmaira's eyes widened, unaware that her fluttering lashes were brushing against his neck, causing an internal conflict within him.

"I'm n-not like that," she shook her head.

"Don't tell me I'm your first," Amaan scoffed, but her sudden sobs answered his question.

He pulled back slightly, gazing at her flushed cheeks and then into her eyes.