Author's Note: Y'know, this story was a drabble on Twitter first. And then I thought it would be 2-3 chapters. But here I am posting the tenth chapter. And does this chapter finish off with "the end"? No. It just sets up for more chapters. Someone send help. Someone stop me. I have other stories to write. Thank you for coming to (and reading) my breakdown. Enjoy the chapter - it's 40 pages, it's fluffy, it's cute, it's smutty, it's cute again. Okay bye.

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Meerab walked through the dimly lit corridors of the haveli, a ridiculous, borderline unhinged smile plastered on her face. She had tried—really, truly tried—to contain it, to not look like a love-drunk idiot, but it was physically impossible at this point.

Something Barlas like to point out all the time.

But Murtasim was going to be the death of her.

She wasn't used to this. This Murtasim.

This Murtasim found her anywhere, sought her out.

She could be reading a book, plotting Barlas' demise, watering a plant— and suddenly, boom—there he was.

Settling down beside her, stealing her cup of chai like a menace, tucking her dupatta over her shoulder like he had the right to, holding her hand like it was his favorite thing to do.

And sometimes, he didn't even touch her. Sometimes, he just sat there and looked at her.

Unabashedly. Openly. Like she was his favorite thing to look at.

Like she was his to look at.

AND THE WORST PART?

It made her blush.

Meerab Ahmed - self-declared queen of confidence – BLUSHING AND GIGGLING.

Her cheeks hurt from all the smiling she had done over the past few days.

It was humiliating.

But it wasn't her fault.

HOW was she supposed to handle Murtasim Khan when he was like this?!

When he'd go on a walk in the village and return with his hands full of things she loved?

Flowers - bunches of dahlias, chrysanthemums, peonies, hydrangeas, all her favourites that he somehow just knew. He wouldn't tell her how, he just smiled like Sheru did when you gave him scratches.

Jalebis because he had seen her eyes widen just a little when Dai Maa had mentioned that they tasted best dunked in hot milk. (Which, okay, they did, but that was beside the point.)

Choodiyan—not just any choodiyan, but ones that perfectly matched whatever suit she was wearing that day. Every single time. As if he just knew. As if he paid attention in a way that was almost unnatural, like he had memorized every shade she owned, every color she gravitated toward. It was too much.

Too thoughtful. Too observant. Too ridiculously, unfairly romantic.

The opposite of a problem, really—but somehow still a problem because HOW WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO FUNCTION UNDER THESE CONDITIONS?!

Was she just expected to go about her day knowing that Murtasim Khan—former grump, professional brooder, self-proclaimed emotionally constipated man—was out here memorizing her wardrobe like it was his full-time job?!

Was she supposed to just... live like this?!

Because she was melting. Dying. Actively perishing.

This man was ruining her.

And then there was today.

The air had been crisper than usual, the first signs of winter creeping in.

And Murtasim had just appeared beside her on the veranda—silent, effortless, devastating—and wordlessly draped a shawl over her shoulders.

No smug remarks. No teasing. No "Meerab, tum bina shawl ke thand mein kyun ghoom rahi ho?"

Just a simple, quiet gesture.

And it had ruined her.

Because the second that shawl landed on her shoulders, the butterflies in her stomach? They didn't just flutter—they staged a full-blown, revolutionary riot.

And then—THEN—he had just...sat there.

Looking at her.

With that smile.

That soft, stupid, smitten smile.

She had wanted to shove him off the veranda.

Not because she was annoyed—oh no, that would've been easier.

But because she was dying.

Actually dying.

Who gave him the right?!

She should probably be concerned about this level of emotional downfall.

But all she could think about was how warm that shawl had been.

And how warm his smile had been.

And how much warmer he would feel if she tackled him right then...sadly, Dai Maa had been around. Otherwise, she might have tested that theory.

But she was sound asleep now, as was much of the house.

Meerab giggled to herself as she headed up the stairs.

The terrace was quiet except for the soft rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant hum of crickets. The sky stretched vast and endless above them, an inky black canvas scattered with stars.

And there he was—Murtasim, just as expected.

Meerab slowed her steps as she spotted him, seated in a wicker sofa chair, staring off into the dark distance, lost in thought.

The dim glow from the lantern beside him cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp edges of his jaw, the faint furrow of his brows, the way his lips were pressed together like he was turning something over in his mind. And the grey shalwar-kameez?

Unfair. Completely and utterly unfair.

I am going to die.

She was about one second away from climbing onto his lap when he suddenly looked up, sensing her presence.

And then—her heart stopped.

Because he smiled.

Effortlessly, instinctively, just because she was there.

She forgot how to breathe. Or maybe she just decided breathing was overrated when a man looked at you like that.

Like you were his favorite sight. Like he was happy - really, truly happy - just because you existed.

This was dangerous.

Because that was her smile.

The one that made her knees weak, the one that made her brain stop functioning, the one that made her want to launch herself at him without a second thought.

So, she did.

Without hesitation, she climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and his arms automatically adjusted, settling around her waist, steadying her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Meerab bit her lip, giddy, positively drunk on the ease of it.

No stiffening. No hesitation. Just...acceptance.

Like she belonged there.

Murtasim hummed, soft and low, as his fingers brushed against her hair, tucking a few loose strands behind her shoulder. His touch was light, almost absentminded, but it made something deep inside her tremble.

She tilted her head, studying him. "Itne serious kyun lag rahe ho?" she asked, pressing her fingers against his forehead, smoothing out the faint crease there.

He shook his head slightly, as if brushing off whatever thoughts had occupied his mind.

But Meerab narrowed her eyes. "Technically, ye sawal tha."

She reminded him of his promise – his beautiful promise. Agar tum mujhe kuch puchogi, kabhi bhi, main uska jawab hamesha doonga... dil se.

Murtasim sighed, his thumb brushing against her waist absentmindedly before he finally said, "Soch raha hoon ki yeh bodyguard ki job chhod doon."

Meerab froze.

Her brain short-circuited.

The words slammed into her so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that she almost lost her balance.

She blinked at him, stunned, as something awful and unfamiliar clawed its way up her chest.

He doesn't want to be around you anymore. That was the first, stupid, irrational thought that hit her.

She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat and forced herself to ask, "Kyun?" It came out softer than she intended, almost hesitant. A little heartbroken.

Murtasim exhaled slowly, his fingers still resting against her waist. "Mujhe tumhare saath waqt guzarne ke paise nahi chahiye, Meerab. Tumhara khayal rakhna bas ek job nahi hai."

Meerab stared at him.

Her heart did something complicated and dramatic in her chest—something stupidly soft and terribly inconvenient.

Oh. Oh.

She was going to scream.

Because, objectively, this made sense.

It was, in fact, a deeply romantic thing to say.

But she hated it.

With every fiber of her being.

Because being his job was the reason she got to spend all day with him.

He was always around, always following her, watching over her, finding her wherever she went.

And if he wasn't her bodyguard anymore...

Then what?

Her mouth moved faster than her brain. "Toh tum mujhe har waqt apni aankhon ke samne nahi dekhna chahte?" she accused, her tone high-pitched, scandalized.

Murtasim sighed, his grip tightening around her waist like he was bracing himself for her dramatics. (Which was fair. She was about to be ridiculous.)

"Mujhe seekhna padega ke tumhe kaise baat samjhaun," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

Meerab narrowed her eyes. Excuse me?

But before she could bite his head off, he lifted a hand and gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

"Main – I - Main har waqt tumhare saath rehna chahta hoon." He muttered.

Her heart flatlined.

She stopped breathing.

Stopped functioning.

She blinked at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

He continued, his voice quieter now. "Aur main yeh sirf isliye nahi karna chahta kyunki yeh mera kaam hai... balki isliye kyunki main yeh karna chahta hoon."

Meerab's brain short-circuited. "Kyun?" She muttered, fishing for a confession in words.

His thumb stroked her jaw, his gaze unbearably soft as he murmured, "Kyunki tum mere liye important ho."

