Untitled

1985

Rehman was not someone prone to nerves.

He had been entrenched in a life of crime for over a decade, he held meetings with men leading rebellions, and he didn't even blink if he found himself in the middle of a shootout.

But as he adjusted his position on the saddle, the sound of dhols and music and the whoops and shouts of the baraat around him, he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. His knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the reins, his clothes felt like they were simultaneously too hot and too cold, and he was about two seconds away from jumping off and fleeing.

He didn't even know why he was scared in the first place. There had never been a moment of doubt in his mind, never a second of hesitation. It wasn't like this match had been fixed for him, or he had been forced to do this. He had chosen her- fell for her really- and he was marrying her. It should have felt like going home. This was Ulfat, after all.

Uzair grinned up at him from where he had been dancing besude the horse. He had shot up in height over the past few years, and he was nearly as tall as Rehman when they stood. "Bhai!" He shouted. "Aaj to muskurao, aapki shaadi hai!" Rehman tried to force a smile on his face, but it felt wrong, fixed, like a grotesque expression someone who had never done so might make. He probably looked like he was grimacing.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was because it was all out in the open now. He had dreamt of the day he could claim her as his in front of the whole world for years, but now that it was here, he found himself unprepared. He had spent so long keeping her hidden, their secrecy keeping her safe, that the idea of everything now being out there for anyone to see frightened him. He had always thought of the joy, but there was a terrifying vulnerability in openness, he realized. Like showing your belly to a predator. Like saying to the world: 'here is my heart, come and have at it'.

Never let them catch you alone in the dark. Never let anyone see you cry. And never, ever, ever show the world what you love. Or it will take it away.

Three lessons he had learned growing up in this city. And here he was, despite the third one. Not just disobeying it but openly flouting it, declaring his feelings to all that could hear. He had dared Fate, and now he was bracing himself for the hit, waiting for the axe to fall on his head. As if any moment someone would come running down the road, covered in blood, and tell him something terrible had happened.

The fact that he hadn't seen her for the past two days didn't help. The bride wasn't supposed to meet the groom after the mehndi. Why? Tradition, apparently. Something even he wasn't allowed to break. He'd wondered whether he could sneak in to meet her like he used to, but Uzair had been hovering over him these past few days, watching him like a hawk.

We should have just run away and gotten married, he thought. The procession moved to the Haveli, which was decked in strings of lights, flowers, and lanterns, music playing from speakers, the aroma of the wedding feast preparations coming from the back. It didn't look anything like the old, dark mansion he had bought. Instead it was full of colour and life, the grounds already crowded with guests mingling.

He adjusted his turban and looked up at the upper floor, some movement behind the windows catching his eye. There- in the fourth one from the left- one of the curtains had been pulled away, and someone was peeking out. Upon seeing him look she instantly closed the curtains again, but it was too late- he had already seen her. A sigh of relief escaped him. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, letting him breathe properly after a long time. His grip on the reins eased, panic easing in anticipation, the smile on his face less wooden. Nothing had gone wrong.

He jumped to his feet when they stopped inside the gates, landing on the grass with a light thud. People around him cheered at the groom's party finally arriving, and he heard someone yell something about firecrackers. The crowd urged him to the front, accompanied by whistles and thumps on the back.

There were, Rehman discovered, a truly absurd number of formalities before a nikaah. People he knew and people whose names and faces he couldn't remember for the life of him coming up to greet him, to congratulate him, to remark on the arrangements for the ceremony. By the time he was inside the hall, all the conversations had blurred together. It was rather tedious- honestly, there was only one person he wanted to see. But apparently even his own wedding was no excuse for avoiding political talk.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, finally, the doors opened, and there she was, entering amidst a crowd of other women.

It was as if the world had stopped right then, the conversations around him fading into a buzz in the background as he took her in. He couldn't see much- there was a veil on her face and there were a lot of people in the way- but he couldn't tear his eyes off her. He saw her hands for a fraction of a second, stained dark with henna in an intricate design, and heard the soft chhan of her pazeb as she was led to the front. This was tantalising, these fleeting glimpses, and he found himself watching her every movement like a starved man. The way she reached out to adjust her veil, the curve of her waist as she leaned to-

"Bhai!" Uzair shook his shoulder, breaking through his thoughts. He was looking at Rehman with annoyance, impatience colouring his tone as if he had been calling out to him for a while. "Chaliye. Qazi ne bulaya hai."

Right. The qazi. The ceremony. Rehman went forward in a daze, eyes still fixed on her. They sat on opposite sides of the flower curtain, everyone else settling down as well. The qazi began the ritual, speaking the verses, but Rehman was barely listening.

