His Sin , His Soul

thanks to mah baby @chai-ke-sath-parleg

College started out as a peaceful temporary relief from the eyes of your forebodingly strict parents , you weren't half as interested in studying as you were in attaining some sense of freedom, your parents were your dearest ? yes, but were they also suffocatingly conservative and scared to let you out? Also yes

You course sat on the sidelines , study didn't have a knack for you but the ambition to score good did, so after time you learned to gobble up books you didn't fancy just for the sake of seeing an high score on the paper, you had girls you can call friends, girls who didn't judge you for your overly naive understanding of the world or the fact that you needed assurance to cross the road for the first few months, everything would have been if you weren't met with him, the day of your college fest that marked one of year of your anew life. 

For the first time in your life you had worn a dress, a dress that you had stuffed forcefully into your bag to change into it inside the college, first time all of your friends fell busy to an emergency and had to leave you alone in the late evening, they were worried of course so they wrote a small chit for you to follow, for what to tell the auto rickshaw driver and the address to go to where they were all going to meet eventually at the end of the night, you made it till there your hands clenched in a fist to attack the driver if he took a wrong but fortunately nothing happened in the auto you reached safely but your ears ringed with the sense that something was going to come your way. 

You checked the purse, shuffling through lipsticks, massacras, napkins, pads some spare change, you double checked going through every nook and corner of the leather that was half torn at the insides and yet no sign of the club ticket at all, it went up in smoke vanished like it had never existed, your first instinct was to ring up the phone but your friends hadn't reached themselves though and standing outside in a place that were a harbour for drunk was already settling off your - not used to people- brain. 

Your feet ached from the heels standing in front of the man who kept the gate closed telling him off in whispers that your friend would be here any second, and that you lost the ticket on the way but with the decibel you were speaking in he barely made out anything you were saying 

“ Y/N” 

It was a man, his voice reverberated in the dead of the night outside the club that was filled with the mixed jumbles of the songs that made out the door, a voice so distinct you froze in place, not a friend, not your relative, definitely not your father but a boy you had encountered in your early teens when you went to the Baloch Haveli with your father for work. 

You turned back slowly as if that would change the reality of you being caught, the world was a beautiful mess that night standing under the streetlights seeing the boy who once scared you standing over you as a man who terrified you,  before any words could even touch your lips he started 

“ Yeh kaise kapde phen rakhe hai tune” 

He eyed you down, piercing you with his gaze from the start of your head to the end of your bruised feet, you were decked up in a mini dress that fell mid thigh, a cleavage that plunged scandalously low. 

“ Aa.. Aap.. Yaha?. Ma.. Mai voh” 

“ Mai yaha kaam se aaya hoon…” He declared, stepping closer, “ Yeh sab kya hai y/n?” He scowled in disbelief , 

“ Aapse kya matlab”  is what you wanted to say so bad that you had to bite your tongue to hold back the words. 

“ Kya karne aayi ho yaha?”  he moved closer but in your eyes it looked like he had lunged on you with the way his grip settled on your chin lifting your head that you didn't know you had titled down to avoid his gaze. You hadn't seen him in years, this possessiveness didn't make sense, 

“ Party… meri friends bhi aa rahi hai.. Meri ticket ghum hogyi” 

You whispered your nose unwillingly, being flooded with the smell of sandalwood and cigarette butts from his hand, he shifted the hold from your chin to your cheek in a slow, daunting manner. 

“ Ladke ke saath aayi ho?” “ Nahi bilkul nahi” The rest of your words were a murmur but this was a coherent no because God bless if he said that to your dad, said any of this to your dad, “ Theek hai.. Fir, andar jaana hai?” You nodded but to Uzair it was a movement to soak in your fear , watch the way your overlined lips tremble at his proximity, how your eyes drifted side by side anywhere but his face, how your body could only see and feel one thing right now - him. 

He got off that power imbalance high before speaking again, “ Mai madad karu?” You looked back at the club, at the neon red from the banner that covered half his face but nothing could conceal the intent of his eyes and you were grown enough to tell right from wrong and Uzair he appeared he was one step away from crushing you into his arms and kiss you senseless, a thought that your made your heart beat dangerously faster, “ Nahi .. I will manage”

He shrugged back huffing a breath, your traced his hands that moved swiftly to his pocket to retrieve a cigarette and a metal lighter from the other. Perched up against the bonnet of his car away from you for now but his eyes fixed on one thing- you. You avoided it watching the line of people that made their way in, the door creaking to the buzz of the party opening and closing every few seconds at the end and the more late it got, there were more men on their bicycles performing their usual hooligans. 

You could perceive by now that they were taking extra rounds to ogle at you, whistling when they crossed by. Anxiously you pulled at the hem of your dress with one, one hand that tried to lift the front up so it can at least reach your collarbones, you knew you looked ridiculous right now but the thrum of fright was making you work against your conscience, sniffling you looked up at Uzair who was already staring at you. The one glance was enough, he strided over to you in a fraction of time his palm covering the span of your waist as he pulled you flushed into his side. 

You couldn't think anything as you delved your face into his chest crying low, engulfed by his tall frame while the soft fabric of his pathani that has turned coarse with time scuffed at your skin and your hands fisted into his suit. “ Shhh” He hand caressed the back of your head, his finger going to tread through our waves , “ Yahi pe reh” He let go partly, yanking the closest man by his collar,

 “ Maafi maang!”

Uzair spat out his cigarette rasping out in his face, “ Maafi maang bandi hai meri” the man stumbled too drunk and confused to get his words right thrown off completely by the fact that he was facing  Uzair , or that he messed with something that's his when the apology didn't come as soon as he anticipated he fell back into his vexation striking his hand hard enough against the man’s cheek. He fell back from the impact, mouth bleeding and the ring in his ear had sobered him up he knew more than enough to not get into the bad looks of the baloch brother, in front of men who runs the whole of Lyari,

 “Maaf kardo madam”

You peeked out nodding at him snapping back at Uzair who had gotten a hold of you and had started walking you to the door, his jaw shut tight, “ Mai aapki bandi kab ban gayi? UZAIR?” you winced in distress, his grip only tightened further , watching at the bouncer with vacant eyes till he opened the gate for you two, “ Uzair kya kar rahe ho?” You hissed, flailing but now enough to bother his hold on you because you were curious to see what he was trying to do.

He ‘threw’ you into the corner, face shoved up against yours

“ Main kya karoon? Kya tujhe wahan aisay hi chhor doon taaki gair mard tujhe ghoorte rahe?”

“ Aap bhi ..gair mard hi ..hoon”

you argued back at all you could breath in was him, pressed against the cold wall,

“ Hato please”

You tried inadequate enough to not budge him but enthral him closer. 

It was a fleeting memory that didn't leave your head for days when you first saw him, you were 10 in your frilly skirt, he was 17 talking to your father. You were spanning the unreal chimerical vast haveli with unblinking eyes when he leaned in to rustle your hair muttering “Motu” lovingly, your cheeks stayed puffed up for a week after that, burning with spleen. The next time you met him you were thirteen and he didn't even turn to look at you (of course) as you kept staring admiring the beauty in front of you, and between this your years passed with no conversation but he had made a mental note that you were the daughter of the man who worked at his factory and that’s all it was supposed to be and had been for years.

“ Tu ne kis qisam ke kapray pehn rakhe hain? Aur akeli bahar ghoom rahi hai?, tujhe kuch andaza hai ke tere sath kya ho sakta tha?”  

“Please Uzair hato yeh kya kar rahe ho aap” with both hands you pushed at his chest only to become entranced by how his muscles felt under your touch, the warmth of his skin radiating off of him and and the pulse of his wildly beating beating heart,

 “ College mei toh bahut shareef ban kar jaati ho” 

“ Kyunki voh college hai yeh club hai….ek second aapko kaise pata-”

 “Ek mahine se dekh raha hoon tujihe” He muttered out 

“Kya..”

He didn't care to explain himself further but his eyes had darkened significantly, your softness disparity perilously opposed to hard planes his body was, his eyes lugged at your face then to the cleavage that perched up,

“Cover kar”

He grunted tossing his vest at you,

“ Nahi karna mujhe cover..aap hato yaha se please”

He crashed his body with yours, quelling your escape with himself. He was hiding you from the view of everyone limiting the world to you both, you had known these cages, that what your life had been but you have never felt this staggered. 

“Hil mat”

“Mere friends ayege toh mujhe dhundhege” 

“Mai dekh loonga”

“Uzair-”

“Hil.mat”  he was exasperated and the you attempted one last time before coming to the salient conclusion, you weren't winning against him.

Apart from your knowledge he was also fully familiar with your friends not in the normal decent human way but in the way that he had been stalking you so precisely he was aware of all the people that dawdled in your surroundings.

Even when your friends  had found their way there he wasn't moving till you had put on his vest that didn't fit you at all but he couldn't care less if it covered some of your flesh, 

“ Yeh yaha kya kar raha hai Y/N?” 

they asked in hushed tone not daring to catch his eyes  “ Mujhe bhi nahi pata, please tolerate him for now” 

“ Tumhe bhi nahi pata ka kya matlab?”

“Family friend hai..mera khyaal rakhne aaye hai”

 Surprisingly he didn't stop you from dancing ( as if he had the right to in first place), he just stood there like a statue repelling off anyone man that came in you and your friends way, but not for once you could dance like the world around you didn't exist because he clearly did with that piercing gaze and somewhere in between you had started dancing for him. Shaking your hips to the beats with your back turned to him waiting for the fabric to ride up your thighs to give him a brief view of your lace panties , deliberately touching his skin acting as if reaching for balance or absentmindedly, you did not understand yourself what you were doing maybe getting back at him for calling you motu all those years back.

You picked up your heels into your hand following behind him out the club when the clock had struck one, “ Mai drop kardu?” He interrupted watching you all fuss over to catch a taxi, your eyes shot up meeting his  “ Ghar hi chorunga” Smugly he remarked spinning the keys of his car on his finger easily, “ Inhe chor do pehle.. Mere abbu 8  baje se phele ghar nahi aane waale aur unke hisaab se mai vaise bhi inke ghar par hoo” 

“ SHIT Y/N mai batana bhool gayi thi par tum mere ghar par nahi aa sakti infact mai bhi mere ghar nahi jaa sakti.. Vahi emergency thi sab hospital pe hai and ghar locked hai toh mai apne mama ke ghar jaa rahi hoon, we can find you hotel on the way-” “ Mere yah ruk jayegi” Uzair declared moving so fast that you couldn't even blink and found yourself in his passenger seat, another second all your friends was giggling in the backseat. 

One by one he dropped them off till it was just you two in the car, your phone flooded with messages of text to me when you got home, “ Aap sach mei mujhe apne ghar leke jaa rahe ho?” “ Haan.. Kyu tum kisi hotel mei sona prefer karogi?” “ Ghar… khaali hai?” “ Kaash hota” He stretched his arms letting go of the steering completely passing you a lazy smirk, the sleeves of his suit slid up revealing his dusted forearms , his left hand never back to the steering resting at your shoulder, you shrugged your shoulder but he didn't bother drawing circles at the bare skin humming along to the radio. 

“ Darne ki jarrurat nahi hai, bhaiya bhabhi sab ghar par hai”

 You caught back your breath throwing him a half glare 

“Mai dar nahi rahi thi aur yeh aap haath hatao”

 “ Jaise tu kahe meri jaan” 

“ EXCUSE ME? please yeh sadak chaap bad-tameezi mat karo mere saath”

 “Bad-tameezi? Aur club mei joh tum kar rahi thi voh kya tha ?” He asked derisively, his fingers drumming at the steering 

You remembered the way you tried to give him a tease dazed in the music and the setting it didn't feel so hard to do, he could not exactly do anything about it in front of your friends and perhaps that why you were so tempted to do so as well, he had scared the life out of you for a few movements and regaining back that control felt nice..until you were in a car with him locked inside with the windows shaded black

  “Maine kuch nahi.. Kiya” He didn't argue but the pink on your cheeks and the crack of your voice spoke for the both of you 

The ride came to its end in front of the one of most polished and eminent building in Lyari, their haveli touched with time the minors crack noticable but from the inside it was just as you remembered it with the glass stained arches and windows, the low hanging intricate jhumars and and all wooden furniture carved with classic designs, soon at your entrance you were met with his nephews holding their hand out from already expecting to catch Uzair doing something that will result in him giving them enough money for a month pocket money

You jumped slightly at the two but both of them looked equally shocked to find you, Uzair just sighed at himself  

“ Yeh kaun hai chachu?” Faisal exclaimed in a whisper, “ Isse kaha se utha laaye aap” Naiem added. 

“Chachi hai tumhari” He snickered, you shook your head firmly in a clear ‘NO’  “ Hone waali” Uzair said as if that made any more sense than what he said last and honestly you were blown away from the audacity “Chachu paise nikaalo” “ Baad mei le lena” “ Abhi do” They both reprimanded, you stood awkwardly with your heels in one hand, one hand holding the dress down. 

You followed Uzair to his room upstairs, you finally realised how stupid this was agreeing to come here and now he had you in HIS ROOM or maybe that's what you wanted, no it can't be, you clearly mixing up butterflies with the flight instincts in your gut to run from this place from his intense gaze,

“ Koi aur kamra nahi hai?” 

“ Hai” he said simply opening the curtains to cover the window pulling the room into darkness. You squeaked your body feeling numb from the fear

 “ Toh..mai vaha so jao” 

“Nahi”

 The careless flirt was miles better than this serious tone that gave away nothing, it did actually but  you didnt wanna admit that you threw yourself into the lion's den, 

“ Kyu nahi?” 

You walked back slow on your tip toes so he wouldn't figure out if you are moving back in the dark trying not to give away any anything to him that would make him lunge at you, 

“ Kyunki maine kaha”

 You did not reply or else your voice going distant would give him the hint,

“ Aur kitna bhaagogi?”

You steps paused, foot tangling with the bed side as you tumbled back into the plush mattress , your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the greyed outline of Uzair moving closer till he was above you, tremors ran down your whole body as his coarse hands traced down your cheek, “ Uzair please” You breathed out, “ Please kya?” He asked his finger hooking beneath the thin strap fabric of your dress that barely covered any of your shoulder it was almost a line sitting at your skin, your mind stopped working for a second before you gathered enough words to speak again,

“ Mai chilla doongi”

“ Chilla do kaun bachayega?” he creeped up closer till your breaths were one, your eyes widened at the implication of this closeness even if you were scared you licked your lips, your body working overtime against your concise. 

He threw his head back laughing loudly, “ Kitna darti ho yaar?” you sat up huffing angrily to hide how riled up you were amidst your fear, “ Yeh kaisa majaak tha?” “ Accha baba sorry.. Mai dusre room mei soo jaunga .. dont worry..,lamp yaha hai and washroom is taraf hai” he pointed at the door in one corner getting up leisurely 

“Goodnight”

“ Itni fikr hai meri?” 

“Aise bas bolte hai..manners hote hai” You fixed your clothes, pulling up the blankets to your chest “ Aapko kaise hi pata hoga” you added on in a whisper

“ Mhm? Firse bolna jara”

He said like he had taken any offence if anything he found your fussiness adorable but definitely the terror struck face was one of the best views he had encountered and he wanted to see more of it. You shook your head instantly shutting up ,it was hard not to get mouthy when he was this infuriating. 

In the morning you stripped off the sparkly sequin that stuck to your body changing back into the clothes you left the house in, a decent pista green salwar suit. 

Uzair was initially confused at the 180 when you answered the door but he could see how it complimented , the constant fight with the clothes to keep your dignity and the way you way you teased the most hidden parts to him last night now wrapped in this innocence was amusing as well as enticing-he liked your little lies. And he couldn't deny that you looked stunning last night but the grounded look had him in more of a chokehold.

“ Dress kaha gayi?” “ ..Purse mei hai” he raised his eyebrows, “ Ghar chalna hai? “ “ Haan.. Ab tak toh abbu pahuch gaye hai.. Call aaya tha unka” 

“ Bhaiya dikhe toh bol dena tum abhi aayi hoon” “ Par-” “ Baaki ka mai sambhal loonga” 

You felt so out of place trying to walk past the suspicion filled gaze of his men that saw you, acting like you belonged there in any sense of the word knowing damn well your life was back in a shabby home and even that was courtesy of Rehman, no wonder your family boasted them like they were the gods sent men and you were scared to do anything that went against what they found ‘good' a word that already did not fit in with the gangster lifestyle. 

Ulfat stopped in her place watching you walk behind Uzair like a scared mice, holding the edge of your kurta tight in a desperate attempt to disappear you were caught, and worse Rehman was also there walking to where she was, “ Uzair yeh kaun hai?” Rehman called, why him?! It would have been a billion times better if it was Ulfat doing the questioning. 

“ Yeh Rashid ki beti” “ Hi uncle” Is all you could manage over your nervousness “ Humare ghar par kya kar rahi hai” “ Mai leke aaya isse” “ Kyu?” “ Ghar aa kar bata ta hoon na bhai isse phele chor du” 

“ Kya bolege aap unhein?”  you closed the seat belt in place asking him finally,

“ Rehman bhai meri sab zidd puri karti hai, unke phele bete jaise joh hoon mai”

You stated trying to understand what he meant, scrunching up your eyebrows to comprehend what that zidd was. He relished it really that naiveness paired with boldness, that zidd was undeniably you and his Rehman bhai wasn't going to stop him on his reckless pursuit. 

The whirr of the engine came to an end a hundred metres before your house, the morning was awfully quiet today of all days it was 6 and yet no usual clutter or people were there, “ Thanks” You opened the door steadying your brain to not turn back to take second glances and just go back home when he blocked your path, you found yourself against the bonnet fiddling with your dupatta to avoid the cinnamon, cigarette smell of him, or the fact he had yet again scared the life out of you.

“ Uzair-” “ Itni shareef toh ho nahi tum ki tumhe samajh nahi aayien ki mujhe kaya chaiye” “ Kya chaiye?”  his eyes drifted to your lips without any shame, “Bilkul nahi” You gasped moving away but he was quicker, more wrecked then you would have imagined,  his both hands slapped against the bonnet at either side of the body easily caging you in. “ "Tu janti hai mujhe is lams ki talab hai” You had noticed it before the way they  had become his attention undivided from everything else but the raw gritty voice made your skin crawl 

“ Mujhe nahi pata aur mai yeh sab nahi karti” You fidgeted with your clothes stealing glances at him who seemed to be only getting closer by the passing second , you turned your head away quick when he was almost about to kiss you making him tut once because he saw how your lips had already parted in anticipation but still you wanted to be defiant, his hands skidded at the metal surface creating a screeching sound before they settled right beside your both hips hands brushed against your covered skin but still enough to burn you from inside.

“ tumhare baap ka ghar yaha se do minute bhi door nahi hai, batao mai unhe ki unki beti kaha thi raat bhar? kya phenti hai kaha jaati hai”

you choked on your words he couldn't be seriously blackmailing you right now? But his expression was clear as day. It was hard to differentiate the man often. If he was joking he was dead serious and for now he looked serious.  It's just a kiss - you told yourself gulping down hard to face closing your eyes.

 “ Yeh sahi nahi hai jo aap kar rahe hai-” You blinked up once to find the viscous all drowning need on his face that didn't belong to these soft blissful mornings, you squirmed under it. your body finding a place to hide which you couldn’t.

“ Acchi baat hai ki mujhe ghanta farq nahi padta ke main sahi kar raha hoon ya galat. Aur agar tujh pe haq jatana bura hai ... toh mujhe bura hi ban na hai. Rok sakti hai toh rok le"

He sealed your lips with his, his head tilted so he could devour you as if nectar dripped from your lips, as if you were flesh plump washed up with rain, sucking the tender low lips with his. You stood like a statue soaking in the veneration. It was a slow careful kiss, his hands finally sliding up from the bonnet to hold your hips even though there was no need to, you weren't moving anyways not in this life. Uzair’s beard grazed at your skin in contrast to the softness his lips moved with, you were tempted to kiss back like it would not have any consequences.

 Your lips separated with a soft sigh, moving your head along with his in a trance he welcomed the movement his large hand cupping the back of your head with a satisfied hum at your surrender, while the other rubbed circles at your hips that treacherous heat travelled straight to in between your legs, he only pulled back when he saw he saw the usual crowd leave their house but he still did not want to let go of the warmth, his lips catching at your cheek instead 

“ Aise hi acchi lagti hai, jab shareef banke rahti ho” 

He spread open the fabric of your dupatta, the cloth spanning over your shoulder down to your chest, completely covering the silhouette, he was lying you looked good either way but he had seen the way you teased that thin strip, he was beyond worried if that display existed for anyone else, 

“ Dhang se chunni ood ke jaaya kar college ab se varna sach mei teri padhai band kara doonga” The foulness returned with full force and so did the tremble of your body but you could not find any words to defend yourself right now, how would you look uttering them with your now swollen lips . He tossed his phone at you catching you off guard, he had brought a new blackberry messenger to talk with you putting back his iphone at phone, “ Number daal isme apna” You opened your mouth to say no , “ Jaldi kar varna koi dekh lega” the urgency of the familiar faces emerging out from their house made your finger press into the keypad before you knew it.

The validation of being worshipped was so blinding you forgot your fear, the logicality of how reckless he was, how volatile he was

“ Milne ayegi mere se?” You had picked up the call he gave you after your third lecture, the name Janwar baloch on your screen 

“Kyu pareshaan karte ho aap college mei hoon abhi”

You muttered but pulled the phone closer to your ear,

“ Chal na, joh bolegi voh khilaunga”

“ Sach mei?!!!”

“ Haan toh ab bol chalegi?”

“ Bas khaane ke liye aa rahi hoon aapke liye nahi” 

“ Haan bilkul” “ Kaha aau?” “ Gate ke bahar tak” “ Aap yaha ho?” “ Haa toh” 

You bit back your smile, blushing into the phone and just like that you were eating the infamous chaat while he watched quietly but so fondly you felt like you would melt, “ Ice cream khayegi?” he asked when your mouth was already full from the last overly filled scoop you took, you nodded enthusiastically. He wiped the cream from the side of your mouth gently watching you still with that unspoken adoration and the way you tried to ignore the warmth in your heart. It did not take long for these meeting to become the staple and for it be usual for you to be pressed up in a shady alleyway wall making out with him at least twice a week, your fingers fisted in his hair and shirt not ready to let him go each time, kissing him back with the same frenzy as his in which teeth met before lips. 

It was one of those days again but it just got intense with the wet sound of lips smacking together Uzair hands weren't tangled in your hair or gracing the nape of your neck but pulling you up by thighs, you complied wrapping them around his waist only pulling him closer comical view with how modestly you were decked up. You swept your tongue along his only feeling more enticed from the change of position your back scraped at the brick wall, your tongue brushed at his sensitive palette and he groaned hip hips jerking up and then you felt it. A rock hard feel poking in between your legs, he thrust forward once before hurriedly putting you down, turning away from you to compose himself. 

