mai 🧿

"Ahhhh!"

A frustrated groan tore from your throat, echoing sharply within the cramped confines of your small bedroom as you jolted awake with a start.

Your skin was slick with a cold sheen of sweat, your pulse hammering frantically against your ribs like a trapped bird, and your heart thudding so violently it threatened to leap out of your chest.

Panting heavily, your eyes scanned the darkness, frantically searching the perimeter, but you saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The overhead lights were off, the heavy curtains remained drawn tightly against the outside world, the windows were left slightly ajar to let air in, and the door was firmly locked.

The only light came from the bedside nightlamp, its soft, incandescent glow casting a shadow of warmth across the space, silently attesting to the fact that only one living soul occupied the room.

You.

Yet, despite the solitude of the space, an oppressive weight hung in the air, and you couldn't shake off the terrifying feeling of a strange presence. The phantom sensation of something moving languidly over your bare skin.

A shapeless shadow had been hovering directly over you just a split second before you woke up suddenly, leaving you thoroughly drained and completely out of breath.

It was a harrowing phenomenon that had become far too familiar to you now, a haunting cycle that had been on a torturous repeat ever since the day you were finally discharged from the hospital.

Your body ached acutely, but it wasn't the mundane soreness where muscles cramp and stiffen after a long, gruelling day of work, nor was it the heavy, dull exhaustion that creeps over the limbs after working tirelessly into the night.

No, this was an entirely different, intoxicating ache.

The kind of deep, throbbing soreness that leaves you utterly spent, weakened at the joints, yet simultaneously makes you desperately seek out more of its forbidden, agonising pleasure.

Driven by a restless compulsion, you threw off the sheets and moved over to the full-length mirror, your bare feet dragging as you forced yourself to look at your reflection.

The girl staring back at you through the glass was undeniably you, and yet, she was subtly different, altered by some unseen hand.

The youthful roundness of your face had miraculously smoothened, leaning out to sculpt your features into a sharp, hauntingly beautiful heart-shaped face. Your eyes, though heavily adorned with dark circles born of sleeplessness, sparkled with an unnatural brilliance in the soft light of the lamp, while your lips appeared distinctly fuller, swollen and flushed as if they had been meticulously pricked and plumped by a thousand nano needles.

Your trembling hand rose, fingertips touching your lips to feel the unnatural warmth pulsing beneath the surface, before slowly tracing a path down to your collarbone to feel the constellation of fading marks blooming across your skin. They were bruised and darks marks which you had desperately tried to brush off as mere insect bites during the day, though the truth felt infinitely more sinister.

But as your gaze drifted downward, it was your flimsy, worn kurti that instantly caught your eye.

A wet patch was spreading over your breasts, soaking through the baby blue cotton kurti until the thin fabric became almost completely transparent, clinging directly to your skin.

Through the damp cloth, the dark shadow of your areolas and the pebbled peaks of your nipples peeked through clearly, bared to the cold room.

Your mind raced.

A dampness this specific could not possibly be due to regular sweat.

Though the exact nature and origin of this mysterious dampness remained a deeply unsettling mystery, your eyes strained against the dim light to inspect the flesh, trying to see the faint marks encircling your areolas, looking closely as if something, or someone, had bit and sucked you right there while you slept.

An overwhelming wave of heat crashed through you, and your hands involuntarily rose to cup your own breasts, your fingers trembling as they brushed over your overly sensitised nipples. The mere friction of your skin against the damp fabric sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt, and a moan escaped your mouth.

Suddenly, breaking the stillness, a violent gush of angry wind tore through the room. The sheer, sudden force of the gale almost knocking you over.

The icy air seemed to swirl and coil tightly around you, caressing your body. The invisible currents slid over your skin with such intense warmth that it made you squeeze your eyes shut in a breathless cocktail of pure bliss and paralysing terror.

The air grew dense, heavy with an invisible mass, and it suddenly felt as if a multitude of unseen, possessive hands were trailing everywhere over your body at once.

You could feel the distinct pressure of phantom fingers raking over your breasts, squeezing them firmly before sliding down the arching curve of your spine, gripping the backs of your legs, and mapping out the contours of your hips and stomach.

The touch was burning hot against your chilled flesh, and then, you felt the unmistakable sensation press directly between your legs, right over your cunt.

The touch shattered your resolve, your knees instantly buckled beneath your weight, and you collapsed forward as you let out a loud, uninhibited moan that echoed off the walls.

The jarring sound of your own voice, so utterly ruined and full of wanton need, shocked you to your very core, jolting your eyes wide open.

You sharply turned your head, chest heaving as you looked around the small bedroom once again, desperate to catch sight of your invisible tormentor.

But there was absolutely no one there except you.

The room was entirely empty, and the violent wind had stopped just as suddenly and inexplicably as it had started blowing, leaving the air completely dead and still.

Yet, your bedroom now smelled overwhelmingly of salt-laden sea waves, a thick, briny scent that hung suffocatingly close to the floor. This was deeply unsettling and very strange, because your house was completely landlocked, with no beach, ocean, or body of water anywhere near your neighbourhood.

Shaken to the core, your mind spinning with a terrifying mixture of arousal and dread, you took deep breaths to compose your racing heart and steady your trembling limbs.

Forcing your weak legs to move, you made your way back to the safety of the bed, the damp cotton of your kurti chafing delightfully against your sensitive skin.

You crawled under the covers, pulling the heavy blanket all the way up to your chin to shield yourself from the cold, and stared blankly up at the ceiling, your eyes wide in the dark as the briny scent of the sea washed over you in waves.

As your eyelids finally drifted shut, plunging you into a restless sleep, your mind began to replay the tragic trajectory of what your life had ultimately come to.

Growing up as the cherished only child to your doting parents, you had been loved, protected, and adored beyond what any mere words could possibly describe. The world was entirely at your feet, and you existed as the centre of their universe.

This idyllic existence remained unbroken until a cruel twist of fate changed everything forever.

Your parents harboured an almost magnetic love for large water bodies, and every single weekend without fail, they would take you to the beach to play by the shore.

Your father, in particular, was often inexplicably drawn to the water, a trait that he had passed down to you.

One fateful afternoon, while you were relaxing at the beach with your parents, completely engrossed as your mother helped you construct an elaborate sandcastle, your father decided to head out into the surf for a swim, just as he usually did.

For a while, everything appeared entirely normal and serene, but then, with terrifying speed, the weather abruptly changed.

The sky darkened aggressively, bruising into an ominous shade of black as if midnight had suddenly claimed the afternoon, while the ocean currents rose violently high, and a torrential downpour started pouring from above as if the heavens themselves were weeping in mourning.

Before either you or your mother could fully react to the danger, the treacherous sea had already decided to engulf your father entirely within its merciless arms.

Desperate to save him, your mother ran headfirst into the crashing waves to rescue her husband, and you, crying out in terror, blindly followed your parents into the raging water.

The few people who were still left at the beach ran along the shore after the two of you, the alarmed life guards calling loudly after your mother to stay put and to not endanger herself like this, but their warnings fell on deaf ears.

Before the guards could reach you or your mother, a towering wave washed over you both, swallowing you whole into the depths.

You were drowning, your small, frail limbs flailing about uselessly against the crushing weight of the ocean as your lungs filled with chilled, briny water, making you choke and cough violently as more water rushed into your airways.

You had just started to lose consciousness before you suddenly felt scaly, long, and immensely strong arms wrap protectively over your small body, pulling you tight and swimming with supernatural speed towards the churning surface.

As you weakly opened your eyes for one fleeting second, the only thing your fading mind registered was a pair of glowing, hypnotic blue eyes looking deep into your soul before you completely lost consciousness.

When you finally woke up on the shore, gasping for air, you were met with the devastating sight of the divers retrieving the lifeless bodies of your mother and father from the surf.

Even in the grim finality of death, their natural instinct had driven them toward each other, and so their pale bodies lay heavily on the wet sand, hand in hand. That was how your parents left the world together, leaving you behind, completely alone at the tender age of ten.

In the wake of the tragedy, your paternal uncle and aunt, tried their absolute best to provide you with the same love and affection, as your presence became a healing anchor to their childless twelve-year marriage.

However, fate was not done testing your resilience.

Four years later, a sudden shift occurred when your Chacha and Chachi were miraculously blessed with a baby of their own, Bilal.

The subsequent change in your household dynamic was not loud, but rather the quiet, insidious kind that broke your heart a little more each passing day, your sense of belonging bleeding away drop by drop.

Your Chacha stopped dropping you to school, your Chachi stopped packing your favourite food for your school lunch, and the chocolates you liked so much suddenly became dismissed as an unnecessary, frivolous expense, while new clothes were only ever bought for you at Eid as a customary habit.

Eventually, you were asked to vacate your room and shift to the cramped guest room, under the guise that two-year-old Bilal desperately needed his own space. But the real pain settled deep into your chest when, from being their cherished "hamari pyari gudiya," you were stripped of your endearments and became, simply Y/N.

But what is fate if not entirely cruel, yet strangely kind in the most unexpected ways?

The very person whose innocent existence had brought about this painful neglect in your life soon became the only saving grace of your entire world.

Bilal, your little cousin and brother, felt less like a relative and more like your firstborn child, possessing a sweet nature that was always far too cute to ever resist.

You vividly remembered how your Chachi, burdened by the duties of motherhood, always tasked you to wash his baby bottles and change his diapers. Oh, how you utterly hated that exhausting, thankless task back then.

But you also remembered one specific evening while you were changing his soiled clothes, when the chubby, beautiful boy suddenly caught hold of your index finger in his tiny hand, squeezing it with all his infant strength while looking directly up at you with a gummy smile.

That singular, innocent gesture was more than enough to completely melt your heart and bind you to him forever.

