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Uzair Baloch .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Rehman Dakait ✧˖°.

Hamza Ali Mazari ⋆✴︎˚ ⋆

Loha Badan ࣪ ˖ ۶ৎ°⋆

Synopsis: After the People’s Aman Committee’s victory, Hamza finds himself carrying more responsibility than ever before. Exhausted, overworked, and increasingly irritated by someone getting a little too comfortable around her, he gets an unexpected late-night distraction when she finds him still awake and buried under work.

Based of this request!! This work is intended for audience that are 18+, mature content ahead. MDNI!!!

─── ⋆.𐙚 ̊ ───

It was the night the election results were being announced, Lyari had erupted into something that barely resembled sleep.

The streets stayed alive until dawn, overflowing with motorcycles, shouting men, celebratory gunfire somewhere in the distance, and fireworks bright enough to stain the sky red and gold for hours.

Entire neighborhoods poured out onto the roads chanting the People’s Aman Committee’s name like victory itself belonged personally to them. Cars blocked intersections, music blasted from cracked speakers, men hugged each other in the middle of the streets like a war had just ended. And in many ways, it had.

Power in Lyari had shifted overnight, and everyone knew it. At the center of that shift stood Rehman Baloch.

From the moment the results were finalized, the Baloch residence stopped feeling like a home and started feeling like headquarters. Men arrived at all hours now. Armed guards rotated constantly outside the gates, meetings stretched deep into the night. Politicians, businessmen, local leaders, people who once wouldn’t have looked Rehman in the eye long enough to acknowledge him, now sat in his study for hours waiting for his approval on things.

The house itself changed with the victory. The atmosphere became heavier, more important, more dangerous.

And with that came responsibility, a terrifying amount of it. And most of it had landed on Hamza.

Not publicly, of course. Rehman remained the face everyone answered to. But inside the house, behind closed doors, everyone could see Uzair and Hamza carrying half the city on his shoulders beside him.

Hamza became impossible to separate from the work, especially since he was technically considered as Uzair’s right hand man, as he would constantly be asked to get things done and handled with.

Areas of Lyari assigned directly under his supervision, disputes to settle, security to manage, problems to eliminate before they turned into headlines.

It happened so gradually at first that nobody really noticed when his entire life disappeared into duty.

Except her, she had noticed everything.

The way he stopped sitting through full meals because something always came up to pull him away midway through dinner. The way he started coming home later every night, sometimes long after sunrise prayers.

The permanent tension settled into his shoulders, the exhaustion hidden beneath that cold self-control he wore so naturally.

Hamza had always been composed. But lately, it looked less like composure and more like restraint.

Like he was one inconvenience away from snapping something in half.

Then, one evening during dinner, Rehman casually announced that Hamza would officially be moving into the residence.

“Woh toh yahin aata-jata rehta hai,” he’d said, barely looking up from his plate. “Yahin reh le, waise bhi ghar ka banda hai.”

Everyone else at the table agreed as well. Ulfat had always been welcoming to those loyal to Rehman, while Uzair and Hamza had grown to have a really tight bond.

Hamza simply nodded once from across the table, accepting it the same way he accepted every responsibility handed to him, quietly, without hesitation.“Bilkul,” he said calmly, gaze steady. “Agar aap logon ko theek lagta hai toh mujhe bhi koi problem nahi hai”

Within two days, the guest room in the upstairs hallway became his permanently. And after that, his presence settled into the house completely.

She started noticing him everywhere.

Early mornings when she’d walk downstairs half-awake and find him already leaving with the gang trailing behind him. Late nights when she’d hear his voice faintly through the study walls while he handled another problem for Rehman. Afternoons where he sat in silence at the dining table surrounded by files instead of food, jaw tight, eyes tired, barely aware of the untouched tea growing cold beside him.

Even when he wasn’t speaking, stress clung to him visibly now. And nobody said anything about it because nobody expected Hamza to struggle.

He was the dependable one, the one who handled things, the one who never complained.

But sometimes she would catch him alone for a split second before his expression reset again. A brief moment where the exhaustion underneath became impossible to hide.

There had been another thing she'd started noticing lately. Not about Hamza, but about herself.

Or more specifically, about the way Hamza reacted whenever she spent time with certain people.

The Baloch residence had become crowded ever since the election. Between Rehman's meetings, Uzair's responsibilities, and the constant stream of people involved with the Aman Committee, there was almost always someone coming or going.

Among them was one of the younger members of the group. He was closer to her in age than Hamza was. Someone she'd known for years through the people surrounding her father and brothers. He'd grown up around the same circles as her, and unlike most of the older men constantly discussing politics, he actually knew how to hold a normal conversation.

So naturally, she talked to him. It was nothing unusual, a few conversations in the courtyard while everyone waited for dinner, the occasional cup of tea when several people were gathered outside. Random jokes exchanged whenever he stopped by the house.

Normal, completely innocent. At least that's what she thought.