“ Sorry Y/N”

But that groan has stayed with you keeping you from falling asleep you and the concept of time has slipped from your mind every time you closed your eyes you were there again in his arms again wondering how it would have gone if he didn't control himself, you pressed your thighs together to relieve some sighing at another unsuccessful attempt to fall asleep. Tentatively you reached down into your pyjamas, fingers fiddling to find that sweet bud that always throbbed at the thought of him, you had one picture of him in your phone, the one phone you had sent over to yourself secretly by his phone. You were ashamed but this was your own room. It's not like anyone was going to know, you turned on your phone, it was 2:00 am- goddamit. You found his photo ,the ache only growing at the vision, your finger pressing firmly at the clit, you started drawing small circles, eyes glued to the phone when the notification popped up of his name. 

Your  heart jumped and you instantly pulled back your hand 

Uzair rn- 

Bra ki strap kyu dikh hai 😡😡

You were honestly disappointed that's all he had to  say to the sleazy picture you sent him. Maybe it was you whose head was in the gutter. 

8 months passed in the same serendipity and to your luck he had not asked the quintessential question of whether with was serious and from the way he lived his live you could deduce that much at least it was not for him, and you had only recently discovered that he carried two phones , he might have as well written on his forehead at this point that you were not the only girl he was seeing  so you started ignoring him as he +leaned outside your college gate every odd day, You gave him the cold shoulder walking straight ahead deliberately making sure your dupatta wasn't in place just to irritate him a step further “ Oh hello kaha?” “ Aapse kya?” “ Mujhse kya? Meri bandi hai tu-” You didn't hear him out walking straight past him with your friends giggling openly at his shocked face. 

Your father dropped the new of you shifting to islamabad to live with your khala given the better opportunities and less danger there and it really wasn't that big a deal to you this topic had been discussed over dinner one too many times and it was certain at some point you were going to live town because your father with how closely he was associated with gang work you would get hurt but the thing was you had not told it to Uzair, you honestly wanted to see his face drop at the information he had bothered you in the entirety of whatever you had , this was going to be your small getting back at him movement and then you would move to a different state all together leaving him behind, that idea stinged a little but you pushed it aside you have been prepared for this day for a long time now. 

You made sure the words reached Uzair ears through your friends, getting extra decked up with lining your eyes with deep kohl and lining your lip with a chasmic hue of coral pink  filling them in with a lighter shade brushing your cheeks up with a slight blush . You choose between your clothes settling for a beaded white kurta and sharara set a little too decorative for your college but it's okay it was your last days here after all. 

“ Dekhna pakka aaya hoga” You snickered walking to the door with your friends behind you, 

“ Y/N” he stood up straight at the smell of your jasmine perfume, throwing the cigarette to the ground crushing it with a violent force that already should have told you this wasn't a good idea he wasn't his usual composed self  right 

“Hume nahi karne aapse baat please aap pareshaan mat kiya karo” 

You half whispered, clutching the books tighter to your chest, walking past him trying to look as gullible as possible, your eyes finding the floor , he yanked your wrist hard, staggering your steps pulling you back to face him. The books crashed on the ground and you saw how genuinely hurt he looked,

 “ Yeh kya bad-tameezi hai haath choro mera” 

“ Kaha jaa rahi thi? Ek baar batana bhi jaroori nahi samjha tune mujhe”

 “ Mai aapko kyu bataungi, its my life meri marzi ki mujhe yaha Lyari mei rehna hai ya fir islamabad mei”

 “ Tu kahi bhi jaa rahi hai mujhe batana tha y/n”

 “ Humaara aise koi rishta nahi ki mai apne failse aapse puch ke loon” his grip tightened painfully, jaw shut tight before he spat out ,

 “ Koi rishta nahi hai?” you twisted your arms struggling to get free, your winces catching attention of people around but no one dared to step in, including your friend who were stuck in place 

“UZAIR HAATH CHORO MERA!” You shouted, finally breaking free from him, shifting quickly to walk away. His one hand clamped at your mouth, the other snaked firmly around your waist lifting you off  the floor. This clearly was a joke anymore, you shouted into his mouth your limbs thrashing in his grip. You kicked your legs at front uncaring about how ridiculous you looked, throwing your hands in the air watching your body get hauled closer and closer to the car standing there with the open, you could hear your friends yelling over his brisk breaths right behind you, his body crushed with yours forcefully. 

He threw into the backseat slamming the door shut just as quick, the lock clicked in place as he turned the key, your ears perked up watching how rapid his each movement was right now, dialing the number on his phone.

“ Hamza tu Rashid ke ghar pahuch ” “ Uzair.. Yeh kya kar rahe hoon Uzair?” “ Shaadi kar raha hoon” hot strings of tears blurred your vision as you were finally understanding what was happening, “  DIMAAG KHARAB HAI KYA AAPKA! CHORO MUJHE UZAIR” You slapped your hands at the glass, the world remained unaware of your scuffle behind the black tinted glass that let nothing outside, you pulled at the handle as if that would do anything if anything he sped up more. 

The car stopped in front of your house, you were scared at how little less power you had and at what had taken over him, perhaps nothing had taken over him, this was who he was after all. He dragged you up the stairs ignoring all your shouts and blows at his body, “Choro mujhe! Uzair!”

You were compelled to stand at the door watching Hamza threaten your dad so calmly it seemed like a conversation shared over breakfast, “ Aapki zindagi ka har saans hamare reham-o-karam par hai. Aap, aapka ghar, aapka kaam... sab kuch hamara hai. Aise mein apni beti ko hamare hawale karna... aapke liye koi mushkil faisla nahi hona chahiye. Samajhdari isi mein hai”  He said leaning into the chair your father was seated in paralysed from the fear, meeting with mock calm smile till he nodded 

“ Yeh aaltu faaltu ke kaam mei mujhe mat laya kar bhai” Hamza yawned stretching like he wasn't just enabling a forced wedding, Uzair rolled his eyes pushing you inside, “ Baith” He commanded nodding at the other chair by the table where a thin stack of paper sat, you were a little grateful at the situation because well you didn't have to explain to your Abbu what was going to between the two and he wasn't clearly going to ask between all of this. When you did not move he pushed you further, pressing hard on your shoulder till you had no choice but to sit down. 

“ Sign kar isse” “ Pagal hogaye hai aap” You snarled at him, his quickly pulled out his gun from the holster pressing it to your the side of your head, he never once even allowed you to touch when you were with him, scolding you for even looking  at it for too long and now he was holding the very gun so coldly to your skin, your breath collapsed as you finally broke to ugly sobs, quietly joining your hands togethering , he shook his head pushing the barrel more into your skin, “ Sign.kar” 

You saw the brief flicker in his eyes at how you were looking up at him, his resolve remained unawavered, “ Sign.kar” With shaky hands you held up the pen, scribbling at the paper. You couldn't recognise your own name there on the pristine white of sheet, Uzair finally lowered the gun, unexpectedly going to kneel down pressing a gentle reverential kiss to both of your quivery hands, the action sending sparks through your body despite the dread of the moment. His head bowed further resting at the soft of your palm like he had found eternal peace 

You were his.

a/n- idk bro before you come for me, i am very tired pls dont beat me, also I know the phone convo looks odd,i edited it all on canvas :.) and I had to search up a bbm phone texting format jiske liye there were basically no pictures I made that all from scratch i am sorry if it looks tacky

thanks to mah baby @chai-ke-sath-parleg

College started out as a peaceful temporary relief from the eyes of your forebodingly strict parents , you weren't half as interested in studying as you were in attaining some sense of freedom, your parents were your dearest ? yes, but were they also suffocatingly conservative and scared to let you out? Also yes

You course sat on the sidelines , study didn't have a knack for you but the ambition to score good did, so after time you learned to gobble up books you didn't fancy just for the sake of seeing an high score on the paper, you had girls you can call friends, girls who didn't judge you for your overly naive understanding of the world or the fact that you needed assurance to cross the road for the first few months, everything would have been if you weren't met with him, the day of your college fest that marked one of year of your anew life. 

For the first time in your life you had worn a dress, a dress that you had stuffed forcefully into your bag to change into it inside the college, first time all of your friends fell busy to an emergency and had to leave you alone in the late evening, they were worried of course so they wrote a small chit for you to follow, for what to tell the auto rickshaw driver and the address to go to where they were all going to meet eventually at the end of the night, you made it till there your hands clenched in a fist to attack the driver if he took a wrong but fortunately nothing happened in the auto you reached safely but your ears ringed with the sense that something was going to come your way. 

You checked the purse, shuffling through lipsticks, massacras, napkins, pads some spare change, you double checked going through every nook and corner of the leather that was half torn at the insides and yet no sign of the club ticket at all, it went up in smoke vanished like it had never existed, your first instinct was to ring up the phone but your friends hadn't reached themselves though and standing outside in a place that were a harbour for drunk was already settling off your - not used to people- brain. 

Your feet ached from the heels standing in front of the man who kept the gate closed telling him off in whispers that your friend would be here any second, and that you lost the ticket on the way but with the decibel you were speaking in he barely made out anything you were saying 

“ Y/N” 

It was a man, his voice reverberated in the dead of the night outside the club that was filled with the mixed jumbles of the songs that made out the door, a voice so distinct you froze in place, not a friend, not your relative, definitely not your father but a boy you had encountered in your early teens when you went to the Baloch Haveli with your father for work. 

You turned back slowly as if that would change the reality of you being caught, the world was a beautiful mess that night standing under the streetlights seeing the boy who once scared you standing over you as a man who terrified you,  before any words could even touch your lips he started 

“ Yeh kaise kapde phen rakhe hai tune” 

He eyed you down, piercing you with his gaze from the start of your head to the end of your bruised feet, you were decked up in a mini dress that fell mid thigh, a cleavage that plunged scandalously low. 

“ Aa.. Aap.. Yaha?. Ma.. Mai voh” 

“ Mai yaha kaam se aaya hoon…” He declared, stepping closer, “ Yeh sab kya hai y/n?” He scowled in disbelief , 

“ Aapse kya matlab”  is what you wanted to say so bad that you had to bite your tongue to hold back the words. 

“ Kya karne aayi ho yaha?”  he moved closer but in your eyes it looked like he had lunged on you with the way his grip settled on your chin lifting your head that you didn't know you had titled down to avoid his gaze. You hadn't seen him in years, this possessiveness didn't make sense, 

“ Party… meri friends bhi aa rahi hai.. Meri ticket ghum hogyi” 

You whispered your nose unwillingly, being flooded with the smell of sandalwood and cigarette butts from his hand, he shifted the hold from your chin to your cheek in a slow, daunting manner. 

“ Ladke ke saath aayi ho?” “ Nahi bilkul nahi” The rest of your words were a murmur but this was a coherent no because God bless if he said that to your dad, said any of this to your dad, “ Theek hai.. Fir, andar jaana hai?” You nodded but to Uzair it was a movement to soak in your fear , watch the way your overlined lips tremble at his proximity, how your eyes drifted side by side anywhere but his face, how your body could only see and feel one thing right now - him. 

He got off that power imbalance high before speaking again, “ Mai madad karu?” You looked back at the club, at the neon red from the banner that covered half his face but nothing could conceal the intent of his eyes and you were grown enough to tell right from wrong and Uzair he appeared he was one step away from crushing you into his arms and kiss you senseless, a thought that your made your heart beat dangerously faster, “ Nahi .. I will manage”

He shrugged back huffing a breath, your traced his hands that moved swiftly to his pocket to retrieve a cigarette and a metal lighter from the other. Perched up against the bonnet of his car away from you for now but his eyes fixed on one thing- you. You avoided it watching the line of people that made their way in, the door creaking to the buzz of the party opening and closing every few seconds at the end and the more late it got, there were more men on their bicycles performing their usual hooligans. 

You could perceive by now that they were taking extra rounds to ogle at you, whistling when they crossed by. Anxiously you pulled at the hem of your dress with one, one hand that tried to lift the front up so it can at least reach your collarbones, you knew you looked ridiculous right now but the thrum of fright was making you work against your conscience, sniffling you looked up at Uzair who was already staring at you. The one glance was enough, he strided over to you in a fraction of time his palm covering the span of your waist as he pulled you flushed into his side. 

You couldn't think anything as you delved your face into his chest crying low, engulfed by his tall frame while the soft fabric of his pathani that has turned coarse with time scuffed at your skin and your hands fisted into his suit. “ Shhh” He hand caressed the back of your head, his finger going to tread through our waves , “ Yahi pe reh” He let go partly, yanking the closest man by his collar,

 “ Maafi maang!”

Uzair spat out his cigarette rasping out in his face, “ Maafi maang bandi hai meri” the man stumbled too drunk and confused to get his words right thrown off completely by the fact that he was facing  Uzair , or that he messed with something that's his when the apology didn't come as soon as he anticipated he fell back into his vexation striking his hand hard enough against the man’s cheek. He fell back from the impact, mouth bleeding and the ring in his ear had sobered him up he knew more than enough to not get into the bad looks of the baloch brother, in front of men who runs the whole of Lyari,

 “Maaf kardo madam”

You peeked out nodding at him snapping back at Uzair who had gotten a hold of you and had started walking you to the door, his jaw shut tight, “ Mai aapki bandi kab ban gayi? UZAIR?” you winced in distress, his grip only tightened further , watching at the bouncer with vacant eyes till he opened the gate for you two, “ Uzair kya kar rahe ho?” You hissed, flailing but now enough to bother his hold on you because you were curious to see what he was trying to do.

He ‘threw’ you into the corner, face shoved up against yours

“ Main kya karoon? Kya tujhe wahan aisay hi chhor doon taaki gair mard tujhe ghoorte rahe?”

“ Aap bhi ..gair mard hi ..hoon”

you argued back at all you could breath in was him, pressed against the cold wall,

“ Hato please”

You tried inadequate enough to not budge him but enthral him closer. 

It was a fleeting memory that didn't leave your head for days when you first saw him, you were 10 in your frilly skirt, he was 17 talking to your father. You were spanning the unreal chimerical vast haveli with unblinking eyes when he leaned in to rustle your hair muttering “Motu” lovingly, your cheeks stayed puffed up for a week after that, burning with spleen. The next time you met him you were thirteen and he didn't even turn to look at you (of course) as you kept staring admiring the beauty in front of you, and between this your years passed with no conversation but he had made a mental note that you were the daughter of the man who worked at his factory and that’s all it was supposed to be and had been for years.

“ Tu ne kis qisam ke kapray pehn rakhe hain? Aur akeli bahar ghoom rahi hai?, tujhe kuch andaza hai ke tere sath kya ho sakta tha?”  

“Please Uzair hato yeh kya kar rahe ho aap” with both hands you pushed at his chest only to become entranced by how his muscles felt under your touch, the warmth of his skin radiating off of him and and the pulse of his wildly beating beating heart,

 “ College mei toh bahut shareef ban kar jaati ho” 

“ Kyunki voh college hai yeh club hai….ek second aapko kaise pata-”

 “Ek mahine se dekh raha hoon tujihe” He muttered out 

“Kya..”

He didn't care to explain himself further but his eyes had darkened significantly, your softness disparity perilously opposed to hard planes his body was, his eyes lugged at your face then to the cleavage that perched up,

“Cover kar”

He grunted tossing his vest at you,

“ Nahi karna mujhe cover..aap hato yaha se please”

He crashed his body with yours, quelling your escape with himself. He was hiding you from the view of everyone limiting the world to you both, you had known these cages, that what your life had been but you have never felt this staggered. 

“Hil mat”

“Mere friends ayege toh mujhe dhundhege” 

“Mai dekh loonga”

“Uzair-”

“Hil.mat”  he was exasperated and the you attempted one last time before coming to the salient conclusion, you weren't winning against him.

Apart from your knowledge he was also fully familiar with your friends not in the normal decent human way but in the way that he had been stalking you so precisely he was aware of all the people that dawdled in your surroundings.

Even when your friends  had found their way there he wasn't moving till you had put on his vest that didn't fit you at all but he couldn't care less if it covered some of your flesh, 

“ Yeh yaha kya kar raha hai Y/N?” 

they asked in hushed tone not daring to catch his eyes  “ Mujhe bhi nahi pata, please tolerate him for now” 

“ Tumhe bhi nahi pata ka kya matlab?”

“Family friend hai..mera khyaal rakhne aaye hai”

 Surprisingly he didn't stop you from dancing ( as if he had the right to in first place), he just stood there like a statue repelling off anyone man that came in you and your friends way, but not for once you could dance like the world around you didn't exist because he clearly did with that piercing gaze and somewhere in between you had started dancing for him. Shaking your hips to the beats with your back turned to him waiting for the fabric to ride up your thighs to give him a brief view of your lace panties , deliberately touching his skin acting as if reaching for balance or absentmindedly, you did not understand yourself what you were doing maybe getting back at him for calling you motu all those years back.

You picked up your heels into your hand following behind him out the club when the clock had struck one, “ Mai drop kardu?” He interrupted watching you all fuss over to catch a taxi, your eyes shot up meeting his  “ Ghar hi chorunga” Smugly he remarked spinning the keys of his car on his finger easily, “ Inhe chor do pehle.. Mere abbu 8  baje se phele ghar nahi aane waale aur unke hisaab se mai vaise bhi inke ghar par hoo” 

“ SHIT Y/N mai batana bhool gayi thi par tum mere ghar par nahi aa sakti infact mai bhi mere ghar nahi jaa sakti.. Vahi emergency thi sab hospital pe hai and ghar locked hai toh mai apne mama ke ghar jaa rahi hoon, we can find you hotel on the way-” “ Mere yah ruk jayegi” Uzair declared moving so fast that you couldn't even blink and found yourself in his passenger seat, another second all your friends was giggling in the backseat. 

One by one he dropped them off till it was just you two in the car, your phone flooded with messages of text to me when you got home, “ Aap sach mei mujhe apne ghar leke jaa rahe ho?” “ Haan.. Kyu tum kisi hotel mei sona prefer karogi?” “ Ghar… khaali hai?” “ Kaash hota” He stretched his arms letting go of the steering completely passing you a lazy smirk, the sleeves of his suit slid up revealing his dusted forearms , his left hand never back to the steering resting at your shoulder, you shrugged your shoulder but he didn't bother drawing circles at the bare skin humming along to the radio. 

“ Darne ki jarrurat nahi hai, bhaiya bhabhi sab ghar par hai”

 You caught back your breath throwing him a half glare 

“Mai dar nahi rahi thi aur yeh aap haath hatao”

 “ Jaise tu kahe meri jaan” 

“ EXCUSE ME? please yeh sadak chaap bad-tameezi mat karo mere saath”

 “Bad-tameezi? Aur club mei joh tum kar rahi thi voh kya tha ?” He asked derisively, his fingers drumming at the steering 

You remembered the way you tried to give him a tease dazed in the music and the setting it didn't feel so hard to do, he could not exactly do anything about it in front of your friends and perhaps that why you were so tempted to do so as well, he had scared the life out of you for a few movements and regaining back that control felt nice..until you were in a car with him locked inside with the windows shaded black

  “Maine kuch nahi.. Kiya” He didn't argue but the pink on your cheeks and the crack of your voice spoke for the both of you 

The ride came to its end in front of the one of most polished and eminent building in Lyari, their haveli touched with time the minors crack noticable but from the inside it was just as you remembered it with the glass stained arches and windows, the low hanging intricate jhumars and and all wooden furniture carved with classic designs, soon at your entrance you were met with his nephews holding their hand out from already expecting to catch Uzair doing something that will result in him giving them enough money for a month pocket money

You jumped slightly at the two but both of them looked equally shocked to find you, Uzair just sighed at himself  

“ Yeh kaun hai chachu?” Faisal exclaimed in a whisper, “ Isse kaha se utha laaye aap” Naiem added. 

“Chachi hai tumhari” He snickered, you shook your head firmly in a clear ‘NO’  “ Hone waali” Uzair said as if that made any more sense than what he said last and honestly you were blown away from the audacity “Chachu paise nikaalo” “ Baad mei le lena” “ Abhi do” They both reprimanded, you stood awkwardly with your heels in one hand, one hand holding the dress down. 

You followed Uzair to his room upstairs, you finally realised how stupid this was agreeing to come here and now he had you in HIS ROOM or maybe that's what you wanted, no it can't be, you clearly mixing up butterflies with the flight instincts in your gut to run from this place from his intense gaze,

“ Koi aur kamra nahi hai?” 

“ Hai” he said simply opening the curtains to cover the window pulling the room into darkness. You squeaked your body feeling numb from the fear

 “ Toh..mai vaha so jao” 

“Nahi”

 The careless flirt was miles better than this serious tone that gave away nothing, it did actually but  you didnt wanna admit that you threw yourself into the lion's den, 

“ Kyu nahi?” 

You walked back slow on your tip toes so he wouldn't figure out if you are moving back in the dark trying not to give away any anything to him that would make him lunge at you, 

“ Kyunki maine kaha”

 You did not reply or else your voice going distant would give him the hint,

“ Aur kitna bhaagogi?”

You steps paused, foot tangling with the bed side as you tumbled back into the plush mattress , your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the greyed outline of Uzair moving closer till he was above you, tremors ran down your whole body as his coarse hands traced down your cheek, “ Uzair please” You breathed out, “ Please kya?” He asked his finger hooking beneath the thin strap fabric of your dress that barely covered any of your shoulder it was almost a line sitting at your skin, your mind stopped working for a second before you gathered enough words to speak again,

“ Mai chilla doongi”

“ Chilla do kaun bachayega?” he creeped up closer till your breaths were one, your eyes widened at the implication of this closeness even if you were scared you licked your lips, your body working overtime against your concise. 

He threw his head back laughing loudly, “ Kitna darti ho yaar?” you sat up huffing angrily to hide how riled up you were amidst your fear, “ Yeh kaisa majaak tha?” “ Accha baba sorry.. Mai dusre room mei soo jaunga .. dont worry..,lamp yaha hai and washroom is taraf hai” he pointed at the door in one corner getting up leisurely 

“Goodnight”

“ Itni fikr hai meri?” 

“Aise bas bolte hai..manners hote hai” You fixed your clothes, pulling up the blankets to your chest “ Aapko kaise hi pata hoga” you added on in a whisper

“ Mhm? Firse bolna jara”

He said like he had taken any offence if anything he found your fussiness adorable but definitely the terror struck face was one of the best views he had encountered and he wanted to see more of it. You shook your head instantly shutting up ,it was hard not to get mouthy when he was this infuriating. 

In the morning you stripped off the sparkly sequin that stuck to your body changing back into the clothes you left the house in, a decent pista green salwar suit. 

Uzair was initially confused at the 180 when you answered the door but he could see how it complimented , the constant fight with the clothes to keep your dignity and the way you way you teased the most hidden parts to him last night now wrapped in this innocence was amusing as well as enticing-he liked your little lies. And he couldn't deny that you looked stunning last night but the grounded look had him in more of a chokehold.

“ Dress kaha gayi?” “ ..Purse mei hai” he raised his eyebrows, “ Ghar chalna hai? “ “ Haan.. Ab tak toh abbu pahuch gaye hai.. Call aaya tha unka” 

“ Bhaiya dikhe toh bol dena tum abhi aayi hoon” “ Par-” “ Baaki ka mai sambhal loonga” 

You felt so out of place trying to walk past the suspicion filled gaze of his men that saw you, acting like you belonged there in any sense of the word knowing damn well your life was back in a shabby home and even that was courtesy of Rehman, no wonder your family boasted them like they were the gods sent men and you were scared to do anything that went against what they found ‘good' a word that already did not fit in with the gangster lifestyle. 