Another memory surfaced from a day when you had just returned home from school, when a ten-month-old, crawling Bilal curiously reached out for your colourful water bottle on the low table. The heavy bottle accidentally fell, hitting his delicate hand, and his piercing cries instantly egged your Chachi to scream and yell at you for no fault of your own.

Bilal, seeing the hot tears streaming down your face from the harsh reprimand, immediately stopped crying himself and crawled his way straight into your lap, cooing softly at you as he tried to wipe away your tears with his small, chubby hands, an act of empathy that only made you cry out even more.

Over the years, the constant neglect and emotional trauma had taken a severe toll on your mental health, resulting in you developing a binge-eating habit as a coping mechanism, which caused you to gain a noticeable amount of weight.

The extra fat accumulating on your body only made your image conscious Chachi harshly restrict your diet and police your meals, solely because they didn't want the financial hassle of finding a willing groom for a chubby, undesirable girl.

Yet, whenever the house fell silent, a five-year-old Bilal would sneak into your darkened guest room at midnight, carefully hiding chocolates and stolen gulab jamun from the kitchen fridge, whispering that he wanted his Y/N aapi to share the sweet treats with him in secret.

Just a few months ago, when your Chacha had flatly refused to pay for your college field trip, little seven-year-old Bilal, acting like the self-appointed 'Man of the House,' proudly brought out his plastic piggy bank and handed it directly to you right in front of his stunned parents.

"Yeh lo aapi, ye mere pass paise hai. Aap inse trip ki fees de dena!" he had declared stubbornly, his little chest puffed out with a fierce determination that made your uncle go completely red in the face with embarrassment, forcing him to hand you the money for the trip.

Bilal loved you unconditionally with his entire heart, and he had easily become the a centre of your universe, the anchor keeping you grounded in that cold house.

But fate was still not done playing its twisted games with your life.

It was an ordinary afternoon. Bilal was riding his brand new bicycle in the neighbourhood when a group of older boys picked on him. They cornered him, mocking his small stature, and ruthlessly pushed him off the bicycle, sending him sprawling hard onto the concrete pavement where his head struck a large stone with a sickening thud.

By the time the elders finally found his limp form, he had already lost a terrifying amount of blood, staining the pavement crimson.

You reached the hospital straight from your college campus, completely out of breath, trembling violently, and panicked out of your mind, arriving just in time to hear the grim faced doctors inform your weeping aunt and uncle about the extreme seriousness of his head injuries. The medical staff quietly asked them to prepare themselves for the worst, as his life hung by a fraying thread.

Driven by a suffocating wave of agony, you ran away from the oppressive walls of the hospital, completely broken, hysterical, and distraught. Hot, angry tears rushed down your flushed cheeks, blurring your vision as you fled into the open air.

Your chest heaved with a bitter resentment. You just couldn't catch a single break.

First, the treacherous waters had stolen your doting parents, and now, the universe was violently clawing away Bilal, the only bright light left in your miserable life.

Were you cruelly destined to lose everyone dear to your heart?

Involuntarily, guided by an unseen tether as if it were your second nature, your weak legs made their way toward the vast, open expanse of the beach.

The very same roaring sea that had started the butterfly effect of misfortunes in your life was, ironically, the only thing that calmed you down. It's crashing waves acting as if it were embracing your shattered soul.

But right now, you weren't looking for simple comfort.

You were wailing, falling to your knees on the wet sand, begging for something to hold on to, for a shred of hope, for any answer to this senseless cruelty.

You couldn't lose Bilal.

Your mind rejected the reality of his impending death, you simply could not survive in a world without him.

You were just about to raise your trembling hands to pray desperately to God, that you would willingly give up anything, absolutely anything, just to save Bilal's life, when you suddenly felt a heavy tap on your shaking shoulder.

Startled by the unexpected touch, you snapped your head back, your tear-filled eyes widening to saw a familiar old woman standing directly behind you, looking down at your pathetic form with an expression of pity.

You had seen and briefly interacted with this eccentric woman numerous times during your frequent, lonely beach trips, as she always seemed to aimlessly loiter about the shoreline.

She was a bizarre figure, wearing a long, tattered tunic that perfectly matched the slate-grey colour of the roaring sea, her long, silver hair tangled and messed up by the salt air, supporting her frail weight using a gnarled wooden walking staff. Her dark, obsidian eyes always held a knowing glint, and her chapped lips were permanently curled into a cryptic smile that often looked more like a mocking sneer than a gesture of kindness.

Your college friends had seen you chatting with her a couple of times in the past and had always strictly warned you to stay far away from her, whispering wild rumours that she was a wicked witch who dabbled in the occult.

But you knew better than to blindly believe this highly judgmental, superficial world. To you, she was simply a lonely old woman who had been cast aside by society.

You had even shared your meager food with her on several occasions, sitting quietly on the rocks while letting her ramble endlessly in her raspy voice about Allah, the terrifying wrath of the Jalad, ancient Djinns, and what not, frequently mentioning the liminal, shadowy realm that exists between the borders of life and death.

The old woman silently took in your disheveled state, her obsidian eyes boring into yours as she softly asked what terrible tragedy had occurred. You completely broke down even further, the dam bursting as you let her know everything about your beloved Bilal and the horrific accident.

When you were done recounting the incident through choked sobs, the old lady spoke with a chilling clarity that cut right through the sea breeze.

"Taqdeer ka likha ajeeb hota hai par tum chaho toh isse badal sakti ho. Lekin keemat deni hogi. Bohot badi keemat!"

The intense look in her dark eyes and the gravity of her tone chilled you to your very bones, making the hair on your arms stand on end.

But you were completely desperate, pushed to the absolute brink of sanity, and thoroughly out of your mind with grief. Even if there was a minuscule chance that you could somehow save Bilal from the jaws of death, you would not pass on the opportunity, no matter how terrifying the source.

Wiping the streaming tears from your face with the back of your hand, you got up and straightened your posture, eagerly holding her hands in a tight grip.

"Aap jitna kahengi, utna paisa dungi. Zaroorat pade toh khud ko bech dungi. Bas mera Bilal theek ho jaaye!" You pleaded, your voice cracking with grief.

Hearing your desperate offer, the old woman let out a dry, mocking laugh that sounded like scraping stones.

"Beta mujhe paise nahi chahiye. Aur jo Bilal ko bacha sakta hai woh paise nahi par jaan ke badle jaan mangega. Bilal ke badle tumhari pehli aulaad. De sakti ho?"

You were stunned into silence, the weight of her bizarre demand hanging heavily in the cold air between you. The rational, God-fearing part of your brain woke up, screaming at you to drop her hands, turn around, and run away as fast as your legs could carry you.

The forbidden act of dabbling in whatever dark, blasphemous ritual this woman had in store would mean explicitly going against God and the natural order of life and death.

But then, you remembered Bilal, the unforgettable first time his chubby infant hand had held your finger and he smiled up at you. You remembered the fierce, maternal protectiveness you felt when he had hid behind your back after breaking an expensive vase, his little heart beating fast as he thought, "Aapi bacha lengi!"

The memories rushed over you like a torrent. You remembered when he would crawl into your bed at night because his innocent little mind firmly believed that "Aapi monsters ko bhaga degi. Vo mujhe kuch nahi hone dengi!"

He was, in every sense that truly mattered, your very first baby. The thought of his small body growing cold in a morgue destroyed any lingering hesitation, and so, you made up your mind.

"Manzoor hai."

Just as those forbidden words escaped your lips, the weather suddenly worsened, shifting with an unnatural speed that mirrored the horrific day your parents died. The sky turned an apocalyptic shade of bruised purple, and the massive waves started roaring against the shore, crashing with a demonic fury.

The old woman's sneer widened into a triumphant smile, and she tightly gripped your arm, leading you directly toward the rising tidal waves. You offered no resistance, following her blindly into the foaming surf like a clueless lamb being led to the slaughter.

Before stepping deeper into the dark, freezing water, she stopped, reaching into the tattered bag she always carried over her shoulder to pull out two distinct objects.

A curved dagger and a highly polished conch shell, its smooth, cream-white surface gleaming with a stark, unnatural brilliance against the bleak, grey backdrop of the thrashing waves.

Upon closer inspection, the shell's apex and its tapering spire were heavily encased in dark, intricately chased silver metal that seemed to absorb the dim light. Embedded along the ornate metal seams were expertly cut stones of vibrant turquoise and blood-red coral, gleaming in the darkness like unblinking eyes.

But it was the terrifying ink written upon the white calcium of the shell that intrigued you. Drawn meticulously across its spiral body were lines of a bizarre, ancient black and crimson script.

You couldn't understand a single syllable of what was written, but merely looking at the arcane shell made you feel profoundly unsettled.

Once again, a voice in your head screamed at you to run away and never look back, but before you could gather your scattered bearings, the old lady had dragged you straight into the rising, waist-deep water.

With an unnatural speed, she raised the sharp dagger and sliced your hand open, cutting deep right in the middle of your palm. You let out a sharp cry as the blood welled up from the wound.

Gasping in pain, you tried to pull your hand back from her grasp, but she held onto your wrist with an unbreakable grip, as if that frail, weathered old woman possessed the supernatural strength of a giant.

She forcefully guided your bleeding hand directly over the open chamber of the conch shell, spilling your blood into its white depths, staining the ancient calcium. Then, she dipped the bloodied conch deep into the sea water and held it high above her head, facing the vast, endless horizon of the ocean as she began to mutter a guttural chant under her breath.

"Ya Maarid al-'awaasifi wal-bihaar il-'ameeqah,

Ya man tamarrada 'ala az-zamaani wa quyoodih.

Bi-sultaani al-maa'il-maalihi was-sirril-madfooni fee a'maaq il-aqmaar,

Astad'eeka min az-zulumaat is-saheeqah.