Until Hamza started acting strange. The first time she noticed his behaviour was during dinner. The younger man had spent most of the evening downstairs helping Uzair with something before all the men including Uzair and Rehman had left for work while Hamza had stayed back to keep tabs on the factory. This left only Hamza and her home alone. The conversation at the table had already shifted toward work when Hamza suddenly spoke.

"Rehman bhai usse zinda gaad denge agar kabhi pata chal gaya ke us par tumhara crush hai."

The comment came so unexpectedly that she almost choked on her water. For a moment, she simply stared at him. "Kya?"

Across the table, Hamza continued eating as though he'd said something completely reasonable. "Wahi jo suna."

The response would've worked a lot better if his jaw wasn't visibly clenched, or if he'd stayed for the rest of dinner. Instead, he stood up moments later, collected the files beside him, and left without another word.

She watched him disappear toward the study, fighting back a grin, because for someone who wasn't jealous, he certainly seemed to have strong opinions about who she spent her time with.

And after that, once she noticed it, she couldn't stop noticing it.

The way conversations suddenly ended whenever Hamza walked into a room and found them talking. The way his expression darkened for half a second before becoming unreadable again. The way he'd find some excuse to pull the younger man away for work the moment they appeared too comfortable standing together.

He never brought it up again, which somehow made it even more obvious.

Weeks had now passed like that.

The house stayed busy, loud during the day, exhausted by night.

That particular evening had been no different. Another dinner interrupted by work phone calls, another glimpse of Hamza standing in the corner of the study with frustration written all over his face while someone rushed through updates beside him.

By the time the house finally quieted, it was well past midnight. She fell asleep eventually, though lightly. The kind of sleep that never fully settles.

At some point in the middle of the night, she woke up thirsty.

For a few seconds she stayed still beneath the blankets, eyes barely open, disoriented by the darkness around her.

The residence had gone silent now in that strange, heavy way large houses do after everyone finally falls asleep. Even the sounds outside the windows felt distant.

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes before slipping out of bed.

The floor felt cold beneath her bare feet as she stepped into the hallway, still half-asleep. Most of the lights downstairs had been turned off except for the faint glow left on near the kitchen. She moved quietly through the house, filling herself a glass of water from the filter before leaning tiredly against the counter for a second.

That should’ve been it. She should’ve gone straight back upstairs. Instead, as she walked toward the staircase again, something caught her attention.A thin strip of light beneath a door.

Hamza’s room.

She paused instinctively. The hallway upstairs stayed completely silent around her, but the light remained there, steady beneath the door despite the late hour.

It had to be past two in the morning.

For a moment she just stood there staring at it. Then, before she could properly think herself out of it, she found herself walking toward the room.

The door wasn’t fully closed. She knocked softly against it once before pushing it open slightly.

Hamza barely looked up.

He sat at the desk near the window, sleeves rolled messily to his forearms, papers scattered everywhere around him in uneven piles.

The lamp beside him cast enough light across the room to sharpen every trace of exhaustion on his face.

One hand pressed against his temple while the other flipped through documents with growing irritation.

“Tum ab tak jaag rahe ho?” she asked quietly.

“Tumhein bhi nahi jagna chahiye.” His voice sounded rough, tired. Yet neither of them pointed out the hypocrisy.

She stepped inside slowly, the glass of water still cold in her hand. Up close, he looked worse than she expected. The first few buttons of his black kurta had been loosened at some point, sleeves pushed carelessly upward like he’d stopped paying attention to himself hours ago. His eyes looked heavy, jaw tight enough that she wondered if he’d been clenching it all night.

“Itni raat ko kya kar rahe ho?”

“Kaam.”

“Woh toh dikh raha hai.”

He didn’t answer. His attention shifted back toward the papers immediately, but she noticed the way his fingers pressed harder against the file in front of him now, patience thinning.

She glanced at the desk. Maps, reports, names scribbled across margins, too much work for one person.

“Har raat yahi karte rehte ho.”

“Karna padta hai.”

“Tumhein pata hai aur log bhi hain kaam karne ke liye? Sab kuch khud karne ki zarurat nahi hai.”

That finally pulled a quiet exhale from him, almost a laugh but far too exhausted to fully become one. “Aakhir mein sab mere paas ya Uzair ke paas hi le aate hain.”

There was no arrogance in his words, just the truth.

She stayed quiet for a second, eyes lingering on him longer than they probably should have. Up close, the exhaustion on him looked deeper now that he’d stopped pretending it wasn’t there. His posture had started slipping slightly from pure fatigue, shoulders tense beneath the thin black nightshirt he wore, sleeves shoved carelessly to his forearms.

He looked worn down, but not weak. Hamza would never allow himself to look weak. But he looked tired enough that the constant restraint he carried around everyone else had started to slip.

“Tum theek ho?” she asked softly after a moment.

“Haan.” The answer came too quickly.

Her gaze drifted over the papers spread across the desk before returning to him again. “Lag nahi raha.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly in the chair, rubbing a hand slowly across his jaw like even speaking required effort now.

The movement pulled her attention in ways it shouldn’t have.