Oh. Oh.

I AM GOING TO COMBUST.

That was the single most romantic thing she had ever heard in her entire life.

Meerab didn't know what to do with it.

Other than melt completely into a puddle in his lap.

Which she did.

Like an idiot.

But then reality - that annoying, inconvenient thing - came crashing back in.

If he isn't my bodyguard... then what excuse would I have to keep him all to myself?

Meerab pursed her lips, clearly offended at the idea.

Her fingers toyed with the collar of his kurta before she pouted dramatically.

"Agar tum mere bodyguard nahi raho ge, toh phir tum koi aur job karo ge?"

Murtasim arched an eyebrow, amused. "Obviously."

She shook her head firmly. "Mujhe pasand hai ke tum mere bodyguard ho. Iss tarah tum saara din sirf mere saath rehte ho..."

Murtasim let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Meerab..."

But she wasn't done.

She frowned at the thought of him being occupied elsewhere, dealing with other people, doing things that didn't involve her.

What if he got busy?

What if he wasn't around all the time to look at her like she was the sun and moon combined?!

No.

Unacceptable.

She needed him around. All the time.

"Tumhara koi aur kaam nahi ho sakta," she announced with finality, her tone deeply possessive.

His smirk widened slightly. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

Meerab scoffed. "Aur kitni fond hongi main?"

Because be honest.

She was already dying.

Absolutely gone for him.

Especially because of how he was looking at her right then.

His gaze was heavy—intense, consuming. The kind that made her feel like he was memorizing her, committing every inch of her face to memory. His dark eyes trailed over her—her lips, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw—before returning to her eyes with a focus so absolute it made her heart seize in her chest.

Was this normal?

Was she supposed to survive this?

Because she felt like she forgot how to breathe...again.

Her hands settled over his heart again, her fingertips brushing over the fabric like she was trying to distract herself from the way he was looking at her.

It wasn't working.

At all.

Because she could feel his heart thumping away beneath her hand, loud and fast.

Murtasim exhaled, the hand on her waist tightening slightly. "Meerab."

The way he said her name, low, deliberate, like a promise, set off a wildfire inside her chest.

And then he leaned in.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

Like he was giving her time to stop him, but as if he already knew she wouldn't.

And she didn't.

She wasn't dumb.

His lips brushed hers, featherlight at first—a tease, a whisper of warmth.

But the moment she let out a soft, shuddering sigh—that was it.

His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her impossibly closer as he kissed her fully.

Meerab's fingers curled into the fabric of his kurta over his heart, gripping it for dear life.

His lips moved against hers with a slow, devastating expertise, stealing her breath, making her feel like she was dissolving into him.

She sighed against his mouth, pressing in closer—as if that was even possible.

His other hand dragged up her back, his fingers grazing her spine in a way that made her shiver before sliding into her hair.

Oh, I like that.

She liked that way too much.

Her lips parted instinctively, and Murtasim took full advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, thorough way that made her toes curl.

A noise escaped from the back of her throat—soft, needy, embarrassing.

He must've heard it, because he groaned against her lips, pulling her even closer, his hand fisting slightly in her hair.

Oh.

Her brain was gone. She didn't need it anymore.

It was just her, him, and this kiss that was ruining her life in the best possible way.

Her hands slid down, pressing against the warm skin of his chest over his kurta.

He was so warm, and so solid, and so... hers.

She barely noticed when he pulled away—just slightly, just enough to breathe.

But he didn't go far.

Didn't stop kissing her.

Little pecks, soft and lazy, like he wasn't done, like he was savoring her.

Like he wanted more.

Meerab barely registered the way she was smiling against his lips, her heart swelling to the point of bursting.

Murtasim pulled back just enough to look at her.

And damn him.

That stupid, soft, adoring smile was on his lips again.

Like she was the best thing he had ever tasted.

And, God help her, she wanted to kiss him forever.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a sane Meerab was trying to get through, reminding her that they had been having some sort of conversation...but she didn't remember what.

She was definitely going to need a solid fifteen minutes to process what just happened—this whole kissing just to kiss thing was driving her absolutely mad. But, before her brain could even attempt to reboot, Murtasim's fingers slid through her hair, combing through the strands so gently, so effortlessly, that shivers raced down her spine.

Oh.

That felt... ridiculously nice.

Like, dangerously nice.

Like, if he kept doing it, she was going to start purring.

Her body betrayed her instantly, melting into his touch like she was some weak, love-struck idiot.

Murtasim noticed.

Of course, he did.

And—because he was an absolute menace—he smiled. Smugly.

Meerab rolled her eyes so hard she saw her past life, clearing her throat like she wasn't currently one second away from throwing herself at him again.

She needed to say something.

Something casual.

Something normal.

Something that didn't make it painfully obvious that she was hanging by a thread.

She blurted out, "Humein yahin rehna chahiye."

Murtasim raised an eyebrow, still looking very amused. "Kya?"

She nodded far too enthusiastically, like she had actually thought this through. (She hadn't.) "Yahin rehte hain, hamesha ke liye. Gaon mein. Yeh sab zameenain tumhari hai, na? Toh tum real mein feudal lord bano! Sab kuch tum handle karo..." She waved a hand vaguely. "Aur saara din mere saath raho..." She grinned.

Murtasim chuckled, the sound deep and warm, as he continued playing with her hair. "Aur jab tumhe McDonald's ki yaad aayegi?"

Meerab hummed. "Tum mere liye McDonald's bana do."

He blinked, like he had just realized exactly who he had fallen for. "...Tumhare liye McDonald's bana doon?"

"Bilkul!" She nodded sagely, already building the entire business model in her head. "Tumhare paas itni saari zameen hai, ek field ko koi miss nahi karega. Wahan ek drive-thru wala McDonalds kholenge...bada sa drive-thru, jiss mein tractor bhi jaa sake!"

Murtasim sighed, but there was fond amusement dancing in his eyes. "Khet chhod ke McDonald's chalayenge?"

Meerab waved off his concerns. "Dono kar sakte hain! Tumhara hi faida hai. Yeh billion-dollar franchise hai—maine suna hai ki Pakistan mein sirf ek location ke through McDonald's ka revenue 27 billion rupees se bhi zyada hai!"

Murtasim just stared at her, a smile on his face.

Meerab grinned. "Aaj tak kisi ne kabhi gaon mein McDonald's nahi khola. Pehli baar hoga! Tumhara naam bhi record books mein likha jayega – Major Murtasim Khan."

His eyes twinkled with quiet amusement. "Manager kaun hoga?" He asked.

Meerab grinned, delighted. "Bhaktu."

Murtasim let out a full laugh.

Meerab kept going, obviously pleased with herself. "Aur workers? Gaon ke log! Pata hai, unka zyada exposure bhi hoga, opportunities bhi milengi! Imagine karo, tumhare gaon ke log McDonalds waali uniform mein—"

He shook his head, watching her like she was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. "Meerab, tumhara dimaag kaise chalta hai?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Behtar hai tum na samajhne ki koshish karo."

Murtasim leaned back, his arms still wrapped around her, smirking like she was the best entertainment he had ever known.

Which I likely am, because his life had been boring before me!

And Meerab, absolutely thriving under the attention, continued talking.

Meerab was on a roll.

Her business empire (McMeerab's™—yes, she had already named it) was expanding rapidly in her head, and Murtasim?

He was going to fund it.

"Waise," she mused, tapping her chin like a very serious CEO. "Pakistan mein ham nahi hota toh phir hamburger ka naam hamburger kyun hai?"

Murtasim blinked, as if he had not expected this question at all. "...Koi aur naam hona chahiye?"

Meerab scoffed. "Obviously! Yeh naam misleading hai! Gaon ke log sochenge haram cheez bik rahi hai!"

Murtasim sighed, his fingers still combing lazily through her hair. "Toh phir kya karein?"

"Gaon ke liye menu change karni padi gi...jaise...McBiryani Burger!"