And then, at last, the question.

"Qubool hai," came the reply without a trace of hesitation. Something warm settled into his chest at the words. He had heard her voice a thousand times before, but there was something different about it now, deep and rich, full of conviction. I accept. I love you.

Again. "Qubool hai."

And then the third time. "Qubool hai." He was smiling, he realized, lips stretched so wide his cheeks almost hurt. He probably looked like a fool, but he didn't even care.

And then it was his turn. The same question and answer, three times. As if he would ever say anything different.

"Qubool hai."

"Qubool hai."

"Qubool hai," he said for the third time. A roar of approval rose around them.

Rehman was not a religious man, nor a particularly fanciful one. He had never put much stock in the idea of a deity above who might care for the likes of him. But he would swear on his life that the moment the words left his lips, some kind of bond formed between them. There had always been a pull, making it impossible for them to stay away from each other, but now it felt like a physical connection, as if someone had tied their souls together. Another day, he might have chided himself for this, but he supposed he was allowed to be a bit dramatic at his own wedding.

Before he knew it, they had signed the nikaahnama and were led for the Arsi Mushaf, a dupatta thrown over them to give them privacy, a mirror and the Quran in front of them. He heard her bangles clink together as she raised her veil, finally revealing her face for him to see in the mirror.

His heart stuttered.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She always had been, but right now... her smooth, creamy skin almost glowing in the reflection, her sharp grey eyes lined with kohl, her long lashes fanning her cheekbones, the jewellery making her look golden in the diffused light... suddenly, he was very glad she had been veiled during the ceremony. Otherwise he'd probably have spent it just staring at her with his mouth open like an idiot. She looked... enchanting, with her lips tinged red and her soft hands contrasting with the dark mehndi and loose curls of her hair escaping her veil. He could have been struck down at that moment and he would die happy.

His expression must have showed his awe, because she smiled, eyes dancing with amusement as a faint flush rose to her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her right this instance. He turned to look at her directly, wanting to see her properly-

The qazi cleared his throat loudly. "Ahem." He shot Rehman a disapproving look. Rehman didn't bother to apologise. He had already got Rehman married to her, by law and by ritual. What was he going to do, revert the ceremony? Rehman intended to look at his wife- oh lord, she was his wife, now- as much as he wanted.

The qazi directed them to read some passages from the book together, but he barely processed the words he was saying. My wife, he thought, his heart doing little flips in his chest. Meri biwi. Meri begum. Meri jaan.

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The festivities were still going strong when he made his way upstairs, the sound of firecrackers and music and people following him. Ulfat had been led away from the party some time back. There had been no rukhsati, no muh dikhai- neither of them had any living relatives anymore to warrant those ceremonies, what with his uncle and aunt killed and Dadi passing away a couple years ago. Well, there was Uzair, he supposed, but Uzair detested formality as much as he did. Instead, the wedding had ended in being celebrated with a loud and rowdy party- his men were wild, and politicians were even wilder. He stopped outside the door of the room for a moment, letting his hand rest on the handle of the door, before he opened it and went in.

He looked around the room. It was the largest in the mansion but when he last came, it had been a drab, boring thing. He had braced himself for something similar, but the servants had done their job well. The furniture was covered in new cream and green upholstery, there were flower petals strewn all over the floor and the bed, artfully placed lamps casting a golden glow over everything, and the window provided the perfect view of where they were setting off the firecrackers. She was standing by it, watching the show. She turned upon hearing him enter, and his heart skipped a beat again when he saw her. Beautiful. He took off his turban to give himself something to do, so that he wouldn't end up gaping at her again.

The noise from outside faded as he closed the door. He joined her at the window, wrapping his arms around her as they both looked outside. "Meri jaan," he whispered. Meri. Mine. She had always been his, but now it felt more intense, somehow. There was no question of separation now. A rocket exploded outside the window, sending red and green sparks into the night while the stars twinkled merrily above. "Usse kai zyada khoobsurat nazara mere saamne hai." He turned her towards himself. "Idhar dekho."

To his surprise, she reached up and pulled him down to kiss him, her lips soft against his. Well, he certainly wasn't complaining. He groaned at the feeling of her tracing the outline of his lips, and she took the opportunity to devour him, exploring every inch of his mouth. He'd already been captivated by how she looked during the wedding, but now he understood why women were described as bewitching. All the blood from his brain seemed to have rushed southwards, robbing him of his ability to think and leaving him achingly hard. She could have led him off a cliff at the moment and he would let her. She nipped at his lower lip before letting him go. He just stood there, dazed and breathless, trying to remember how to speak.