Iqtarib bila khawfin, wahdur bila ghadab,

Bil-'ahdil-qadeemi alladhi la yuksar,

Taqaddam wa taalib bi-'aroosik!

Tajassad amaamee, wasma' nidaa'ee!"

You strained your ears through the howling gale, desperately trying to comprehend the words ripping from her throat, but the weather had worsened drastically, the violent currents tossing your fragile body aside as the water rose to your chest.

As she kept relentlessly muttering the chant again and again, the old woman suddenly snapped her head down to look at you, and you saw her eyes completely gloss over, a terrifyingly black void swallowing up her irises and whites entirely.

The sight of that demonic, empty gaze made you let out a blood-curdling scream of pure terror.

You screamed until your throat scraped raw and tried to break away from her hold to swim back to the shore, but it was far too late.

A gargantuan wave rose from the depths and crashed over your head with the force of a falling mountain, violently knocking you into unconsciousness.

You woke up what felt like a few minutes later, gasping for air as you rolled over onto the dry sand of the shore, completely alone. You forced yourself up onto shaky legs, your mind spinning as you looked around the deserted beach.

By all accounts of reality, you should have been shivering violently, freezing, and drenched to the bone from being swallowed by a tidal wave, but to your bewilderment, your clothes and hair were dry. Even the sky above had drastically altered, looking perfectly sunny without a single storm cloud in sight.

Slowly, with a racing heart, you raised your right hand to inspect the injury, but you saw that there was no cut, no blood and not even a faint scar in the centre of your palm.

Were you losing your mind?

"Y/N!"

A familiar voice sliced through the heavy silence of the shore. You snapped your head around to see Shaheen sprinting towards you, her face etched with panic.

Before you could even register her approach, she threw her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, while your own hands hung limply by your sides, heavy as lead.

Your mind was still trying to comprehend the impossible surrealism of what had just transpired.

Sensing your lack of response, Shaheen pulled away slightly, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

"I have been looking for you like crazy! I went to the hospital to see you but you were not there. Na phone utha rahi thi, na message ka jawab diya! Pata hai hum sab kitna darr gaye the?! Jaldi hospital chal!"

Something about the urgency in her voice made your heart drop straight into your stomach. Your mind instantly began constructing the most catastrophic scenarios, convincing you that Bilal had succumbed to his horrific injuries while you were wasting time on a desolate beach.

Your limbs went numb as you allowed Shaheen to guide you. You both scrambled into her parked car and sped through the chaotic city streets, reaching the hospital in record time, only to see your Chachi suddenly leaping out from her plastic chair the moment you entered the corridor, running forward to hug you tightly and kiss your head, something she hadn't done in the last seven years.

"Bilal khatre se bahar hai, hum sabki dua qubool ho gayi." Your Chachi wept against your neck. As those miraculous words registered, you hugged her back, a wave of overwhelming relief washing over your body. The adrenaline finally ebbed off your nervous system, making you slump into a nearby chair as your knees threatened to give out.

"Bilal hosh mein aaya tha todhi der pehle. Keh raha tha aapi aai thi bachane. Aapi ko bulao jaldi," your Chachi added, her voice cracking with tears of gratitude as she wiped her eyes.

Despite the fact that your limbs felt leaden and every cell in your body ached with exhaustion that made you want to sleep for an eternity, you forced yourself up immediately, to see Bilal with your own eyes.

Stepping into the ICU, your heart broke at the sight in front of you. Bilal's swollen head was wrapped in thick white bandages, his small frame looked completely limp against the hospital sheets, and an array of humming machines and clear plastic tubes were hooked to his fragile body.

Yet, the crushing weight in your chest vanished entirely when his tiny hand twitched, weakly gripping your index finger in a feeble hold.

He opened his mouth to try and speak, but a painful wince rippled across his features, prompting you to quickly soothe the messy hair from his forehead, whispering softly for him to just rest and reassuring him that you both would have plenty of time to talk later.

The next few weeks in your household were nothing short of magic, defying every medical expectation.

Bilal recovered within a matter of days. He went back to hopping and running around the house like that horrific incident had never even occurred.

A strange, unprecedented calm settled over the entire house, primarily because your Chachi stopped her relentless taunting, snide remarks, and unprovoked yelling, choosing instead to treat you with a civil, almost respectful deference.

To your absolute shock and surprise, even your usually rigid and traditionalist Chacha finally agreed to let you explore pursuing a Master's degree, dropping the oppressive ultimatum of forcing you into an arranged marriage the very second you completed your Bachelor's degree.

You too felt different, as if some unseen, essence had taken root deep within you.

Your long, dark hair suddenly gained a rich, luscious bounce and a glossy sheen, its thick waves now ending in coils right at the curve of your waist. Your skin glowed with a radiant luminescence, your eyes sparkled and instead of feeling the lethargy that had always plagued your daily routine, you felt immensely energised and upbeat.

However, among all these sudden, positive changes, there was one strange, routine alteration that constantly nagged at the back of your mind.

As a spiritual person, you had always made it a strict point to pray at least two times a day, if not all five prayers, but lately, you found yourself too exhausted to even wake up for the first prayer of dawn, and far too wound up and sleepy to perform the last prayer of the night.

It had been exactly two months since Bilal was officially discharged from the hospital, and with your gruelling final exams successfully behind you, you and your closest friends decided to spend the day by cafe hopping around the city, ultimately ending the long day at the beach to watch the sunset.

So here you were, looking out at the blazing, setting sun as it dipped below the horizon and taking in the silence of the ocean.

Shaheen, Aiza, and Razia were shouting and frolicking happily in the foaming waves a few yards away, while you stayed back on the dry sand, looking at the dark water for the first time in your life with a unsettling apprehension instead of your usual awe, while guarding their discarded purses and phones left on the sand.

"Aap nahi jayengi?"

A smooth, velvet voice laced with a resonating baritone asked, sounding from somewhere directly behind you, the vibration of the words seeming to ripple straight through the ground and up your spine.

"Nahi, mujhe darr lagta hai. Samundar se mera naata kuch theek nahi," you replied immediately, your eyes still trained on your distant friends before you realised that you had just casually answered an absolute stranger.

You turned around quickly to see who had spoken, and your body instantly collided against a solid, unyielding wall of dense muscle.

Dressed in a black sweatshirt and grey cargo pants, the towering man standing before you was built with the flawless symmetry of the statue of Poseidon himself.

Your wide eyes involuntarily moved up the expansive breadth of his vast chest, the thick fabric of his sweatshirt doing absolutely nothing to hide the well defined, lean muscle and the bulging contour of his biceps beneath.

Your gaze drifted down to his large hands, noticing that his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a map of pulsing veins that made you wonder what it would feel like to hold his hands.

Finally forcing your eyes upward to take in his face, you almost stopped breathing, the air trapping itself in your lungs.

His eyes left you utterly mesmerised.

They were as dark and grey as the waves of the roaring Arabian Sea during twilight, holding a violent, swirling storm within their depths while simultaneously exerting a strangely calming effect on your racing heart.

His chiseled aristocratic face was half-covered with a well-trimmed, dark beard, his lips full yet firmly pressed together in a line, and his thick, dark hair was perfectly ruffled by the ocean breeze, making your fingers instantly itch with a reckless desire to comb through the strands.

Completely transfixed, your mind spinning under his intense gaze, you finally managed to blurt out a clumsy apology.

"Sorry! Mujhe pata nahi tha aap peeche khade hai." You winced, wondering why your voice sounded so remarkably husky and entirely out of breath.

A dark smile spread across his handsome face, causing your legs to buckle in beneath you.

"Koi baat nahi. Shayad main zyada qareeb aa gaya," he murmured, his grey eyes dropping to look at your lips as you, entirely unknowingly and driven by a magnetic pull, took a step closer to his towering form.

Suddenly, the distant voices of your friends called out your name from the shoreline, breaking the trance that had enveloped you.

You turned your head around to look towards them, your foot twisting awkwardly in the shifting sand as you lost your balance and began to fall. But instead of falling flat on your face onto the ground, you found yourself suspended in mid-air as his massive hands caught you by the waist.

You turned your head back to look at him, your faces now painfully close together. As if the ocean wind had been waiting for his silent command, a strong gust of air suddenly roared across the beach, creating a twirling dance of sand and dust around you.

You were entirely unaffected by the storm, as the silky fabric of your dupatta flew upward, draping itself over your face along with his, creating a bubble around the two of you.

His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, gripping the bone and twisting you effortlessly to face him, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips. You moved forward under the pressure, your nose touching the cool tip of his, your foreheads firmly pressed together, and your lips a mere microscopic thread apart from a kiss.

You felt utterly drunk, dangerously intoxicated by the sensation of his proximity.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tilted your head, waiting in anticipation for his full lips to finally claim yours, but his face moved aside, his lips brushing an inch away from your ear as his coarse beard scratched delightfully against your flushed cheek.

"Meri ijazat ke begair tumhe koi dard, koi qatra nahi chu sakta," he whispered.

You snapped your eyes open, gasping for air, only to find the space completely empty. He had vanished, leaving you standing alone in the quiet wind.

Shaheen approached you, her sandals crunching loudly against the dry sand.

"Kabse bula rahe hai, sunai nahi de raha? Achanak kitni tez hawa chal rahi thi na?!" She kept grumbling incessantly about the violent gust, dusting the fine grains from her clothes and complained bitterly about how her meticulously styled hair was now completely ruined.

She paused when she noticed how eerily quiet you were. Her expression shifted from that of annoyance to deep concern as she looked at your pale face.

"Kya hua Y/N?" she worriedly asked, her voice softening as she stepped closer to peer into your eyes.

You decided to keep the surreal encounter to yourself. After all, how could you possibly explain to your pragmatic friend that you had just been held in the heated embrace of a breathtaking stranger, had almost kissed him, only for the man to vanish into thin air right before your eyes?