Murtasim stared at her. "McBiryani Burger?"

"Haan!" She grinned, ignoring his skepticism. "Tum samajh nahi rahe ho, Murtasim. Yeh revolution hoga! Hum naye McFlurry flavors bhi introduce karenge!"

His eyebrow lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Jaise?"

Meerab beamed. "Gulab Jamun McFlurry."

Murtasim sighed again, but there was a smile playing at his lips. "Aur?"

She tapped her fingers excitedly against his chest. "Rasmalai McFlurry!"

He let out a soft chuckle. "Aur?"

"Shahi Tukda McFlurry."

Murtasim shook his head, watching her like she was absolutely insane—but also, like he loved every second of it. "Yeh restaurant hai ya mithai ki dukaan?"

"BOTH!" She gasped. "Tum dekhna, McDonald's ka CEO khud mere paas aayega business seekhne!"

Murtasim just stared at her, looking utterly smitten. His eyes kept straying to her lips, but Meerab was too busy plotting world domination to notice immediately.

It wasn't until he murmured, "Aur?" in that deep, lazy voice of his—his fingers still stroking through her hair—that she realized...

Oh.

He was looking at her like that again.

Her brain froze.

Rebooting in three...two...one...

She cleared her throat, forcing herself back on track. "Mall bhi miss karungi obviously..." she said, focusing very hard on her genius planning. "Lekin tum mujhe har hafte Karachi le jaoge shopping ke liye, theek hai?"

Murtasim's lips curved into a smile. "Aur?"

Meerab hummed, still very aware of his gaze.

"Har teen mahine baad ek vacation," she declared, ticking off destinations on her fingers. "Pehle tum mujhe Skardu wapas le jaoge...phir Europe—sara tour! Paris, Rome, Barcelona! Australia, Indonesia, New Zealand bhi!"

Murtasim just watched her, his smitten smile growing wider, as he nodded.

His eyes kept moving, tracing over her features slowly.

Over her cheeks.

Over the curve of her nose.

And then—

Back to her lips.

Meerab's words stumbled.

Her stomach did an entire gymnastics routine.

She was not prepared for this level of distraction.

Murtasim Khan, why were you looking at me like that?!

Meerab tried.

Tried so hard to focus on her very serious, very important conversation about vacations and McBiryani Burgers and the financial benefits of a rural McDonald's.

But how was she supposed to concentrate when he was looking at her like that?

Like he was already kissing her in his head?

Like he had all the patience in the world—just sitting there, watching her talk, watching her lips move, his fingers still running through her hair, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing every single strand?

Her skin was on fire.

Her stomach was a mess of somersaults.

And his eyes.

Those dark, unreadable, maddeningly intense eyes kept flickering to her mouth.

Again.

And again.

And—

Oh for God's sake.

Meerab had enough.

She cleared her throat and tilted her head, her gaze locking onto his with an impatient challenge. "Lips dekhte hi rahoge ya kiss bhi karoge?"

And just like that—

Murtasim moved.

His lips crashed into hers, hot and unrelenting, like he had been waiting for her to ask.

Her brain?

Gone.

Vanished.

Ceased all function.

Because kissing him was heaven. Every time.

A sin.

A drug.

His hands were everywhere, one sliding up her back, firm and sure, while the other gripped her waist, pulling her closer until there was nothing between them.

Meerab gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, tilting his head and kissing her deeper.

A slow, devouring kiss. The kind that was a prelude to more.

A kiss that made her forget everything - where they were, what time it was, that they were on a terrace where Dai Maa could walk in at any moment.

OH.

Dai Maa.

A brief flash of mortifying horror shot through her.

But then Murtasim made a low sound in his throat, his fingers tightening on her waist, pulling her down against him just right.

Her brain went blank. She melted. Just fully collapsed into him, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling, gripping, needing more.

His breath hitched, and she felt it, right against her lips.

Oh.

Oh, she was ruined.

She was done for.

She wanted to die like this.

But she also wanted a repeat performance of that first night.

And maybe, just maybe, it'd be just as magical as that first night. She shifted in his lap, her fingers curling into his kurta, trying to bring him closer, even though he was already pressed against her like he was trying to fuse them together.

His hands, big and warm, roamed over her back, tracing every inch of her, memorizing, possessing.

Heat coiled in her stomach, sharp and dizzying, and she wanted so much more.

Everything.

But then his lips broke away from hers.

Just a little. Just enough to tease. To brush the softest, slowest pecks against her mouth, like he was so, so smug about the absolute mess he had turned her into.

Meerab barely had the breath to whisper, "I hate you."

Murtasim smiled against her lips. "Jhoot."

And then he kissed her again. Like he had been starving. His lips were urgent, unrelenting, perfectly demanding, parting hers effortlessly, stealing her breath, her sanity, and any remaining common sense she had.

Meerab barely had a second to react before he deepened it, his mouth moving against hers with an intoxicating, practiced ease.

Oh, this was dangerous. The way his lips fit against hers, the way he knew exactly what to do, how to tilt his head, how to press just right, just enough, his stubble grazing against her skin with every movement.

It was too much. Her fingers curled into the front of his kurta, gripping the fabric desperately, as if that could somehow ground her, as if she wasn't already spiraling into a full-blown, love-drunk haze.

But it wasn't enough. She needed closer.

Her fingers twisted and tangled through the soft strands of his hair, tugging just slightly.

That did something.

Because he groaned, deep and low, against her mouth.

A helpless, needy sound escaped her throat before she could stop it, and Murtasim must've liked it, because he kissed her harder, deeper, his hands slipping beneath the fabric of her kameez, fingers pressing against the curve of her waist, tracing, exploring.

His kisses turned hotter, heavier, his lips moving with devastating precision, taking his time with every single brush, every single stroke, until she was gasping, panting, clinging to him like he was her only anchor in the world.

Her lungs burned, but she didn't care.

Because he kissed her like he owned her.

Like he knew exactly what she liked, exactly how to unravel her.

Like she was his.

Meerab didn't even realize she was whimpering into his mouth until he pulled back just slightly, just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against hers, their noses brushing. The air between them was thick, heavy, scorching.

But he didn't stop.

His lips brushed against hers again, slow and lingering, like he was savoring every second, like he couldn't get enough. Kiss after kiss, soft and teasing, stealing her breath, making her toes curl. His fingers flexed on her waist, holding her close, keeping her there, exactly where he wanted her.

She was going to die.

Or worse—she was going to float away. Just lift off his lap and drift into the dark night sky above them, carried away by the sheer force of whatever this man was doing to her. There was no ceiling to stop her, no earthly weight keeping her tethered—just him, just his touch, his lips, his voice.

"Itni achi lagti hoon main?" She whispered against his lips, the way he kept coming back, not even letting her pull back for air prompting her to ask.

And then that voice, rough and husky from the kisses, murmured against her lips, "Iss se bhi zyada."

She blinked.

He was admitting it? Out loud? Just like that?

She was absolutely, one hundred percent going to combust.

Her thighs clenched around his before she could stop herself, the heat rushing between her legs unbearable. It had been three whole days since that night, the night she let him ruin her. Three days of feeling sore, of sleeping alone, and of constantly being hunted by the terrifying possibility of Dai Maa catching them in some compromising position.

So, she was burning. The dull, throbbing ache between her legs wasn't fading, it was getting worse. She needed him, his touch, his mouth, his body pressing her into a mattress right now.

So, against every ounce of self-preservation she possessed, she whispered against his lips, "Apne room mein le kar jao mujhe."

Murtasim groaned, a deep, raw, broken sound, and fuck, she felt it everywhere.

Heat exploded across her skin, and she giggled, triumphant and smug for all of two seconds before he moved.

Before she could process another thought, he was lifting her, effortlessly rising to his feet with her still wrapped around him, his hands gripping her thighs, supporting her weight.

Her arms automatically tightened around his neck, her legs locking around his waist, and - oh, this was a terrible, terrible idea.

Because now?