His hair looked messier than usual tonight, loose strands falling near his forehead while the rest remained tied back carelessly in a manbun, like he’d fixed it hours ago and stopped bothering afterward. The first few buttons of his nightshirt were loose exposing just enough of his neck to make her immediately look away before he noticed where her attention had gone.

Except judging by the way his eyes flickered toward her afterward, maybe he had noticed.

“Tumhein kuch chahiye?” she asked quickly, trying to steady herself. “Paani? Khana?”

“Nahi.”

“Hamza—”

“Nahi,” he repeated quieter this time, exhaustion softening the edge of it. “Bas kaam khatam karna hai.”

But even as he said it, his fingers flexed hard against the edge of the desk unconsciously. Tense, restless, like he physically couldn’t relax anymore.

The room felt warmer suddenly. Or maybe it was just the way he looked sitting there beneath the dim lamp light, tired and frustrated and completely unaware of how interesting he’d become to look at lately.

Because this wasn’t the Hamza everyone else saw downstairs, this version was quieter, less guarded, exhausted enough that pieces of him kept slipping through unintentionally.

And the worst part was that she couldn’t stop noticing.

Her eyes dropped briefly again to the way his forearms tensed when he moved another paper aside, to the sharp line of his jaw tightening every few seconds, to the slow inhale he took like he was forcing himself to stay patient.

Something shifted uncomfortably in her chest.

Then, before she could think better of it, she spoke. “Toh…” she started carefully, “shayad tumhein kisi aur cheez ki zarurat hai.”

The room went completely still. Hamza’s hand stopped moving entirely. Slowly, he looked up at her.

The exhaustion in his face didn’t disappear, but something else slid underneath it now. Something intriguing, and immediate enough to make her pulse stutter before she could control it.

For a second neither of them said anything. The silence stretched, sitting heavy.

“Kya matlab?” he asked finally, voice lower than before.

She should have backed down then, she should have just laughed it off.

Instead, she held his gaze. “I think tumhein break chahiye.”

His jaw tightened instantly, like he understood exactly what she meant and was trying very hard not to react to it.

“Tumhein nahi pata tum kya keh rahi ho,” he said quietly.

But there was strain beneath the words now. The kind that hadn’t been there before.

She took a small step closer to the desk anyway. “Pata hai.”

That seemed to snap the last thread of distance left between them.

His eyes flickered downwards at the change of distance between them for the briefest second before returning to her face again, slower this time. More deliberate.

The look alone made heat crawl up her spine.

“Yeh achha idea nahi hai,” he said. Yet he still hadn’t told her to leave.

Neither did he move, but the air in the room shifted, turning thick and electric. The exhaustion that had looked like defeat moments ago suddenly morphed into something intriguing, for both her and Hamza. Hamza leaned back further in his chair, his legs spreading wide, the fabric of his black trousers straining against the powerful curve of his thighs.

"Achha idea nahi hai," he repeated, but this time his voice was a low, dangerous rumble that seemed to vibrate on the very floor beneath her feet. "Because if I start, I’m not going to be gentle. I’ve had a very long week, and I have no patience left for softness."

She didn't flinch. Instead, she took a half-step closer, the hem of her nightgown brushing against his knee. "I know," she whispered, her own voice trembling slightly. "That's why I'm here."

The restraint he had been clinging to for weeks snapped. His hand shot out, his fingers curling around her waist with a strength that forced a small, sharp gasp from her lips.

He pulled her sharply between his legs, bringing her so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He didn't kiss her, he just stared up at her, his eyes dark and devoid of the composure he usually wore like armor.

"Since you're so concerned about my stress," he murmured, his grip tightening until it was almost bruising, "prove it. Get on your knees."

The command was blunt. She obeyed instantly, her knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. From this angle, he looked gargantuan, a wall of muscle and tension looming over her.

As she looked up, her gaze landed on the heavy, pulsing bulge beneath his trousers. Even through the fabric, the size of him was imposing, a silent promise of how overwhelmed she was about to be.

"Take it out," he ordered, his voice rough. "Now."

With trembling fingers, she reached for the fastening of his trousers. Her hands shook as she slid the zipper down. As he sprang free, she actually stopped breathing for a second.

He was dauntingly large, a heavy length of vein-mapped heat that seemed to dominate the space between them. He was thicker than she had imagined, the head of him already weeping a small amount of pre-cum.

"Don't just stare at it like you're afraid," he groaned, his hand sliding into her hair, fingers curling tightly around the base of her ponytail to tilt her head back. "Clean me up, every inch."

She leaned forward, her lips parting as she took the head of him into her mouth. He let out a sharp, guttural hiss, his hips jerking upward instinctively. He didn't guide her, he let her struggle with the sheer girth of him. He wanted her to feel the stretch, to feel exactly how much of him there was to accommodate.

As she tried to take more, sliding deeper, she began to gag. The back of her throat tightening, her eyes watering as he filled her completely. Instead of slowing down, Hamza’s grip on her hair tightened. He began to thrust his hips up in slow, deliberate pulses, forcing himself deeper into her mouth, using her throat as a vent for the frustration and pressure of the last few weeks.