"Ye- ye to mujhe karna tha na?" He managed to say at last.

She blushed, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of red. That was not helping his situation at all. "Wo tumhe uss sherwani me dekha to..." she mumbled.

"Achha?" A smile crept on his face. "To matlab bechara qazi Khuda ka naam le raha tha, aur mohtarma ke man me ye khayal chal rahe the?"

She turned even redder. "Nahi! Mer matlab, haan lekin..." She drew herself up, eyes meeting his challengingly. "Tum kaun hote ho bolne wale? Tum bhi to sabke saamne taad rahe the mujhe? Mujhe to lag raha tha ki ye aadmi yahi kuchh shuru na kar de!"

Touché. He was just as guilty as her in this matter. And besides, who cared about the way it was supposed to be? When had they ever given a damn about custom and propriety anyways?

He pulled her close and kissed her again. She smelled of jasmine and sandalwood and tasted sweet as sugar, all of it creating a heady atmosphere that once again robbed him of his ability to think. He pulled the veil off her completely, freeing the long, dark braid from its confines. It was decorated with diamond pins, glowing in her black hair like stars in the night. Rehman let out another groan of pleasure at the sight. "Mashallah." She looked like a dream come true. He was no believer, but he would swear he was holding an angel of the heavens in his arms.

He helped take off her jhumkas and the necklace, kissing a line down her jaw as he led her to the bed, his hands finding the hooks of her sharara at her back and slowly freeing them one by one. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, baring her skin to the cool air, and she gasped at the sudden chill. He pressed her onto the pillows, his lips trailing down to the pulse at her throat and sucking on it. She threw her head back, offering more of her neck to him. And who was he to resist- he grazed his teeth over the spot he knew was sensitive, drawing a cry from her. She rocked her hips against his, the friction sending a surge of pleasure through him.

He longed to grind down on her, to lose himself in the moment, but he forced himself to go slow. He loosened her braid, her hair unwinding and cascading over the pillows as the pins scattered and fell. Her hands slid beneath his sherwani, her touch exploring his torso, making his muscles tighten. Her warm touch, contrasting with the chill of the cold metal bangles around her wrists... the sensation was delicious. He lowered his mouth, kissing the skin slowly being revealed as he pulled her dress away, savoring every inch of her.

He raised himself to look at her properly as it finally slid off, his eyes darkening with lust as he took her in. He took off her bangles- as much as he liked seeing her adorned in jewelry, he wanted her bare now. Her nipples had stiffened under her brasserie, twin peaks straining against the fabric and he took one in his mouth, scraping his teeth against it. She arched into him, her hands tangling into his hair, and he brought his hand up to cup the other, squeezing and fondling. He found the hook at the back and freed it, pulling the brasserie off and tossing it away to land on the fallen sharara.

He wanted to take his time, to see her like this, but she pulled him into a kiss and he obliged. She moved under him, rubbing her breasts against the fabric of his clothes and let out a small moan, the sound going straight to his cock. Suddenly he couldn't wait to feel her against him, to feel that softness against his chest and he sat up, hastily removing his sherwani and the kurta underneath. She watched every movement greedily, eyes roving over every inch- from the hard planes of his chest, to the abs below his ribs, to muscles bulging in his arms... she pulled him close again, running her hands over him, making him shudder.

He turned his attention back to her breasts, swirling his tongue around the stiffened brown peak of one while his hand explored the other. She tried to push herself into him, urge him to take more, but he pinned her down with his arm. He intended to go at his own pace, to enjoy every moment of this.

"Rehman-" she broke off as he nipped at the underside of her breast, leaving a mark.

"Kya hua, meri jaan?" He asked, his mouth descending on the other.

Her hands were back in his hair again. "Please-"

"Please, kya?" He knew exactly what she wanted, but he enjoyed teasing her, seeing her squirm under him. He rolled her nipple under his thumb, trailing kisses down her chest to her waist.

He found the tie of her lehenga, unfastening it and sliding his hands inside. He felt the shiver that passed through her and smiled, shoving off the garment and underwear down to her thighs. He could smell her arousal now, a heady, musky scent that was all her, and see the wetness glistening between her legs. He kissed a path down her thighs to her legs as he pushed the clothes down, the bells of the pazeb ringing as he unclasped them and let them fall to the floor. She trembled as he slid the clothes off her completely, and she was finally, finally bared to him.