Now she was flush against him, his warmth pressing into hers, her heartbeat completely out of control.

She gasped. "Kisi ne dekh liya toh—?"

He shrugged.

He. Shrugged.

And she had the audacity to find that so hot.

The blatant disregard for consequences, the sheer confidence, the assurance in his body, the way he handled her like she weighed nothing at all?!

Yeah. Meerab nearly melted into a puddle on the spot.

She grinned, pressing her face into his neck, letting her lips drag over his warm, smooth skin as he carried her off the terrace, down the stairs, each careful step making her heart pound faster.

She pressed a kiss against his pulse, feeling the steady, commanding rhythm under her lips.

Murtasim's steps faltered.

Barely noticeable, just a tiny stumble.

Then, just to test something, she licked him.

Murtasim stumbled.

Meerab giggled. Oh. Oh, she was onto something dangerous.

And then, because she was an absolute menace, she sank her teeth into that corded muscle in his neck, that same spot that drove her insane whenever she stared at it.

He hissed out a sharp breath, his grip on her tightening, his entire body tensing against hers.

Meerab's grin turned wicked.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Murtasim groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against her lips as she bit down on his neck again, her teeth scraping over the sensitive skin before she soothed it with a slow, teasing lick. His breath hitched, his grip on her tightening for a brief second before he started walking faster.

Her body jostled in his hold as he took long, purposeful strides, his arms locked securely around her as he carried her through the dimly lit haveli, his breathing heavier, rougher, as if he was just barely holding himself back. The thought alone sent a fresh wave of heat rolling between her legs.

He swung open the door to his room, closing it behind them.

Click.

She heard the door locked behind them.

Before she could process anything else, she was pressed against it.

The solid wood was cool against her overheated skin, but it barely registered because the second she lifted her mouth from his neck, his lips were on hers again.

Devouring her.

His kiss was nothing short of desperate - hot, open-mouthed, hungry. His tongue licked into her mouth like he needed to consume her, like he couldn't breathe without her. Her fingers tangled into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as she let herself melt into it, drowning in him.

She unwrapped her legs from around him, her feet hitting the ground, but her knees were weak - so weak.

She needed him naked. Right now.

Her hands trailed to the hem of his kurta, pulling it up, tugging insistently, making it clear what she wanted.

Off. Now.

Murtasim pulled back for half a second, ripping the offending material over his head before tossing it aside. And then he was kissing her again.

Her hands immediately explored the newly exposed skin, trailing up his stomach and chest, feeling each muscle, the ridges, the warmth.

Holy fuck.

Her fingers traced his neck, over his jaw, then down, down, down over his abs - his ridiculous, rock-hard abs.

Was he real? Was he sculpted by the gods?

This was so unfair.

She wanted to lick whipped cream off of him. Or maybe a McFlurry. Yeah, that'd be fun.

Murtasim broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, and before she could even blink, he was gripping her dupatta and kameez, yanking them off.

So disrespectful...I love it.

Her clothes were gone in seconds, lost somewhere in the room.

And then, the man groaned.

Loud. Deep. Like it physically pained him to look at her.

She giggled, her body still burning, but unable to stop herself. She knew she looked good.

She had picked this bra for a reason.

Black, sexy as sin, translucent with lace flowers covering just enough to tease, pushing up her tits in a way that should be considered illegal - just in case she ended up naked in front of him again.

(Okay, there was no in case, she knew she was going to end up naked in front of him).

"My panties match," she teased, her voice light but thick with heat as she pushed down her shalwar and stepped out of it, standing bare before him except for the lingerie.

Murtasim took a step back.

His eyes trailed over her, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath, and the look on his face - gah.

The way he stared, the way his gaze roamed from her flushed face, down her neck, to her aching, heaving breasts, lower to the tiny scrap of lace covering almost nothing made her feel powerful.

He moved, his hands finding her waist, guiding her backward until she felt the bed behind her.

With one gentle push, she fell onto the mattress.

The sheets were cool against her heated skin, but she barely had time to enjoy it because he was staring at her again.

Shirtless, his muscles taut, his chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched.

So sexy. GAH.

She wanted more.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she murmured, spreading out in his bed, shamelessly watching as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his bottoms and pushed them off.

Boxers, too.

Fuck.

His cock was hard and heavy, thick, pointing toward his stomach, veins prominent, tip flushed deep red.

Her breath hitched.

Her thighs clenched.

She moaned - actually moaned - at the sight, her mind chanting fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

But Murtasim? The man was a tease.

Instead of giving her what she needed, he crawled over her, his body pressing her into the mattress as his lips crashed against hers.

She whined, nearly sobbed, but he only kissed her deeper.

And then - he moved lower.

His kisses trailed down her jaw, slow, maddening.

Licking. Sucking. Biting.

His shorter beard, longer moustache scraped against her skin, burning her, ruining her.

"Murta—" she gasped, writhing, her back arching off the bed as he dragged his lips down her neck, nipping at her pulse.

"Shhh," he murmured against her throat, licking away the sting of his teeth.

She shivered, her nails digging into his back, because if this was how he was starting, then she wasn't going to survive what came next.

Murtasim's mouth was hot, wet, and devastating.

His lips closed over her breast through the lace, the heat of his mouth seeping into the thin fabric, making the sensation somehow filthier, more intense.

Meerab gasped, her head tipping back as he licked over the delicate material, wetting it, his tongue dragging slow and deliberate circles over her already stiff nipple. The lace, damp and clinging, rubbed against her in the most maddening way, the combination of rough fabric and scorching heat making her arch into him, her hands flying to his hair to hold him there.

"Murtasimmmmmm." Her voice was barely a breath, a desperate, frustrated sound, but he ignored it, choosing instead to suck.

A sharp, wet pull that sent a shockwave of pleasure straight between her thighs.

Holy. Fuck.

Her nails dug into his scalp, her body shuddering beneath his mouth as he groaned, the vibration sending another shiver down her spine.

And then he pulled back, his eyes flicking up to hers with pure, unfiltered arrogance.

That was before he bit down.

Right over her nipple. Through the fabric.

Give him all the boob-worshipping awards, STAT.

She choked on a moan, her whole body jerking, her thighs pressing together as a rush of slick heat flooded between her legs.

If anyone wanted to know the current water levels of Niagara Falls, they were now located between her thighs.

Murtasim must have sensed it because his mouth curved into a smirk as he began kissing down her stomach, his lips soft, teasing, making her muscles twitch under every slow, open-mouthed press.

And then his fingers - those lethal, large, beautiful fingers - slid between her legs.

He pressed against her soaked panties, pushing the thin fabric between her folds, running his finger along her slit over the lace, the pressure deliciously light, making her hips jolt against his touch.

She keened, an embarrassingly desperate sound escaping her as he kept doing it, kept teasing her with the simplest, filthiest movement.

"So wet," he murmured, his voice dark, smug, dripping with satisfaction as he ran his finger up and down over the now-soaked fabric.

Meerab felt like she was going to combust, but before she could react, he moved her. Turned her over. Face down.

She barely had time to process what was happening before he lifted her hips, his strength effortless, his hands adjusting her like she was a doll, maneuvering her into position.

And then - a pillow. She felt it pushed under her stomach, lifting her hips higher, angling her perfectly.

Murtasim's breath rushed out behind her, a sharp exhale, and she felt it click in her head.

This was how she had laid that night in bed, after pretending to fall, in her lingerie, a pillow under her stomach, on full display for him.

She giggled, moving her head so she could catch his expression.

His eyes were locked onto her, trailing over her body, devouring her.

"Kuch yaad aa raha hai?" she teased, voice thick with amusement and arousal.

His gaze snapped to hers, his pupils blown wide with desire, and he nodded.

And then he was on the bed.

Straddling her.

The heat of his bare skin pressed against the backs of her thighs as his large hands found her back—exactly where they had been before when he had rubbed ointment into her back.

Except this wasn't that.

This was so much hotter.