"That's it, take it all" he rasped, his voice dripping with a cold, commanding tone. "You wanted to help me relax? Then feel how much I need this."

He was relentless. He used her mouth as a tool, his movements shifting from slow and torturous to rhythmic and punishing. Every time she tried to pull back for air, he held her firmly in place, forcing her to swallow him whole until she was breathless and shivering. The sound of her wet gasps and the slapping of his skin against her chin filled the room.

Finally, he pulled her up by her hair, forcing her to stand before him. He didn't give her a moment to recover. He spun her around with one sudden movement, shoving her face-down onto the desk. Papers scattered, maps of Lyari and reports of political disputes, fluttering to the floor like discarded trash.

"You're so small under me," he whispered against her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Just a little thing for me to use."

He gripped her hips from behind, his large hands digging into her flesh, leaving deep marks. He didn't waste time with a slow entry, he wanted to feel the friction, the resistance, the absolute conquest of her body. He positioned himself at her entrance and drove into her in one singular, brutal motion.

His grip stayed firm as he held her in place, the space between them already gone. His voice dropped lower, calm but edged with something sharp underneath it.

“I bet you’re not enjoying his company anymore,” he said quietly, like it was an observation he’d already decided on. His eyes stayed fixed on her, unblinking. “Or do you help release his stress too?”

The words weren’t loud, but the moan that followed his words was.

He brought his hands to her mouth, “Careful, we don’t want them to wake up in the middle of the night and see us now do we? She screamed into the palm of his hands as her reply, her body arching violently. He was too big, he felt like he was splitting her open, filling every single corner of her until there was no room left for air. The sensation was overwhelming, an absolute invasion that left her gasping and clinging to the edge of the desk for dear life.

"God, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice dropping into a dark, filthy register. He didn't slow down, he began to pound into her with a savage intensity, each thrust hitting her cervix with a force that made her vision blur.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," he hissed, his breath ragged. "Watching you walk around this house in those clothes... I knew pounding into you would feel this good since the first time I saw you. I could tell you were just waiting for me to stop being polite and finally use you like this."

The words were as sharp as his movements. He was degrading her, stripping away her dignity and replacing it with raw, animalistic need. Every time he slammed into her, he whispered something more explicit, how small she felt beneath him, how she was nothing more than a place for him to dump his stress, how she belonged exactly where she was, pinned to his desk and taking every inch of him.

"Do you like being my little stress relief toy?" he mocked, his voice a raspy groan. "Do you like how I'm stretching you out? Tell me."

She couldn't even form words, only incoherent whimpers and sobs of pleasure and pain. He reached forward, wrapping one large hand around her throat to choke her, though he only added enough pressure to hold her steady, pinning her firmly to the desk while he ravaged her.

With his other hand, he reached down, finding her clit and rubbing it with a punishing intensity. The combination was an assault on her senses. The sheer size of him stretching her to the limit and the friction of his fingers creating a storm of overstimulation. She began to shake, her muscles clamping tight around him in a desperate attempt to hold onto the pleasure.

"Look at you," he groaned, his pace becoming frantic, his breaths coming in short, jagged gasps. "So completely undone. Just a pathetic little thing for me to break."

He drove into her one last time, deeper than before, his entire body locking up as he let out a low, groan. He filled her completely, the heat of his release pulsing inside her in waves that felt like they would never end, flooding her with the intensity of his need.

He finally pulled out of her, his chest heaving against her back, his grip on her throat softening into something almost possessive. The silence returned to the room, but it was different now, the tension was gone, replaced by a heavy, sated exhaustion. He had used her to empty himself of every ounce of stress, leaving them both broken and breathless amidst the wreckage of his work.

“Rehman bhai ko aaj raat ke baare mein kabhi pata nahi chalna chahiye,” Hamza said, running a hand through his hair.

She raised an eyebrow. “Achha sirf aaj raat ki baat hai? Iska matlab yeh aakhri baar nahi tha?”

A faint smirk appeared on his face. “Woh mere stress level par depend karta hai.”

She hummed thoughtfully, clearly pretending to consider something. “Stress level par? Theek hai phir.” She nodded seriously. “Kal se main uske saath aur zyada waqt guzaar leti hoon.”

Hamza’s expression immediately hardened. “Bilkul nahi.” The response came far too quickly.

Her smile widened. “Arre, kyun? Mujhe laga tumhein koi farq nahi padta.”

She laughed softly before stepping away. “Chinta mat karo. Main Abbu ko bata deti hoon ke tum aaj kal kitne free ho. Shayad thoda aur kaam de dein tumhein.”

Hamza groaned. “Tum meri zindagi barbaad kar dogi.”

“Tumhari?” she shot back with a grin. “Mujhe toh lagta hai kisi aur ki zindagi zyada mushkil ho jayegi agar main uske saath phir se chai peene baith gayi.”

The look he gave her only made her laugh harder. “Goodnight, Hamza.” She said before quietly slipping back into her room as if nothing had ever happened.