Ulfat stopped in her place watching you walk behind Uzair like a scared mice, holding the edge of your kurta tight in a desperate attempt to disappear you were caught, and worse Rehman was also there walking to where she was, “ Uzair yeh kaun hai?” Rehman called, why him?! It would have been a billion times better if it was Ulfat doing the questioning. 

“ Yeh Rashid ki beti” “ Hi uncle” Is all you could manage over your nervousness “ Humare ghar par kya kar rahi hai” “ Mai leke aaya isse” “ Kyu?” “ Ghar aa kar bata ta hoon na bhai isse phele chor du” 

“ Kya bolege aap unhein?”  you closed the seat belt in place asking him finally,

“ Rehman bhai meri sab zidd puri karti hai, unke phele bete jaise joh hoon mai”

You stated trying to understand what he meant, scrunching up your eyebrows to comprehend what that zidd was. He relished it really that naiveness paired with boldness, that zidd was undeniably you and his Rehman bhai wasn't going to stop him on his reckless pursuit. 

The whirr of the engine came to an end a hundred metres before your house, the morning was awfully quiet today of all days it was 6 and yet no usual clutter or people were there, “ Thanks” You opened the door steadying your brain to not turn back to take second glances and just go back home when he blocked your path, you found yourself against the bonnet fiddling with your dupatta to avoid the cinnamon, cigarette smell of him, or the fact he had yet again scared the life out of you.

“ Uzair-” “ Itni shareef toh ho nahi tum ki tumhe samajh nahi aayien ki mujhe kaya chaiye” “ Kya chaiye?”  his eyes drifted to your lips without any shame, “Bilkul nahi” You gasped moving away but he was quicker, more wrecked then you would have imagined,  his both hands slapped against the bonnet at either side of the body easily caging you in. “ "Tu janti hai mujhe is lams ki talab hai” You had noticed it before the way they  had become his attention undivided from everything else but the raw gritty voice made your skin crawl 

“ Mujhe nahi pata aur mai yeh sab nahi karti” You fidgeted with your clothes stealing glances at him who seemed to be only getting closer by the passing second , you turned your head away quick when he was almost about to kiss you making him tut once because he saw how your lips had already parted in anticipation but still you wanted to be defiant, his hands skidded at the metal surface creating a screeching sound before they settled right beside your both hips hands brushed against your covered skin but still enough to burn you from inside.

“ tumhare baap ka ghar yaha se do minute bhi door nahi hai, batao mai unhe ki unki beti kaha thi raat bhar? kya phenti hai kaha jaati hai”

you choked on your words he couldn't be seriously blackmailing you right now? But his expression was clear as day. It was hard to differentiate the man often. If he was joking he was dead serious and for now he looked serious.  It's just a kiss - you told yourself gulping down hard to face closing your eyes.

 “ Yeh sahi nahi hai jo aap kar rahe hai-” You blinked up once to find the viscous all drowning need on his face that didn't belong to these soft blissful mornings, you squirmed under it. your body finding a place to hide which you couldn’t.

“ Acchi baat hai ki mujhe ghanta farq nahi padta ke main sahi kar raha hoon ya galat. Aur agar tujh pe haq jatana bura hai ... toh mujhe bura hi ban na hai. Rok sakti hai toh rok le"

He sealed your lips with his, his head tilted so he could devour you as if nectar dripped from your lips, as if you were flesh plump washed up with rain, sucking the tender low lips with his. You stood like a statue soaking in the veneration. It was a slow careful kiss, his hands finally sliding up from the bonnet to hold your hips even though there was no need to, you weren't moving anyways not in this life. Uzair’s beard grazed at your skin in contrast to the softness his lips moved with, you were tempted to kiss back like it would not have any consequences.

 Your lips separated with a soft sigh, moving your head along with his in a trance he welcomed the movement his large hand cupping the back of your head with a satisfied hum at your surrender, while the other rubbed circles at your hips that treacherous heat travelled straight to in between your legs, he only pulled back when he saw he saw the usual crowd leave their house but he still did not want to let go of the warmth, his lips catching at your cheek instead 

“ Aise hi acchi lagti hai, jab shareef banke rahti ho” 

He spread open the fabric of your dupatta, the cloth spanning over your shoulder down to your chest, completely covering the silhouette, he was lying you looked good either way but he had seen the way you teased that thin strip, he was beyond worried if that display existed for anyone else, 

“ Dhang se chunni ood ke jaaya kar college ab se varna sach mei teri padhai band kara doonga” The foulness returned with full force and so did the tremble of your body but you could not find any words to defend yourself right now, how would you look uttering them with your now swollen lips . He tossed his phone at you catching you off guard, he had brought a new blackberry messenger to talk with you putting back his iphone at phone, “ Number daal isme apna” You opened your mouth to say no , “ Jaldi kar varna koi dekh lega” the urgency of the familiar faces emerging out from their house made your finger press into the keypad before you knew it.

The validation of being worshipped was so blinding you forgot your fear, the logicality of how reckless he was, how volatile he was

“ Milne ayegi mere se?” You had picked up the call he gave you after your third lecture, the name Janwar baloch on your screen 

“Kyu pareshaan karte ho aap college mei hoon abhi”

You muttered but pulled the phone closer to your ear,

“ Chal na, joh bolegi voh khilaunga”

“ Sach mei?!!!”

“ Haan toh ab bol chalegi?”

“ Bas khaane ke liye aa rahi hoon aapke liye nahi” 

“ Haan bilkul” “ Kaha aau?” “ Gate ke bahar tak” “ Aap yaha ho?” “ Haa toh” 

You bit back your smile, blushing into the phone and just like that you were eating the infamous chaat while he watched quietly but so fondly you felt like you would melt, “ Ice cream khayegi?” he asked when your mouth was already full from the last overly filled scoop you took, you nodded enthusiastically. He wiped the cream from the side of your mouth gently watching you still with that unspoken adoration and the way you tried to ignore the warmth in your heart. It did not take long for these meeting to become the staple and for it be usual for you to be pressed up in a shady alleyway wall making out with him at least twice a week, your fingers fisted in his hair and shirt not ready to let him go each time, kissing him back with the same frenzy as his in which teeth met before lips. 

It was one of those days again but it just got intense with the wet sound of lips smacking together Uzair hands weren't tangled in your hair or gracing the nape of your neck but pulling you up by thighs, you complied wrapping them around his waist only pulling him closer comical view with how modestly you were decked up. You swept your tongue along his only feeling more enticed from the change of position your back scraped at the brick wall, your tongue brushed at his sensitive palette and he groaned hip hips jerking up and then you felt it. A rock hard feel poking in between your legs, he thrust forward once before hurriedly putting you down, turning away from you to compose himself. 

“ Sorry Y/N”

But that groan has stayed with you keeping you from falling asleep you and the concept of time has slipped from your mind every time you closed your eyes you were there again in his arms again wondering how it would have gone if he didn't control himself, you pressed your thighs together to relieve some sighing at another unsuccessful attempt to fall asleep. Tentatively you reached down into your pyjamas, fingers fiddling to find that sweet bud that always throbbed at the thought of him, you had one picture of him in your phone, the one phone you had sent over to yourself secretly by his phone. You were ashamed but this was your own room. It's not like anyone was going to know, you turned on your phone, it was 2:00 am- goddamit. You found his photo ,the ache only growing at the vision, your finger pressing firmly at the clit, you started drawing small circles, eyes glued to the phone when the notification popped up of his name. 

Your  heart jumped and you instantly pulled back your hand 

Uzair rn- 

Bra ki strap kyu dikh hai 😡😡

You were honestly disappointed that's all he had to  say to the sleazy picture you sent him. Maybe it was you whose head was in the gutter. 

8 months passed in the same serendipity and to your luck he had not asked the quintessential question of whether with was serious and from the way he lived his live you could deduce that much at least it was not for him, and you had only recently discovered that he carried two phones , he might have as well written on his forehead at this point that you were not the only girl he was seeing  so you started ignoring him as he +leaned outside your college gate every odd day, You gave him the cold shoulder walking straight ahead deliberately making sure your dupatta wasn't in place just to irritate him a step further “ Oh hello kaha?” “ Aapse kya?” “ Mujhse kya? Meri bandi hai tu-” You didn't hear him out walking straight past him with your friends giggling openly at his shocked face. 

Your father dropped the new of you shifting to islamabad to live with your khala given the better opportunities and less danger there and it really wasn't that big a deal to you this topic had been discussed over dinner one too many times and it was certain at some point you were going to live town because your father with how closely he was associated with gang work you would get hurt but the thing was you had not told it to Uzair, you honestly wanted to see his face drop at the information he had bothered you in the entirety of whatever you had , this was going to be your small getting back at him movement and then you would move to a different state all together leaving him behind, that idea stinged a little but you pushed it aside you have been prepared for this day for a long time now. 

You made sure the words reached Uzair ears through your friends, getting extra decked up with lining your eyes with deep kohl and lining your lip with a chasmic hue of coral pink  filling them in with a lighter shade brushing your cheeks up with a slight blush . You choose between your clothes settling for a beaded white kurta and sharara set a little too decorative for your college but it's okay it was your last days here after all. 

“ Dekhna pakka aaya hoga” You snickered walking to the door with your friends behind you, 

“ Y/N” he stood up straight at the smell of your jasmine perfume, throwing the cigarette to the ground crushing it with a violent force that already should have told you this wasn't a good idea he wasn't his usual composed self  right 

“Hume nahi karne aapse baat please aap pareshaan mat kiya karo” 

You half whispered, clutching the books tighter to your chest, walking past him trying to look as gullible as possible, your eyes finding the floor , he yanked your wrist hard, staggering your steps pulling you back to face him. The books crashed on the ground and you saw how genuinely hurt he looked,

 “ Yeh kya bad-tameezi hai haath choro mera” 

“ Kaha jaa rahi thi? Ek baar batana bhi jaroori nahi samjha tune mujhe”

 “ Mai aapko kyu bataungi, its my life meri marzi ki mujhe yaha Lyari mei rehna hai ya fir islamabad mei”

 “ Tu kahi bhi jaa rahi hai mujhe batana tha y/n”

 “ Humaara aise koi rishta nahi ki mai apne failse aapse puch ke loon” his grip tightened painfully, jaw shut tight before he spat out ,

 “ Koi rishta nahi hai?” you twisted your arms struggling to get free, your winces catching attention of people around but no one dared to step in, including your friend who were stuck in place 

“UZAIR HAATH CHORO MERA!” You shouted, finally breaking free from him, shifting quickly to walk away. His one hand clamped at your mouth, the other snaked firmly around your waist lifting you off  the floor. This clearly was a joke anymore, you shouted into his mouth your limbs thrashing in his grip. You kicked your legs at front uncaring about how ridiculous you looked, throwing your hands in the air watching your body get hauled closer and closer to the car standing there with the open, you could hear your friends yelling over his brisk breaths right behind you, his body crushed with yours forcefully. 

He threw into the backseat slamming the door shut just as quick, the lock clicked in place as he turned the key, your ears perked up watching how rapid his each movement was right now, dialing the number on his phone.

“ Hamza tu Rashid ke ghar pahuch ” “ Uzair.. Yeh kya kar rahe hoon Uzair?” “ Shaadi kar raha hoon” hot strings of tears blurred your vision as you were finally understanding what was happening, “  DIMAAG KHARAB HAI KYA AAPKA! CHORO MUJHE UZAIR” You slapped your hands at the glass, the world remained unaware of your scuffle behind the black tinted glass that let nothing outside, you pulled at the handle as if that would do anything if anything he sped up more. 

The car stopped in front of your house, you were scared at how little less power you had and at what had taken over him, perhaps nothing had taken over him, this was who he was after all. He dragged you up the stairs ignoring all your shouts and blows at his body, “Choro mujhe! Uzair!”

You were compelled to stand at the door watching Hamza threaten your dad so calmly it seemed like a conversation shared over breakfast, “ Aapki zindagi ka har saans hamare reham-o-karam par hai. Aap, aapka ghar, aapka kaam... sab kuch hamara hai. Aise mein apni beti ko hamare hawale karna... aapke liye koi mushkil faisla nahi hona chahiye. Samajhdari isi mein hai”  He said leaning into the chair your father was seated in paralysed from the fear, meeting with mock calm smile till he nodded 

“ Yeh aaltu faaltu ke kaam mei mujhe mat laya kar bhai” Hamza yawned stretching like he wasn't just enabling a forced wedding, Uzair rolled his eyes pushing you inside, “ Baith” He commanded nodding at the other chair by the table where a thin stack of paper sat, you were a little grateful at the situation because well you didn't have to explain to your Abbu what was going to between the two and he wasn't clearly going to ask between all of this. When you did not move he pushed you further, pressing hard on your shoulder till you had no choice but to sit down. 

“ Sign kar isse” “ Pagal hogaye hai aap” You snarled at him, his quickly pulled out his gun from the holster pressing it to your the side of your head, he never once even allowed you to touch when you were with him, scolding you for even looking  at it for too long and now he was holding the very gun so coldly to your skin, your breath collapsed as you finally broke to ugly sobs, quietly joining your hands togethering , he shook his head pushing the barrel more into your skin, “ Sign.kar” 

You saw the brief flicker in his eyes at how you were looking up at him, his resolve remained unawavered, “ Sign.kar” With shaky hands you held up the pen, scribbling at the paper. You couldn't recognise your own name there on the pristine white of sheet, Uzair finally lowered the gun, unexpectedly going to kneel down pressing a gentle reverential kiss to both of your quivery hands, the action sending sparks through your body despite the dread of the moment. His head bowed further resting at the soft of your palm like he had found eternal peace 

You were his.

a/n- idk bro before you come for me, i am very tired pls dont beat me, also I know the phone convo looks odd,i edited it all on canvas :.) and I had to search up a bbm phone texting format jiske liye there were basically no pictures I made that all from scratch i am sorry if it looks tacky

The canopy of the bed fell way high above your head, the netted curtain fell like a shower and above all the overwhelming smell of roses and jasmine that flooded your head, they were bunched together carefully hanging from the over head in stripes covering the whole span of the bed, your heart has beaten uncomfortably in your chest, the queasy feeling that brewed in your stomach, you were a dutiful daughter did everything your father had asked you to all your life to keep his name and reputation clean , safe, protected, caged but you allowed it for your dearest abbu and what did you get in return? To get married off to a man almost 15 years older than you.

Iqbal was the last man you thought you would have married maybe even one of your cousins would have been a reasonable match, or the burger bacche of your college but no he decided on the broody quiet grump who you have seen twice in your home living room smoking away a cigar and now you were supposed to be his good little wife. You were angry at yourself, that you found yourself bending to your family's ,your father's decision for such an important thing in your life.

 Iqbal stood like a stone beside you throughout the whole thing, you couldn't even tell if he was even looking at your zoning out or.. Well there was this other times where you felt like he was eye fucking you which wouldn't make sense for the dignified disciplined man he was. Other than that he remained quiet , so quiet that you were utterly nervous about a thing you had been so sure about and trained for your whole life , for being a wife. 

Iqbal found himself walking into a place that has always been his before tonight, the room held its breath at him entering slow, yours eyes flickered close to dampen out the reality of the situation,he didn't say anything not a word just closed the door behind him with a click that ringed like a death sentence. You wanted to keep your eyes shut forever but then it grew slowly, the curiosity to understand the man you had been handed over too, with each rustle of his fine sherwani as he moved, the sound of metal meeting wood as he took off his watch and his breathing that only grew deeper with each passing second. 

You peeked only to find him already looking at you through the mirror, you were caught. You instantly lowered your gaze, cheeks burning at the intensity of his gaze but tried to procure some normalcy by pulling the kadhai of your anarkali, the door wasn't closed it was locked, the bed decorated with rose petals for your sweet sacrifice. He stalked over to the bed, settling right beside your shoulder brushed against yours. You couldn't think, you didn't expect this immediate closeness at all. You had prepared yourself for the sweet talk of holding hands, not this immediate possession. 

“ Y/N” he breathed over your neck and you felt physically destroyed into pieces, his voice was so deep and said with an effortless tone that flowed calmly but the command was clear each time. “ Ji?” “Khush ho?” He asked not really expecting an answer, sliding his coarse hand down till they got a hold of yours, what was supposed to be romantic,soft looked clinical as he searched through your hand tracing each design under his thumb. There was a twinge in your heart for how mechanical it all felt if this is what the rest of your life was supposed to be spent? To be with a man like your father who wouldn't find the time to understand if you would actually live your life in the shell of what you could have been. 

Iqbal's beard tickled at your skin stopping your trail of thought, you didn't notice him lean into  your palm inhaling at the rose milk scent with all his passion, “ Mashallah” Another tremor ran down your back in another unexplainable sensation that threatened to take over the hurt. “ Apni marzi se shaadi ki hai aapne?”  he looked up, the deep brown void of his eyes swallowing you,you paused for a fraction - it was by all means done with your willing but that tad bit of you had to kill itself to mould into your father's demands. “ Ji, apne mann se kari hai” You mumbled pulling down the crimson veil off your head at your shoulder.

 “ Mann se kari hai,  par kya dil se kari hai?”

“ Aapne kari hai dil se?” you shot back, surprising yourself but his presence had been too dizzying keeping you befuddled. You expected anger at the audacity but he chuckled, his eyes crinkling with pure admiration. He huffed pulling the loosely draped cloth down your shoulder more to see your silhouette without the obstruction of the dupatta. 

“ Aapko kya lagta hai rishta aapke abbu ne chuna hai? Maine hi aapko dekha tha do baar mujhe door se dekhte hue aap pasand aagyi toh maine nikaah ke liye puch liya par lagta hai aap is faisle se itna khush nahi hai” 

You lowered your gaze, cheeks flushing into oblivion you didn't know that the man lounging with your father had eyes for you all along , “ Nahi …hum kush hai” You whispered, twisting the ring at your finger.

“Mujhe aisi khoobsurat biwi ki naemat mili hai aur aap mujhse poochh rahe hain ki kya main ne apni dili khushi se is shadi par razamandi di thi? Hum bhi bahut kush hai”

You smiled before you knew it, chest heaving with excited breaths waiting for him to close the distance, he lips brushed against your like a soft breeze, the smell of the coffee he had mixed with the natural masculine scent of him, the silk of his clothes all of it flooding your head, you let yourself get pushed in the mattress ready to give yourself to him.

Iqbal did not hurt you not for a second, gently guiding you through everything with a patience that betrayed the hunger that simmered inside him, he had seen you twice peeking out from behind the wall in your simple kurta and an emotion that had not stirred in him throughout his whole life bleaking to his heart, avoiding his father taunts about marriage to devote himself to work he found himself wanting to be married. When you cried out when he entered you, he felt his heart break in two but insanely harder at the sight of your tears, so he held himself and the monster inside him back leaning down to press kisses to your temple till you have adjusted to his thickness. 

The first month of your marriage passed in marital bless, Iqbal was so much more than you expected him to be and he clearly wasn't a grump but a lovesick man who wouldn't get enough of you, calmly waiting for you to talk more than what would be considered informal. That was his one complain from you, you never talked to him more than necessary not because you were shy because you thought it wasn't dutiful, proper to talk so much in front of him even shameless to torture him with the blabber of your whole day. 

You wiped the sweat beading at your forehead, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was half undone from behind. Your dupatta tied at the side, your blush pink kurta sticking to your skin through that wetness, flour patted onto your cheek working in the sweltering heat in the kitchen, the smell of korma filling the kitchen as you worked to knead the dough. It's not like he did not keep the house help but you just liked cooking for him, you didn't hear the muffled footsteps as he strode to you over the sound of your own irritated hiss and the consistency got too slimy. Iqbal swept you off your feet, you gasped before giggling at the familiar sensation of his hands wrapping around your waist, he twirled you once before settling on the cold marble counter. 

“Kitni pyaari lag rahi hai aap” He murmured appreciatively, his hands tugging your neckline up possessively before trying to kiss your sweat slick cheek,

“ Choro na Iqbal, kya kar rahe hai aap? Koi dekh lega”

“Toh kya hua, begum hai aap hamari”

You hit at his chest trying to hold back the wild smile that was painting your face at this proximity. 

“ Aapne toh kitchen ko hi apna ghar bana diya hai kabhi humare saath bhi baith liya karo”

His hand moved quickly keeping both your palms flat and pinned at your sides, it was supposed to be sweet but it felt scarily exciting to know that even his effortless grip could hold you down easily, you swallowed watching him inch closer till his lips met your again in a soft and slow rhythm. You half chuckled turning your head away mid movement, for a second there Iqbal frowned a deep and ugly one for not getting what’s his but he trains them back into neutral. 

You noticed it, without much words you have learned to  communicated by observing people and though how much you admired and felt loved in his presence there was something off about him, about the parts that he kept to himself and that was also part why you hesitated to talk to him because the ugly truth about a traditional marriage was that despite being well educated you had no autonomy and all the power for your happiness laid in his hand, it was for him to decide what he wanted to be to you the man now or the quiet statue you saw at your wedding, so you avoided questioning it. 

You don't know if he felt the shift, but he moved, reaching into the front pocket of his shirt pulling out dainty silver anklets,

“ Yeh kya hai?”

“ Aap toh humse baat nahi karti socha yahi kar lenge”

he nodded at the anklet, flicking them soft, hearing the mellow chime hum through the kitchen. He sat down on his knees clasping them in place, “ Iqbal please aise accha todhi lagta hai” embarrassed at a man so much older than you kneeling to you, you tried to pull back your feet “ Nakhre bahut karti hai aap” You gave up into his hand because what else could you have done. 

Iqbal has been occupied with work lately, the time of his arrival increasing with each passing night and with the same brooding expression he would walk through the door and sigh ever so softly when he saw you wide awake and waiting for him, it was the same as any other day only this time his shoulders fell heavier, his eyes darker and the sigh deeper almost a snarl.

“ Iqbal aap theek toh hai na?”

For the first time you gathered enough courage to ask him something out of mundane homely tasks,

“ Tumhe ek baar mei baat samajh nahi aati hai waqt se so jaaya karo”

his reply was short and clipped out of character for the way he had been cherishing you for the past month, you fell quiet the pain of your heart settling in your wrists.

“Aur yeh kya haal kar rakha hai kamre ka”

He turned to watch the clothes piled up into a heap by the bed which you were too lazy to clean up and even lazier to call and explain to the maids the order at which they were to be arranged.

“ Karti kya ho pura din ghar pe?”

you felt yourself grow smaller at each word, all the puff leaving your chest,

“ Aur yeh kya phen rakha hai?”

He nodded at your slip night gown with pure disdain at the satin that covered nothing. You shrank further pulling the bedsheet up to your chin wondering why you asked him anything at all. 

Iqbal noticed but he did not comment on it walking to the bathroom with his fist clenched almost as if to hide something, the second he stepped back out again freshened up he was a different man altogether. Nervous,skittish with how you were laying on the very edge of the bed turned away from him , “ Gussa hogayi?” he tried to joke, leaning slow from behind to burrow his face into your neck, you shrugged him off scooting further away. 