Desperate to escape her probing gaze, you quickly changed the topic, offering to break the tension by fetching some refreshing kulfi for the entire group. Since Shaheen wanted a decadent ice cream sundae, you seized the opportunity to distance yourself from the shoreline, volunteering to cross the busy coastal road to fetch the kulfis and ice cream from the brightly lit dessert parlour on the other side.

As you stepped off the curb and began making your way across the asphalt, your brain was still fixated on the stranger's mesmerising, twilight-grey eyes, completely consuming your thoughts.

Because of this, you noticed the speeding car tearing down the street a little too late, your eyes widening in horror as the headlights blinded you.

But before the vehicle could make impact, someone had already knocked you to the side. You fell onto the hard road, scrapping your hands and knees against the gravel, but before the shock of the near fatal incident could even seep in, unconsciousness claimed you.

The next time you opened your eyes, the chaotic sounds of the traffic had vanished, replaced by the quiet atmosphere of a hospital room.

You found yourself surrounded by the anxious faces of Shaheen, Aiza, and Razia, while little Bilal was perched to your right, his small hand holding your fingers in a tight grip.

You tried to push yourself up from the mattress, but a sharp pain shot directly up your right hand, forcing a small gasp from your throat as you noticed an IV drip connected to the back of your skin, delivering fluids into your veins.

"Aaram se leti reh, zyada hill mat," Aiza murmured, immediately moving closer to your bedside to tenderly adjust the pillows behind your back and ease you back down.

"Kya hua tha?" You asked, your voice sounding confused and thoroughly disoriented as you looked around the white room.

Shaheen let out a breathless sigh of relief before explaining the chaos. "Ek pagal tez gaadi se tujhe udane wala tha. Accha hai woh khambe ne tujhe dhakka de diya. Minor injuries hai par theek ho jayegi jaldi. Weakness ki wajah se drip lagayi hai isilye kal subah discharge milega."

Bilal's face beamed as he chimed in, eager to take care of his favourite person.

"Haa aapi! Doctor uncle ne bola hai no kaam, only sleep. Ab hum board games khelenge!"

You reached out weakly to ruffle his soft hair and offered a reassuring smile, trying your best to ease the worry lingering in everyone's eyes.

Still, the mystery of your survival gnawed at your chest, and you looked toward the girls, asking, "Kon tha woh?"

Razia shook her head, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks as she recollected the mysterious saviour.

"Pata nahi. Some random hot stranger. He dropped us at the hospital and jaise hi tu admit hui, vo chala gaya." she informed.

You knew exactly who it was.

You felt it in your very bones that it was the exact same stranger from the shoreline. He wasn't a figment of your overactive imagination or a hallucination after all.

Suddenly, Bilal leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a thrilled, conspiratorial whisper.

"Aapi uski aankein blue blue glow kar rahi thi!"

You offered a faint nod, rationalising that a child's innocent imagination truly had no bounds, which is why he believed he saw glowing blue eyes instead of the fierce, stormy grey ones that had pierced your soul on the beach.

Later that night, once the visitors were sent home and the hospital ward fell into a dead quiet, you fell into a heavy slumber and began to dream vividly about him.

In the subconscious realm, you felt his oppressive presence manifest in the darkness, sensing him standing directly next to your bed. The surreal sensation grew intensely, as you felt him slowly get onto the mattress, the frame dipped significantly under his weight, and warmth instantly engulfed your shivering body as he lay down right next to you.

In your deep sleep, you felt his powerful arms slide underneath your frame, lifting you slightly so that your head rested perfectly against the hard, muscular plane of his chest. His arms wrapped around you, moving up and down against your back in a slow, soothing motion.

Gradually, the protective cocoon of his arms shifted, turning into a heated embrace that made your pulse begin to race in your sleep.

You felt him lean down, pressing a kiss onto your closed eyelids, his coarse facial hair scratching your skin before his predatory eyes began raking over the length of your body, visually drinking you in.

Heat pooled between your legs as he carefully adjusted your body back onto the mattress, rolling you onto your back while he propped his massive frame directly over you. The thin, flimsy fabric of your hospital gown failed miserably to hide the lush curves of your body, straining against your skin.

His large hands moved under the hem of the hospital gown, slowly sliding up the sensitive skin of your thighs and stomach until they reached the swelling undersides of your breasts.

He cupped the soft flesh firmly, his fingers fondling and kneading the heavy mounds with a pressure that made you whimper.

When he suddenly withdrew his hands, an unbidden groan of frustration left your lips at the lack of contact, but a second later, his hands returned, ruthlessly bunching the thin gown upward toward your neck, completely exposing your bare bosom to the cool air of the room. You hissed, your mind entirely paralysed and unable to force your eyelids open.

Suddenly, his warm mouth closed over one aching breast, his fingers simultaneously grasping and playing with the other one, setting a ruthless, intoxicating rhythm.

His lips pressed hot kisses against the sensitive areola, his tongue flicking across the tight, hardened rosebud of your nipple in a teasing manner. Then, his mouth aggressively sucked your breast as if it contained a sweet nectar for him to greedily swallow down.

His sharp teeth bit down on the engorged flesh, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cunt, making you moan out loud in the darkness. You desperately wanted to push his large shoulders away, but within the confines of this dream, you were utterly at his mercy.

You felt him smile against your skin, highly amused by your helplessness. His lips closed tightly around your nipple once more, pulling at it with an intense suction while his large hand squeezed the other breast harshly, forcing an overwhelming wave of pleasure and pain to wash over you simultaneously as your fingers tightly gripped the sheets.

Finally, he let go of the wet mound with a plop, only to lavish the exact same torturous attention on your other breast. His hands eventually left your torso and traveled downward, caressing the sensitive slope of your stomach and the flare of your hips, all the while his mouth continued its relentless, devouring assault on your chest.

In a desperate bid to release some of the mounting tension coiling deep within your womb, you rubbed your thighs together,

He growled, his massive hands sliding firmly along your inner thighs, forcefully parting them wide as he properly settled his weight directly between your spread legs.

He let go of your breast, trailing open mouthed, searing kisses down the valley of your chest, mapping a path directly toward your quivering stomach while his fingers trailed higher up the inside of your thighs.

Just as his long fingers laced into the thin elastic hem of your panties, you felt someone firmly shake your shoulders.

The sudden contact snapped your eyes open, and you woke up with a start, your chest heaving as you tore yourself from the trance.

The dark figure was gone.

Instead, a nurse was standing directly at your bedside in the dim fluorescent light, looking down at your flushed face with worry.

"Ma'am, are you alright? You were whimpering in your sleep," the nurse said, her voice laced with concern.

You felt mortified, your face going red in the dim light. How on earth were you supposed to explain to a stranger what the source of your whimpers was?

You couldn't believe your mind had conjured such a filthy dream about a man you had only met a few hours prior.

Worse still, you could clearly feel wetness soaking through the fabric of your panties between your thighs, making you burn with embarrassment.

"I'm...I'm fine. Just a bad dream," you stuttered out, your voice trembling as you pulled the hospital blanket tightly over your waist to hide your state.

The nurse looked at you with sympathy, assuming it was trauma from the car accident. She quietly injected a soothing sedative into your IV line, and before stepping out into the hallway, she softly told you to call for her if you needed anything or experienced a nightmare again.

Yes, you desperately told yourself, that is exactly what this was.

A twisted, hyper-realistic nightmare born of stress.

But as you lay there perfectly still in the dark, trying to calm your racing heart, a terrifying realisation froze the blood in your veins.

If it was truly only a figment of your imagination, how come your skin was still tingling, and you could distinctly feel the phantom weight of his hands lingering all over your body?

And more horrifyingly, how was your tightly sealed, sterile hospital room suddenly smelling so strongly of crashing, salt-laden sea waves?

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You were a grownass woman. You should not be hiding behind tall plants like some lunatic who had escaped from jail.

Yet here you were, wedged between the oversized leaves of a potted monstera, seeking out any quiet place that the bustling venue could afford.

The ambient chatter of the party roared just beyond your leafy fortress, but you remained anchored in place.

It was entirely because of Natasha.

Well, perhaps you could not blame her entirely.

She certainly should not be held accountable for the magnitude of your cowardice. But you could absolutely blame her for trying to set you up. Despite the fact that you had explained to her numerous times that you did not want or need a man in your life, she had willfully ignored your boundaries.

You loved your crushes to be entirely out of your league and comfortably out of reach, that way, you could thirst over them in peace and call it a day without any real-world consequences.

Natasha, however, had decided to play the part of your fairy godmother. She was determined to conjure up a brooding, dark, mysterious boyfriend for you out of thin air.

Your cheeks burned with a flush of embarrassment as you winced at the memory of your own recent behaviour, recalling exactly how you had gushed like a literal, starstruck teenager after watching Dhurandhar.

While your other friends had been busy drooling over how incredibly hot Akshaye Khanna had looked on screen, which was completely understandable and Natasha's brain had short-circuited after staring at Ranveer Singh's biceps, again completely valid reaction, your focus had been stolen by someone else.

You could not stop staring at the towering actor who had played Uzair Baloch. In a fit of excitement during the credits, you had loudly gushed to the girls about how you would climb that man like a tree in a heartbeat. All the while, Natasha had kept staring at you with an insufferably knowing look.

Later that night, after you had changed into your oversized pajamas, diligently completed your multi-step nightly skincare routine, and slipped under the comforting weight of your blanket, you found yourself hopelessly doomscrolling.

Naturally, your curiosity won, and you ended up deep-diving into his Instagram profile. You hadn't seen him in any notable projects before this film, but going through his profile only solidified one undeniable fact.

This man was smoking hot.

However, it was only when you began reading his captions that your eyes truly popped out of your head.

Okay, this man was freaky, and not in a bad way.

Unable to contain yourself, you had immediately texted Natasha while continuing to stalk his feed into the early hours of the morning.