─── ⋆.𐙚 ̊ ───

Thank you so much for 300 followers! I love u guys soooooooooooooooooooooo much 🥹🫶🏻

Taglist:

I LOVE U GUYS 3000 (someone catch my marvel reference!)

IM GENUINELY SO GREATFUL TO BE A PART OF THIS FANDOM AND TO HAVE GOTTEN A CHANCE TO GET TO KNOW SO MANY AMAZING SOULS ON HERE😭😭

You guys maybe wanna comment some kinks or scenarios you might wanna see in my smut writing!?

Because of this I won’t be able to start writing my angst series first so I have decided to make a few changes on my posting order and upcoming fics!

Im gonna finish up “Dil Toh Pagal Hai” and also try my best to finish up all the other one-shot requests I have before I go. And once im back, I’ll start working on the angst series!! Please see the changes made in the tagged post below!! 👇

Afghan Jalebi ࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆

Synopsis: When she comes home from a family gathering, all she wants is to head straight to bed and crash with her husband, but the moment she walks in her room, she finds Uzair in the middle of a workout, shirtless and glistening with sweat, wearing only grey sweatpants. Instantly finding herself unable to look away.

This work is intended for audience that are 18+, mature content ahead. MDNI!!!

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

The house was quiet in the soft, peaceful way it always became on a rainy day late in the evening.

The rain tapped lightly against the windows downstairs while the faint sounds of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan drifted through the hallway from upstairs.

The sun had started to set, yet most of the lights in the house were off except for the warm glow coming from her and Uzair’s bedroom.

She had just gotten home after spending the afternoon out with family, exhausted enough that all she wanted was to wash her face and collapse into bed beside him.

Her soft cream salwar kameez moved gently around her legs as she walked up the stairs, her dupatta hanging loosely over one shoulder.

As she reached their bedroom door, she pushed it open absentmindedly.

And immediately stopped.

The room smelled faintly like his cologne mixed with sweat and cigarettes. The energetic qawwali played from the speaker near the dresser, bass vibrating softly through the room.

But none of that mattered once she looked toward the windows.

He was lying back on the bench in the corner of their room, chest presses moving in slow, controlled motions as he pushed the dumbbells upward. Shirtless, focused, and calm.

Her breath caught instantly.

A thin layer of sweat covered his skin beneath the warm lighting, making every muscle in his chest and arms stand out more sharply. His shoulders flexed with every movement, veins visible along his forearms as he lowered the weights again with complete control.

He was in grey sweatpants which hung very low on his help, definitely not helping the situation. Not even the slightest.

The waistband sat just low enough for the sharp V-line along his lower abdomen to disappear beneath the fabric, the defined lines pulling inward and making it almost impossible not to stare. Every time he moved, the muscles along his stomach tightened faintly, making those lines even more visible beneath the dim light.

It was genuinely unfair.

She stayed frozen near the doorway without realizing it, eyes dragging over him slowly while her brain completely stopped functioning.

He still hadn’t noticed her yet, another slow press upward, another controlled breath. The muscles in his chest tightened again before relaxing, and her eyes dropped lower for half a second before snapping back upward immediately.

God.

Then his eyes lifted toward the doorway, straight onto her. And the second he saw her standing there staring, a slow smirk spread across his face.

There it was. That smug expression he always got whenever he caught her looking at him, and trust me that look appeared pretty often because even after almost 2 years of marriage, she was still in absolute awe of the snack of a man she gets to call her husband.

She should have looked away immediately. Instead, she stayed standing there while he continued the next rep slowly, almost lazily now, like he suddenly had an audience he wanted to entertain.

“Bas dekhte rehne ka plan hai ya andar bhi aaogi?” he asked casually between reps.

Heat rushed to her face instantly. “Main dekh nahi rahi thi.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Achha?” The dumbbells lowered again slowly before he pushed them upward, eyes locked onto hers the entire time now. Completely intentional.

She tried to recover some dignity and walked further into the room, placing her phone onto the bed beside her. “Main bas abhi aayi hoon.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, very clearly not believing her. He switched to curls next, sitting up slowly before lifting the dumbbells one arm at a time. The movement made the muscles in his arms flex harder, veins standing out more prominently while his jaw tightened slightly with concentration.

Unfortunately or not, the way he had adjusted to sit also made the V-line along his lower stomach even more noticeable.

Her eyes betrayed her instantly. Again.

And he noticed, of course he noticed. The smirk on his face widened as he caught her staring lower this time. “You’re staring,” he said softly.

“Main aisa kuch nahi kar rahi.”

“Jhoot.”

She crossed her arms immediately. "Kya pata main tumhara form judge kar rahi hoon?"

That made him grin fully this time. “Oh, yeah?” he murmured.

He stood up slowly, and somehow, that was worse. Way worse, because now she could see him properly up close. Tall, broad shoulders still tense from the workout, sweat glistening faintly against his chest and stomach, and his grey sweatpants hanging low enough for the sharp lines of his hips to stay painfully visible beneath the warm bedroom lighting.