Her brain short-circuited, completely haywire as his hands trailed up, up, up, pushing her hair aside, baring her entire back to him.

His fingers traced her shoulders, slow, methodical, claiming.

Lower.

Lower.

Down the curve of her spine, making her shiver beneath his touch, his palms spanning her waist, her sides, her ribs, touching, feeling, owning.

And then, his hands were on her ass.

He cupped her, squeezing, and she couldn't stop the deep, needy moan that tore from her throat.

Her hips jerked, pressing back into his grip, her body begging for more without a single word.

Meerab gasped as his fingers trailed between her legs again, the first teasing touch making her entire body shudder. Her breath hitched, and the - oh, fuck - he pushed the crotch of her panties aside, his fingertips skimming over her swollen, dripping folds.

A sharp, wrecked whimper escaped her before she could stop it.

His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, spreading her open, gliding through the wet mess between her thighs with a slick sound that made her cheeks burn. The sheer obscenity of it sent a pulse of heat racing through her body.

She was so wet.

Every touch, every stroke of his fingers sent a fresh surge of arousal pooling between her thighs, making everything worse, hotter, unbearable.

The pads of his fingers dragged up and down her slit, parting her, spreading her slickness everywhere, the pressure teasing, maddening. Her hips twitched involuntarily, desperate for more, but he was taking his time, exploring.

He wanted her to suffer.

She groaned softly, pressing her heated face into the pillow, barely able to take it.

Her body acted on its own, pushing back. Her ass arched towards him, grinding against his fingers, begging for more without words.

A deep, throaty groan left him. His fingers found her clit, pressing down, rubbing slow, maddening circles, and oh, God, she liked it.

No, she loved it.

She loved the way his rough fingertips dragged over her hypersensitive, swollen nerves, how he knew exactly how to touch her. Her brain was spiraling, short-circuiting, combusting.

Was this man her soulmate? Had he been engineered by a higher power solely to ruin her? Was this divine intervention?

And just as she was thinking she was about to ascend into a different plane of existence, he leaned down, his lips brushing against her spine, and muttered, "I wanted to do this back then."

And then he pushed a finger inside her.

Meerab choked on a moan, her entire body tensing before melting, her muscles going soft under his weight.

His finger slid in so easily, sinking into her tight, soaked heat, stretching her just enough to make her whimper.

God, yes.

She clenched around the intrusion, and his breath hissed through his teeth.

"Fuck, Meerab," he murmured, his free hand gripping her ass, keeping her steady as he pulled his finger out slowly before sliding it back in.

She groaned into the pillow, her nails scratching at the sheets as he did it again, and again, his pace torturously slow.

She could feel everything. The drag of his finger, the slick, obscene way her body took him in, the wetness dripping down onto his hand.

He added a second finger, stretching her further, his pace deepening, curling his fingers slightly as he pushed back in. A strangled moan tore from her throat, her hips twitching, her legs spreading wider instinctively.

"That's it," he muttered, his voice low, rough, approving.

Meerab could barely process thoughts anymore.

She was writhing, pressing her ass back against his hand, desperate and shameless.

And still, he took his damn time.

His lips pressed into the bare skin of her back, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down her spine, her shoulders, the dip of her waist.

The contrast was insane.

His fingers were fucking her open, wet and messy and obscene. But his lips? Soft. Lingering. Tender.

She gasped as he spread her even wider, scissoring his fingers inside her, stretching her just a little more.

And then he pushed in a third.

Her eyes snapped open, her entire body tightening around the sudden delicious intrusion.

Her back arched, her hips jerking, the stretch deep and hot and toe-curling.

How were his fingers so long and thick?

A broken, breathy moan tumbled from her lips, and she could feel him watching her.

His hand was huge compared to her, his fingers long and strong, reaching deep inside her, touching places that made her gasp into the sheets.

Her thighs trembled, her entire body quivering as he fucked her with his fingers, stretching her, preparing her, ruining her completely.

"Murtasim," she whimpered, breathless, desperate.

His only response was a deep, satisfied groan, his fingers moving faster, pressing against that spot that made her see stars.

"Fuck me."

Meerab didn't even recognize her own voice. It was raw, desperate, needy in a way she had never sounded before.

He hummed, the deep, teasing sound vibrating through her, and she felt him smile against her back.

And then, he pulled his fingers out.

She whimpered, her body clenching around nothing, still slick and swollen from his touch.

"Shhhhh," he soothed, dragging his palm down the curve of her ass, his lips skimming her spine in a slow, maddening kiss.

Meerab twitched beneath him, squirming, needing.

She was about to protest, to demand that he put something – anything, but preferably his cock - inside her, when she felt it.

Him.

He didn't bother to take her panties off—just pushed the crotch further aside, like he couldn't even be bothered, like he was too desperate, too hungry to waste even a second more.

She felt the blunt, hot tip of his cock. Pressing against her entrance. Seeking. Claiming. Demanding.

Oh, hello. Welcome. Stay here forever. Don't ever leave.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers clenching into the sheets as he pushed in, just barely.

It was so much like this.

His cock was thick, the stretch slow and unrelenting as he pressed in, then pulled back, teasing her, opening her inch by inch.

Meerab gasped into the pillow as he did it again - pushing in just a little more, retreating, then pushing deeper.

It was torture. It was heaven.

She didn't know if she wanted to tell him to keep doing this, or tell him to speed up. Like, she wanted him to fuck her properly, but this? This slow torture was killing her in the best way.

Little by little, he worked himself inside her, stretching her, filling her, wrecking her.

It was different in this position.

Her legs were closed, her body pinned under his, the pillow beneath her stomach angling her perfectly.

The pressure was overwhelming.

She felt so full, so stretched, like she was going to break apart and never recover.

Murtasim groaned, his fingers flexing against her hips, grounding himself.

"Okay?" he rasped, his voice barely holding together.

Meerab hummed, her breath hitching. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm - fuck, Murtasim - "

And then he was moving.

Slow at first, his hips rocking forward, working himself in and out of her, dragging against every inch of her.

She wished she could see it. She wanted to record this, because if it felt this good, she couldn't imagine how it looked. Him, straddling her body, his powerful thighs caging her in, his hands gripping her so tightly, his cock sliding in and out of her slick, soaked heat as she lay there, helpless, gasping, moaning into his sheets.

Her legs squeezed together, the position making her feel impossibly tight, and Murtasim let out a broken groan, his grip on her tightening.

And then he picked up speed. His thrusts got faster, deeper, rougher, the wet sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

"Meerab," he groaned, his voice thick, his hands sliding up her waist, gripping, pulling her back onto him.

She moaned, lost in it, lost in him.

"So tight," he muttered, his hips snapping forward, filling her to the hilt.

Her eyes rolled back.

She was in heaven.

Meerab was getting louder.

Too loud.

She could hear herself, could hear the breathless, helpless, desperate moans spilling out of her without restraint, each one sharper, louder than the last. The wet slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that was filthy and perfect and obscene.

His cock drove into her deep and fast, his hips snapping forward with a force that made the bed shake beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall, but it was her sounds that were louder.

She was whining, moaning, gasping, begging - all of it too loud.

And then he did something that nearly ended her.

He leaned down, his body pressing into hers, his weight sinking onto her back - not fully, but enough, enough to make her feel trapped, surrounded, owned.

His lips brushed her ear, his breath hot and ragged as he murmured, "Shhhhh, Miss Ahmed, koi sun lega."

Meerab's body shuddered, her breath catching, her pussy clenching hard around him.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

There was no thunder tonight, no storm to mask the sounds of her getting fucked into his mattress.

And he was right here, whispering filth into her ear, reminding her of it.

She whined, pressing her face into the pillow, but that wasn't enough to stop the sounds ripping out of her throat.

And then - Oh. OH. Oh. OH.

His arm came around her neck. Like a hook.

From underneath, his strong bicep pressed against one cheek, his forearm against the other, locking around her throat - not choking, but holding. Controlling. Possessing.

Her mind short-circuited.