Natasha loved love and was always the stubbornly optimistic type when it came to romance, but you knew better than anyone else how the entertainment industry operated.

You knew that these theatre-kids turned actors always had a stick of self-importance up their ass. No matter how much of a famous influencer you were, or how incredibly hard you had worked to build your brand and get to where you were today, these traditional Bollywood peeps always looked down on your profession.

You were convinced that a serious, trained actor like him wouldn't even spare a casual glance your way, considering your work beneath his artistic standards.

Not that you particularly minded, of course.

The absolute last thing you wanted right now was to get saddled with a man and all the emotional baggage that came with a relationship, or at least, that was the convenient lie you constantly told yourself to keep your guard up.

Because deep down, beneath all the cynical jokes and humour, you knew your standards were simply a bit too high, and you feared no real man in this lifetime would ever be able to fulfill them.

So, on that night, you had finally put your phone away when your yawns became too frequent to ignore, drifting off to sleep with the comforting thought that your crush would remain safely unattainable.

But Natasha had dropped a bomb on you just two days later.

The occasion was Rohan's 31st birthday party, a celebration that had brought together a lively crowd. Natasha and Rohan had been dating for the past one year, and they were the absolute epitome of relationship goals.

They were the sole reason you occasionally felt that aching urge to have someone like that in your own life.

Your person.

Someone who truly understood you.

You had dolled yourself up for the event, wearing an outfit that made you feel confident, and you were actually having a genuinely good time because the night was still young and your social battery hadn't run out just yet. Then, your eyes had landed on him across the crowded room.

This man looked even sexier in person than he did on a massive screen.

He was wearing a crisp white shirt with the first few buttons casually left open, and looking at the exposed skin of his collarbones, you felt an urge to reach out and open the rest of them as well.

You typically did not like chest hair on men, but looking at his broad frame, you thought you would have happily decorated that toned chest with hickeys.

His broad shoulders seemed to physically fill the space around him, commanding attention without him even trying. His hair was perfectly tousled, falling in a way that made you think it would be the perfect thing to hold onto when he was eating—

Oh my god, no! You needed to get your brain out of the gutter.

"Stop eye fucking him. It's getting very obvious," Natasha's voice suddenly materialised right next to your ear, making you jump half a foot in the air

You felt completely scandalised, your face burning as you grumbled a defensive, "I wasn't!"

Ignoring your protests entirely, she grabbed your wrist and started dragging you purposefully through the crowd toward the exact spot where he was standing, chatting animatedly with Rohan.

"Where are you taking me?" you hissed in a blind panic, your feet dragging against the floor as you tried to resist her strength.

Natasha merely turned her head to give you her characteristic bright grin and said, "To meet your future husband! Also, it completely slipped my mind, Danish and Rohan are gym buddies."

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers. You were absolutely certain that you looked like a startled, cartoon Bambi. Before you could successfully break free from her grip or formulate an escape plan, you were brought to a sudden halt, standing directly in front of the two boys.

"Danish, meet Y/N! Y/N, Danish," Natasha announced cheerfully, gesturing between the two of you with an insufferably pleased expression.

He politely extended his hand forward but you were far too busy taking him in to react properly. You were trapped looking into his deep, obsidian eyes, then tracing the straight line of his nose, and then staring at his full lips—

You were acting no better than a man, objectifying him on the spot.

You completely missed his extended hand, left frozen in the air, before Natasha let out a loud cough to snap you out of your trance.

"Oh umm, hiiiii!" you blurted out awkwardly, quickly scrambling to meet his grasp.

His hands were incredibly warm, and they completely covered yours in a steady handshake that sent an unexpected jolt up your arm. You weren't short by any means, but this man was uber tall, making you feel delightfully petite.

The absolute last thing you wanted right now was for your size kink to get activated in the middle of a crowded birthday party.

"I thought Natasha was joking when she said she knew you," Danish said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a soft smile broke across his face.

Even his voice sounded so rich and grounded, flowing over you like a soothing melody.

Okay, maybe Natasha was actually right for once. You desperately needed to get out more and get laid, because why the fuck were you acting like a Victorian-era village girl living in the courtyards who had laid eyes on a strong, armoured knight for the very first time?

Then, the actual weight of his words registered in your brain.

"You know me?" you asked, your voice slightly rising in surprise.

"Should I not?" he responded, a shy, endearing laugh escaping his lips as he looked down at you.

"Kab tak hath pakad kar khade rahoge, hath thakk jayege!" Rohan teased you both, interrupting the bubble that had formed around you.

You were still holding hands, your fingers tightly laced with Danish's in an extended handshake. You quickly pulled your hand back, and as you did, you saw how Danish was blushing profusely, a deep crimson heat rushing up his neck to his face.

When his eyes met yours, the awkwardness of the moment hit you both, causing you to look away quickly in opposite directions.

"I am a fan, really," Danish offered gently, breaking the tense silence as he tried to smooth over the embarrassment. "I love your podcast. For someone who is way behind what is happening on the net everyday, it helps me to catch up, and I absolutely love your movie reviews."

You were even more surprised now, your jaw practically dropping. You had fully expected a haughty, unapproachable actor who was probably riding high on his newfound celebrity status, but he sounded incredibly genuine, humble, and sweet.

You still had not expected that he would even know about the existence of your podcast, "The Great Indian Popculture," where you routinely discussed everything and anything that was happening in the contemporary social atmosphere. And while you always reviewed movies from time to time, it was more like you just rambling away on mic rather than offering any serious critique.

"She is yet to review Dhurandhar but she really loved it," Natasha piped up, "Especially you, I mean the way you acted in the film."

You were going to kill her. This faux pas of hers was no mere slip of the tongue. While you were busy shooting literal daggers at a smug Natasha and at Rohan, who was actively ducking his head to hide his snickering, Danish looked like he was going to melt into the floor from the compliment.

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, his boyish charm on full display as he muttered, "Thank you! It means a lot!"

There was a brief, excruciatingly awkward pause where nobody knew what to say next, and after that, you weren't proud of what you did, but you chose survival.

"I think I just heard Nina calling me! Be right back!" you lied, stepping backward.

You had indeed not been right back.

You had spent the remainder of the evening actively dodging Danish, utilising every corner, guest group, and large piece of decor to ensure your paths didn't cross.

Again, yes, you knew you were acting entirely childish, but it wasn't your fault that the man was doing unexplainable things to your composure just by standing in a room.

When you finally left the party early, solely because you had to attend an upcoming event organised in Dubai by a high-fashion brand and needed to catch a flight in less than four hours, you had desperately hoped this was the last you would see of him, because you were hell-bent on acting like a bumbling, incoherent fool around him.

This was not the last you saw of him.

Once you stopped being a socially inept cave dweller and actually engaged in a proper conversation with him, you discovered that his presence in your life was about to become a constant.

Following the monumental success of Dhurandhar, his agent had advised him to be incredibly discerning, urging him to only take up roles with substance. Their strategy was for him to establish a stronghold in Bollywood and achieve critical acclaim, leaving the unpredictable gamble of mindless commercial success or failure to the nepo kids who had daddy's money to fall back on.

Consequently, his current schedule was surprisingly clear. He was busy reading scripts at a leisurely pace, waiting for Dhurandhar: The Revenge to release, and taking the opportunity to finally chill for a while. It was a well-deserved hiatus after enduring a gruesome and physically draining two-year shooting schedule.

Because he was intentionally keeping his professional commitments light, he suddenly had an abundance of free time. Thus, ever since the night of Rohan's birthday party, he seemed to be everywhere.

Unfortunately, him being a downright gentleman was not helping your case or your escalating crush on him.

Danish possessed a magnetic kind of charisma that felt entirely out of place in a world dominated by superficial charm. He was truly one of the exceptionally few men you had ever come across who actively listened when you spoke, absorbing your words with genuine curiosity rather than just pretending to listen while impatiently waiting for his own turn to start talking.

His attentiveness extended far beyond conversation. He possessed an almost hyper-vigilant sense of empathy, always looking out for the people around him and anticipating their needs before they even realised them themselves.

But if he was attentive to the group, the level of care he directed toward you was on an entirely different scale.

You had a terrible habit of indulging in iced beverages even when a persistent cough threatened to completely ruin your voice during the seasonal changes. During one of your casual weekend hangouts at a cozy, dimly lit café owned by one of Rohan's close friends, you had predictably reached across the rustic wooden table for a tall glass of iced coffee.

Before your fingers could even wrap around the glass, Danish's large hand smoothly intercepted yours as he replaced the freezing tumbler with a ceramic mug filled to the brim with steaming ginger tea that he had discreetly ordered for you the moment you walked in.

When you looked up to offer him a sheepish smile, he simply fixed you with a faux stern look. Satisfied that you had taken a sip of the warm, soothing liquid, his features instantly softened into a brief smile before he seamlessly turned his attention back to his ongoing conversation with Rohan as if it were absolutely nothing.

Then there were those days when you joined Danish and Rohan on their morning run. God only knew what kind of insanity had possessed you to agree to their proposal of joining them for their fitness routine.

While Rohan ran as though he were preparing for the Olympics, Danish effortlessly kept pace with him. You, on the other hand, usually ended up utterly spent after about thirty to forty minutes, having initially sprinted as if you had a grizzly bear chasing after you.

While Rohan would simply roll his eyes affectionately at your breathless state and continue his stride forward, Danish without fail, would slow down his pace until he was matching your sluggish steps.

"Hum thodi der kahi bench par baith jaate hai."

You always felt guilty over slowing down their momentum. So you quickly shook your head in defiance, trying to mask your exhaustion.

"Nahi nahi, I'm not that tired," you managed to wheeze out, your hands resting on your knees as you gasped for air. "Let's keep running."

Danish looked down at you with amusement.