He grabbed the towel beside him and wiped the back of his neck casually before looking back at her. Then he started walking closer, slowly. Like he knew exactly what every step toward her was doing.

Her heartbeat immediately picked up. The room suddenly felt smaller, warmer.

“Form judge kar rahi ho na?” he said quietly once he stopped directly in front of her.

She swallowed hard. “Haan.”

A small laugh left him under his breath before he leaned slightly closer. “Toh help kar do phir.”

Her brain genuinely stopped for a second. “…Kya?”

“Form,” he repeated innocently, though the amusement in his eyes completely ruined the act. “Form fix karne main help kar do.”

She hated how smug he looked saying that, especially because she was still starring. Her hands tightened slightly around the fabric of her dupatta as she tried to maintain eye contact without letting her gaze wander again.

Which became extremely difficult considering how close he was now. She could feel warmth radiating from his skin, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest, could smell the faint mix of sweat and cologne that always made her weak, and the worst part was how relaxed he looked while she was internally losing her mind.

His hand suddenly settled lightly against her waist. The touch made her inhale sharply.

There it was again, that look in his eyes.

The teasing was slowly fading into something quieter, heavier. The air between them shifted completely.

“Ab nervous kyun ho?” he murmured softly.

“Main nervous nahi hoon.”

“Haan?” His thumb brushed lightly against her waist through the fabric of her kameez. “Toh phir mere aankhon mein mat dekho, waise bhi tum pehle toh yeh nahi kar rahe the."

That only made her look at him harder, trying her best to not lose control. “Bas,” she muttered softly. “Zyada khush mat ho.”

“Tum mujhe jis tarah dekh rahi ho,” he said quietly, leaning closer, “uske baad toh hona he padega.”

Her breath caught as his forehead brushed against hers.

Everything suddenly felt slow after that.

The rain outside, the music, and the silence that was now filling the room.

One of his hands moved upward slowly, fingers brushing against her jaw while his eyes flickered down toward her lips for half a second. Then back to her eyes again. “Ab bhi mera form judge kar rahi ho?” he whispered.

She tried to answer, but his lips brushed hers before she could. Soft at first, teasing.

Like he was waiting for her to lose control before he did, but the second her hands slid up his arms and around his neck, the restraint disappeared completely.

The kiss deepened instantly, warm, slow, heavy enough to steal every coherent thought from her head.

His hand tightened gently at her waist, pulling her closer until there was almost no space left between them. The bangles on her wrist pressed softly against his arm as he backed her toward the bedroom door.

And somewhere between the quiet laughter against each other’s lips and the way his hands kept tightening around her waist every time she kissed him back harder.

His mouth found hers again before the door latch even settled, hungrier now, like the click of the bedroom door lock had been permission to stop holding back. Her back pressed against the wood as his hands slid down her waist, gripping the soft fabric of her kameez and gathering it in his fists.

"You've been staring for way too long," he muttered against her lips, voice rough. "Go ahead now. Look all you want."

His hands found the hem of her kameez and pulled it up slowly, deliberately, breaking the kiss just long enough to drag the fabric over her head and toss it somewhere behind him.

The cool air hit her skin, but his hands were on her again before she could feel it, palms flat against her stomach, sliding up, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the fabric of her bra.

She didn't answer with words. Instead, her hands slid down from his neck, dragging over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the lingering sweat and the frantic beat of his heart.

She let her palms glide lower, grazing the ridges of his abs before her fingers hooked into the waistband of those grey sweatpants, pulling him flush against her. She could feel him, hard and demanding, pressing right against her thigh.

He let out a low groan, his head dropping to the crook of her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. "You're so impatient," he teased, though his grip on her waist tightened until it was almost bruising.

He stepped back slightly, not to give her space, but to guide her toward the gym bench he had just vacated.

He sat down heavily, legs spread wide, leaning back on his elbows in a pose of complete dominance.

He didn't pull her onto him immediately, instead he just watched her, his gaze heavy and hooded, challenging her to take what she wanted.

"Come here," he commanded softly.

She moved toward him, her heart hammering against her ribs. With trembling fingers, she reached for the hem of her salwar kameez.

She lifted the soft cream fabric slowly, her eyes locked on his, watching his pupils dilate as she slid the material up and over her head.

The garment pooled on the floor, leaving her in nothing but her lace underwear and a matching bra.

The cool air of the room hit her bare skin, sending a shiver through her, but the heat radiating from him was overwhelming.

He didn't move a muscle, he just stared, his gaze traveling slowly from the curve of her breasts to the dip of her waist and down to where the lace of her panties clung to her hips. "Ride me," he whispered, a challenging glint in his eyes.

She stepped between his legs, her knees brushing against the coarse fabric of his sweatpants. Slowly, tentatively, she lowered herself, not onto his cock, but directly onto his thick, muscular thigh. The sensation was immediate, the heavy fabric of the grey sweats provided a rough, tantalizing friction against the thin lace of her underwear.

She shifted her hips, grinding her center against the hard muscle of his leg. A small, broken moan escaped her lips. He let out a sharp exhale, his elbows still braced behind him, his chest heaving.