“ Sorry meri jaan, kaam se thak aata ho aur tumhe mere vajah se itni der ko jagah hua dekhta toh aur takleeq hoti hai mujhe” 

“ Mujhe daatne mei nahi hoti?” you whispered hiding further into the pillow 

“ Sorry thoda gusse mei tha kuch bhi bol diya, itni pyaari ..um…dress? Pheni hai aapne mujh jaise budhe ko thodi samajh aayega” he cupped your breast from behind, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder. You wanted to give in but the hurt still remained fresh so you didn't react to him at all. Iqbal got the idea and pulled back, keeping enough distance for your bodies to not touch while you slept, but you knew he was looking at you, his gaze searing through your back, through the thin fabric of your gown. At some point you were more scared than you were mad if this was his actual self and the lovely gestures were maybe a facade. 

The next morning Iqbal tailed you like a lost dog while you refused to talk to him. Eventually he gave up and just watched as you put down plates with more force than required ‘slamming’ them on the dining table. “ Y/N” he half whispered but you didnt answer, “ Maaf kardo” he tried again holding your hand as you moved to throw down the cutleries as well, “ Bolo kya chaiye aapko?” “ Humne kuch nahi chaiye” you finally huffed something out over the lump in your throat, Iqbal left quietly this morning fighting the urge to kiss your temple and bid you goodbye like usual because you clearly did not want to be close with him right now. 

By afternoon you had started feeling guilty about the way you ignored his desperate attempts and it didn't look right either that such an older man had to walk around in circles for your opinion and you understood he was just frustrated from work and didn't mean to snap but the possibilities for that behavior scared you, when you were cleaning up after your lunch you saw it his tiffin box tucked at the end of the kitchen slate hidden behind the stack of dishes in front of it. 

The idea had formed before you allowed it, the end to your first couple argument and it was sweet in idea, you would dress and go by to drop his tiffin box and forgive him for all the things he said last night. You put on the kurta you wore in your college days, and had seen Iqbal's eyes stop at it when you were skimming through your clothes before a function once, he didn't say he liked but his eyes spoke for him. The butter yellow complimented nicely against your skin tone, it different than the intricate suits you had moved to after marriage because you were living in the house of one of the most reputed man in pakistan, luxury wasn't a choice it was mandatory for the public image and this road side stall brought kurta maybe stood no chance in front of the fine silk but Iqbal had admired it and so did you.

It was with printed large pink patterns, the same patterns on the light dupatta that you had draped carefully over your shoulder and head, feeling a college girl again, but you were married now with Iqbal's lunch box in your hands, chand baali in your ears, the bangles in your hand stacked and first time going to see what burdens him so much that he is weared out when he returns home, a chance to understand him better. 

“ Bashir mujhe Iqbal ke daftar chor dijiye” “ Begum sahiba.. Iqbal sahab ne mana kara hai” “ Aise kaise mana kara hai hum bol rahe hai na leke chalo” “ Sach mei unhone mana kara hai” “ Agar aap humne nahi leke jaoge toh hum auto se chale jayege fir dekhna Iqbal ji kitna gussa karenga” You poked at his shoulder and he couldn't do anything other than listen to the lady of the house.

Inside of the office was normal, just like your father’s had been with all the cubicles leading to a big room at the end, illuminated by yellow lights and closed off from the rest, Iqbal’s office. You held the tiffin box walking slowly to his office, most of the people were confused as to why the boss’s wife was here at all dressed in all pastel in this gloomy mood. The office was empty, his leather seat cold from his long absence “ Iqbal?” You called out three times with no reply from anyone, a familiar man entered the room, his face furrowed, hair disheveled

“ Y/N aap? Aap yaha kya kar rahi hai”

He faltered standing straight and respectful

“ Sajid voh bas Iqbal ji apna tiffin bhool gaye vahi dene aayi thi”

“ Mai de doonga aap ghar jaiye”

he reached out but you held the box closer to yourself cutting off any possibility of him getting a hold of it, well because he wasn't exactly allowed to touch you.

“ Nahi hume apne haath se dena hai”

“ Iqbal sahab office mei hi nahi hai, bahar gay hai kaam se”

on cue came the sound from the room beside, even distant than that more muffled, downstairs, it was from downstairs.

“ Iqbal hai vaha?”

Sajid did not know how to lie to you 

“Abhi kisi ka aana allowed nahi hai”

“ Accha theek hai naraaz hai voh humse samajh gayi, par itna gussa kaisa? milenge bhi nahi mere se“

" Please aap ghar jaiye”  You pouted tapping your feet at the wooden floor, “ Mai nahi jaungi, Iqbal se bina nahi jaungi” “ Fir aap inteezar kar sakti hai yaha baith ke.. Bas abhi nahi mil sakte” You plopped down on the couch, eyes flickering to the door over and over. “ Sajid chai milegi?” “ Abhi?” “ Ji mujhe abhi chaiye.. Aap hume mana  kar rahe hai hume?” He sighed not knowing who to follow the boss, or his wife because upsetting his wife might be a bigger crime than betraying him here. 

The second Sajid was out of the door you sprang to the room attached to his office finding the narrow spot in the corner that led downstairs. It was a whole different world all together, alienated from the sophisticated exterior you just saw, the wall painted a dull white and fluorescent light shining overhead and the air was already eerie but you carried on looking for Iqbal. 

Iqbal had been viscous since last week when he found out there was a mole in his business, selling away his hard work to his enemies and busied himself in finding and extracting other sources that made it possible by the way he knew- torture. He had been patient handling the work to the most trusted Sajid , but it has been one week and the man was still not opening his mouth and he had to take things into his own hands. 

The room was equipped with weapons designed to slowly kill, to inflict such pain that there was nothing left other than surrender. Iqbal rolled up the sleeves of his faded navy blue kurta to his elbows slipping on the black leather gloves moving with a quiet intensity that carried a storm itself scanning through the row after row of the most heinous weapons quietly, Iqbal had already peeled off his nails after the man had gone out his way and struggle and scratch at Iqbal exposed skin violently enough that it was bleeding, but he wasn't satisfied with it, more vexed than usual because his dear wife had not spoke to him once and he needed an outlet to take that out and he was found an excuse today with the blood that ran down his forearm form the cut.

Iqbal decided on a classic saw because he knew it wouldn't cut through on the first blow, that what made the process more fascinating for Iqbal, he leaned in into the chair the man was tied to soughing in agony at his deformed fingers, flailing his hand against the time, “ Abhi bhi waqt hai bol do beta” Iqbal tutted,speaking so softly that the man knew what was set for his fate, Iqbal raised the saw crashing it down his tied arm with sickening crunch.

You saw it eyes wide, standing at the entrance. Your husband was doing this.

“ Bolo beta?” He asked but didn't give him the time to reply, aggressively bringing down the saw over over one the half cut arm in repeated violent motions that were too perfect to be not the ‘norm’ and especially by the look on his face they weren't, he wasn't hesitating not for sliver of his body recoiled by what he was doing ,blood spattered spraying at Iqbal's suit “ BOL BETA BOL” the screamed the sound echoing off the walls. 

You stepped back slowly, careful not to catch anyone’s eyes. He is a monster, a monster. The man in the chair you recognised from the dinners Iqbal held at home, how he introduced him to you as an old acquaintance of five years. Five years? And Iqbal didn't struggle to commit something so horrifying to him, so how will a wife of one month stand a chance against his temper, this nature. You were almost out of sight when you moved a little too fast, your ankles chimed faintly over the screams but Iqbal's head shot up, instantly recognising the sound. “ Y/N?” he mouthed.

Your body was in dilemma whether to catch your breath first,to run to keep your heart beating because with no doubt Iqbal had seen you, you dropped the tiffin watched the content fall open on the floor as you ran as fast as you can again marvelling if to take off your anklets first, hands shivering so hard they fell like they would fall off. Cutting off a man's hand was so easy for him what would he do with you since you had made him so upset yesterday, you carried yourself on unsteady legs. Lungs burning for the desperate attempts you made to breathe the panic only growing when you couldn't find your way back upstairs, running into doors after doors and then you froze for a second hearing the heavy boots tracing your footsteps. Those damn anklets gave it away and Iqbal was onto you, you forced yourself to move slowly so the movements wouldn't amplify the sound further getting into the first room beside you. 

You fumbled with the knob twice before twisting it open to what looked like a rest room for the times Iqbal stayed back in his house, it was his room you could tell by the cub cigars discarded on the floor on the bedside table , his favourite one and if that didn't give it away there was a frame of you rested atop just beside the cigar from your wedding, cropped so it was only you for him to admire when he couldn't find his way back home and the fear wavered stupidly with the warmth rising in your body. 

The room was so sickly drowned with his scent that your head was getting dizzy, chest heaving which felt a lot like excitement. Disgusting;you cringed and then came the final call of the door turning and opening in front of you. Iqbal looming inside without a word. 

You stood breath hitched, hand gripping at the desk behind you, still not a word he moved past you, still not a word as he took off his gloves, not a word as he tried to wipe off some of the blood from his kurta. 

He hadn't said a word, maybe you could just run away. You dashed to the door without him moving a fraction, just when you twisted the knob in your hand he covered the distance in three long steps , picking you up so effortlessly that you wondered if you weighed anything under at all. 

You slipped in his grips, squirming and thrashing to get free while he remained unyielding, jaw shut  tight throwing you on the desk. “ Iqbal please mujhe chor do, maine kuch nahi dekha please” You sobbed, slapping your palm at his rock hard chest, Iqbal held you still with that extreme gaze and strength that he did not have to apply to keep you from moving.

 “ Shh shh”

 He hushed you finally, ignoring your small useless movements to slam his forehead against yours breathing deep and low. Your mind actively worked against your logical conscience, the human urge to survive overshadowed by disgustingly attracted you were to him, even after the revelation of his true self. 

“ Kitni haseen lag rahe hoo aaj, uff.. Mujhe milne aayi ho itne sajj ke?” He said his voice husky and hungry, thumb caressing your cheek as if your body wasn't actively breaking into sobs from the fear, from the clear evidence that dampened his shirt the blood brown against the blue of his shirt. 

 “ Iqbal please hum sach mei kisi ko kuch nahi bolege”

 “ Kya nahi bologi? Meri jaan yahi meri jindagi hai is se aapke siwa sab vaafiq hai aapke abbu bhi”  before the disbelief of his first few words he could hit you he continued

 "Tum nahi jaanti ke mujhe tumhare baap ko maali tor par tabah karne ke liye kis hadd tak jana pada, sirf is liye kyunke wo tumhe mujhe saunpne par raazi nahi tha. Tumhe andaza nahi ke is sab ke peeche meri kitni gehri saazishein thien... kis qadar junoon tha tumhe paane ka, tumhe apni baahon mein qaid karne ka"

He confessed, two glances and he had decided to drain your father financially to have you. There was no doubt your husband was crazy and holding you so fiercely calm. You wanted to be angry but all that came out of your mouth was a bated breath and even that he did spare, swallowing it in his mouth. Clashing your lips with his, you gasped in surprise giving him the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your quivering mouth, your hands flailing uselessly as he carefully but swiftly pulled over the kurta over your head. The air is clammy, goosebumps prickling at your skin.

Fear and arousal churned all together in a dangerous mix pooling in your gut, “ Iqbal-”He tangled his tongue with yours again blurring out every thought in your head for a movement, you only came back to your sense when you felt the cold metal press between the valley of your breasts, tracing up and down over the cleavage formed by the cotton bra "Tumhe lagta hai ke main ne ye sab tumhe paane ke liye kiya, sirf is liye ke tumhe takleef pahchaoon?"your hands did not need containing anymore, your struggles have stopped itself from the sheer paralysing fear. “ Iqbal please aap..yeh kya kar rahe hoo?” the safety was off- the safety was off it was off but you couldn't move, his gaze so commanding that even when your heart threatened to crash you didn't want to go against it.

The revolver sleek body prodded at your skin, it was loaded and he wasn't stepping back if anything, you felt the metal dig harder into your plump flesh, his finger rested dangerously at the trigger, the only comfort was the eye contact he held with you, that kept you captive in place. In your hindsight you could see as he crushed the trigger further, your eyes snapping close but not moving from the position you were in to save your life. The shot went empty but you flinched from the impact, hands going to hold onto his bicep, holding onto the very cause of your fear, nails digging into his skin. Iqbal eyes dragged over your face, watching the fresh tear drop glisten in a sheen line over your eye, the way you trusted him he had never felt his heart beat so frantically like it did at the at the depraved sight of your trust and the cede of your body, you were his sweet victim not upset at the fact he had plotted his way into this marriage, but just watching him doe eyes that were begging him to fuck you. 

He glided it over your soft skin, hooking the mouth of the gun beneath the strap of your bra sliding it down your shoulder, unraveling your left breast to his ravenous eyes. “ Iqbal” You whimpered but he ignored it, rubbing at the nipple with the side of the gun, before holding it back in between your breast, sliding it down and over your stomach. Your breath caught when you realised he wanted to stop, tugging the salwar and panties up together with the gun, skidding it down along with his hand. 

The freezing cold metal pressed against your clit, making you jolt forward and thrash momentarily before you met his eyes again, lulling you back into submissiveness. He was more handsome up close, wrinkles running around his eyes, the side of his lips along with the scar that ran above the side of his mouth, his moustache and beard thick and salt and paper that he didn't care to cover with fake dyes, just intensifying visually the obvious age gap between you both. “ Iqbal” You tried again, but he didn't budge, sliding your clothes down till you had no choice but to comply by lifting your hips so he could strip you bare. 

You were a beautiful mess the innocent cotton panties stopping at your ankles, left breast out of the fabric and body shivering, your clit throbbed against the foreign object , he drowned in the sight of you getting worked up from the fear, his true self, at your how the bud that hid above your folds looked pressed against something so dangerous. Your entrance peeking out from the folds, pink and fleshed raw , he was tempted to push the barrel in but he understood enough to not do that, just teased you with the hard rigid metal that had your toes curling. 

He handled it with the perfect pressure, he had learnt that much about your pleasure now, holding the mouth of the gun pressed flat against your slit till the start of your taint, “ Iqbal!” You shrieked, just his name no indication for him to stop or start because deep down you didn't know whether you did or not yourself. “ Ji begum” He rasped, nibbling on the shell of your ear the sweet endearment sound so mocking now . “Please chor dijiye, Iqbal mujhe dar raha hai”

He smirked, tapping the sensitive bundle of nerves and on cue your wetness gushed down more, lubricating yourself  “ Dar lag raha hai aapko meri jaan?” He cooed, catching the wetness at the gun, holding up the slick metal in front of your mouth, “ Yeh hai aapka dar?” those trembling lips have been inviting since the day he saw you, he drummed the head at your lips. 

“ Open” he demanded, your hands clutching tighter at his bicep only roused him more, testing the patience that he was holding back for one month. He squeezed your mouth open , the end of the barrel hitting at the back of your mouth. “ Suck” He demanded again, this time over your gagging self, turning more vulnerable under his control. 

Sucking his cock would have been way easier, the hard edges hurted a little and you knew if he started fucking your mouth himself how hard he would do it so you started yourself. Wrapping your tongue around the line, bobbing your head up and down slowly. Iqbal eyes rolled back at the obedience, he murmured praises against your forehead, about you were his good little wife before latching onto your nipple, engulfing the hard pebble into his mouth, slurping loudly around it, switching between biting and sucking constantly that the pain balanced out with pleasure, but soon he decided he did not want to miss a second of you fucking your mouth. 

He stood back eyes digging into your skin, your small palm still wrapped around his bicep for comfort while he barely offered any when he plunged two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling his fingers inside to rub against the spongy part in constant strict movement that didn't give you another option than to accept the abuse on your cunt,  his thumb rubbed in firm circles over your clit working proficiently so you could come early and he can shove his dick in you, because at this point he was so hard it hurted painfully

The bulge heavy and insistent over the fabric of his shalwar, you squelched loudly the wetness dripping down your cunt and spreading over the mahogany desk as you moaned around the muzzle. Iqbal liked seeing you contained but he also wanted to hear you whine his name. The gun left your mouth abruptly with a soft pop that allowed you to relax your jaw and mouth, “Iqbal ji please chor dijiye na” You whimpered all while your hips bucked to have his finger deeper, the sentence infuriated him enough for him to want to ram the gun down your throat again because of the obvious lie which he didn't enjoy. 

He doubled his efforts on your pussy and had you releasing all over his hand, face nuzzled and drooling at his covered bicep when the gun shot went off making you cling harder to him breaking into a sob on instinct and the realisation The gun had bullets??? And he fired that over your heart?

Despite the horror you had only gotten wetter, clunt clenching unclenching around nothing waiting on what he had trained your body by now, his cock. The sound of your anklets were dampened and restricted under the clothes that bunched up at your ankles first he pulled them off in a harsh motion, then he dropped you on your feet on the floor, you expected him to take you to bed and claim you properly but he dragged in front of the long mirror reclined on the wall. Standing behind you, his six feet two swamping your frame and the view in front of you of your used body 

You waited to watch what he meant to do, fixing your eyes anything but what was right in front focusing on the chipped edges of the mirror instead, when you felt him take out his hard dick maybe this is the part he throws you on the bed, but he lines himself against your entrance that was looking comically small in comparison to his tout head,  “ Iqbal bed pe-” He snarled, and the next second you known the gun was now at your throat. The muzzle now warmed with bullets fired, and the fear came back in full surge washing over your body in tremors.

“ Maine tumse pucha tumhe kya chaiye?” 

you shook your head, grasping at the mirror feeling the stretch of his cut head pushing inside your body. 

You could see how desperate your own body was getting how your walls extend to accommodate his thickness, the size difference thrilling but it flushed your cheeks, shyly you lowered your gaze onto the floor to avoid the reality of what’s happening to you

"Khabardar jo tum ne apni nazrein jhukaaeen, upar dekho"

The revolver delved into the hollow of your throat as he impelled you slowly on his dick feeding you inch by inch till you were a crying mess forced to look at your ruins from the fear of the weapon your husband threatened you with. He grunted when he finally buried himself to the hilt, the sound sending spasm through your body resulting in you tightening around him, your eyes flickered struggling to keep up "Tumhe ek seedhi si baat samajh nahi aati? Nazrein mujh par tikaye rakho." he spanked his palm at your ass with unrestrained force that made you wail and slap your palm at the glass. “ IQBAL!” 

“ Watch how you take me” You looked down unwillingly at the mortifying sight of hips flush against yours from behind, as he pulled back a little you saw how hard you gripped to keep him inside, his meaty flesh red and throbbing with veins that taut on it brushing deliberate at the gummy walls of your insides, you were too tired,too overstimulated for this torture when he started something worse.

He slammed back into you one violent thrust and started a punishing rhythm which was way worse than the slow descent before, your whole world world was blurring with how harsh he was being, body jerking forward and threatening to fall down with the heavy rams but he kept you up with one hand snaked around your waist other still holding the silent reminder to comply by your neck. He was smug like he was saving you from collapsing when he was the one who was enabling it, groaning how tight you were while you struggled to breathe around his cock. 

Iqbal had mapped and studied each part of your body by now familiar with each curve and where exactly to hit to find your spot, aggressively snapping his hips to meet that spot so you were forced to be drowning in pleasure when your eyes rolled back from the obvious affect, he hit you again your cheeks burning red with the imprint of his palm.

Iqbal had realised you weren't scared of the gun anymore because the second you were going against his words and that didn't exactly feed into his arrogance and it has served it's purpose now, you were aware Iqbal would never hurt you in spite of having all the means to do so. He grabbed your chin forcing you to look yourself, squeezing your cheeks roughly with his palm that was larger than your face “ Dekh khudko” His groaned his tone and speech getting crass,

"Apni haalat toh dekho, ro aise rahi ho jaise tumhe is sab mein maza nahi aa raha”

you clamped around his shaft watching how he was soaking in your tears with an arousal that didn't even feel human anymore it was that primitive. A victory smirk broke through his face in between of the harsh clenched jaw expression before he lost himself to your tightness again cursing out loud and resuming your breaking. 

His cock filled you stretched you out the pain of him bruising your cervix so delicious it bordered on pleasure, and estranged from the lewd scene and noises was the dainty chimes of your ankle as your feet fell above the ground with each thrust due to the obvious size difference, while he forced you to watch. Watch as the fear completely left your face leaving behind only greed, that asked him to ruin you more humiliate you the idea fact that you how small you in front of him in every sense of the word at how little control you had of your life and yet he wouldn't hurt you not in the way it would sting your heart. 

"Main sabr nahi kar pa raha us waqt ka jab tumhe samajh aayega ke tumhari jagah kahan hai—sirf mere paas. Tum yahan hamesha mehfooz rahogi, meri mohabbat aur meri jaan ban kar." 

Your ankles chimed harder, coerced to let out sound louder than they were meant to because Iqbal wanted to hear it so he had of course roughened his pace. His deep thrusts were mind breaking that your consciousness was slipping and instead of being ashamed your eyes were glued to the view in front you when he finally found the energy to complete his broken sentences in between his moans and groans

“ Aur inshallah jaldi hi mere bacchon ki maa banke”

WHAT? Your eyes shot up over the haze you wanted to move to look over your shoulder but his grip kept you still, and you realised you didn't need to look back at all you met his eyes in the mirror, that glance confirmed it for you he was serious about what he just said and that ‘jaldi hi’ clearly meant today. 

You found some sense over the high and tried to scoot away only to be met with his hand rubbing at your now swollen bud coaxing, capturing you slowly into a frenzy that meant you were his captive for life. Your orgasm didn't give you relief by drowning out the knot in your stomach, instead it hit you like a tidal wave with your head still stuck on the fact about what followed after, and you couldn't even form a coherent sentence let alone argue with him as his hips started stuttering. “ Meri jaan” he grunted, forcing himself deeper till his tip found your cervix again, holding himself still as he spilled out his load raw. You felt the warmth seep to your stomach as if already taking root.  

“Iqbal” you sniffled defeated, falling limp and wanting nothing more to be in his arms. “ Theek hai aap?” he asked picking you up ,you wanted to pout but you only nodded hiding in his chest.

a/n - its is four am while I post this kuch glat shalat likha ho toh maaf kar dena dont slime me

The world had evolved—from walking distances to creating wheels and innovations taking flight, from living in caves to building houses of mud until towering apartments filled out the horizon of metropolitan cities, from a society that frowned upon women to their fight for voting rights giving rise to feminism, from the conceptualisation of marriages to the creation of social norms around it until the youth decided to break them down to love freely.

The world had changed plenty—but not the whole one, even though most wore the facade of modernism over a heart still favouring the old practices that once defined the civilisation that resided on the land near the banks of Indus.

An elegant chandelier of glass hung from a frame of gold, illuminating the spacious sitting room Shauryaman had been shown to by the middle-aged housekeeper who smiled too widely and spoke too politely, making the man wonder whether she knew as well the bitter pill of truth he was forced to swallow.

It hadn’t been the first time his father had made a decision for him—the man was practically obsessed with controlling the life of the heir of the vast family empire, always bringing forth ideas that would disrupt his life. But unfortunately for his father, he underestimated the cunning of his son.