"Main thakk gaya hu," he offered, with a perfectly controlled breathing while you were standing there visibly heaving.

Without waiting for another protest, his hand came to rest lightly against your back, as he guided you toward the nearby bench so you could recover in comfort.

Then there was that incident, when the entire gang had driven out to watch a newly released horror movie at a drive-in theater. Taking one for the team, you were sent to navigate the concession area to get a much-needed refill of your snacks during the interval.

You had been standing patiently in a slowly moving line under the neon lights when you suddenly noticed a group of boys loitering nearby. They were staring directly at you with a lewd look that made your stomach drop and left you feeling exposed and deeply uncomfortable.

When you saw them whisper among themselves and begin slowly moving in your direction, you decided to immediately head back to the safety of the car and send one of the boys to grab the snacks.

As you spun around on your heel, you collided with a broad, solid chest. Strong hands instantly clamped onto your waist, catching you before you could clumsily stumble backward onto the asphalt.

You looked up, gasping, only to find Danish standing over you. Once his eyes raked over your face and he made sure you were stable on your feet, his eyes flicked over your shoulder toward the approaching group.

The gentle, boyish expression you were so used to entirely vanished, replaced by a blood-curdling, murderous glare that was so dark it physically radiated hostility. The boys stopped dead in their tracks, their bravado evaporating as they immediately scurried away into the dark corners of the venue.

You knew you shouldn't have found this as overwhelmingly hot as you did, but your heart was hammering against your ribs.

With his hands still resting firmly on your waist, their warmth easily seeping through the thin fabric of your top, you couldn't help but stare up at him in silence.

You silently prayed that you weren't visibly drooling.

He finally tore his eyes away from the crowd and turned to look to you, his voice dropping into a low register that vibrated straight to your core.

"Are you okay?"

Your brain had completely short-circuited under his touch, leaving you only capable of managing a small nod.

"You can go back," Danish said, his grip lingering on your waist for just a fraction of a second longer before he slowly let go. "I'll get the snacks."

"No, it's fine, they're gone—"

"Y/N," he interrupted, "I'll get the snacks."

He did not need to tell you twice. That quiet, authoritative tone sent a delicious shiver running straight down your spine.

Again, this was not helping you in the slightest.

If anything, it was actively eroding the carefully constructed defences you had built around your heart.

You were thoroughly surprised that he had managed to see through your public image and catch onto how you avoided large gatherings.

In your professional circles, you effortlessly acted the part of a social butterfly, it was after all, a certain curated persona you had to keep up for the sake of your career. In reality, you were an introvert through and through.

When Nayan, one for your common friends, had finally bought a duplex apartment for himself after weeks of searching, he had thrown a lavish housewarming party, extending invitations to his closest friends and colleagues alike.

The apartment was vibrant, filled with the warmth of congratulations and the background hum of music, but after a couple of hours, the charm began to wear thin.

You had gotten thoroughly exhausted after engaging in superficial small talk about the humid Mumbai weather for literally the hundredth time that evening. Your energy was depleting rapidly, leaving you feeling entirely drained as you looked around the crowded living room.

You eventually found yourself cornered in a relatively quiet section of the room, standing awkwardly while a guy tried to hit on you. His clumsy flirtation was entirely failing to land, mostly because this wannabe finance guy lacked the crucial requirement of being the towering, 6’2 ball of pure sunshine who had been the sole subject of your daydreams for weeks.

You had mentally checked out of this party an hour ago, completely detached from the conversation, but you were far too shy and polite to leave early when all your close friends were still scattered around the room enjoying themselves.

So, you resorted to blankly staring at the man, a thoroughly fake, practiced smile plastered tightly on your face while you nodded at calculated intervals to pretend you were listening.

Just as your mind was about to wander entirely, you felt a hand gently rest on the small of your back, and your entire body was instantly engulfed in a familiar warmth.

The touch sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and you didn't even need to look to recognise the presence. You tilted your head upward, confirming your suspicions as you saw Danish standing right at your side, looking down at you with a completely unreadable expression in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, a sudden lump forming in your throat because, god, he looked so utterly kissable right now in the soft lighting.

Before you could even formulate a coherent thought, he smoothly interceded on your behalf, "Nayan is looking for you."

Danish offered a remarkably polite yet firm, "Excuse us," and with a gentle, guiding pressure against your back, he expertly whisked you away from the conversation, leading you through the crowd and out onto the empty balcony.

There was no sign of Nayan anywhere on the balcony, causing you to turn toward Danish with a confused look.

He rubbed the back of his neck and confessed, "Nayan wasn't really looking for you. I just saw you talking to that guy, and you honestly looked physically pained, so I decided to play your knight in shining armour."

To emphasise his point, he even bowed down dramatically, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Oh my god! Yes, I was! I have absolutely no idea what that man was even yapping about. Thank you!" you exclaimed, leaning against the balcony railing in pure relief.

"Please, don't mention it."

The two of you stood in a comfortable silence for a moment, admiring the sprawling expanse of the Mumbai skyline stretched out beneath the night sky.

The night air was growing noticeably crisper, and when he noticed you subtly rubbing your bare arms to fight off the creeping chill, he immediately slipped off the jacket he was wearing and draped it carefully over your trembling shoulders.

Startled by the gesture, you automatically protested, "Hey, no, I'm fine! You'll also get cold—"

But he cut you off with a firm, knowing look, gently grabbing your arms by the wrists and guiding them into the oversized sleeves of his jacket.

This sudden, close proximity and the heavy, intoxicating scent of his signature cologne wrapping around you was making you utterly dizzy. He even smelled heavenly.

Once you had properly put the jacket on, it completely dwarfed your frame, the hem swallowing you up. You caught him trailing his eyes over your frame, his gaze lingering on how small you looked wrapped in his jacket while he stood incredibly close to you.

He shook his head slightly, an imperceptible smirk on his face, as he briefly looked away before turning his head to look at you again, his voice dropping to a more reflective register.

"I can understand, you know," Danish murmured, leaning his forearms against the railing. "As an actor, I'm always expected to talk at length about the projects I'm promoting and share my experiences. And though I'm always genuinely excited and eager to talk about my work, and I'm incredibly grateful for all the opportunities that I get, I think I would gladly do away with interacting with so many people on a daily basis. It can be exhausting."

A relieved laugh bubbled up from your chest, a poor attempt to cover just how incredibly nervous his closeness was making you.

"Finally, someone who actually gets me,"

He joined in your laughter, the sound low and resonant in the quiet night air, before he offered a warm, encouraging smile.

"Chin up," he teased gently, nudging your shoulder with his own. "You're honestly much better at cosplaying as an extrovert than I am."

"Please, you're literally like a real-life Snow White. Everyone absolutely loves you," you scoffed playfully.

Uzair leaned down, bringing himself directly to your eye level, locking his deep obsidian eyes straight onto yours as he whispered, "Really? Everyone?"

Your brain began screaming "abort mission" at the sheer intensity of his gaze. But you were fiercely determined to stop making a total fool of yourself around him, so you gathered every ounce of your composure and tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Yeah, well, don't you see what they call you on the internet? Mr. National Crush ?"

"Yeah, I have heard," he replied, his voice dropping an octave as he held your gaze. "I would only ever want one girl crushing on me, though."

Was he actually flirting with you, or were you just being completely delusional?

You ultimately forced yourself to go with the latter option, because Danish was notoriously nice to literally everyone in his life, this was likely just his naturally charming way of trying to cheer you up after a long night.

Unable to help the giggle that erupted from your lips anyway, you playfully swatted his broad shoulder.

"God, you're so cheesy," you mumbled, making him break into a triumphant grin.

He took in your exhausted form and asked, "Do you want to leave early?"

You dismissed his concern with a reassuring shake of your head.

"No, I just need some peace and quiet for a moment. I'll join you guys in a few minutes," you replied, wanting to savour the fresh air a little longer.

He went quiet, his dark eyes searching your face as he seemed to consider something, a thoughtful expression crossing his handsome features before he smiled.

"Let me show you something. Nayan has a whole game room in his apartment."

Your eyes blinked open in surprise, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

"He has what?" you asked in utter disbelief, knowing how compact Mumbai apartments could be.

Danish grabbed your hand and started leading you away from the balcony, guiding you up a short flight of stairs toward the upper level of the apartment.

He pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway, leading you into a dimly lit room.

In the centre of the room stood a massive, pristine pool table under a low-hanging, dramatic pendant light that cast long shadows across the red felt. A gaming setup glowed faintly in the corner, casting a coloured ambiance over the space. You took in your luxurious surroundings, thoroughly impressed.

"Wow, he has really splurged," you breathed out.

Danish closed the door behind you, cutting off the last remnants of the music downstairs as he stepped up beside you.

"He has, hasn't he," he agreed, before his eyes flicked back to yours. "Wanna play pool?"

You laughed to cover up your nerves as you looked at the complex setup, "I don't know how to."

"I'll teach you!" he offered instantly.

You halted for a second, your heart doing a sudden flip in your chest. If he taught you how to play, it meant he would be standing incredibly close to you, and you truly did not know how your hyper-aware body would handle that kind of proximity.

But you certainly weren't about to pass up an opportunity to spend more time alone with him, so you shrugged your shoulders with feigned casualness.

"Sure!"

Danish walked closer to the table, his tall frame moving with a grace as he retrieved a sleek cue stick from the rack. Instead of handing it over, he stepped directly behind you, his broad chest nearly brushing against your back as he held the cue stick in front of you, bracketing your body with his own.

As he leaned in slightly closer, you felt his chest expand against your shoulder blades as he took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating notes of your perfume, making you shiver.

You reached up, your hands trembling slightly as you took the pool cue from him, acutely feeling the warm brush of his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. You turned your head slightly to look at him over your shoulder, only to realise his face was remarkably close to yours, his lips a mere breath away from your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered shyly, "You smell incredible."