Every single time she had ever thought about being crushed under his weight, caged in his arms, completely at his mercy - all of it came rushing back in a single, devastating wave.

She moaned loudly. Too loud.

And he sped up.

His arm tightened, holding her steady as he fucked into her harder, faster, deeper, pushing her into the mattress like he was trying to break her apart.

Meerab's lips found his bicep, desperate for something, anything to muffle her screams.

She bit down. Hard.

His groan was low, guttural, broken.

The position had her folded underneath him, her legs still squeezed together, making her feel insanely, unbelievably tight, the angle of his thrusts hitting exactly where she needed.

Her eyes rolled back, the pleasure curling inside her like something alive, something dangerous, something about to snap.

And his voice, his voice was killing her, "Shhhh, Miss Ahmed."

Meerab whimpered, biting down harder into his bicep, her body trembling, her walls fluttering around his cock, gripping him.

"That's going to leave a mark," he murmured, his voice full of dark amusement.

Holy shit.

She clenched around him at the thought of it.

A Meerab-sized bite mark on his perfect, muscled, golden-brown bicep.

Her teeth. On him.

She was done for.

He was moving so fast now, his thrusts deep and brutal, the bed shaking underneath them, the headboard knocking louder, louder.

She was climbing, spiraling, gasping, screaming into his arm.

And Murtasim was groaning into her ear, muttering her name like a prayer.

Her orgasm crashed into her like a tidal wave, stealing the air from her lungs, her body convulsing around him as she came, hard, clutching the sheets, her mouth still pressed to his skin, biting, whimpering, gasping.

He whimpered her name. Fucking whimpered. And that might have been the sexiest thing she had ever heard in her life.

He shuddered, stopping completely, her body still milking him for everything he had.

But he pulled out. Without cumming.

Meerab whined.

Pathetically, her body still clenching around nothing, throbbing, desperate, aching.

Her mind was fogged, blurry, gone, but her mouth still worked, still moved, her voice coming out breathless, broken, needy, "Put it back."

Murtasim groaned. Low, guttural, wrecked.

She felt it more than she heard it, the deep vibration rolling off of him as he gripped her hips, guiding her up, up, up, his voice rough as he ordered, "On your hands and knees."

Her limbs trembled, muscles still spasming from her orgasm, but she did as he said, let him move her, place her, position her exactly how he wanted, on her knees, her ass in the air.

And then - he pushed back in.

Meerab gasped, her back arching, her fingers gripping the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as he slammed into her, his cock stretching her open again, filling her completely.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting as she whimpered, her body still sensitive, still buzzing, but he didn't care.

Murtasim was fucking her now.

She scratched out the word "fucking" from her mind for before, because that was not fucking, that was somehow gentle-fucking. This was fucking.

Hard. Fast. Rough.

His hips snapping forward, his fingers digging into her waist, his other hand pushing down on her back to keep her right where he wanted.

And she was sure. Absolutely sure. That she was screaming.

But she couldn't stop.

And he knew it.

Because his hand was suddenly over her mouth, his palm against her lips.

Her sounds went muffled, broken, and fuck, she was never going to forget this.

She had to journal this. All of their sexcapades. They deserved to be written down.

The first time? On the bed. Being carried to bed. Sitting on his face. Being fucked missionary, then with her feet over his shoulders, then riding him.

Then? Against the wall.

Then? The fucking balcony.

Today - the thing he did with his whole fucking arm around her throat, crushing her under his body, whispering in her ear while he fucked her into the mattress?

And now—this.

She gasped – losing her train of thought as Murtasim gripped her hair from the base of her neck, yanking her head back, fucking her so deep, so hard, so completely she was seeing stars.

She was never recovering.

Never.

And then he tugged her hair again.

Hard.

Meerab gasped, her spine bending, curving, her head yanked back until her eyes met his.

And oh, God.

The way he looked at her.

Dark. Intense. Unrelenting.

Like he needed to see her, watch her, hold her gaze as he came.

His thrusts stuttered, his grip on her tightening, his body tensing.

His jaw clenched, his brow furrowed, and then he groaned her name. "Meeerabbbb."

Groaned it. Deep, throaty.

And it sent her over the edge all over again.

She cried out, her body locking, clenching, shaking, shattering as her orgasm ripped through her, pulling him right along with her.

Murtasim slammed into her one last time, his body shuddering, his cock twitching inside her as he emptied himself, filling her completely.

His breath was heavy, his arms still holding her, pulling her against him, his lips brushing against her spine, her shoulder, her hair.

Meerab whined again, soft, spent, overwhelmed.

And then, there was a whisper against her ear.

"Okay, Miss Ahmed?"

She hummed.

Because she couldn't do anything else. Her body was spent. That was all she could manage—just that small, weak sound because her brain had short-circuited, her limbs were jelly, and her soul had probably left her body.

Murtasim chuckled, the low rumble of it vibrating against her skin.

And then he started kissing her.

Everywhere.

The back of her neck, her shoulder, her spine. Soft. Gentle. Lingering.

His lips traced the curve of her back, kissing each vertebra, slow, reverent, like he was worshiping her.

And then—he turned her over.

Meerab gasped, blinking up at him, and before she could speak, before she could even form a thought, he was pecking her lips.

A soft, featherlight kiss.

Meerab's brain glitched.

Because what the fuck?

A minute ago, he had been fucking her into another dimension, yanking her hair, groaning her name like it was the only word he knew, filling her up so completely she was convinced she would never be the same again.

And now?

Now, he was kissing her like this?

All soft, warm, teasing?

Did he not realize the whiplash he was giving her?

Was this his new kink? Emotional destruction?

His lips grazed her jaw, then her cheek, and she could feel herself freaking out internally.

Holy shit.

His hand was still on her waist, his thumb stroking her skin absentmindedly, his body still pressed against hers, hot and solid and unmovable.

It was too much.

It was everything.

They laid there for a while, just breathing, the heat of their bodies mingling, the scent of sex and sweat and him filling the air.

"Itni chup kyun ho?" Murtasim murmured, tilting his head to look at her.

Meerab blinked slowly, her brain still lagging. "My brain is not working."

Murtasim grinned, his thumb still stroking her bare hip.

A second later, she started giggling, her body shaking with soft laughter.

His eyebrows lifted. "Kya?"

Meerab snorted, covering her face like an idiot.

"Woh phrase—fucked my brains out."

Murtasim laughed.

A real laugh.

Not a smirk, not a low chuckle, but an actual laugh, deep and throaty and beautiful.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, still grinning, his lips warm and soft and dangerous.

Meerab sighed, wiggling out of his arms, making him grunt in protest.

She rolled onto her feet, wobbling slightly, and Murtasim smirked.

Asshole.

She stuck out her tongue before padding toward his bathroom, and the moment she stepped inside, she was hit with his scent.

Spicy. Musky. So, so him.

She hummed, pleased, reaching for a towel to clean herself up, but then—

She felt him.

Murtasim.

Behind her.

Warm. Bare. Pressed against her back.

"Shower." His voice was gruff, sleep-laced, utterly wrecked.

Meerab shivered, but acted unaffected.

"Good idea."

They stepped into the warm spray together, and before she could think of actually showering, she found herself clinging to him like a koala, arms and legs wrapped around him, face buried in his neck.

Murtasim sighed.

"Yeh roz karna chahiye," she murmured against his skin.

He chuckled, adjusting his grip on her bare ass, holding her easily.

"Shower ya pehle joh...?"

"Both." She nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. "Non-negotiable."

Murtasim laughed again, louder this time, and Meerab closed her eyes, letting the sound settle deep in her chest, making a home there.

--------------------------------------------------

Murtasim Khan had never been obsessed with sex.

It had been good, enjoyable, fun—a necessary indulgence, something he could take or leave, something he had control over.

But now?

Now, it was a need. A demand. A fire in his blood that refused to die down.

Because of Meerab.

She had crawled under his skin, settled into his bones, ruined him from the inside out.