But there were no artful tricks that could rid him of Harshvardhan Gaur’s latest demands.

None except obedience and a quiet hope that his intended—carefully chosen by his father, a daughter to an industrialist acquaintance—despised this idea of union as much as he did. Because perhaps then, he might figure out a way to avoid disruptions in his already satisfactory life.

A deal would work favourably, one where his soon-to-be wife agrees to let him live his life the way he wants to while she breathes however she want—no interference in each other’s business.

A perfectly happy marriage.

His anticipation was rising as the time ticked by, the careful and revealing searches in the browser of his mobile felt heavy on his chest as well as in his pocket—ones he had made in the chauffeured car on his way to the mansion that was registered in the name of his to-be father-in-law.

The research revealed not much about her, nothing entertaining as he had hoped. Only pictures taken during launch parties and charity galas, along with the formal information about her expensive education and her role in her father’s empire: the head of the Public Relations team, a fancy title for a job that seemed nearly useless in the eyes of Shauryaman.

But who was he to comment?

Well, technically?

Her fiancee.

The rapid train of his thoughts derailed the moment dark mahogany double doors opened with a quiet creak that echoed in the otherwise silent room, his dark eyes—deceivingly resembling the innocent ones of a newborn deer—lifting to find the figure of his betrothed closing the door she had entered through.

Elegance was the only word that came to his mind as he watched her approach the sofa he sat upon, her heels clicking like the devil’s warning against the marble floor.

A smirk tugged on his lips as his eyes dragged over her—assessing from her head to toe, until he was pleased enough to rise to hid feet. At least, his father had found him a pretty face, easy on sore eyes—one that would look breathtaking on his arm and in the family photographs for Harshvardhan Gaur’s election campaigns.

“So you are the chosen one?” He wondered out loud, his boots heavy against the floor as he chewed away the distance separating them, halting only when she stood at an arms length from him.

His mocking words earn him an arched eyebrow, her head tilted to a side while she folded her arms in front of him. Her eyes—large like his own, honeyed poison in appearance—venture out on an expedition of their own, studying the sharp lines of his tailored suit and the laid back crew neck underneath the jacket.

“Chosen one?” She repeated, her voice a soft cadence that disguised her own arrogance, not like his—loud and obnoxious and evident from a mile—but quieter, more dangerous.

“Or the bali ka bakra?”

Shauryaman’s smirk widened, eyes darkening with interest as he let out a rumbling hum, bending down until his fingers trace the rim of the untouched glass of water—an action dripping of arrogance and something far more sinister—before the long digits wrapped around it like a striking snake.

A predator intimidating another, or perhaps, trying to deduce whether he was faced with a true predator or a sheep in the lion’s skin.

“Bali ki bakri hui tum toh,” he teased, taking an agonising long sip of the water while his obsidian eyes remain locked onto hers above the rim—a silent challenge simmering in the air, daring her to rise to his bait.

And oh! Does he wish to see her come alive with rage—witness the fire, if she has any.

She rolled her eyes, a nearly quiet huff of annoyance eliciting an amused laughter as he waited patiently for her reply, because he could see the gears in her mind working, her lips parting in a telltale sign of a reply incoming.

“How are you so sure ki sacrificial lamb main hu aur tum nahi?” She taunted, a smirk mirroring his dancing on her attractive features as she shifted—slow steps graceful like a panther’s, moving through the length of the room as if it was a forest, and her the queen of the land, which, in its own uniquely manner, was true.

That caught him off guard, because wasn’t it always the women that got the shorter stick in such lifelong arrangements while the men enjoyed their privileged lives? And yet, the confidence oozing from this woman a decade younger than him had even the arrogant heir reconsidering every word he had been told about the deal, and everything his father had left unsaid.

And from the amused glint in her eyes and the smirk widening the slightest inch? She knew that he was doubting everything, exactly what she wanted.

With a deep breath, one meant to fill the cracks in his composure and buy him enough time to find a satisfying reply to her words, he placed the glass back on the table before he stood up to his full height—not the tallest by any standards, and yet, his impactful aura did most of the intimidation when required.

“Mushkil hota hoga na,” he began with a mocking smile, lazy steps circling her once before he stopped in front of her, heavy gaze tracing her delicate features with eyes that gleamed at the knowledge of having a worthy opponent in the shape of his intended wife.

At least, the marriage won’t be boring.

Unless he can tame her, which would be fun, but only for a brief time.

“Aise pretend karna ki tumhe koi faraq nahi padhta ki tumhari freedom tumse cheen li ja rahi hai, all because your father thinks this marriage is of more value than you? As if tumhe bura nahi laga ki tumhare baap ne tumhari jagah tumhare bhai ko waris bana diya, even though you clearly were the better option? ”

He tsked, cruel as his fingers brush against the bare skin of her wrist—slow like a predator enjoying the thought of teasing and tormenting his prey before delivering the killing blow. His very soul relished at the sight of her muscles tensing, shoulders squared almost painfully while her jaw tightened in restraint, patience and composure hanging from a fine thread while his words and actions all but push her towards the cliff’s edge—waiting for her to lose her grip and show him the fire that blazed behind the cold facade of neutrality in her eyes.

With a deliberate shift, his hand wrapped around her wrist, catching her completely off-guard as he tucked her closer. His empty arm wrapped around the curve of her waist, keeping her pressed to his front as his dark eyes trace the newfound expression on her face—committing it to his memory, for the uncertainty of witnessing the sight again was not lost on him.

Her wrist is freed soon after, allowing her to press both of her hands to his chest in an attempt to push him away—applying as much force as she could muster. But his arm was an iron shackle, and rather than being discouraged, her defiance only fuelled the darkness swirling in his eyes—entertained he was at her attempts, unfazed still because she held little strength over him.

His fingers caress her clothed shoulder, a lingering touch—though featherlight, at best—that had her growing more restless against the suffocating warmth of him, before they shift north.

The bared skin of her neck was warm to his touch, inching closer to her face and savouring every hitch of her breath with a mocking smirk while his fingers reach their destination, splaying across the line of her jaw and tilting her face up—just to peer down into the eyes that have intrigued him in a matter of few minutes. His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, messing with the defining lip liner and matte lipstick she wore like an armour, creating a sinful chaos on a sharp visage.

“Itna gussa,” he started, voice dropping down an octave or two as his face inched closer to hers until their breaths mingled as one, grazing each other’s cheeks and warming skin against her will—tobacco from his cigarette tangled in the mint from the chewing gum she had spat out before walking through the doors that enclosed them now.

The thumb halted its ministrations at the pause of his words, rising to press insistently on the plump skin until her lips part, offering him delightful vulnerability that contrasted against the wide eyes of his soon-to-be wife that seemed feral with rage—a sight he smirked down at.

“Sirf barbaadi lata hai, meri jaan.”

He felt her recoil at the term of endearment before he saw it, her body filled with renewed energy to get out of his hold that had began to only ebb a little, and it only brought a laughter out of him—full and cruel with his eyes gleaming under the chandelier lights.

And still, his arm around her waist unbothered, fingers tracing little mocking circles only to enrage her more.

“Let me go!” She protested, glaring up at him, but it was hard to appear in control of the situation when she was all but caged against the man she already hated—the very one that she has to marry because of their father’s whims. Rather, she looked adorable to him, like an angry spoiled brat told she could not have everything she wants.

Instead of replying verbally to her, Shauryaman only leans down until their lips were mere millimetres away, nearly brushing with every deep breath she took—unsteady from the anger that rushes through her veins—but still not touching as the heir of Harshvardhan Gaur would want—though he would have what we wants, one way or the other.

He always does, with hook or with crook.

There was a unique satisfaction in having her against him, defenceless and breathing heavily with a flush she couldn’t control colouring her cheeks pink and her lips parted under his thumb without any words to utter because even the smallest of syllable meant a contact of intimacy she clearly doesn’t want—a perverse pleasure that persuaded his blood to rush southward and pupils to dilate as he watched the rise and fall of her breasts, hidden from his sight by the silk shirt she wore, before his eyes lifted to meet hers again.

Anger. Disgust. Indifference—that is what he had hoped to feel for his fiancee before she had walked in, and yet, standing in the middle of the room with a woman glaring up at him despite having the shorter stick? He could only feel a raw desire to devour her completely. A lust deeper than anything he had ever felt for any woman before—and to think that he had been with quite beautiful ones, models and actresses and aspiring stars that dwindle before making it to the sky.

Before he could think more, or before she could find in her the strength to push him away for good, his lips slanted away on hers—not a gentle press of kindness or hesitation between virginity lovers or strangers trying to familiarise themselves to the map of their would-be.

But rough—teeth and tongue and lips clashing in a war for dominance that he was determined on winning at any cost.

A gasp is all he lets her react with before his teeth sink into her lower lip, biting hard enough to leave behind the faint imprint of himself on her skin and taste the slightest tang of her blood before he lets her lower lip escape only for his tongue to slip in, muffling her cry and probing and poking her insides until her tongue was dancing alongside his—not in harmony but engaged in a battle.

The hand cupping her jaw slipped away into her open hair, tangling into her strands and tugging at the roots—hard enough for the sting to tread closer to the line that separated pain from hard-earned pleasure—but his hand was as restless as the man, shifting south until his fingers traced the curve of her spine. All while the hand around her waist moved to play at the curve of her ass, groping and feeling the supple flesh before delivering a singular spank that elicited a yelp from her.

Shauryaman had expected rebellion—screeches and protests and pushing him away with all her strength and accusations about him being a perverted monster. But instead, his rough actions are greeted with equal vigour that surprised him just as it excited him.

Her lips moved against his with frightening intensity—fuelled by anger and a desire she would never vocalise, especially not when it originated for her to-be husband. Tongue tasting tobacco with a quiet sound of protest against the harsh and bitter flavour—a stark contrast to the refreshing minty chewing gum—and still, her pride relented from letting him win the battle, leaving them a tangled mess of saliva and raging storm that left behind ruins at its wake. One of the slender hands moved away from his chest, fingers tangling into the lapel of his suit while her body tried to arch away from his heat—failing miserably and instead, pressing into the lean ridges of his front.

It is only when air became necessary did they pull away from one another, a string of shared drool connecting their parted lips while his grip upon her loosens just a little, fingers moving until his hands settled upon her wide hips—holding rather than restraining, because all his limbs could focus upon was the lingering sensation of her; senses already overwhelmed by her scent—vanilla and orange and something warm—but he would rather take a knife to his heart before he admits to being unravelled by her.

Silence crowded the room, broken only by the broken breaths of two individuals that clearly hated—and desired—each other. Two bodies clinging to one another, suspended for a brief moment before the reality kicked in.

At last, she succeeds in pushing him away, back of the hand wiping away the traces of wetness that glossed over her lips while her eyes glared daggers at him—trying to act composed, and still, he could see the slight tremble in her fingers, the tension lining her shoulders and the flush on her cheeks that had little to do with her rage now and more to do with her kiss-swollen lips and disheveled appearance.

It amused him immensely, her feeble attempt at appearing distant as she had been when she had entered the room—unfazed even, while the sight of her spoke a different truth—bringing forth a deep laugh as his fingers ran through his hair before wiping away the lingering remnants of her from his lips.

Pride is what rushed through him, and a need to have her whole—an evidence of which pressed against the seams of his trousers stubbornly, asking for attention and sweet release.

“Agar aisi hi baat hai, Shauryaman Gaur,” she hissed, tears lining her wide eyes—out of frustration, rather than anything more vulnerable—fingers curled into fists by her side. The urge to run her fingers through her hair to bring back a semblance of confidence was immense, but she didn’t trust her own limbs to comply without giving away her vulnerability—far more than she was willing to give him.

“Then I will ruin you.”

A bold proclamation, one that didn’t terrify him. Instead, it made his trousers grow tighter, a thrill of dark amusement rushed to his mind like a line of properly crushed powder that sent him to the top of the world—not a loser son to an ambitious father, but the king of the world.

And apparently, he didn’t need the substance anymore, just his defiant betrothed with her intoxicating attitude and sarcastic remarks.

A Lesson in Diplomacy

Day 0 @ 3 pm 

(MEA) Ministry of External Affairs, Delhi, India 

Why did diplomat Yamini Sing have to be so fucking good? That's the question of the century to the woman. She ponders this question as she sits in her office massaging her temples. She felt the migraine rising along with the rage. “KABIR WHERE THE HELL IS MY KADAK NIMBU SODA?” she yelled at her assistant out the door of her office. Nimbu soda would have to do, because she can't drink straight vodka on the job. 

Being this good is a curse and not a boon. Which is contrary to what most people think. Most people think that being fucking phenomenal at your job gives you perks. And yes she does get perks. Was she allowed to be slightly more bitchy, rude, and unconventional? Yes. Because she got the results. But if you were to ask Yamini if those perks were worth the migraines she would have said absolutely not.

Being that damn good as a diplomat means one thing and one thing only. Yamini is only sent somewhere where relations are fucked beyond repair. Because Yamini Singh is magical, she can manage any situation. 

She once talked the economic minister of the UK down from increasing tariffs and tax rates influenced by the mohhle ki kaleshi aunty, the US, with just a drink and a few well scattered slightly scandalous jokes. Another time she repaired tense relations with the eastern european countries by hosting a party with enough hard liquor and fun to get twenty alcoholic diplomats drunk out of their minds. She drank so much she had to go sober for a month but that's okay because relations were repaired.

So yes. Yamini is magical, she is phenomenal, and she is brilliant. Most of all she loves a challenge. The entire ministry knows that. Normally she asks for the hardest assignments, because she has something to prove. Not to the world, but more to herself. But there is one diplomatic relation even Yamini doesn't want to touch with a 10 foot pole and a can of disinfectant. 

That relation is the infamous India-Pakistan diplomatic channel. To put it lightly, it was entirely held together by an over inflated diplomatic ego, in other words it was a mesmerisingly devastating dumpsterfire that the hobos of both sides are watching from the sidelines. And everytime the fires escalate the hobos look at each other and say “Look your side started it”. Yet neither side is willing to pick up the fire extinguisher and put it out for good.

All because this dumpster fire provides a warmth that neither side wants to lose completely. And the truth is Yamini Singh absolutely doesn't want to manage the delicate dumpster fire that India-Pakistan relations are.

“KABIR! TU KYA NIMBU KA PEDH UGANE GAYA HAI KYA SAALE?” She fumes looking at her very empty and Kabir-less doorway right now. How long did it take to make a masala nimbu soda? She genuinely contemplates banging her head on the hardwood desk in front of her. Maybe she could plead brain damage to get out of this situation. 

But more than that she hopes it will help her forget the conversation that got her here in the first place. Because you can't deny a diplomatic mission when it's given to you by the head of the ministry of external affairs. And you most definitely can't deny it when he asks for you by name. “KABIR!-”

—-------------------

Yamini looked at her watch absent mindedly then she looked at the door. “Yaar lunch ke liye late ho raha hai, kahan hai sir?” she sighed as she looked at the ceiling lazily wondering if the Mexican place would still be open by the time this meeting was over. Suddenly the door to the office opened, making Yamini straighten immediately her mentor was walking in.  

Yamini stands up and straightens her blazer as the head of the ministry of external affairs walks in. Her mentor. Her boss. The man she aspired to be, the famous Dr. S. Shankar. “Good afternoon Yamini” he nods to her as he walks in 

“Good afternoon sir” she smiles as she shakes his hand. “Please take a seat” Jaishankar says as he takes his own seat behind his desk. Yamini sits down as she looks at Shankar expectantly. He had asked for her personally, and she was incredibly excited. Because he always gave her the best assignments. 

But Shankar didn't seem to hold the same excitement. Strange. He was always excited. “Sir...kya hua hai?” she asked carefully, putting her excitement on the back burner for the moment. He huffed a laugh that held no real joy "You are very perceptive Yamini, I like that about you. It's an important skill to have as a diplomat”

Yamini blinked at him. She did not interrupt in thanks because this was a compliment given to soften the blow of whatever was about to come next. “Sir, please just tell me what happened. Your lack of enthusiasm for this meeting is scaring me.” Shankar sighed knowing that would have to spit it out eventually so he better get it over with “India-Pakistan, I'm giving you the delegation” 

“Sir no.” she said with a smile of disbelief “You can't be serious”. Shankar nodded gravely “Their delegation is landing tomorrow. I need you to handle it. The dumpster fire has never been more delicate. This has to go well. The fate of two nations rests on this.”

“Sir-” she begins balking for words. “Yamini. Don't refuse me, not when I'm putting so much of my faith into you. Not when I’m personally assigning you this.” Shankar interrupts leaning in to make his point. 

Yamini takes a deep breath. She can't say no. She has no choice. But she tries. She stays quiet for 20 seconds as if looking for a loophole out of this situation. There is none. She exhales her breath. “Yes sir, I'll handle this.”

—--------------------

“Sorry ma’am! Woh nimbu nahi mil rahe the!” Huffs Kabir slightly out of breath as he brings Yamini her soda. The glass sits in front of her. The ice cold drink is making the glass sweat in this heat. The soda bubbles rise lazily through the ice, fizzing on the surface.

Yamini sighs as she takes a long drink. This was about to be a long week. “Kabir. Mere lal. Tu ek nimbu ka truck magwale. Agar phirse itna time laga toh phir tujhe hi nichod ke pi jaungi!” she smiles with a sweetness that's deadly. “Ji madam” he gulps. 

“M-Madam ek aur baat” He stutters. “Kya?” she hums anticipating another nail in her coffin. Kabir gently rests a thick black dossier beside her nimbu soda. “Um you may want to look at the Pakistani delegation. More specifically the man heading it”

“Why is it always a man yaar?” she sighs under her breath. Yamini furrows her brow and opens the dossier. Her fingers flick though the pages until she lands on the page with the list of delegates. Her eyes widen then narrow and then widen again at the name at the top of the list. “Major Iqbal khan?....... Wait a damn minute” She mutters in disbelief as she stands up from her chair. 

She walks to a filing cabinet in the corner of her office and yanks open the drawer. She uses her index finger to comb through the files “P-P-P- Papua New Guinea, Paruguay…..Pakistan!” She pulls out the file on Pakistan and flicks to its military section. Her eyes scan the page quickly 

“E-Ek second….Major IQBAL khan?” She starts looking back at Kabir with a raised eyebrow as if she is questioning her own reading skills for a moment. Kabir nods solemnly. Yamini slams the file on Pakistan shut and shoves it back in her cabinet. 

“Major Iqbal khan. The head of the fucking ISI. Is coming to India as a diplomat?” She almost can't believe this. “Ji madam” Sighs Kabir already anticipating her next reaction. And honestly her reaction was entirely valid. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!” 

—--------------------

Day 0 @ the same time as previous segment

(MOFA) Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Islamabad, Pakistan

Major Iqbal Khan is not a diplomat. He is the head of the ISI. And yet here he was, the head of the Pakistan-India diplomatic party. How the fuck this happend is beyond him. He sits down in his office with a heavy sigh. The leather chair creaks under his weight as he leans backwards. 

Iqbal crosses one leg over the other. An ankle resting over a knee, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Mir! Meri whiskey kahan hai?” he calls sharply to his junior in the ISI Sajid Mir. Where our heroine Yamini couldn't drink on the job, Major Iqbal was unburdened with that rule. Being the head of the ISI did have certain perks.

Iqbal genuinely did not understand why on earth he was chosen for this diplomatic mission. But as it turns out what he thinks doesn't matter when the President of the nation personally requests for you to head the delegation. 

Mir sets his whiskey on the hardwood table in front of him. The amber liquid swirls with the large ice cube in the crystal glass. “Ye lijiye Major sahab” Mir nods. Iqbal takes a large sip from the glass. Sighing deeply as the whiskey burns his throat. Iqbal lights his cigar and takes a deep drag from it. Releasing a curling puff of smoke into the dark wooded office.

“Major sahab kal subah aapki flight hai India ki. Pure delegation ke saath.” Mir says as he hands Iqbal a dossier of his travels and his diplomatic notes. Iqbal nods in acknowledgment, Mir salutes him and leaves the office. He wonders how he got into this mess.

Iqbal’s inability to say no is how he landed in this mess. He remembers the conversation so clearly.

—---------

“Assalam Walikum Janab” Salutes Iqbal, straightening his tall powerful frame to its full height. Aqib Ali Zarwari, the president of pakistan nods in greeting “Walikum Assalam Iqbal, aao andar aao”

Iqbal takes five large strides and crosses the room. His patent leather boots thudding dully on the plush carpet of the presidential office. The room was covered in marble, gold, and other various types of luxury. Zarwari was seated behind his large gilded hardwood desk, his table covered with files and documents meant for his signature. 

Major Iqbal stands in front of the desk in relaxed military posture. His hands behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart. His posture straight and his aura undeniable. He waits for Zarwari to speak. 

“Iqbal mai chahata hun ki tum kal subha India ke liye rawana ho. We are sending a diplomatic mission to Delhi and mai chahata hun ki tum unke sath jao. Na bas jao, balkai unke delegation ko head karo.” Hums Zarwari as he takes a drink of water. 

Iqbal blinks. What? This is not at all what he expected. But he revolvers smoothly and begins speaking “Janab mai ISI ka head hun, mujhme aisi diplomatic training nahi hai. I don't think that I am the right man to send for the job. With all due respect.”

“Iqbal it seems that you yourself are unaware of the skill you possess. If I am personally asking you to be there that means I have a certain hope for you don't I? Don't tell me you are second guessing an order by your president” Zarwari raises an eyebrow at Iqbal. 

Iqbal straightens more as if that was possible. “Janab, I would never be so bold as to argue against your orders. Jaisa aap chahien waise hi hoga, mai kal subha baaki delegation ke sath India ke liye nikalta hun.” He nods with a salute.

—----------------

Iqbal rests the dossier against his knee as he sips his whiskey. He loosely flicks open the file and begins doing what intelligence agents do best. Understand and psychoanalyze the target. 

He would begin with the head of the Indian delegation. Diplomat Yamini Singh. A woman with a reputation that precedes her. Shit show supervisor and an expert in cleaning up fallen raita. She was sent to put out fires and rebuild bridges. How interesting. 

Iqbal smirked to himself as he took a deep drag of his cigar. This diplomatic shit show would be entertaining at the very least. Because India, putting her as their first line, spoke plenty about what they were expecting. 

They saw that he was the Pakistani head and made assumptions and began maneuvers. They wanted to start the mindgames before the events had even begun. Now the question was whether Iqbal wanted to give them what they expect, or flip every strategy on its head.

Questions. Questions. Questions. And just as many options. 

—-------------------------------------------

Day 1 @ 11 am

High Commission of Pakistan, New Delhi, India 

“Kabir, remind me. How many more days until I can retire?” Hums Yamini as she straightens her clothes. The small India pin on her lapel had gone askew. Today she wore a powder blue vintage channel boucle set that she had scored on pure chance during her time off in France. She chose this color to match the beautiful blue and white building of the commission. Beneath her blue boucle skirt she wore silk stockings and white patent letter red bottom heels.