Before you could unravel completely, he pulled back from you slightly to give you some space. He waved a hand toward the clustered billiard balls on the table, a teasing glint in his eye, "Why don't you take the first shot?"

You took a deep breath, desperately trying to regain your shattered composure after feeling utterly giddy from the sensation of his warm breath hitting your neck.

Leaning forward over the edge of the table with the cue stick gripped tightly in your hands, you narrowed your eyes and aimed at the white ball. You swung forward, but your alignment was completely off, you missed the cue ball terribly, the stick scraping uselessly against the felt.

An embarrassed laugh bubbled out of you as you stood up straight, "I told you, I don't play."

Danish merely chuckled as he stepped right back into your space, completely erasing the distance between you.

"As I said, I'll teach you."

You groaned inwardly, a wave of liquid heat flooding your cunt as you felt his massive, toned body completely envelope yours from behind. His large hands slid down your arms, covering your smaller hands entirely as he expertly helped you reposition your grip on the wooden stick.

He leaned over with you, his broad chest pressing firmly against your back, guiding your movements with ease as he helped you line up the perfect shot.

The friction of his body against yours was agonisingly sweet, and as you tilted your head up to look at him, you saw him staring down at you with so much adoration that your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes drifted down to your parted lips before flicking back to your eyes, his mouth parting slightly as his eyes darkened with hunger.

You did not know which of you leaned in first, but the taut thread of restraint finally snapped, and your lips crashed together in a long overdue collision.

The pool cue slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor as you turned around completely in his hold, your body moulding perfectly against his.

Your hands traveled eagerly up his heavily toned arms, tracing the hard flex of his biceps before tangling deeply into his perfectly tousled hair, pulling him down into the kiss.

Danish let out a low, needy growl, his large hands gripping your waist to pull you even closer against his frame, deepening the kiss with a sudden urgency.

You gasped against his mouth and as your lips opened wider to catch your breath, he seized the opportunity, his tongue sliding past your teeth to gently stroke yours.

It made your knees buckle, but Danish held you entirely aloft, his lips devouring yours. Feeling no resistance from your end, he leaned into you even more, backing you up against the edge of the pool table until the hardwood bit into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your ass firmly against the solid structure.

When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were completely breathless, your chests heaving in tandem, Danish leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes dark and dilated as he rasped out, "You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this."

The confession was barely out of his mouth before his lips were on you again, fiercer this time.

He dragged his mouth down the sensitive line of your jaw, his hot breath branding your skin before he leaned in to lick and suck at the shell of your ear.

A loud moan escaped your lips at the sharp spike of pleasure, which only seemed to fuel him more as he repeated the motion.

His tongue made its way down the column of your neck, trailing over your sensitive pulse point before moving toward your bare shoulder, his teeth biting gently into the soft skin, marking you as his.

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for balance as he reached over with one hand, his fingers hooking beneath the delicate strap of your dress. He pulled the fabric down, letting it rest just above the heavy swell of your breasts, exposing your aching skin to the cool air of the room.

Danish pulled back slightly, his chest heaving as he looked at you, his eyes seeking your permission for what came next.

Wanting him with a desperation that terrified you, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra slowly, giving him a breathtaking show.

His eyes traced your every single movement, darkening further as you slipped the garment off and tossed it carelessly aside onto the floor.

He ran a finger under your chin, dragging it slowly down the length of your neck, passing between the valley of breasts before hooking his finger into the low neckline of your dress, tugging the fabric downward in one smooth motion.

You eagerly stepped away from the table for a brief second, allowing the fabric to slide down your hips and fall completely away. The dress pooled in a colourful heap at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing but a skimpy black thong and your heels.

Danish breathed in deeply, his eyes widening as his eyes devoured every inch of your exposed skin. Your own eyes widened in tandem as your gaze drifted down, instantly catching the prominent bulge straining against the zipper of his pants.

He stepped back into your space, leaning in to kiss you again, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and running his tongue over it until you were trembling from head to toe.

His large hands slid down the smooth expanse of your bare back, settling firmly at your waist before he effortlessly lifted your body up, seating you directly onto the edge of the pool table.

He pushed your legs apart, his broad frame settling between your thighs as he stepped into your space, his crotch resting flush against your already soaking, wet cunt.

You let out a whimper as he pressed his hips forward, his bulge rubbing directly against your clit through clothes. Danish let out a ragged groan as he felt the intense, throbbing heat of you pressing back against his zipper, the friction driving you both crazy.

Needing more direct contact, you reached up with trembling fingers and began unbuttoning his black shirt, leaning forward to place kisses down his jaw and the column of his neck. You reached the very last button just above the waistband of his pants, your pussy aching for him as you leaned in and whispered directly into his ear, your voice a sultry purr.

"Help me get this off so I can feel you."

You spread his shirt wide open, running your thumbs over his nipples. He let out a breathless moan, his hands gripping your hips as he hurriedly pulled his shirt completely out of his pants, letting the  fabric drop to the floor.

You leaned forward, burying your face in his chest to lick and kiss his hard nipple, and he groaned deeply from the back of his throat, the delicious sound making more wetness pool between your legs.

A smiled against his chest as you heard his undone groan, your tongue lightly licking a path across his smooth skin. You kissed your way up his hard chest to his neck, your sharp nails scratching playfully over the defined ridges of his abs, making his muscles twitch and lean even more into your touch.

You licked your way back up to his earlobe, your teeth lightly tugging at his pierced ear until he let out a low, deep growl that vibrated against your chest.

"God, Y/N," Danish rasped out, his voice completely wrecked with lust.

His heavy grip on your bare thighs tightened significantly, his large fingers digging into your soft skin as he pulled your legs even further apart, anchoring you firmly to him.

He leaned forward and latched his mouth onto your aching nipple, rolling his tongue around it, making you arch your back off the pool table, offering yourself up completely to his touch as his free hand eagerly kneaded your other breast.

He sucked the sensitive peak between his teeth, holding it gently before flicking the damp tip of his tongue over it again and again, thoroughly drunk on the uninhibited, breathless sounds you were making, which only encouraged him.

He bit your nipple with just enough gentle pressure to make you gasp, your hips instinctively lifting off the smooth felt.

In this blurry chaos, a sudden thought pierced through your mind, registering the fact that the game room door remained completely unlocked and anyone from the party downstairs could casually walk in on you both.

Yet, the forbidden thrill of getting caught only made a fresh wave of liquid heat pool between your thighs, making you even more wet for him.

Sensing the sudden shift in your breathing, he dragged his mouth away, leaving a glistening trail across your skin as his tongue traveled over to your other breast, giving it the same attention, making you moan aloud into the quiet room.

Slowly, his weight shifted, and he sank downward until he was squatting between your spread legs. Looking up at you from beneath a fringe of dark hair while your trembling hands ran through his locks, Danish let out a smirk that made your chest tighten.

He placed a row of kisses along your inner thighs, his large hands sliding up to grip your hips securely before he pulled you to the edge of the table. He ran his palm over your thong, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace, watching you squirm and whimper under his touch.

Inhaling your intoxicating scent, he leaned in to press a kiss directly onto your clothed, wet cunt, before his fingers caught the narrow edge of your thong.

“These have got to go,” he murmured.

You leaned back heavily onto your hands for support, lifting your hips up into the air to allow him access to pull the flimsy barrier off. He tugged the lace down the smooth expanse of your thighs, slipping them effortlessly over your knees, down your calves, and over your heels, letting the damp scrap of fabric drop onto the floor.

He stood up completely, his large hands slowly dragging back up your inner thighs, lifting your legs by the backs of your knees and spreading them wide as you lay back on your elbows, completely exposed, watching his dark eyes devour you.

He slid his hands back down the inside of your thighs, and with an excruciatingly slow movement, he stroked the swollen lips of your pussy with the back of his fingers.

You gasped loudly at the direct contact, watching his handsome face through heavy-lidded eyes as a desperate need took hold of you.

You wanted him so badly.

Wanted to feel the heat of his mouth tasting you, wanted him stretching you from the inside, wanted nothing more than to let him make you cum.

You felt his strong fingers gently part your pussy lips, stroking the sensitive flesh more insistently until his thumb found your throbbing clit, causing a sharp gasp to rip from your throat.

“Please,” you whimpered, your fingers tightening against the edge of the table as your body begged for release.

He looked directly up into your eyes, his gaze heavy with intent as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your stomach before dragging his tongue downward over your skin. He kissed the very top of your pussy lips, letting his damp tongue slip inside the wet folds to graze your clit with a light flick.

Your legs fell even further apart under his touch, and he used his fingers to spread your lips wide open, sliding his warm tongue down the inner contours of your cunt. You let out a broken moan, your hips helplessly bucking upward against his mouth as his tongue traveled downward into your slickness.

Danish slid his hands up securely under your thighs, anchoring you in place as he ran his tongue back up the wet path, finally wrapping his lips entirely around your swollen clit.

You moaned, your body almost surging completely off the table in a desperate bid for more friction, but his strong grip held your hips down firmly, pushing your weeping cunt right against his hungry mouth.

He sucked on your clit, rubbing the rough underside of his tongue up over it, flicking the tip again and again in a rhythm that threatened to shatter your sanity. Sliding one hand from beneath your thigh, he gently pushed a long finger deep into your pussy, thrusting it inside you in one smooth motion as your fingernails scratched desperately against the felt of the table.

Danish immediately looked up, checking your face to make sure he hadn’t hurt you, only to see your head falling back, your mouth open as your breasts rose and fell with each fast, panting breath you took.

Relieved, he began thrusting his finger in and out of your tight pussy, matching the speed of his tongue as it relentlessly stroked your clit.