He raised himself on his hands to look at her- hair fanned out over the pillows, eyes darkened with lust- dark pupils swallowing the grey irises, her lips swollen and shining from the kisses, the marks on her neck... and below, her breasts heaving, dark nipples forming stiff peaks, and the curve of her waist, leading to her glistening core, framed by her long legs. Rehman was no believer but he would have sworn in a court of law that he was in the presence of something divine, and he fully intended to be a devout worshipper. He couldn't tear his eyes off her, intent on preserving the image to his memory. God, you're going to be the death of me, he thought.

She turned away, embarrassed at his open staring, and tried to close her legs, but he wasn't having any of that. He snarled, wrenching them apart and settling in between her knees, exposing her to him again. "Nahi. Mujhe dekhna hai." He stroked her thighs, waiting until she looked at him. "Ye sab mera hai, samjhi? Aaj, aur hamesha ke liye." She swallowed thickly, nodding. He lowered himself so that his mouth was right over her pussy, looking her in the eyes before giving it a long, broad lick.

She cried out, hands clawing in the sheets, and he hummed in satisfaction. He held her hips down as his tongue worked on her core, sucking at the clit, probing her entrance, licking up the wetness leaking out- he was a starving man, and she was a heaven-sent oasis, trembling as he ate her out. And the sounds- Lord, the sounds he made, her moans and cries filling the room. He pressed a finger into her entrance, the walls clenching around him as he worked it in.

She cried out loud, wrapping her legs around him, fingers tugging at his hair. "Rehman," she moaned, throwing her head back onto the pillows. Oh, that- that might just be his favourite sound in the world, her moaning his name in the throes of passion. He crooked his finger as he moved it in tandem with his mouth sucking on her clit, trying to get her to do it again. Her hands tugged at his hair even as she tried to press her hips to him, as if she couldn't decide whether she wanted to stop or ask for more. He added another finger- God she was so tight- and she gasped at the fullness. He twisted his hand, hitting a spongy mass, and that made her cry out, the pull on his hair almost painful. He pressed it again- once, twice, and she shattered, legs clamping around him tightly as she came.

He gave her a few moments to catch her breath, kissing her thighs, watching her chest heave, before he moved his hand once more, trying to find that spot again. She yelped and tried to move away, overstimulated, but he wasn't having any of it. He had barely even begun with the things he had planned for her. He imagined taking her on this bed, her leg over his shoulder as he pounded into her, or against the table, her breasts flat against the surface as he drove into her from behind-

Control, he told himself. Last thing he needed was to come in his pants like a green boy.

But she wasn't making it easy- she kept moaning as he scissored her with his fingers, trying to open her up, twisting to hit that spot over and over. He added a third finger and she cried at the stretch. "Rehman-" she sobbed at another stroke. The sounds from her cunt were positively filthy, wetness trailing down his hands onto the sheets below. What a fucking sight she made, hair dishevelled, bruises blooming on her neck, tears leaking from her eyes... she was babbling his name over and over now, as if she no longer remembered any other words. Good, said some dark corner of his mind. As it should be.

He withdrew his fingers, making her whine at the loss. But he could no longer wait, hastily ridding himself of his salwar. He palmed himself, spreading the bead of precum that had formed at the tip. He pressed the blunt head against her cunt, covering his length in her wetness, before he pushed it inside, just breaching her entrance. He felt her clench around the intrusion, the sensation of her wet walls clamping down on him making him moan. He kissed her- she could probably taste herself on him- and let her adjust to his size. "Dard ho to bata dena mujhe," he said.

Her nails dug into his back as he moved in slowly, letting her adjust to his size. She moaned and bit down on his shoulder, sending a jolt of heat down his spine. Nothing, he thought to himself as she took in another inch, nothing could feel better than this. She was so tight he was having a hard time controlling himself, his hands shaking from the effort of not pinning her down and having his way with her. But that would hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to cause her pain.

"Rehman- bohot-" her walls convulsed around him. "Mere se-"

"Bas thoda aur." He kissed her forehead.

"Aur? Mujhe-" She cried out as he pressed the last couple of inches in, settling deep into her. Her nails scratched a trail down his back. He would have marks tomorrow, he was sure of it. He didn't mind. He liked the idea of her marking him just as much as he loved seeing his marks on her. He let her become familiar with the sensation, pushing back the strands of hair from her face. Nothing had ever felt so natural, so right, as the two of them joined together. Like he had been missing half of himself, and now he was whole. The pressure of her nails decreased as she got used to the fullness, and she nodded at him. Move.

He started slow at first- short, shallow thrusts to get her used to the movement and soon she was reciprocating him, matching the movement of his hips with her own, sending sparks shooting behind his eyelids. "Meri jaan..." His voice was raspy, he was barely thinking about what he was saying. "Kya lajawab ho tum."