He sat in the living room, watching her chase after Sheru in the veranda, trying to tie a pink ribbon in the golden retriever's thick fur, her laughter ringing through the air like a song. Sunlight kissed her skin, making her look untouchable, divine, completely unaware of the disaster she had caused in his life.

He sat there, pretending to be unaffected, while his entire body screamed for her.

She wasn't even trying.

Not flirting. Not teasing.

She wasn't wearing black lace or silk, wasn't stretched out in his bed, begging for him.

She was just Meerab.

Bare-faced, hair in a loose ponytail, a simple shalwar kameez draping over her body.

And still, he couldn't look away.

Because all he could see was last night.

His bed.

The bed he had never let anyone into. The bed that had known only restraint, order, emptiness.

Until she had been spread out across it like sin itself.

Black lace, bare skin, her thighs trembling, moaning his name into the pillow like a prayer.

His hands had gripped her hips so tightly, pressing her into the mattress as he thrust into her deep and slow, watching her body take him, stretch for him, crave him.

The sound of her moans, the filthy, desperate gasps, the way she had screamed his name when he made her—

His fingers twitched.

It wasn't just last night.

It was that first night.

Her room.

The small, neat bed that had never known chaos until he wrecked her on it, his cock sinking into her tight, wet heat, watching her body arch against him as he took her for the first time.

The way she had whimpered, the way she had moved against him, breathless, hungry, out of control.

The way she had ridden him, legs trembling, forehead pressed into his shoulder.

That should have been enough. That should have settled something in him.

Then, she had whispered 'balcony' like a challenge, like an invitation, like a goddamn prayer.

And he had taken her in the rain, pinned against the railing, her hands clinging to the post, the thunder masking her cries as he filled her over and over and over again.

That moment had ignited something in him.

Something that could never be turned off.

Because suddenly, he wanted her everywhere.

He wanted to make her his in every inch of this haveli, wanted to leave no surface untouched, no room free of her cries, her gasps, her body tangled with his.

The library.

He could already see it.

Meerab bent over the mahogany desk, her fingers gripping the edges, her mouth spilling broken pleas as he fucked her from behind, her hair loose, wild, tangled in his fingers.

The sitting room, where every guest had been annoyed him over the years – where she often sat cross-legged, complaining about something, completely unaware that all he could think about was pushing her against the cushions, sliding his hands up her thighs, watching her lose control.

The kitchen.

Hadn't he already put her on the counter once?

Hadn't he already felt her legs wrap around him, her bangles clinking as she pulled him closer, her lips parting in that breathless little giggle when she asked 'kya kar rahe ho?'

He had kissed her instead of answering.

Because how could he tell her the truth?

That he wanted to fuck her there, right next to the stove, her back pressed against the cabinets, his hands under her kameez, pushing her legs apart?

That every time she touched him, even just casually, playfully, innocently, he had to fight the urge to drag her into the nearest empty room and make her forget how to speak?

His jaw tightened.

His fingers curled into fists.

Because the worst part wasn't that he wanted her.

The worst part was that he could never get enough.

He had spent his whole life in control.

And now?

Meerab had ruined him.

Because no matter how many times he had her, no matter how many times he pushed inside her, made her moan, made her beg, made her scream his name—

It was never enough.

It would never be enough.

Because she was everything.

And Murtasim Khan was utterly, hopelessly obsessed.

"Sheru, c'mon! Itne ache lago ge!"

Meerab's voice rang through the haveli, full of determination and frustration, as she tried—and failed—to tie a bright pink bow onto Sheru's head.

Sheru had other plans.

With a gleeful bark, he darted away from her grasp again, tail wagging as he ran in circles, thoroughly enjoying her suffering.

Meerab let out a whine - an actual, adorable, breathy little whine - before stomping her foot, pouting in defeat.

And just like that, Murtasim felt a smile creeping onto his face.

He didn't understand it.

The dichotomy of his feelings.

How was it that just minutes ago, all he could think about was dragging her to the nearest empty room, pressing her against the wall, slipping his hands under her kameez and making her whimper against his lips—

And now, he just wanted to scoop her up, squeeze her, kiss her, bite that ridiculous pout off her lips, make her giggle until she forgot why she was even upset?

She was so cute.

She turned, huffing dramatically as she walked toward him, barefoot on the marble, her dupatta slipping off one shoulder.

And then—she flopped onto the sofa beside him, sighing loudly.

"Tumhara Sheru meri baat nahi maan raha," she muttered, grumpy, exasperated, completely unaware that she was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

Murtasim didn't even think. He just leaned in, cupped her chin, and kissed her.

A soft, lingering peck, barely anything at all, but it still stole the breath from his lungs, and made her freeze for half a second before she blinked up at him, eyes narrowed.

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but he caught the small twitch of her lips, the barely-there smile she was trying to hide.

"Sheru ko kuch nahi kahoge?" she accused. "Mujhe distract karne ki koshish kar rahe ho?"

He nodded, completely unapologetic.

Meerab let out another sigh, dramatic, heavy, exaggerated, and then—she curled up beside him, tucking her feet under her, her body fitting against his side like she belonged there.

And she did.

Murtasim slid his arm around her, pulling her close as she picked up the book she had been reading earlier, flipping it open.

He let her read.

For a whole minute.

Maybe less.

Because he was already looking at her neck.

The soft, delicate slope of it, the way her hair fell just enough to tease him, but not enough to cover her completely. His fingers itched to push it aside, to trace the skin with his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

So, he did.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached over and moved her hair, baring her to him completely.

And then, before she could register what was happening, before she could say anything, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her throat.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Her breath hitched, her fingers stilling on the page, her spine going stiff.

But she didn't pull away.

Didn't push him off.

Instead—she tilted her head slightly, exposing more of her neck to him.

Murtasim smirked against her skin, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jawline, sucking lightly, teasing.

"Murtasim," she mumbled, trying to sound indifferent, unaffected.

But she wasn't.

He could feel it in the way her body tensed, the way her breathing grew uneven, the way her fingers gripped the book just a little tighter.

"Kya kar rahe ho?"

The words were meant to sound scolding, but they came out as a breathy whisper instead, soft and unsure, like she couldn't decide if she wanted him to stop.

She arched toward him, and he took that as permission.

Without warning, he bit her – just like she had him last night.

Sharp enough to make her gasp, her body jolting.

"Dai maa aur Barlas wapas aagaye toh—"

Murtasim didn't care.

He gripped her waist, flipped her onto his lap in one swift movement, and settled her exactly where he wanted.

She landed with a soft gasp, her thighs bracketing his, her body warm and soft against him. He didn't let her adjust, didn't let her recover.

Instead, his hands slid under her kameez, fingers splaying over her stomach before moving higher, higher—until he was cupping her breasts over her bra, feeling her softness, her warmth, her rapid heartbeat beneath his palms.

"Abhi nahi aayenge," he muttered.

Meerab arched into his touch, her hips shifting slightly, and then she did the one thing that nearly undid him.

She rolled her hips.

Once.

Slow. Teasing.

Her plump ass grinding against his growing hardness, making his fingers dig deeper into her skin, making his breath catch.

And then—she tilted her head, smirked, and whispered, "Control nahi ho raha, Major Moochasim?"

Murtasim shook his head, exhaling sharply.

And she giggled.

That soft, breathy, ridiculous giggle.

He loved that giggle.

So, he pushed her down onto the sofa.

And followed her body.

His lips found hers, and he was devouring her.

Kissing her like he wanted to crawl inside her, live under her skin, never leave.

He had never been a fan of kissing.

Never understood the hype, the appeal.

But Meerab?

He could kiss her forever.

Could drag his teeth across her lips, bite, suck, tease.

Could nip at her, trace her mouth with his tongue, steal her breath again and again and again.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, locking him against her.

He groaned as she moved, arching, pressing herself against him, letting his cock press between her thighs, right where she was already so fucking warm for him.

A breathless, teasing whisper met his lips. "Mujhe dekh kar kya soch rahe the?"