She was the picture of elegance with her dark brown wavy hair swept over one shoulder. A white chiffon scarf pinned loosely to her head. Her makeup was minimal with a focus on her eyes. Not just because she had beautiful eyes, no. That was a given of course. But the focus on her eyes was particularly pointed psychological warfare. A bold ‘Look into my eyes Major Sahab’ 

“Madam, I'm sorry to inform you that that measure isn't in days. It's in years” sighs Kabir as he wipes the lenses of his glasses with his handkerchief. Kabir looks dashing as well in his own tailored slacks, blazer, and white dress shirt. His medium length salt and pepper hair coiffed back handsomely. 

“Fuck my life.” She sighs as she gives herself a final once over in the reflection of a window as she passes by. Her white red bottom pumps clicking through the marble halls of the Pakistani High Commission in New Delhi. It was decided that the first meeting of both delegations would happen on relatively neutral territory.  

“Madam woh toh hone hi wala hai. Infact ho hi raha hai” Chuckles Kabir darkly. “Kabir, I didn't know you wanted to be unemployed” she smiles. 

“Ma’am did I tell you that you look absolutely stunning today?” 

Yamini rolls her eyes at the obvious job saving flattery “Thats better”

“Yes madam. I like my job” Kabir smiled as they walked through the halls towards the foyer where both delegations were to meet

—----------------------------

Major Iqbal Khan ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. Dressed in his black debonair structured jacket and well tailored slacks to go along with it. In his corsage pocket rested an emerald green silk handkerchief. To his lapel rested a metal Pakistani flag enamel pin. 

He stood surrounded by the Pakistani delegation speaking to each other in hushed tones about various topics. Some spoke about the weather, some spoke about what they had seen in Delhi so far, some spoke in whispers about how Iqbal was sent to head this delegation rather than a proper diplomat.  

He placed his hands in his pockets as he looked around the high commission building. They were waiting for the Indian delegation. The commission building was quite nice but nothing special to Iqbal. Marble floors, high arches, chandeliers, massive glass windows, islamic architecture. Major Iqbal was obscenely rich. None of this meant anything to him, honestly it bored him.

“Major Sahab, the Indian delegation is about to arrive. T minus 60 seconds” whispered an aide in Iqbal's ear. Iqbal nodded as he created his throat and fixed the cuffs of his sleeves. He steels himself. 

Because it's a well known fact, Major Iqbal Khan, the head of the ISI, is famously Anti-India. Yet here he finds himself the head diplomat in the Pakistan-India delegation. He was told to be diplomatic. He was told to be civil. But he is here very, very openly unwillingly. He has already decided something that he will not back away from. Major Iqbal Khan will not show an ounce of diplomacy. 

He looks up from the cuff of his sleeve to find the Indian delegation walking in front the opposite hallway. For a moment. It feels like time itself has slowed down. He hears her first. Heels clicking on the sharp marble floor, a melodious voice laughing politely to a comment made by someone near her. 

Then he sees her. White patent leather heels clicking on the floor, long beautiful legs clad in silk stockings, then a powder blue pencil skirt beginning above her knee. Then a tailored jacket much like his, in the same powder blue. The jacket was very well tailored to her, elegant, feminine, just the right amount of class and sex appeal. Dark brown waves swept over her shoulder. A loose white chiffon scarf pinned to her hair. Well balanced features, eyes that could drown a man. 

The way the woman walked it was clear she had substance to back her confidence. Her eyes locked on him. He felt her drag them over his body. One of her eyebrows arched as she stepped closer. Her lips twitched into a slight smirk, her head tilted slightly. She was analyzing him the way he was analyzing her. 

Oh so this was the famous, or rather infamous, Major Iqbal? Mused Yamini as she walked. He was a tall man with a strong frame. Broad shoulders accentuated by his tailored jacket. A frown on his face, masked slightly by his beard. Dark eyes that pierce her. My my my he was a good looking man. It was clear, the way he stood, he didn't want to be here. And as fate would have it, she didn't want to be here either.  

Her delegation walked behind her and his delegation stood behind him. Diplomats on either side stared at each other with a strange mixture of feelings. The room felt as tense as the India-Pakistan border. Hate, intrigue, annoyance, exhaustion. These were just some of the many feelings wafting through the room. 

They stopped in front of each other. None of the usual cordial smiles were exchanged. Iqbal stared at her with his intense eyes. He was trying to intimidate her. She stared back, deep into his eyes, trying to tell him passionately that this maneuver of his was bullshit. She wasn't going to let it work. 

Grace and etiquette says that the male head of a delegation should extend his hand first if the person leading the opposite delegation was a woman. Iqbal kept his hands firmly in his pockets. He didn't even make a move to pull his hands out of his pockets. Oh! What a bastard. 

The Indian delegates blinked. They blinked at the blatant disrespect of Yamini. They were this close to forgetting where they were standing in the name of Yamini’s honor. Kabir took a deep breath to not lose his mind.The Pakistani delegates blinked. They blinked to hide their horror. What the fuck was Iqbal doing. 

Yamini didn't let the disrespect bristle her. Her lips remained in the smirk they held ever since she walked into view. Her head tilted slightly, her eyes twinkled with a certain spark. He wants to be a bastard and not make the first move as he should? Fine. She would let him win this round. But not without a stab of her own. 

She smiles at Iqbal. A cordial smile that reaches nowhere, openly fake. She folds her hands into a namaste. “Namaste Major Sahab, welcome to India” she nods befores he continues “We are honored that we get to host you for your first ever diplomatic mission.”

“This isn't my first mission”  Iqbal hums darkly. “Well that's a surprise” she chuckles. “Is it?” he hums, stepping forward. Tobacco, oud, and something darker in his cologne clouds Yamini’s air. She keeps a pleasant smile on her face “ If this really isn't your first diplomatic mission then it truly is surprising. Yeh lack of etiquette sirf aapke sabse khas padosi ke liye hai?” She steps closer.

Both delegations gasp. Some out loud, some cover it with a cough, some clear their throat awkwardly. Yamini grins at him. Iqbal raises an eyebrow with a smile, his gold tooth showing. “Lack of etiquette? Singh Madam, we have only been in each other's proximity for 30 seconds and you are already questioning my manners?”

“Ji jo dikhega usi pe toh question karenge? Aap intelligence me hai na?” She responds. Iqbal nods. “You must be aware of the impact of first impressions, correct?” Yamini smiles. Iqbal huffs a laugh under his breath. He knows where she is going with this line of reasoning. “Chaliye be the bigger man Major Sahab” She grins. 

What a phenomenal bitch, Iqbal has to admire her wit. He wanted to destabilise her greeting to destabilise her this entire diplomatic mission. She didn’t let that happen. How interesting. 

He reaches his hand out of his pocket and holds it out in between them. Yamini doesn’t reach for it immediately. She lets it hang in the air. She shows Iqbal that she has the reins here. Both delegations wait with baited breath. 

“Welcome to India major sahab” she grins as she shakes his hand. Sparks flutter through both of them. The energy undeniable. Her hand is soft in his battle worn hands. Like a delicate flower petal on a rough rock. Is the spark good? No. Is the spark bad? Also no. 

Yamini pulls away first. Now that the heads of both delegations have shaken hands the rest of the members can meet. The border is crossed by both members as they shake hands. Both sides were relieved that there isn’t a diplomatic incident just yet. But both sides knew it was only a matter of time. 

—-------------------------------———-----

 Same day @ 2 pm

Yamini had excused herself to the restroom for a moment. She had needed a break, she needed a break or she might genuinely say something to cause war between India and Pakistan. 

She ran a napkin under cold water and then held it to her neck to help calm her racing pulse. Major Iqbal is an ass hat of the highest order. He was testing her in ways she didn't even know she could be tested. He was pushing buttons she didn't even know existed. 

—-----------------------

After the barely saved first meeting in the foyer the Pakistani delegation invited the Indian delegation to lunch in the high commission. As is standard. As is protocol. And as protocol dictates Iqbal was to be seated next to Yamini. She took her seat and waited for him as well. The bastard didn't stop next to her. 

In fact he walked right by his waiting seat and sat nestled deep between the Pakistani delegation. The entire room paused and blinked. A Pakistani delegate muttered “Ya allah yeh kya ho raha hai” An Indian delegate looked at the ceiling and exhaled long and slow “You have to be kidding me” This was count one. Ruining the seating arrangement, putting her in an awkward position.

Somehow she had covered the situation and the meal had commenced awkwardly. Iqbal raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh she really is as good as they say. She was hard to shake. And he wanted to shake her. Now more for fun, rather than actual diplomatic gain. He wanted to see what she would look like when she was angry. Would she turn red? Would she stomp away? Would she yell? Iqbal wanted to find out.

The salad course was fine, the soup course was fine, the first appetizer was fine. The second appetizer was not fine. Yamini was making polite conversation with the Pakistani delegates. She was helping to melt the awkwardness she was helping both sides engage and get friendly. “Toh Khan Sahab aap Qawali aur ghazalon ke shaukeen hain?” She smiled at the mustached delegate beside Iqbal. Her smile was pointed carefully, it curved around Iqbal, missing him on purpose. What a bitch.

“Ji haan, humaare abbu Qawali ke shaukeen the, thoh woh shauk hume bhi aya” he responds cordially. “Arresh wah toh phir aapki Mishra ji se kaafi banegi!” she smiled “Haina mishra ji?” 

Mishra nods “Ji bilkul madam.” Delegate Khan nods towards Mishra with a smile. Yamini continues “Bas kuch hi dino me yahin Delhi me ek mushaira aur qawalli ka program hai. Mishra ji hi bata rahe the. Maybe you would enjoy it too!” she suggests kindly. Khan and Mishra light up at the suggestion. The atmosphere is warming up.

Then Iqbal ruins the moment. “Khan wishes he could come. Sadly he would be too busy” Ice water is thrown on the warm moment. Khan clears his throat and returns to his paneer tikka. Yamini shuts her eyes and exhales slowly. Iqbal smiles. This was fun for him. Strike two. 

She tries to tell a personal anecdote and he cuts it down. Strike three. She laughs and he stares. She places a current affairs topic into the conversation, he clicks his tongue and tells her that this is neither time nor the place. Strike 4.

—---------------------------

“Pardon me” she says with immense forced calm as she places her napkin on the table adjusting her skirt as she gets up. She needs a break. She needs a break or she might insult the entire nation of Pakistan. Her heels click sharply as she heads out of the dining room. Iqbal grins. He had gotten under her skin. Finally, he was enjoying this challenge. She looked good when she was mad.  

A Pakistani delegate leaned over to him with great urgency “Major sahab aap ye kya kar rahe hain? We need to be diplomatic and kind! Aap aise pesh nahi aa sakte hain!” He hisses. Iqbal leans in and chuckles darkly “ Iss delegation ka head kaun hai?” The delegate gulps, he knows how dangerous Iqbal can get. “A-ap sahab” 

Iqbal rests a hand on his shoulder. The warm weight is like a death warrant. The grin on his face is haunting “Aukat me rahiye aap, Zarwari shab ne hume personally bheja hai. Kisi kaam se bheja hai. Mujhpe ainda sawal na kariyega.” The poor delegate nods, swallowing his concerns. Iqbal continues to make his point “Biwi bacche Lahor gaye hai na? nani ke ghar?”

—----------------------

Yamini takes deep breaths as the cold damp cloth touches her skin. She box breathes. 10 seconds in. 20 seconds hold. 25 seconds exhale. And repeat. Once, twice, thrice, four times. Her heels click on the marble floors of the bathroom. She tries not to let rage consume her. Her reflection in the mirror looks like she is about to strangle a man. Specifically a Pakistani Major. 

There is a series of sharp nocks on the bathroom door. “Yamini ma’am? Is there anyone in there or is it okay for me to come in?” It's Kabir. Of course he had noticed her face and body language and decided to follow her. He had known her for her entire career as a diplomat at the Ministry of External Affairs. Very rarely has she excused herself in that manner. Kabir knew she was homicidal. 

“Aja Kabir!” She sighs leaning against the sink. Kabir walks in and immediately stands in front of Yamini. Yamini looks at him with the restraint of a slowly maddening woman. “Madam?” 

“Kabir im about to strangle a man”

“I know madam”

“Kabir im going to cause a diplomatic incident”

“Please don’t”

Yamini sighs, pinching her nose bridge. Kabir takes the cool towel off her neck. The towel seems to be more of a hot towel than a cool towel. She really was worked up. Kabir raises his eyebrows in shock. Yamini looks at the ceiling begging the universe for strength. “Chalein madam?”

She nods. Kabir gestures for her to lead the way. She shudders and rolls her shoulders as she steels herself to face the bastard again. Yamini will be diplomatic, she will smile through gritted teeth, she will get the fucking job done or so help her god. Kabir falls into step behind her as they exit the bathroom.

—--------------------

Then a dark voice crawls through the halls. Dark enough to stop Yamini in her tracks. It crawls up her spine in unpleasant ways “Areh wah! How nice to see that India encourages its diplomats to get this close and personal with their secretaries” Iqbal drawls lazily with a smirk. His hands in his trouser pockets. 

The look in his face makes it clear that nothing good will be coming out of his face “How nice to know that they assign someone to…help get your frustrations out on Miss Singh” He hums with a laugh as he brushes past her. 

Yamini stands still for a moment. Her mouth opens and colossuses. Then it opens again, a strangled indignant sound comes out of her throat. 

HOW DARE HE? She spins on her heel to watch Iqbal lazily saunter through the halls of the Pakistani High Commission. Iqbal was insinuating, in clear broad daylight, that she was fucking Kabir in the bathroom!?

Kabir can sense her rage. He feels it too, at the disrespect Iqbal is showing her. Kabir would like some stern words and sterner fists. But right now it was imperative to calm Yamini. “Yamini madam please dont commit homicide here” 

Yamini takes a deep breath with a scary smile as she watches Iqbal walk away “We are on Indian soil Kabir….kuch jugad lagake we can spin the murder investigation right?” There is murder in her eyes. She would kill him, and she already knew where to bury the body.

Kabir clears his throat, his next words are chosen very carefully. Something she can't argue against. “This is on technicality Pakistani jurisdiction. Please…..PLEASE try to remember that they have the right of inviolability and immunity due to the Vienna Convention of diplomatic relations.”

“God damn the diplomatic version of the doctor's oath.” She curses under her breath as she storms the opposite way back to the dining room. 

“THANK GOD for the diplomatic version of the doctor's oath” Kabir mutters weakly as he follows her.

—---------------------------------------

Day 2 @ 12 pm

Hyderabad house, New Delhi, India

Today was day two of the doomed-from-the-begining diplomatic mission. And overnight the news of the disastrous first meeting had spread to the MEA like wild fire. Whispers floated through the halls “Did you hear that the Major was rude?” and “Did you hear Yamini tried her best to handle the situation?”

Thankfully Yamini’s boss Dr. S. Shankar was currently traveling to Australia and hadn't heard anything about this meeting. If he had heard how shit it had gone Yamini would have gotten an earful even though she didn't do anything wrong. 

—-------------------------------

Major Iqbal had retired to his suite in the TAJ palace with much satisfaction for the day. Did he want to be in India? Fuck no. But was he having fun now? Fuck yes. He was very happy to have shaken the unshakable woman. He walked to his bathroom as he un-buttoned his coat. He reached into the shower and turned it on to the warm side and let it heat up. Once he undressed fully he stepped into the shower. His hand ran along his bare body with a sigh. Under the warm spay he grinned. He began formulating how to piss her off the next day.

Yamini had retired to her apartment in Delhi with much chagrin. She was this close to killing the bastard. She would have stabbed the man with her fork if she was presented the opportunity. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't sitting next to her. His expensive cologne would have choked her. His gold tooth flashing at her would have pissed her off. And his words. She wanted to sew his mouth shut with a needle and thread. She groaned in her hands when she collapsed on her sofa. The bastard may have won today….But tomorrow will be hers. Because tomorrow is the media conference. 

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number “Hello haan Rashmika? I need a favour..” Tomorrow will be hers she grins as she leans back on her sofa.

—------------------------

The Hyderabad house media room was set to perfection. A large stage set with a panel sized long table for both delegations to take a seat. In front of them the media pen was set up with cameras at the front and reporters in the back. Why was it called a pen? Because the media were animals. 

The Indian delegation and Pakistani delegation entered the room at the same time from opposite sides of the room. Yamini Singh leading the Indian delegation and Major Iqbal Khan leading the Pakistani delegation. They locked eyes from across the room as both parties walked up the stairs to the stage.

Iqbal was wearing a navy blue jacket set today, on his lapel another Pakistani flag. The gold ornamental buttons on his jacket are done up all the way save for the collar button. The blue slacks below the jacket were sharp and tailored elongating his already tall and strong frame. As always his jacket clinged sinfully well to his broad shoulders. His black leather loafers click sharply as they step on the marble floors.

Yamini was wearing an elegant black sheath dress. Classy enough to be appropriate for the occasion and dangerous enough so the neckline and the tight fit would catch a certain Major’s eye. The tastefully low neckline doses as it was meant to, she can feel his eyes at the plunge of her dress. Her hair is pulled back into a neat bun with a few tasteful strands of hair pulled out. Her lips painted a rosy red to match the red bottoms of her black patent leather heels. 

Their eyes met from across the room. Iqbal held a smug look on his face he was riding on his high from last night. He expected her to meet his yes and then look away sharply, or to glare at him with anger. She did neither. She smiled at him. Like she was excited to see him. Strange.

Both delegations stood on the stage and took photos before everyone began to find their pre assigned seats. The chairs in the middle reserved for the heads of both delegations. Yamini strides onto the stage and pulls Iqbal's chair out for him and then she gestures with her eyes. A look that asks ‘Major sahab are you done being a diva?’

Iqbal's jaw clenches. She is humiliating him on purpose. The cameras flash at this strange interaction. In public Iqbal has no choice but to smile goodnaturedly and take the seat she offers him. But not without pulling out her chair for her so he is captured as a gentleman in the eyes of the media “Oh how kind of you Major sahab….A proper Pakistani gentleman” She hums out loud making multiple people chuckle.

“What else would you expect Miss Singh? Yeh kya presumption leke ghum rahi han aap Pakistani mardon ke bare me?” He says with a sigh as he sits down next to her. His response is low enough that the microphones wont pick it up. 

She grins as she leans against her chair, pivoting her body to the side in one swing. “Kya kare Major sahab, aap impression hi aisa rakhte ho….you sir are in a grave so deep that the only way left to go is up.” She hums lightly. “Not on a diplomatic stand point. I suppose you are on a relatively alright platform over there. Im referring on a more personal level”

Iqbal chuckles darkly he nods silently “Mashallah..aap humare bare me personal level pe bhi sochne lag gayi? Aapke Kabir ne aapka man sahi se nahi behlaya kya?” he muses leaning forward slightly. Oud, tobacco, and something darker cloud her personal space again. 

Yamin leans forward too with a coy smile. Coffee, amber, and something painfully seductive cloud Iqbal's personal space. Her voice drops into a shiver inducing sexy husk “Kya karein Major sahab?” she hums. Iqbal can feel it coil in his gut. “Kabir is nothing compared to you…aapke yeh jo infuriating kartoot hai na? Meri raaton ki neend chura li…. Poori raat aap hi mere sapno me phudak rahe the” She husks at him with a wink.

Iqbal hates how her voice, her perfume, her coy smirk, and her eyes stir lust in his body. He clears his throat “Oh so I infuriate you? Hum kya aapke zehen me baith gaye kya?” he asks lightly with much difficulty. His voice is a deep register even with the immense effort he is putting in.

Yamini can hear it, it pleases her to know that she is having an effect on the usually stoic Major. She fixes her voice back to normal with infuriating ease “Ji haan Major sahab….aap kahan koi halki phulki hasti hain?....Yaad rakhne wali cheez hain aap” she smiles before turning to face forward in her chair. Iqbal blinked. Fuck this woman!....Fuck…this woman. Iqbal shakes out of it.

The press and media conference begins as soon as Yamini nods to Kabir. Kabir nods and addresses the room “Welcome esteemed media! The panel is now ready for questions” he says as he clears his throat. 

The questions begin to pour in. Some to Yamini. Some to Iqbal. Some on Pakistan. Some on India. Some on ‘what's the point of this diplomatic mission in the first place?’ Iqbal answers his questions smoothly. Yamini answers hers with admirable finesse. Finesse that makes Iqbal stop and stare for a moment. 

He watches the delicate curve of her throat as she speaks. The sparkle in her eye when she gives a cheeky answer. Her delicate and melodious laugh. The way she gives answers that make reporters stumble and scramble for follow ups. “Yes, next question please! And a fun one if you can” she joked while taking a sip of water.  

A woman in the media pen grinned. She had been summoned  “Rashmika Raina from the NNM! A question for Miss Yamini Singh!” A hand raised from the crowd and a woman in a deep blue salwar suit stood up. She brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her pencil made bun. She smiled at Yamini as her pen tapped against her notebook. 

Yamini grinned as she saw Rashmika, her best friend who she had known from her college days. She wanted to get up and hug the woman but that would be severely unprofessional. Iqbal would have bullied her mercilessly. So instead she said “Oh hi Rashmika! Long time no see?”

Rashmika smiled to herself as she said the next words.“Hi Yamini! Woh asal me I had gone to Pakistan for a report. Abhi abhi wapas ayi hun” Yamini narrowed her eyes and she couldn't believe it. Rashmika was blushing to herself. What was that about?

“Oh how lovely…” she hums suspiciously. “We must discuss your report soon, I know it will be spectacular. You always have the most interesting takes.” Rashmika nods as she clears her throat and shakes out of whatever day dream she had gone into. She dragged her mind away from a certain dark and brooding SP of Karachi police. Who had her number but still hadn't called.  

“Uh Miss Yamini. I would like to ask you what is your first impression of the Pakistani delegation?” Rashmika gets back into reporter mode. “There have been rumors that the first impression yesterday had gone disastrously?” 

Yamini hums to herself for a moment, nodding her head in thought. She looks at Iqbal out of the corner of her eye. She gives him a look. A look that says ‘I could fucking destroy your diplomatic mission and the reputation of your country if I wanted to’ Yamini grins as she looks back into the crowd. 

Iqbal's jaw sets at the realization. He didn't like the amount of power she had right now. She began speaking “Is that so Ms. Rashmika? I wasn't aware of that rumor actually. Tell me Major sahab, did our first meeting go disastrously?” she hums lightly, turning to Iqbal. Surprising that she is giving him the opportunity. Iqbal opens his mouth to speak “Dekhiye-” 

“Areh aap kya bolenge major sahab mai hi bata deti hun” she interrupts, turning back to the crowd. Iqbal's words stop in his mouth. This bitch. This absolute bitch. 

Iqbal releases a long breath though his nose. This was her snub. This was her revenge for his behavior yesterday. He humiliated her in private. She humiliated him in front of the world. “Mmm toh Rashmika ji i’d say our meeting was definitely unconventional.”

“Unconventional?” Rashmika raises an eyebrow. “Haan definitely un conventional. Because when you meet a foreign delegation you expect certain standards and protocols to be met for the greeting. Major sahab definitely kept me on my toes. The meeting was anything but standard. It was oh so close to misunderstanding.” 