“More,” you panted out, your voice entirely wrecked as you writhed beneath him. “Please, more…”

You forced your eyes open to look down at him, panting as you felt him insert a second finger deep inside your slick walls, the added fullness causing you to moan even louder.

"Yes, please! Ohhh!” you cried out, your hips pushing upward.

You felt his long fingers curl up inside you, hitting that sweet spot perfectly and making you see stars behind your eyelids. Your hand reached up to grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the strands in a blind frenzy, which only made him let out a muffled moan right against your pussy.

You were completely soaked, your internal muscles clamping down on his fingers as you hovered right on the very edge of a violent climax.

He hummed against your wetness, his tongue licking furiously and his fingers thrusting faster and deeper into you as he felt your body begin to tighten and convulse around him.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you cried out into the empty room, your hips writhing wildly against his mouth as the overwhelming orgasm finally washed over you, waves of intense pleasure rippling through your entire body.

You collapsed back onto the table, panting hard, your bare breasts rising and falling heavily with each ragged breath you drew.

Danish didn't stop, keeping his mouth pressed to your pussy and eating you out right through the aftershocks of your orgasm, making you almost cry out from the sweet torture.

Only when your shivering had subsided slightly, did he slow down, placing soft, comforting kisses on the inside of your thighs.

When he finally pulled his face away, you opened your eyes to see your slick juices coating his dark beard and chin, a sight so primal that you had to close your eyes again in pleasure.

Danish trailed his hands up the sensitive skin of your stomach, cupping your bare breasts and running his thumbs over your aching nipples to soothe them. He stroked his hands down your bare arms, catching your fingers and giving them a gentle tug, pulling your pliant body up into a sitting position on the table.

He looked deep into your eyes while your body still shivered from the release. Sliding his warm hands back up your arms to cup your face in his palms, he leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against yours, making you taste yourself on his lips.

The taste of your own arousal mingled with the taste of him, send a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

Shifting your position slightly on the edge of the table, you ran your hands down the broad expanse of his chest, navigating past his ribs until your fingertips hit the sturdy waistband of his trousers.

You unbuttoned the fastening and slid the zipper down, listening to the heavy material rustle as you pushed his pants down his hips, hearing them hit the floor with a soft thud. You ran a finger just inside the elastic waistband of his briefs, looking down at the contour hidden beneath the fabric.

“Those look a little snug,” you grinned up at him.

“You have no idea,” he groaned, his voice completely wrecked as he felt your fingers brush against his rigid length through the thin cotton barrier.

“God, that feels good,” Danish whispered, his breathing growing visibly ragged as he placed his large hands on either side of your hips.

You let out a breathy laugh and hooked your fingers into the elastic, tugging his briefs downward in one swift motion, completely freeing his thick, throbbing cock so it practically bounced upward against his lower stomach.

“Oh,” you whispered, the playful, teasing barb dying in your throat as your eyes widened.

You had always known intuitively that he was going to be exceptionally big, but seeing him fully exposed under the low pendant light was something else entirely.

A sudden wave of apprehension washed over you, leaving you genuinely worried about whether his massive girth would even fit inside you.

You reached out, your palm closing around his leaking, heavy shaft, and softly stroked his cock, spreading pre-cum over the tip.

“And how does this feel?” you asked softly, watching his reaction.

A heavy moan ripped from his throat as he pushed his hips forward, aggressively driving his hard cock deeper into your palm to maximise the friction.

“This feels even better, sweetheart,” he whispered roughly against your lips, his hot breath fanning across your face.

He stepped closer, using his broad thighs to push yours even wider apart, demanding more space as he pressed his solid body forward.

Looking down between your tangled forms, he took his cock back into his own hand, the heat of his skin searing yours as your fingers brushed against his when you let go. He guided the blunt tip to the entrance of your aching pussy, feeling the heat radiating from your core.

“Fuck,” he rasped out.

You shifted your hips forward, your breathing hitching as the thick head of his cock pressed directly against your weeping outer lips. You felt him slowly stroke the head up the sensitive length of your folds before dragging it back down again, teasing you.

You gasped, leaning back heavily on your hands for support as a delicious spike of pleasure shot up your spine, enjoying the exquisite torment of the sensation.

“That feels so good,” you panted out, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh yeah? And how does this feel?” he teased as he suddenly pushed his hips forward in a slow thrust.

You gasped loudly, your head falling backward as you felt the sheer weight of him stretch you open, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside your tight, slick walls.

Feeling his hands slide under your thighs, you let out a desperate whine, lifting your legs slightly to alter the angle and pushing back against him, allowing him to slide all the way inside you until he was fully bottomed out.

“Oh God!” you cried out at the overwhelming fullness, the intensity of the stretch causing you to go weak as you began to lie down flat on the felt of the table.

“No,” he growled. Before you could slide away, he grabbed your hands tightly and tugged your body back toward him, forcing you into an upright position.

He wrapped his arms completely around your waist and held you flush against his chest, his thick cock remaining buried deep within you.

You grabbed onto his broad shoulders for dear life as he leaned in and kissed your lips, opening his mouth wide to suck your tongue into his own mouth, consuming your sounds.

He began to rock his hips against you in a steady rhythm, and you moaned directly into his mouth, the friction triggering a cascade of sparks behind your eyelids. You slid your hands down the smooth muscle of his back, placing your palms flat against his ass, and pulled him even harder against you, demanding everything he had.

Danish pulled his mouth away from yours, dragging his lips down to kiss the sensitive skin of your neck, groaning loudly as he felt your internal muscles clamp tightly around his shaft in a series of pulsing spasms. He kept up his slow, deliberate pace, entirely enjoying the sharp, stinging pleasure of your nails scratching over his bare back.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he groaned directly into your ear, his hips pushing even harder into your warm pussy.

He gently guided you back, allowing you to finally lay back onto the table while he lifted your legs under your knees, adjusting his stance before he began thrusting much deeper.

You moaned loudly as he plunged into you, your bare breasts jiggling with the force of each hard thrust as he drove into you over and over again.

“Please don’t stop,” you sobbed out, your senses completely overwhelmed as you rolled your head from side to side on the felt, utterly loving the sensation of him filling you completely.

Deeper. Harder.

The pleasure was too much to contain.

You brought your own hands up to your breasts, your fingers unthinkingly squeezing the soft flesh and pulling at your rigid nipples as you panted hard, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle your cries.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you whined, your internal walls contracting violently around him.

He watched you through heavily hooded eyes as you played with your own breasts, groaning huskily as your words hit him.

The sight drove him over the edge.

He drove into you harder, lifting your heel-clad right leg up and draping it securely over his broad shoulder to open you up completely.

Bringing his free hand up between your legs, his thumb found your swollen clit and flicked it aggressively from side to side, sending you crashing over the precipice.

“Yes!” you cried out,“Don’t stop—please! Fuck!”

Your body convulsed with the violent spasms of a shattering orgasm, and Danish felt his cock slide faster against your slickness as the hot waves of your release washed over his length.

When your breathing finally slowed down to a trembling pace, he gently brought your leg down from his shoulder, and you slowly sat up, running your hands weakly over his chest.

He slowed his thrusting even more, refusing to leave your warmth, and simply started rocking his hips against you in a comforting rhythm. He pulled you toward the edge and you hopped off the table, standing in front of him on shaking, unstable legs.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

You let out a sharp gasp, but your body complied instantly, doing exactly as he asked.

You felt his hands press firmly against your lower back, gently urging you to lean forward over the pool table.

You did so without hesitation, leaning flat against the edge, feeling the cool, slightly coarse material of the table brush against your aching nipples and breasts.

You spread your legs wider for him, and you felt him lift your right leg up, carefully placing your knee flat on the table, a position that fully exposed your dripping pussy to his eyes.

The rush of cold air against your wet skin sent a violent shiver straight up your spine.

He pushed his hips forward without warning, sliding deep into your tight pussy all at once, making you groan aloud in pure pleasure. He placed his hands firmly on your ass, securing his grip before he began thrusting into your pussy fast and hard.

You moaned for him not to stop, your fingernails dragging frantically across the felt as he thrust harder and faster into your pussy, your slickness easing his frantic pace.

You felt him pistoning into you harder than before, his heavy balls smacking against your clit with every deep plunge, making you moan completely incoherently into the quiet room.

He began driving into you with a wild, feral speed, the loud, wet sound of his hips slapping against your bare ass echoing sharply in the confined space.

You moaned in sheer disbelief, your internal muscles tightening as you realised you were about to cum for the third time tonight.

He looked down at your arched back, a rough grunt escaping his lips with each powerful thrust. He sped up his movements into a blur, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he felt your pussy squeeze around his cock like an inescapable vice.

“Fuck…sweetheart!” he groaned aloud, the sound vibrating through your entire body as he finally released inside you.

He held his hips flush against your ass, still thrusting weakly as he spurted stream after stream of hot, thick cum deep into your throbbing pussy.

He gradually slowed his thrusts to a gentle halt, fully enjoying the intense feeling of the afterglow. He leaned his upper body forward over yours, placing open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder, the column of your neck, and down the sensitive line of your spine, panting heavily against your skin as he felt your damp, sweat sheened body against his lips.

As the adrenaline finally began to recede, Danish leaned back slowly and brought your body with him, gently easing your knee off the table. He wrapped his arms securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest while burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You held his hands tightly where they rested around your waist, turning your head slightly to press a kiss against his warm cheek.

When you finally turned around completely in his embrace, he leaned down and kissed you again. Slowly and deeply this time.

“You…you aren’t having any regrets, are you?” he asked shyly, that endearing, vulnerable charm instantly returning to his eyes.

You let out a breathless giggle, looking up at his handsome face before leaning in to kiss the side of his jaw.

“Does your offer of leaving this party early still stand?”

A wide grin broke across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he kissed you once more. He gently helped you both dress, before the two of you quietly exited the game room, hand in hand.

You were in for a long night.

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