Murtasim froze.

Because she had caught him staring at her, thinking about everything he wanted to do to her.

Meerab smirked, brushing her lips against his, whispering, "Yeh sawal tha, jawab dena padega."

He groaned, kissed her hard, then pulled back just enough to look at her.

Flushed. Breathless. Dazed.

Beautiful.

"Yeh karne ka soch raha tha, Miss Ahmed," he murmured against her lips, his hands gripping her waist, pushing her kameez up. "Yahan. Library mein. Kitchen mein."

Meerab let out a little moan, a mewl, something devastatingly hot, before she pulled him into another kiss, her fingers threading through his hair.

His hands slid higher, gripping her bare waist, feeling her warmth.

He was going to fuck her on this sofa.

And later, when people visited, when they sat here and made small talk, drank chai, laughed, he'd sit there, pretending to listen like he always did. But he wouldn't be thinking about how much he wanted them to leave, he'd be thinking about how he had taken Meerab on the sofa.

Murtasim nuzzled into her cheek, his lips brushing against her soft, warm skin, pressing another lingering kiss to her jaw. She sighed, her fingers threading into his thick hair, and he took that as an invitation to kiss her again, deeper, slower, his tongue teasing against hers.

He heard a bark.

Murtasim ignored it.

He was used to ignoring Sheru when he wanted to – especially right then, he had better things to do.

But Meerab froze.

She pulled away slightly, her head turning to the side.

Murtasim groaned against her skin, frustrated, before he decided that if she wasn't paying attention to him, he'd just remind her of what she was missing.

He trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses down her long, perfect neck, his tongue flicking against the delicate skin, tasting her, sucking lightly just to hear that soft little moan he loved so much.

Her breath hitched, her body responding instantly, her fingers tensing against his shoulder.

But she pushed at him.

Not hard, not like she really wanted him to stop, but enough for him to groan in frustration.

His lips barely left her throat when she whispered, "Sheru ke saamne nahin."

Murtasim lifted his head, staring at her.

"Meerab." He groaned, exasperated, desperate – he needed her. "Usse kuch nahi pata. Woh ek kutta hai."

Meerab gasped, actually gasped, offended beyond words.

"Kutta?" she repeated, staring at him like he had just insulted her entire lineage. "Woh mera BETA hai!" She exclaimed, like she hadn't screamed bloody-murder (very cutely) when she first met Sheru, and hadn't asked him to keep him far away from her.

Murtasim scoffed. "Agar woh kisi ka beta hai, toh woh MERA beta hai!"

Meerab's eyes narrowed, and she poked his chest, making him grunt.

"Kya matlab TUMHARA beta hai? Sirf tumhara? Mere alawa aur kiske saath bacche paida karoge tum, Major Moochasim?!"

Murtasim grinned, deciding that the best way to shut her up was to kiss her.

He leaned in—

She pushed him back.

"SAWAL PUCHA HAI MAINE!" she huffed, hands on his chest, eyes glaring.

He sighed, rubbing his thumb over her pouty lips, before smirking.

"Main bacche paida karne ki practice hi karne ki koshish kar raha hoon... tumhare saath."

Meerab froze.

Her lips parted slightly, her body going still in the most adorable way.

Her voice was softer, smaller, when she whispered, "Mere saath bacche chahiye?"

Murtasim didn't hesitate.

His mind flashed back to her—to the way she had been with the children in the village, the way they adored her, the way she smiled at them, laughed with them, treated them with nothing but pure, genuine love.

He nodded.

He loved the way she blushed. The way a slow grin crept onto her face, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, her lashes lowering, her fingers tightening against his shirt.

She tried to play it off, tried to be casual, but her voice still wobbled slightly when she muttered, "Acha... kitne?"

Murtasim smirked.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, "Bahot saare."

And then he kissed her.

This time, it was slow, deep, sweet.

Her fingers found his face, tracing over his sharp nose, the strong cut of his jaw, the thick curve of his moustache, the rough stubble of his beard.

Her touch was soft, teasing, reverent.

And then a whisper that made him groan from deep in his chest. "Phir toh bahot saari practice karni padegi."

Murtasim's fingers twitched, his body tensed, his hard cock twitching against her soft thighs at the thought of practice.

She was a menace.

She giggled, pressing a soft peck to his lips before whispering, "Par Sheru ke saamne nahi. Usse bhagao."

She patted his cheek.

Murtasim let out a low groan, rubbing a hand down his face.

Because she was going to kill him.

He turned his head towards Sheru, his so-called loyal companion, who was still sitting a few feet away, head tilted, tongue lolling out in what could only be described as judgment.

Murtasim straightened, narrowed his eyes, and waved a hand.

"Chalo bhaago, Sheru."

Sheru did not move.

Meerab giggled.

Murtasim tried again, this time adding more authority to his voice, because surely his own damn dog respected him?

"Jao. Bahar jao."

Sheru's tail wagged.

Meerab was snorting now, pressing her lips together like she was trying very hard not to die of laughter.

Murtasim felt his eye twitch.

Fine. Fine. He would do this his way.

He crossed his arms, straightened his posture, and switched to commander mode.

"Sheru, left flank maneuver. Evacuate the premises, confirm."

Sheru barked. Then he flopped over onto his side.

Meerab collapsed into the sofa, HOWLING, gasping out, "Sheru ko play dead suna."

Murtasim turned back to her and gave her a pointed look.

But she was too busy clutching her stomach, her entire body shaking, face red, gasping for breath.

Murtasim's jaw ticked. "Sheru. Right flank maneuver. Tactical retreat. MOVE."

Sheru rolled onto his back and stretched, legs flopping into the air like he was sunbathing.

Meerab squealed, kicking her feet on the sofa.

Murtasim closed his eyes for a second. "Sheru, exit point located: living room doorway. Proceed at maximum velocity."

Sheru yawned.

Meerab was wheezing now.

Murtasim's patience? Gone.

"Sheru, Allah ke vaaste—FORWARD MARCH!"

Sheru got up. Did a little circle. Then sat back down in the exact same spot.

Meerab was dying of laughter. "Oh my God—" she wheezed. "Sheru tumhe tease kar raha hai!"

Murtasim close his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.

This betrayal.

From his own dog.

Sheru licked his paw, as if to say cry about it.

"You fluffy little traitor, GO."

Sheru finally reacted—by turning to Meerab, barking happily, and wagging his tail like he had just completed a mission.

Meerab was full-on wheezing, making these little hiccuping sounds, her face flushed, her whole body shaking from how hard she was laughing.

Murtasim was about to throw the dog out of the house himself when the front door creaked open, and suddenly, he realized—this was actually a good thing.

Because if Sheru had actually left, Meerab would still be half underneath him, her kameez riding up, breathless and teasing and being thoroughly...taken on the couch.

At least now she was fully clothed, even if she was currently laughing at him like he was the funniest thing she had ever seen.

Murtasim exhaled sharply before walking over to Sheru and squatting down next to him.

"Tumse yeh expect nahi kiya tha maine," he muttered, glaring at the traitor. "Unless tumhe pata tha ki Dai Maa aur Barlas waapis aa rahe hain."

Sheru thumped his tail against the ground.

Meerab let out another shriek of laughter.

And then—Barlas and Dai Maa walked in.

Barlas stared.

Meerab was laughing so hard she was barely breathing, and Murtasim was still crouched next to Sheru, looking personally victimized.

Barlas raised an eyebrow. "Kya ho raha hai yahan?"

Meerab lost it again.

She actually fell over on the sofa, wheezing, wiping tears from her eyes, making sounds that were half-laugh, half-struggle-for-air.

Murtasim should have been annoyed.

Really, he should have.

But she was so cute.

So happy. So bright. So his.

And so, instead of answering Barlas, he just shook his head and sighed.

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Author's Note: Tadaaaaaa! I honestly don't know where this story is going but it's going somewhere hopefully. Lemme know what you think! TOODLES!