She hums with a grin looking at the seething Major beside her. She pauses long enough to make it seem like she was done talking. Iqbal goes to open his mouth once again but Yamini beats him to it “But thankfully quick thinking from both delegations saved the day” she smiles, ending the answer to Rashmika’s question. 

—------------------------

Rashmika quirks her brow. There was something quite juicy here. Before she could probe further, her phone rang. “Thank you Yamini!” she nods as she sits down. The conference continues. 

Rashmika looks at her phone. It's an Unknown number. The country code +92, meaning Pakistan. The area code for Karachi, +92 21. All clues point to one person. Her ex-police protection. SP Chaudhary Aslam.

Rashmika excuses herself from the press conference and bites her lip as she walks out of the room in hurried steps. It had to be him. The large conference room doors swing shut behind her. The phone had rang 10 times already without disconnecting. 

“Hello? Yaad agayi humari SP Sahab? Bada wakt lag gaya apko” She hums sweetly into the phone. She expects a gruff voice to return her greeting. She leans against the wall smiling like a mad woman as she waits to hear his voice. She anticipates the shiver that would run through her body when she would hear it again.

Much to her surprise the phone disconnects without a word from the other side. Rashmika blinks. What the fuck? She looks at her phone. Did she lose signal? Did her battery die? Did she disconnect it by accident? Was it someone else? 

“Fuck yaar” she sighs leaning her head against the cold walls of the Hyderabad House. Then suddenly her phone pings. Its a message

Unknown +92 21-: Phone galti se lag gaya tha.

Rashmika huffs a surprised breath through her nose. It really was him! How did she know? Because only Chaudhary Aslam would wait 10 rings to hear her voice and as soon as she stopped speaking he would cut the call. Sly bastard. 

She shook her head with a smile as she went to her keypad to type back her response. Before she could type, three bouncing dots appeared.

Unknown +92 21-: …Waise kya kar rahi ho?

She laughed as she read the message, shaking her head. Sly bastard.

—---------------------

Iqbal can't believe this shit. Twice. Yamini had cut him off twice. She had made him look stupid thrice. His hand fisted in his lap as he held a neutral expression on his face. His knuckles cracked with effort. His mouth stayed shut with immense effort.

She turned and looked at him with a shit eating expression. She had neutralized the playing field. And she had a very devastating realization. The bastard looks much hotter with his mouth shut.

How else could she shut him up? Much food for thought. Her plans for the night had been fixed.

—-----------------------------------------------

Day 3 @ 4 pm

Hyderabad house, New Delhi, India

Yamini hummed through the halls as she walked beside Kabir. She was uncharacteristically cheery. Which was strange because she never skipped through the halls even on diplomatic missions she genuinely enjoyed. 

So for her to be happy after 2 days of being volatile was a cause for concern to Kabir. “Yamini madam are you okay?” he asked carefully as he adjusted the files in his arms. “I'm overjoyed Kabir. O-ver J-oyed” she hummed. As she walked through the marble halls of Hyderabad House. 

Kabir fell back slightly to watch her skip ahead. He sighed. This only meant one thing. She had decided how she was going to kill Iqbal. “Fuck my life” he groaned as he masaged his temples the files threatening to fall out of his hands. 

—----------------

Major Iqbal Khan and his delegation stormed through the halls of Hyderabad house. She wasn't getting an inch today. Not a fucking inch. He would get his revenge for yesterday or so help him god. The entire delegation whispered duas’ under their breath as they walked behind their angry Major. 

Diplomat Khan whispered to diplomat Ajmer “Mujhe aise kyun lagta hai ki aaj kisi ka qatal hone wala hai?” Diplomat Ajmer sighed as he responded “Kal ke baad? Puri possibility hai” another diplomat piped up. Marha whispered between the two men “Aap log Yamini ko discount na karein. She can hold her own, you know?” she adjusted her dupatta as she walked.

Both men nodded. Marha was right, Yamini would go down fighting. There would be a minimum of two bodies to handle in either scenario. The worst part would be that the Pakistani delegation and the Indian delegation would have to work together on that mess. All three sighed.

—-----------------

For the third time on this trip both delegations met. And the room held no presence of niceties this time. Just a smug woman and an incensed man holding a grudge from the day before. Both delegations shook hands with each other once again and then took their seats. 

Today actual work was to be done. Both delegations were tasked with reviewing joint policies and re-negotiating on certain points of contention. Today was a long and boring day. Yamini sighed and clicked her tongue lightly as she opened her dossier. She felt Iqbal's stare on her. 

He looked good today once again. This was beginning to get boring. And very difficult for the primal parts of her brain that wanted to claw at his shoulders while he fucked her. She hated that part of herself. The primal part that was affected by his bastard-like behavior and his dark and dangerous pheromones. She would leave dark red scars down his well defined muscular back. He wore a dark military green today with silver buttons.

She was catastrophic in her own way. Wearing a maroon dress with a neckline much too similar to yesterday. And much too deep to not be pointed at Iqbal. The somehow office appropriate dress clung to her sinfully well. He himself was having a difficult time not grabbing her and fucking her until she could think straight. Fucking her until all she was capable of doing was moan his name and beg for more. Fucking her until she stopped being infuriating.

The meeting began. Delegates from both sides took turns getting up and presenting their cases. India proposed that there be a designated schedule of meetings between India and Pakistan, seasonal perhaps, so that communications could be kept open throughout the year. Pakistan agreed. Everything was alright until then. 

And then Iqbal motions for Khan to stand up. Khan nodded as he took the podium “We propose that Kashmir have its own diplomatic rights.” the entire room paused. What? Kashmir? Kashmir wasn't supposed to be discussed. 

All the Indian diplomats looked at Yamini. Yamini looks unfazed. She taps a pen against her cheek. “You mean to say that Kashmir should have an equal Pakistani and Indian delegation?” she asks carefully. Getting a clear understanding was imperative. She crosses her legs elegantly. 

“No, we say Kashmir will have its own delegation.” clarifies Khan. Yamini laughs. Both delegations blink at each other as she doubles over in laughter. “What exactly seems to be funny here, Singh madam?" Iqbal drawls lazily

“Well major sahab you seem to be insinuating that Kashmir isn't jointly occupied. You seem to be saying that Kashmir is its own nation?” She smiles leaning in. Iqbal grins too his gold tooth showing “Thats because it is”

“No It most definitely is not” countered Yamini. “We aren't here to debate that. We are here to discuss the diplomatic aspects” hums Iqbal.

“Well in that case we would like to respond with a resounding no to that appeal” She shrugs, shutting her files like she was done talking about this. “It wasn't an appeal.” He narrows his eyes at her, his voice lower than normal now

“Each point here is an appeal major sahab”

“And who decided that? You?”

“Our joint governments did. Not me. Not you.”

“These are excuses. Just say that you are afraid to make a single decision without express consent from your government.” drawls Iqbal lazily as he leans on the table “Fear is one thing major sahab. Respect for the chain of command is another” she emphasized each word so it gets to him. 

“You make lovely excuses to avoid the main point. Is this why you were hired as a diplomat?” he narrows his eyes at her.

“Thats it. Im done” she says slamming her hands on the table before she grabs her things and leaves the room. She was about to kill Iqbal and his idiotic and painfully handsome face.

—------------------

Iqbal stormed behind her as she left the conference room. “Singh madam yeh koi baat nahi hui. This is highly professional even for you!” he called out as he followed her. Yamini stops suddenly and spins on her heel. She finds herself very up close and personal to Iqbal. Their faces inches away. 

His cologne clouds her. Her perfume clouds him. Her face is red with rage. His strong eyes glower into her. “UNPROFFESIONAL?” she exclaims stabbing his chest with her finger. Iqbal feels lit sear like a brand into his being. She laughs in disbelief. “If I'm unprofessional then what have you been doing this entire diplomatic mission?” she steps impossibly closer to him.

“Im not the one who stormed out mid policy negotiation madam” he hisses “That was you”. She can feel the heat of his body. “And tell me Major sahab…why would I storm out? Backchodi ke liye?”

“Fuck knows madam….but for the first time today I agree with you” the tension between them brews into something painfully thick the breathe hard against each other. His eyes flick down to the swell of her breasts. This angle and the cut of her dress betray her. “Oh do tell major Sahab” she hisses “its good to know ki meri koi baat to aapke dimag me ghussi”. 

He chuckles darkly, his voice crawling down Yamini’s spine. “Yeh pure fuckass diplomatic mission aap bakchodi hi kar rahi hain. And that's the truth” he practically spat. 

“Oh really?" she asked with an angry laugh. Her head craned upwards to stare into his eyes. They were dark and angry. He leaned in closer. Their lips are inches apart. “Yes.” he hissed.

Like an incessant gravity she leaned forward. She could feel his breath against her. Lips now centimeters apart. “Fuck you major sahab” she whispered against his lips. “You wish Singh madam” he growled. 

And yet they felt their bodies move closer of their own accord. His hand ghosted along her hip. Her eyes fluttered shut and a shaky breath exhaled from her lips. He was so close. So unbelievably close. Her lips parted as he leaned in closer. His cologne was making her dizzy.

“Major sahab? Janab?!” yelled a voice down the hall. Diplomat Khan. “Yamini madam?” called out another voice. Kabir. Both of them pulled away before their lips could meet. And immediately both took a large step back. What the fuck were they doing?

Iqbal ran a hand through his hair. Yamini clasped a hand over her mouth as she breathed out of her nose. Without a word both of them walked away from each other in opposite directions.

What the fuck were they doing?

—------------

Night 4 @ 7:30 pm

Durbar Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India

Today was the final night of the diplomatic mission. And both countries had the bright idea to organize a ball for both delegations. Something to ease the tensions they reasoned. 

When Yamini had questioned how on earth they were supposed to relax tensions when everyone was painfully aware of each other? She was told “Oh that's simple. It's a masquerade ball. That should help take away the awkwardness.” Bullshit. 

Yamini scoffed as she fluffed out her black sleeveless ballgown. The black lace gloves caught on the chiffon of her structured ballgown. “FUCK” she groaned as she untangled the lace from the chiffon. The warm chandelier light caught on the diamond choker on her throat. It refracted light across her skin using the help of the diamond drop earrings hanging from her earlobes. 

Her hair was thrown into a chic messy bun. Strands pulled out tastefully to accentuate her look. The piece de resistance was the black lace mask that obscured her face. Only her eyes, nose, and lips are clearly visible. She looked like herself, yes. But with slightly more plausible deniability. 

That was the point of the masks. Plausible deniability. For both delegations. Deniability to say "I didn't know who I was being friendly with! They were wearing masks!” as stupid as it was, it really was a good plan. 

She walked into the grand Durbar ballroom of the TAJ palace in New Delhi. The TAJ hotel was where the Pakistani delegation had been housed for the entire mission. This masquerade ball was technically their territory once again. 

The ballroom was opulent in every sense of the word. Golden decor, glass sculptures, a grand orchestra playing classical music. Delegates from both sides along with their aides and interns filled the ballroom. There must be 100 or maybe 150 people there at the minimum. Nobody here knew who the person next to them was. 

A waiter walked by Yamini and she scooped up a glass of champagne from the tray. The cold fizzy alcohol soothed her as she sipped it slowly. She ran her eyes around the room observing the crowd of masked diplomats. The men in tuxedos and the women in evening gowns. All of them were much too occupied in themselves to notice her. 

From across the room she felt a pair of familiar strong eyes drag along her body. She turned to look at the person staring at her. An ornate gold mask lay strapped to his face, his eyes pierced through her body. He was tall, with a strong frame and broad shoulders. He was wearing a debonair black tuxedo with an elegantly tied bow. The coat hugged his shoulders and tapered along his waist. 

The mask obscured half of his face while his tamed beard graced the lower half of his face. She had seen those eyes before. That's all she could think. She had seen those strong eyes before. She looked at him over her glass of champagne as she drained it. 

His eyes dragged across her from across the room. Her neck, her collarbones, her arms, her chest. The diamond on her throat, the diamonds on her beards. The man's eyes seemed to stare at every sliver of her exposed skin before landing intensely on her lips. 

Another waiter walked by and she snagged another chilled glass of champagne. Her body burned under his gaze. She had seen this man before. She had a sneaking suspicion as to who he was. And she hoped she was wrong. Why? The man looked much too good. And she would hate to admit that major Iqbal was clouding her thoughts. That would simply be unacceptable. 

Her finger twirled a stray strand of hair away from her face as she watched the man openly. Her lips pursed along the edge of the champagne glass as the liquid slipped down her throat. The Masked major watched back openly as he took a final deep drag off of his cigar. 

He released the smoke through his nose as his hand curled around his whiskey glass. The woman he saw in front of him was the most eye-catching thing this entire trip. Wrapped in a black chiffon ballgown, black lace up her arms, black lace on her face. Elegant diamonds along her throat that looked like they belonged. He had seen her before no doubt. 

The woman watched him with the same intensity he watched her with. Her lips twitch around her champagne glass. The Major drains his own whiskey and he must go to this woman. The major takes a step towards her. The woman grins as she drains her own glass. She was waiting for him to take the first step. She sets down the second empty glass and takes a step forward too. The orchestra pauses for a moment. 

Both Yamini and Major pause. Then the orchestra plays again. The violins begin first and the both of them already know what piece was about to be played. “An invitation to dance” by Carl Maria von Weber Op.65.

Major Iqbal, the masked man, walks across the room. He stops directly in front of Yamini , the masked woman, and offers her his hand. A silent invitation. A silent dance with me. She bows her head in a small nod as she places her lace clad hand in his large hand. She smells his cologne in the air as they walk. The scent is familiar once again.  

Iqbal silently leads her to the dance floor. Neither of them speak because then the mystery would be ruined immediately. Once in the middle of the dance floor one of his hands rested on her waist. Her free hand rests on his shoulder as his other hand clasps her lace gloved hand. Iqbal can smell her perfume in ernest now. It smells painfully familiar. 

The music swells and they begin to waltz around the room. Small and controlled movements first. Both of them testing the waters between them. Testing if the other knew how to dance this particular dance. Yamini stares into the man’s eyes. Trying to prove her suspicions correct. 

Iqbal led the dance in strong confident movements. Waltzing her around the ballroom as the orchestra swelled. She followed each movement with grace and competence. Each step was perfect. Each stride was confident. His hand on her waist tightened as he spun them around. Her hand clutched at his shoulder to keep her balance as her chiffon ball gown flared behind her. 

Iqbal stared into her eyes when he wrapped both hands around her waist and lifted her into the air. Her warm brown eyes glowed in the chandelier light. She lands with a little flounce, a small gasp as his hands brace her against him. Iqbal has heard that gasp before. 

They slow down along with the music. Waltzing in slow controlled movements as they stare into each other's souls. The person across from them is all too familiar. Iqbal prayed it wasn't her. Yamini prayed it wasn't him. The air between them was thick.

The music climaxes and Iqbal begins spinning them with the music working to a big finish. She gasps as she follows the movements. They can feel the air get more difficult to breathe. They can feel the eyes of everyone in the ballroom on them as they dance. The two figures in black waltzing on the floor as one. 

The music picks up into the finale. All the instruments bidding their finales to the piece. The drums, the violins, the violas, the flutes. All singing their final goodbyes. Iqbal spins her out to make her gown flare. She holds his eyes as she spins back into him. He leans her into a tip. 

Her hands grip the lapel of his tuxedo for balance. The fabric crumpled under her hand. The elegant line of her neck stretches as her chest heaves to catch her breath. His eyes follow helplessly. 

He holds her in his arms a moment more than he should. A moment more than necessary. Her plush lips part as she pants to catch her breath. Eventually both of them stand back upright. The ballroom erupts in cheers. They bow to each other. Folding at the waist as they hold each other's eyes. Iqbal can't stop his eyes from flicking to the dip of the fabric in her cleavage, the soft flesh behind the dress threatening to almost spill out. She grins as she catches his eye.

Not a word is said between them and yet they have a whole conversation with their eyes. Her hand fixes her mask as she gives him a salute and walks away into the crowd. 

—--------------

Same day @ 10 pm

Durbar Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India

It had been hours since the dance yet the heat had not died down. Everywhere the masked man touched her burned with heat. Everywhere he dragged his eyes little fires sprouted along her skin. Three more glasses of cold champagne did nothing to extinguish them. In fact they made the burn worse.

An hour ago he had disappeared with a group of men as he smoked his cigar. The smoke curled around his face. It whispered through his clothes leaving a trail behind him. His eyes met hers as he walked by, once more he had scanned her body with shameless openness. She stared back. Her eyes burned into his broad back as he walked away. She had been 3 drinks into the night at that point

Now an hour later she was 5 drinks into the night. The champagne loosening her inhibitions. The champagne probed her to find the masked man. The champagne whispering dirty thoughts into her mind. Follow him. Find him. Fuck him. She swallowed hard and motioned for the waiter to get her a fresh glass. 

That man had to be Iqbal. It had to be. If only he wasn't wearing a mask. Fucking plausible deniability. An aide walks over to her and hands her a note suddenly “Madam the man in the golden mask and the black tuxedo has asked me to give you this note”

“Oh thank you” she takes the note, the aide nods with a smile and leaves. Yamini unfolds the note. It's written in a neat english scrawl. And it simply says:

Aap nachti bada achha hain…do you play cards as well as you dance? (Vazir Hall) 

She smiles to herself she brings the note to her nose. It smells like his cologne. As a matter of fact she does. Yamini is damn good at cards. She folds the note and tucks it into her bra. 

—--------------------------------

Same day @ 10:15 pm

Vazir Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India

Yamini climbs up the steps to the secluded halls of the Taj hotel. They had main ballrooms and halls but they also had more private and secluded rooms as well. Her heels click on the marble floors as her ballgown swishes around her feet. Eventually she reaches the door of the Vazir hall. 

It's a dark, wood paneled room. Deep red carpets. Low lighting. Poker tables and lounges placed sporadically. The room was deserted save for one table against the most secluded corner of the hall. 

Yamini walks slowly. There he is. The man in the golden mask and black tuxedo. He is reclined in a leather armchair. An ankle over the other knee. A cigar between his fingers as he watches her carefully. The sway of her hips. The silhouette of her body in the low lighting. For a moment neither person speaks.

“You called?” she hums lightly. Keeping the seductive husk in her voice so who she is isn't entirely apparent yet. Iqbal laughs darkly, tapping ash off of his cigar into a crystal ash tray. “You came?” he asks with a low rumble that shoots through her spine. He gestures for her to take a seat across from him. 

She settles into the plush leather arm chair with a coy smile. “Tell me what games do you want to play?” she hums lightly as she sets her seventh champagne glass on the poker table in front of her. “Well poker for now” he says as he takes a long drag off of his cigar. 

“For now?” she hums with a grin as she rests her chin in her palm. “For now” he hums with a dark rumble. “How will we play? I don't see a dealer” she questions with a raised eyebrow. Iqbal grins and claps his hands once. The sound reverberates in the empty room. 

From a curtained alcove in the wall beside them a hand extends and waves at Yamini in greeting “Dealer in the wall” he grins.

“How very innovative and discrete” she muses. “What's on bet? Cash? Im sorry to say i dont have any on me” Iqbal leans back stroking his beard in thought. 

“Let's make this interesting. Lets bet the chips like we have the funds to back them. An IOU of sorts.” He begins and Yamini nods as if understanding the game. He continues  “And the person who loses the round not only loses their money they lose a piece of their dignity.” he grins darkly to finish. 

“Dignity? Strip poker you mean? How very perverted of you masked man” she narrows her eyes at him through the masquerade mask as she sips her champagne. “Scared?” he laughs while taking another drag of his cigar. Yamini laughs into her glass “Of you? I don't even know who you are. So no. I'm not scared” 

“Chaliye. Lets play then” Iqbal claps his hands once again. 

—-----------------------------

Authors note: Please listen to Sharab by Himesh Reshammiya for this part….TRUST ME

The dealer begins by opening a fresh pack of cards in front of them. He shuffles them against the table with immense artistry. The cards curve and dance in the dealer's hands as Iqbal observes the masked woman in front of him. Yamini examines the masked man in front of her. 

Ye botal bhari bharaayi 

Na honton se lagaayi 

Ghazab toh dekho yaaro 

Usne aankhon se pilaayi 

The dealer splits the cards and deals 2 cards to each player at the table and sets five cards face up onto the green velvet table. Texas Hold’em poker. Yamini was good at this game. She hides her smile behind her mask as she checks her cards. It's a strong hand. She bets 10 thousand rupees. 

Iqbal checks his cards. Good but not great. He sees she has bet low. Was it a strategy or were her cards bad? “I raise the pot to 30 thousand rupees” he hums as he takes a swig of whiskey. 

“I call” she smiles as she matches the pot, which now rested at 60 thousand rupees. The dealer taps his hands to the table. As he takes Yamini’s chips to the mide of the pot. 

“Show” hums Iqbal as he throws 5 thousand more into the pot as the price to make her show her cards. “Eager aren't you?” she hums 

Pehle toh nazar milaayi 

Phir dekh ke muskurayi 

Ghazab toh dekho yaaro 

Usne aankhon se pilaayi 

Yamini throws her cards onto the table. Straight flush. Iqbal throws his cards on the table. Full house. Not as strong as Yamini’s cards. She claps in triumph. “Chaliye take it off now” she hums as she leans in closer. He grins and takes off his tux jacket tossing it to the ground. “Well played” he hums. Yamini watches intensely as she sips her champagne. 

The white shirt beneath it is tailored to him just as well. It clings to his strong muscular frame. His fingers undo the buttons at his cuff as he rolls up his sleeves to his forearms. Cigar hanging loose from his mouth. His hand undoes his bowtie letting it hang loose around his collar.

Tujhe jaisi na koi teeno lok mein 

Sab kuch luta doon tere shauk mein 

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

“Shal we keep the pot going if you aren't too greedy?” rumbles Iqbal as he leans forward now. Yamini laughs. “Why not”

The pot stands at 65 thousand now as the dealer re-deals the cards. Yamini checks her cards. They seem alright. Iqbal checks his cards. It's a strong hand. Iqbal throws in 20 thousand. Yamini throws in 10 thousand. Iqbal calls once again, throwing 5 thousand into the pot.

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

The pot now stands at 1 lakh. Yamini throws her cards. Three of a kind. Iqbal grins as he throws his cards on the table. Full house. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Iqbal grins like a wolf “ And what will you be taking off?”

He assumes that she would take off her dress. He had her in an unfair position. A tuxedo had more parts. A ballgown had barely any parts. “Have some patience” she hums as she reaches under the table.

Her hand goes under her dress. She shuffles slightly in her seat as Iqbal watches curiously. She hums to herself lightly as she fumbles with her clothes. Her hand hooks into the waistband of her panties. She shucks them off and steps her heels out of it. She pulls her hand out from under her dress. Under the table. 

She holds the fabric up. A slinky scrap of black lace and satin. Iqbal's throat goes dry as he realizes what he was seeing. She grins and throws it across the table to him. 

Iqbal has to clear his throat before he responds. His thumb and index finger rub the lace. Fuck this is what she was wearing underneath. He can feel the gusset. It’s damp. “Eager are we?” he finally rasps as he holds up the fabric in front of his face. “Wearing a ballgown…I don't have many choices do I?” she smiles with a shrug. 