He loved this, the sight of her using him, the way she looked so desperate for release while he remained completely still.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice dripping with mischief.

"Yes... god, yes," she whimpered, her hands clutching his shoulders for balance, her nails digging into his skin.

As she picked up the pace, grinding herself rhythmically against the hard line of his thigh, he decided it was time to strip her further. He didn't reach for the panties yet, instead his hands traveled up her back, his fingers grazing her spine until he reached the clasp of her bra.

He didn't unhook it quickly. He toyed with it, his fingertips brushing against the skin of her back, teasing the closure. He waited until she was almost breathless, her hips moving in a frantic blur against his leg, before he finally clicked the clasp open.

The bra loosened, and he slid the straps off her shoulders with agonizing slowness. He pushed the fabric away, exposing her breasts to the warm golden light of the room. He didn't touch them immediately, he just watched them bounce with every desperate movement of her hips.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice raw. "So worked up just from a little friction."

He finally reached up, his large hands cupping her breasts, squeezing them firmly as she continued to ride his thigh. The combination of the pressure below and the grip above sent her into a frenzy. She leaned forward, pressing her chest against his, her nipples hardening against his warm skin.

Just as she felt the first sparks of a climax beginning to build, his hand suddenly shifted. His palm landed with a sharp, resounding smack across her ass. The shock of it made her gasp, her back arching, and in that same heartbeat, his fingers slid beneath the lace of her panties.

He found her clit with unerring accuracy, his thumb rubbing in a firm, circular motion that mirrored the grind of her hips against his leg. The double stimulation was overwhelming. She was trapped between the hardness of his thigh and the precision of his fingers.

"Take it," he whispered, his voice a command. "Use me like you were in your imagination."

She shuddered violently, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She clung to him, her face buried in his neck, sobbing softly as the pleasure ripped through her.

He didn't stop there though. He kept rubbing her, keeping her in that peak of pleasure long after the initial wave had passed, ensuring she felt every single second of it.

His mouth found her neck, lips dragging along her collarbone, teeth grazing gently. Her fingers dug into his shoulders instinctively, and she felt him smile against her skin.

"Your hands are shaking," he whispered.

"Shut up."

He laughed softly, breath warm against her throat, and his hands slid down her back to grip her ass through her underwear. He squeezed, pulling her hips forward until she could feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

"You know," he said, voice low and teasing, "I didn't think you'd be this hungry even after all that staring."

"I'm not—" she started, but the words dissolved into a gasp when his hands tightened and rocked her against him.

"You are," he corrected, pressing his forehead to hers. "And I love it."

He shifted, lowering himself back onto the bed and pulling her with him until she was straddling his hips properly. She could now feel every inch of him pressing against the damp heat gathering between her thighs.

"You wanted to help with my form, right?" he said, voice dropping lower. "Go ahead."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Her hands found his chest first, palms flat against the warm, sweat-slicked muscle, dragging down slowly. She felt every ridge, every contour, the way his breath hitched slightly when her nails scraped lightly across his nipples. His skin was still hot from the workout, and she wanted to taste it.

She leaned down, pressing her mouth to his collarbone, then lower, trailing kisses down his sternum. Her fingers spread wide across his stomach, tracing the deep lines of his abs, memorizing the way they tightened under her touch.

He reached down and pushed his sweatpants down his hips just enough for his cock to spring free, thick, hard, the tip already slick. Her mouth went dry.

"You want to keep looking," he said softly, the tease still in his voice, "or do you want to do something about it?"

She answered by wrapping her hand around him, fingers barely fitting around the girth. His breath caught, sharp and sudden, and his head tipped back against the pillow.

She stroked him slowly, watching his jaw tighten, watching his hands grip the sheets. The power shift was intoxicating, from being caught staring to having him breathless beneath her.

"Feels so good," he said roughly, eyes finding hers again. "But I need to be inside you."

She didn't wait. She shifted up on her knees, pulling her underwear aside, and lowered herself onto him in one slow, deliberate motion. The stretch made her gasp, he was thick, and the angle had him pressing deep immediately. Her eyes fluttered shut as she sank down, taking every inch until she was fully seated on his hips.

"Fuck," he breathed, hands flying to her waist.

She rocked her hips experimentally, and they both moaned. "You said help with your form."

His laugh was shaky, strangled. "So you're learning now?"

She started moving. Slow at first, finding a rhythm that made his cock drag against her walls perfectly. Her hands pressed flat against his stomach, feeling his abs clench every time she rolled her hips. His skin was hot and smooth and desperate under her palms. She couldn't stop touching him there, her fingers spread wide, tracing the deep grooves, feeling the way each ridge tightened when she ground down on him.

"Just like that," he said, voice rough. "Whatever feels good for you."

She rode him. Slow and deep, then faster, then slow again, chasing the angle that made her see stars. His hands stayed on her waist, not guiding, just holding. Letting her use him exactly how she wanted. Her nails dragged across his stomach, leaving faint red lines, and his abs jumped under her touch.