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

Iqbal chuckles as he taps the table to make the dealer deal another round. Iqbal pockets her underwear discreetly as she turns her head momentarily. He feels the silky fabric slip into the pockets of his trousers. Lust swirls inside of him. This masked woman would be the death of him.

The dealer behind the curtain splits the cards and shuffles them once again. He deals the cards to both parties once again. The pot still sits at 1 lakh. 

Chanchal kajrari aankhen 

Haaye shikari aankhen 

Dil pe chalaye chhuriyan 

Teri katari aankhen 

Iqbal looks at his cards. Shit. Not very good. Yamini looks at her cards. Very good. Very very good. She drains her champagne glass with a grin as she crosses one leg over the other and bounces her foot. Iqbal takes another deep drag off of his cigar. The smoke cures around her as he exhales. She was bare beneath that ballgown. Iqbal's hand twitched by his thigh.

She tosses 20 thousand into the pot. Iqbal tosses 25 thousand into the pot. Enough to raise and call on the same bet. The dealer taps his hand on the table making both of them throw their cards on the table. Yamini had a straight flush, Iqbal had straight. “Back to you” she hums with a grin.

Dil pe chalaye chhuriyan 

Teri katari aankhen

Naagin si haye zulfein

Iqbal huffs a laugh as he places his cigar between his lips again. He leans back slightly and pulls his shirt out of his trousers. His hands make quick work of the buttons. Yamini stares at the masked man's body as he bares it.

His shapely chest is revealed first. Strong pectorals, hair on his chest. He unbuttons the shirt entirely and begins shucking it off of his shoulders, his biceps flexing behind his back as his abs come into view. Yamini stares openly. Dragging her eyes on every aspect of his fit muscular body that is littered with scars. A gunshot wound. A jagged knife scar. Each element adds to his rugged sex appeal. His cigar smoke curls around his own body.

“Like what you see?” he grins at her open staring. “Not bad.” She hums lightly, her voice slightly strained now, making him laugh as she throws his dress shirt to the ground. 

Kaali ghataaye zulfein 

Maaregi tauba tauba 

Teri balaaye zulfein 

Maaregi tauba tauba 

Teri balaaye zulfein 

The dealer splits and deals the cards once more. The pot sits at 1 lakh 45 thousand. But neither party really cares about the pot anymore. In fact they never cared at all. Iqbal looks at his cards again. Today just wasn't his day. Yamini looks at her cards. Today was her day. 

“I bet 25 thousand” she hums, throwing in more chips to the pool. Iqbal sighs “Call. And an extra 5 thousand to show” the chips clatter on the large pile. The pool now sits at 2 lakhs. Yamini throws her cards on the table, a royal flush her grin is triumphant. Iqbal threw his cards face down. What he got didn't even matter anymore.

Toote chaand ka guroor 

Tere chehre ka noor 

Tujhe dekh dekh hota hai 

Deewane ko suroor 

“Ab kya utarenge?” she hums leaning back against the leather arm chair. Iqbal leans down and takes off his shoes, then his hands go to his belt and it comes away with a clatter. He tosses both things to the ground. “Hopefully that's satisfactory?” he chuckles as he ashes his blunt cigar. 

“Not really ... .make it fun. Unbutton your trousers at the very least” she tsks off handedly as she fiddles with her lace mask. Iqbal grins behind his golden mask. “Why not?” he hums as he flicks open the button to his trouser pants.

Tujhe jaisi na koi teeno lok mein 

Sab kuch luta doon tere shauk mein 

“Shall we? Keep going that is.” he hums to her as he indicates to the dealer to re-shuffle the cards. The dealer's hands reach through the curtains and collect the cards on the table. He shuffles them artistically.

Yamini looks at the masked man with a grin. “Sabkuch lutane ka shaunk hai kya aapko?” The dealer begins to deal another pair of cards to both of them. “Kyun nahi?” he grins as he checks his cards. His luck had begun to turn and he had a strong hand.

“Hmm.. quite a risk taker aren't you? Not much dignity left for you to preserve.” She tsks at him as she oles his muscular body once more. Iqbal chuckles as he throws in 45 thousand. Yamini raises a brow at his bet. But matches it anyway with an extra 5 thousand to call him.

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

The pot now sits at 3 lakhs. But the money meant nothing. It was all on the cards. Iqbal throws his cards in. Royal flush. Yamini curses under her breath as she throws her cards face down onto the table. They weren't even worth showing.

Iqbal grins lazily as he leans back in his leather arm chair. Yamini reaches behind her. Iqbal expects her to unzip her gown. He even hears the zipper move slightly. She burns under the intensity of his stare. Her hand works fast, unhooking her bra behind her back. She pulls it out of her dress and zips it up again. The strapless matching satin and lace bra is pulled out into the air like a prized fish.

She tosses it across the table to Iqbal who catches it in his hand. His fingers fist around the material as he places it in his lap gently. “Youre a wild card aren't you?” he rumbles. His voice has gone gravely with restraint. Lust swirls in his dark eyes behind the gold mask. He can feel his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho 

Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein 

Yamini doesn't speak. Instead this time she signals to the dealer. Another round. Once again the dealer's hands reach through the curtains and collect the cards on the table. He shuffles them artistically. The cards flying through the air.

Yamini and Iqbal watch each other carefully. Her thighs clench the way he stares at her. His eyes dragged over her dress as if he had x-ray vision. He was imagining her bare beneath it. She could feel her nipples pebble with anticipation. Yamini looks at her cards. They were decent. 

Iqbal could feel the way her eyes dragged along his bare skin. Each place her eyes rested for more than a moment burned. His thighs shifted apart as he manspread to create more room for his poor aching cock. The trousers are too tight for comfort. He looked at his cards. Decent. 

Yamini gathers all of her remaining chips in her hand. 3 lakhs worth of chips in her palms. Iqbal mentally counts his chips. 5 lakhs worth of chips. She curls an eyebrow at him. She is telling him to make his move.

Iqbal’s tongue licks his teeth once. He doesn't think too hard “All in” he says gruffly as he shoves his chips into the pot. Yamini matches “all in”. Both of them now lean forward. The pot now rests at 11 lakhs. But the money didn't matter to either of them. Dignity was on the line. Both of them threw their cards down. It was a draw. 

Both of them blink at the cards for a moment. They hear a soft clap and a rustle behind the curtain. The dealer was gone. The Vazir hall was empty. The masked woman and the masked man were alone. The game was a draw.

“How fucking anticlimactic” she scoffs as she stands up. Iqbal watches her carefully, not speaking, just observing. She hikes up her knee and climbs onto the poker table. Iqbal narrows his eyes at this as he watches. She begins to crawl towards him on top of the table.

Her black chiffon gown against the velvet of the poker table. She shoves the cards and chips out of her way as she crawls to him. She holds his eyes intensely. Iqbal has most definitely seen those eyes somewhere. 

She reaches her hand forwards. “Chaliye ab khel khatam. Wapas dijiye. We will split our winnings fairly” She is asking him for her bra and underwear again. He grins at her darkly, there is a flash of gold in his teeth. 

“Aise kaise de den hum aapko ye wapas?” he hums raspily as he leans in closer to her “maine jeeta hai inko. Fair and square.” he reasons as she looks at her. Iqbal fists his hand in her bra that sat in his lap. Yamini laughs it off even as anticipation and arousal pools in her gut. “Jeeti toh mai bhi hun. So I deserve my property back don't I?"

He laughs darkly, the laugh makes her core flutter “ I won too masked madam. It's a draw. Ab kya karna hai?” he leans in closer. Their faces are painfully close to each other. Yamini swallows hard at the proximity to the man in the gold mask. “ Well then there is only one thing left to do to make it fair to the both of us. Its a big step.”

“Kya karna hoga?”

“Ab toh sirf ye fair hoga ki agar hum dono apni dignity ke last shreds ko bhi hatale. Naga hona padega sahab”  

Iqbal leans forward if that was even possible. The green velvet of the poker table makes Yamini’s palms sweat. His lips are inches away from hers when he whispers with a painful amount of restraint “Will you do it…if I do it? 

She nods as she swallows. Her eyes are dilated behind the mask. Arousal pools in her body. She trembles in anticipation. The entire Vaizir hall is thick with tension. It's just them here. The air is impossible to breathe. His hands curl beneath her chin so she looks square into his eyes. “Use your words princess.”

Yamini’s breath hitches. His words. She swallows and nods before she stammers out “Yes. Yes I will” Iqbal's lips crash against her and its kiss of teeth and tongue. No sweetness or fondness. It's a kiss of deep need. The need to consume the soul of someone who already clouded you. 

—------------------------

She moans into his mouth in surprise and Iqbal swallows it down. He pulls her off of the poker table with his strong arms. She lands on the floor beside him with a thud as he kisses her. Her hands rove along the hard disciplined plane of his body with an appreciative groan into his mouth.

Iqbal's hands go to her zipper behind her back. She loops her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pulls him in closer. She tastes like champagne and he tastes like whiskey and cigars. Together they taste intoxicating. 

“Fuck” she gasps against his lips as he pulls the zipper down. The metal teeth sounded painfully loud in the tense room. Iqbal’s hands pulled at the fabric and pushed it onto the floor as fast as he could while he consumed her breath. And then she was bare in front of him. 

Iqbal pulls away to look at her flushed and panting face. Her ample breasts heave under her labored breathing under his gaze. “Just as I imagined. Fucking stunning.” he groans as he takes a breast into his palm. The warm heavy weight sat perfectly as he massaged the flesh which spilled through his fingers. She choked on a moan as her body arched towards him. 

His hands cupped both of her breasts rolling her pebbled nipples between his calloused thumb and index finger. His lips attacked her throat leaving hot open mouthed kisses along her skin. She breathes shakily in his arms, sparks of pleasure shooting through her body with every rough twist and pinch. “Imagined?” she finally gasps “You were imagining me?”

Her soft hands trace along his bare torso. Her nails lightly drag on his skin. He groans against her throat as he nips below her ear. The diamond earrings brushing his face. “Ever since I saw you in the ballroom. Ever since I danced with you. I've been undressing you in my mind”  he rasps as he pulls away reluctantly to look at her face. 

“Do you like what you see? Do you like what you see without knowing who I am?” rasps Yamini as her eyes flutter shut in pleasure. She feels him latch onto her nipple with a hard suck. His teeth scrape along the top as his tongue flicks at the underside.  

Without stopping his assault of licks, bites, and sucks on her breast Iqbal reaches for his half finished glass of whiskey. He pours out his remaining drink along her shoulder. The whisky traces cold rivers on her flushed skin. None of it goes to waste. His tongue traces every drop. He kisses and bites her skin to collect every drop of his whiskey. 

Her hands fist in his hair with a gasp. The silk ribbon holding his mask up tangles in her fingers. She could pull it off if she pleased. “Fucking stunning.” he rasps as he licks off the last of the whiskey from her skin. 

Before she could utter another word Iqbal pushed back onto the poker table. The chips and cards pushed away haphazardly framing her body. The image looks like a twisted poker porno.  The light hanging above the table illuminates her diamond necklace. His hair is messy, the look in his eyes is crazed and obsessed. Like he was discovering something holy. 

His hands roved along her hips. Along her waist. His hands were rough with years of use and grueling training. Her skin was so soft, so delicate. He breath hitched when he groped and squeezed the flesh of her thighs. Her legs crossed of their own accord.

His body was scared and hers was untouched. A man like him doesn't even deserve to be looking at such pristine perfection. Iqbal leans in and bites her beautiful unmarked skin. Yamini hisses in pain as his teeth clamp into the soft flesh of her stomach. He litters her body in bites and kisses as he works his way up. 

She writhes on the green velvet poker table. Small sounds of pleasure escaping her throat in the form of whines and moans. Her hands find purchase on his shoulders. In his hair. Her thighs clenched tight. The friction helped the burning slick forming there. 

Each sound she makes drives Iqbal even more insane. He trails sloppy kisses up her jaw, capturing her plush lips again. Her lips part automatically as he kisses her deeply. His hands groping the flesh at her hip making her gasp into his mouth. His pants are unbearably tight now, almost painfully so. “Please.. Need more” she gasps against his mouth. 

That's what Iqbal was looking for. Within seconds he has her flipped onto her stomach. Poker chips clatter on the soft table. Yamini moans as her sensitive nipples rub against the velvet. “Oh fuck!” she gasps startled. Iqbal laughs darkly at her as he brings her hips to the edge of the table. He shoves his leg between hers and kicks her ankles apart forcing her legs to open wide for him.

She gasps again as the cold night air hits her soaked folds. The difference in temperature makes a shiver run up her spine. “So fucking desperate arent you shehzadi?” he hums darky as his fingers trace her wet folds. “Soaked and i’ve barely fucking touched you”

Her face burns in embarrassment. She hates the heat that pools in her stomach when he calls her princess or shehzadi in that deep tone. She can feel herself dripping, her hole clenching around thin air. She can feel how her body responds to him. “Are you just going to stand there and feed your ego or will you do something?” she seethes through gritted teeth. 

Iqbal chuckles darkly at her bitchy mouth. “Dont be impatient” he whispers against her shoulder blade as he plants a kiss there. She squirms as his hands hold her in place. The velvet is rough against her soft skin now. His ring and middle fingers part her slick folds. And before she can prepare herself he thrusts them deep into her. 

A strangled moan rips from her throat at the intrusion of his fingers. The stretch is massive, she can feel his cold gold rings against her skin. Her back arches as his rough fingers drag against her g-spot. The motion makes sparks shoot through her body.

As her back arches Iqbal uses the moment to tangle his paw-like hand into her hair. He grips it and yanks her backwards. His fingers still inside of her, her back arches like a taught bow. She hisses in pain and pleasure. Her cunt flutters on his fingers. The stretch still burns. He shifts his fingers slightly making her moan wantonly. “So fucking tight princess…you can barely take my fingers.” he coos in her ear condescendingly. 

“How on earth will you take my cock?” he tsks. She whines as her hands wrap behind her, around his neck. He begins to thrust his fingers in and out of her. Slowly at first. The pads of his fingers rub against her inner walls gently. His bare chest against her spine. One of his hands in her hair, one of his hands in her cunt. The heel of his palm hitting against her clit. 

She grinds against his hand as he begins fucking her with his fingers propperly. His long and slender digits curled against her g spot. The heel of his palm hitting her clit. “More..need more” she gasps as her eyes flutter shut. 

He laughs darky by her ear. He obliges and speeds up his fingers. “You are such a slut aren't you?” he starts darkly, his fingers thrusting hard. “You don't even know who I am and you are riding my fingers like a desperate slut begging for more” she moans loudly at his words and the way his fingers massage her walls expertly. 

“Can’t the same be said for you? Hmm?” She laughs breathlessly against him “Look at you, fingering an unknown woman in a dark hall” she giggles with a moan as he curls his fingers inside of her. Iqbal pulls her hair harder for her insolence making her hiss. “Ahh!” she hisses “Take off the mask. Be brave and take off your mask”

“Bohot baat karti ho tum” he growls in her ear as his fingers speed up. “Darr gaye?” she moans as she rides his fingers harder. Each thrust hitting against her g spot. “Mai darta nahi hun shehzadi…if only you knew” he hums in her ear as he feels her cunt flutter around his fingers. She was close. Iqbal wanted to feel that around his cock. 

He loosens the hand in her hair and brings it to her breast. He begins massaging the soft flesh in time with his fingers. He bites and kisses along her shoulder. She cries out in pleasure as she feels the pull of her orgasm. “That's it princess cum for me” he husks into her ear. “Fuck!” she exclaims as her walls quiver and sparks fly through her body 

Wetness gushes on Iqbal's fingers as she cums. He chuckles darkly by her ear. “Well done” he hums as he pulls his fingers out of Yamini making her gasp. He brings his fingers to his face. He parts his lips and places his fingers inside. She tastes amazing, he moans around his fingers. The sound makes a fresh wave of wetness coat her folds.

A flush creeps up her face. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath. Her mask threatens to slip and loosen; Iqbal fixes it. Tightening the ribbon that held it in place with painfully gentle fingers. Before she can speak he takes a step back.

His hand pulls his cock out of his trousers with no flourish. He doesn't even take the moment to undress fully. Yamini’s eyes go to his cock with no shame. God damn he was big. 6 inches easily. Perfectly veined in such a way she was clenching her thighs in anticipation of the feeling. She leans back against the poker table.

With a deep groan he pumps his aching cock. The grin on his face is shit eating as he sees her wide eyes on him. He sits down in the large leather armchair again. It creaks slightly beneath his weight. His hand fists his cock lazily as he watches her through his golden mask. 

His cock twitches lazily in his hand as he watches her hips, her breasts, the marks he left on her, the flush in her face. He calls to her in his deep and gravely voice. “Come here princess….. Like the cock hungry bitch you are”

She laughs darkly as she walks toward him. Hips swaying and breasts bouncing with every motion. “Im cock hungry?” she hums as she stands before him. “Arent you pussy starved? Don't tell me that this is one sided. Don't lie to yourself when your cock is that painfully hard” 

Iqbal laughs darkly at her words. “Fine princess, I won't lie to myself. Come here so I can sink my aching cock into your tight cunt” She climbs into his lap. Her knees on either side of him. Her dripping cunt hovering over him. 

Yamini holds his face gently in his hands. She pulls him close as she kisses him again. Iqbal's hands wrap around her waist as he groans into the kiss. She taunts him again, whispering against his lips “Take off the mask… don't worry. I won't make fun of you if you’re ugly” 

Iqbal hums against her lips. He feels her slick drip onto his aching cock. “Why are you so desperate to know who I am?” His large palms brace her hips as he slams her down onto his cock. Practically impaling her. She screams into his shoulder as she feels his cock stretch her impossibly.

Fuck he was huge. Her cunt fluttered to try to accommodate him. Iqbal groans, pressing his forehead into her shoulder. Fuck she was tight. Her walls were milking him as they tried to fit him. He hadn't expected her to be this tight. He has to breathe deeply against her shoulder to loosen the knot of pleasure coiling inside of his core already.

A few moments later she moans weakly against his ear “You think I don't know who you are?” she chuckles as she rolls her hips against him. They both groan. Iqbal’s hands dig into her hips for support. She laughs and moans as he begins fucking into her “I know exactly who you are. And I think you know who I am too” she starts. 

His hips snap into her making her choke for a moment but she continues “-But you are too afraid of reality. That's why you won't take off the mask” she hums as she rides his cock. Her breath came in uneven pants. He scoffs and says “I just don't want to be disappointed by the face under your mask thats all” 

She rolls her eyes with a moan. This bastard. Yamini already knew who he was, otherwise she never would have let things go this far. She had a suspicion when he invited her for poker. It was confirmed many rounds ago. The time has come to let him know that she knew. She knew who he was.

“You like that, don't you Major sahab? The plausible deniability?" She rasps into his ear. Iqbal's hips stutter momentarily. Yamini felt it. The grin on her face was triumphant. His eyes went wide, she knew who he was. “Shut up princess. Don't start something you won't be able to handle” he pounds up into her harder. The rasp in his voice is delicious and it hits straight in her clit. 

“Tell me Iqbal, does it turn you on?” he chokes on a moan at her taking his name. She laughs evilly as she unties his mask before he can stop her. The silk ribbon comes undone with a sharp tug. His cock brushes against her g-spot with every thrust. Her body quivers in pleasure.

The golden mask clatters to the floor. Iqbal's face is revealed, he looks so handsome, so exposed in the low lighting of the Vazir hall. “Mashallah yeh aya Eid ka chand” she laughs with a moan as she presses a kiss to his forehead. A flush graces Iqbal's face as he buries his face into her neck. Leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat.

His lips bite and nip along her cleavage. His cock brushes deep inside of her with each thrust. Pleasure pulls at her navel embarrassingly fast again. Her thighs burn as she matches each thrust. The leather armchair beneath them groans and creaks. She pulls his head up by the hair. They are both close. She can feel it the way he is twitching inside of her. And he can feel it the way her cunt flutters desperately.

“Aap ISI ke head hai na? So for that sake, before we fall off the cliff of pleasure Major sahab. Tell me. Who am I?” She rides him hard with a roll of her hips. They pant against each other's lips. He fucks up into her harder. Each thrust settled deep inside of her.

 “Tell me Iqbal, who do you want me to be?” she moans. Her head lolls in pleasure, her hands claw into his shoulders. He groans. Pleasure coils inside of him. But her request claws at him.  He stays buried into the cork of her neck. His lips sucked deep marks that would remain for at least a week. With shaky fingers he goes to untie her mask. 

“Yamini. I want you to be Yamini Singh” he says shakily into her throat, his hips still snapping up into her. Yamini’s breath hitched her cunt clenches again. He took her name for the first time. Iqbal groans as he feels her clenching around him. Her mask falls away. The black lace whispers as it falls against the arm of the leather armchair.

“Mujhe dekho Iqbal” she pants her eyes threatening to roll back. She is hazy with lust. Lost in the pleasure. Iqbal keeps himself against her throat. His shaky hand rests against her cheek “Iqbal please” she whines in pleasure as his cock brushes against her cervix. 

The way she begs forces Iqbal to open his eyes. When he does he sees her beautiful flushed face. Her plump lips parted his name on her lips, her eyebrows scrunched. Fuck she looked beautiful. It was her. There was no plausible deniability anymore. 

Her eyes were hazy and unfocussed as they stared at Iqbal. There most definitely was no plausible deniability anymore. Indian diplomat Yamini Singh. Pakistani Major Iqbal Khan of the ISI. 

Iqbal pulls her in for a kiss. She moans into it. Their lips move against each other feverishly as they feel their highs get closer and closer. The reveal of identities made everything in the room burn with intensity. The air between them burns. His hands on her waist burned. Her hands on his shoulders burned.   

Yamini feels pleasure pull at her again. She is close. His cock dragged deliciously along her ribbed walls. Each vein caresses the muscles. Each thrust first hit her g-spot and then her cervix. The pleasure was maddening. She felt her core clenching around him. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the empty hall.

“Cum for me shehzadi….cum for me Yamini” he pants breathlessly. Yamini screams into his shoulder as pleasure takes her. White hot stars burst behind her eyes as her body falls against his limply. “IQBAL!”

“FUCK……. YAMINI” roars Iqbal as he feels his core tighten. His hips stutter violently as he shoots thick hot ropes of cum into her. Her body shakes against his as her walls milk him for all he is worth. Iqbal cant help it, he fucks her through the orgasm with shaky breaths.

—------------------

A few moments later.

Both of them stay like that. Him inside of her, now softening. His cologne and her perfume clouding them. The thick atmosphere dissipates into the large Vazir hall. They can hear the orchestra from the durbar hall below. Where the diplomatic masquerade ball continues. 

Iqbal’s fingers curl beneath her chin. He kisses her softly as he holds her in his arms. She moans softly into him as her hands tangle in his hair. No India. No Pakistan. No Diplomacy. No animosity. Just them a few moments of peace before they would have to part again. 

Maybe diplomacy between India and Pakistan wasn't so bad after all. Not when the lessons in diplomacy looked like this.

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

I HOPE YALL HAD AS MUCH FUN AS I DIDDDDDDD