"Touch your clit," he said suddenly, voice strained. "Do it yourself. I want to watch."

Her hand slid down between her legs, fingers finding her clit slick and swollen. She rubbed herself in tight circles while she rode him, and the dual sensation made her gasp. His eyes were fixed on where their bodies met, watching her fingers work herself while his cock disappeared inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," he whispered. "Keep going."

She leaned forward, changing the angle, and the tip of his cock hit something that made her cry out. He groaned, hands tightening on her hips.

"Right there," he said. "Again. Right fucking there."

She did. Over and over, grinding down hard, fingers working her clit frantically. His abs were flexing beneath her other hand, and she couldn't stop touching them, dragging her palm across the hard ridges, feeling them jump under her touch, pressing her fingertips into the deep lines that she'd been staring at from the doorway.

"Almost," she gasped.

"Not yet," he said, and his hand came up between her legs, replacing hers. His fingers found her clit immediately, rubbing in exactly the right rhythm, and she sobbed with relief. "Let me do it."

His other hand came down hard on her ass, a sharp, stinging slap that made her jolt and clench around him. "Faster," he said. "Ride me faster."

She did. Harder, faster, his fingers relentless on her clit, his cock filling her completely with every thrust. Her hand never left his stomach, she needed to feel him, needed the reminder of how solid he was beneath her, her palm pressed flat against the ridges of his abs as she took what she needed from him.

"Come for me," he said, voice breaking. "Come on. I want to feel you come on my cock."

She came with a cry that was half his name, half a wordless sob, her body shuddering against his as waves of heat rolled through her. He kept rubbing her clit through it, drawing it out, watching her fall apart on top of him.

"Fuck," he breathed when she finally stilled, chest heaving, hair plastered to her forehead. "That good?"

She couldn't speak. Could only collapse against his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering beneath her ear. But she felt him still hard inside her, and she knew they weren't done.

He knew it too.

He shifted, rolling them over until she was on her back, and pulled out slowly, the loss of him making her whimper. But he was already turning her over, guiding her onto her side.

"On your side," he murmured, pressing against her back. "My turn."

His arm slid under her head, hooking around her neck in a loose headlock, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to pin her in place. His chest pressed against her back, his thighs against hers, and she felt him hard and ready pressed against her ass.

"You used me," he whispered against her ear. "Now I'm going to use you."

He didn't wait. He pushed into her from behind, the angle different, deeper somehow, hitting spots she didn't know existed. She gasped, hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets as he bottomed out.

His arm tightened around her neck, pulling her head back against his shoulder. "Just like that," he said, voice dark and rough. "Take it."

He started fucking her. Hard. Deep. His hips slapping against her ass with every thrust, the wet sound of him moving inside her filling the room. His other hand reached around, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

"Look at you," he groaned, his voice raw and guttural. "So loud for me. Did you enjoy the view earlier? Because I'm enjoying this view much more."

She couldn't form words. Could only moan, loud and shameless, as he pounded into her from behind. His arm around her neck kept her pinned, kept her exactly where he wanted her, and she loved it.

Her hand reached back, grabbing his hip, nails digging into his skin. Her other hand dropped to his thigh, then slid up, finding his stomach again, feeling his abs clench with every thrust from this angle too. She couldn't stop touching him.

He thrust harder, faster, his fingers relentless on her clit. "You're so fucking tight," he said, voice strained. "So perfect."

She could feel herself building again, the pressure coiling low in her stomach. But before she could reach down, he caught her wrist.

"Move your hand," he said, and smacked her ass again, hard enough to make her cry out. "Don't touch. Just feel."

He reached down between her legs, fingers sliding through her slick folds, collecting the wetness and spreading it over her clit. "Look how wet you are," he said, almost reverent. "All for me."

"Yes," she sobbed. "All for you."

"Your mine," he said against her ear, his voice a low growl. "Say it."

"Im yours."

“Louder."

"Yours," she gasped. "Fuck, yours—"

He thrust harder, faster, the angle perfect, his fingers perfect, everything perfect. His arm around her neck held her steady as he drove into her, his chest sweat-slicked against her back, his breath hot in her ear.

"Come for me again," he said. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock while I fill you up."

Her second orgasm crashed over her like a wave, harder than the first, her body convulsing against his as she came undone. He followed immediately, she felt him pulse inside her, felt the warmth of his release filling her, heard the broken groan he pressed into her shoulder as he came.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Him buried inside her, arm still around her neck, both of them breathing heavy and sweat-slicked. The rain outside had gotten louder. The music had stopped at some point.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Soft now, tender. "Next time," he murmured against her skin, "come inside the room faster."

She laughed weakly as she turned her head, catching his gaze. "If you keep working out like that, I'm going to keep staring."

His smile was soft, lazy, and satisfied. "Then I guess I'll have to work out every day."

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Special thanks to @angelllk1ssed for providing us the very first mouth watering edit that still has us downbad and my muse for this fic! Wrote this for my cuties @miraclejin1204 & @harrystyleskiwi9 who helped me find the edit to drool over!

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