She let out a strangled cry as he pulled out nearly all the way before slamming back in, increasing his pace. "Khuda ki kasam, tum sa nazara nahi dekha." He tugged her head back by her hair, making her present her neck to him. "Tabah kar dogi mujhe tum." He sank his teeth onto her throat, sucking a bruise into the skin.

"Mai? Tum to-" What she intended to say he never heard as he raised one of her legs, throwing it over his shoulder. The change in angle allowed him to go deeper and hit her sensitive spot, and she clutched at the sheets, moaning.

"Kya keh rahi thi?" He asked mockingly as he increased his pace. She thought he was in control, dictating the intercourse, but what did she know about the animal she had awoken inside him, nestled in his chest, screaming at him to take and take and take? The ravenous, starving monster that refused to be satisfied, that demanded he give in and wreck her completely, draw out every sound and expression he could get her to make? The sound of their movement, her moans and his heavy breathing were almost pornographic, and he was definitely going to have more than a few dreams featuring them. He reached down to finger her clit, flicking at it in tandem with his thrusts.

She was close- he could tell by the way her walls were squeezing him. He saw her touch her breasts, playing with the nipples, and the sight nearly did him in, making him let out a sound he would never admit to. He slammed into her once, twice more and she came, crying out and arching her back as she clamped down on him. Another few thrusts and the world went white behind his eyes as he was completely undone too, spilling deep inside her cunt.

He let go of her leg and collapsed beside her on the bed, trying not to crush her under himself. But she pulled him so he was on top of her, wanting the weight of his body on hers. He could feel her legs still trembling from the force of the orgasm. He lazily pressed kisses on her forehead, enjoying the way she leaned into him.

He rolled with her so they were sleeping on their side, facing each other, her nestled in his arms. She snuggled closer, holding him by the waist as he traced circles on her back. Their breathing steadied slowly, silence returning to the room. "Theek ho tum?" He asked. He had gotten a bit rough towards the end for her first time, even if she seemed to enjoy it.

She chuckled. "Theek se kai zyada behtar." A sense of smug, masculine pride filled him. Hi kissed her shoulder, over one of the marks he had left. Her skin was cold, he noticed. There were blankets at the foot of the bed, if he remembered correctly...

She grumbled as he sat up, trying to hold him where he was. "Bas ek chaadar lekar aaya," he said. She sighed and let him go, watching as he searched for the blankets.

"Maze le rahi ho, jaan?" He asked as he finally found one, feeling her gaze on his back.

"Kyun, jo mera hai wo dekh nahi sakti?" She eyed his naked body appreciatively.

Mera. The possessive note in her voice made him shiver. He turned to reply, but then he noticed the way she was spread on the bed, her legs splayed out, her cunt directly in front of him, swollen and wet, his cum trickling out...

The monster in his chest howled, the sight of his cum on her skin sending blood rushing back to his cock. He left the blanket there, forgotten already, as he crawled back and dragged her upwards into a kiss.

Neither of them was going to get much sleep that night.

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Ulfat woke up to the sound of birds singing outside her window, the chirping of sparrows rousing her from the depths of sleep. She should get up soon, she knew, but she was entirely too warm and comfortable at the moment. But awareness filtered in anyways- the light in the room, the chime of a clock from somewhere in the house, the arm around her and warmth at her back-

She blinked her eyes open in confusion. What? Who was-

But then she heard the familiar breathing behind her and saw a hand she knew as well as her own resting on her bare waist, and memories of the previous day came crashing back. Oh. Oh God. She had gotten married. And then, yesterday night... her face heated as she remembered. She could feel his hardness poking into her thigh, hear his rhythmic breathing as he slumbered.

She turned around to face him, wincing at the slight soreness between her legs. He looked peaceful in sleep, all the lines and stresses on his face disappearing and making him look younger than he was. She could see him better in the morning light- his long lashes coming to rest against his cheekbones, the slope of his broad shoulders, the way he smushed half his face into his pillow. She brushed back some of the hair from his forehead that was falling into his eyes. There was a new scar on his chest, which she hadn't seen before, and she let her fingers rest against it, wondering where it came from. A knife slash, perhaps-

He shifted under her, sighing. His eyelids fluttered, dark obsidian eyes now like pools of ink, soft and liquid as he woke up and tried to chase away the vestiges of sleep. This might just be her favourite sight, she decided. Rehman, peaceful and completely at ease, first thing in the morning. And she would get it every day, she realized, for the next forty, maybe fifty years, them waking up next to each other for their whole lives. A slow smile spread across his face when he saw her, noticing the hand on his chest. "Mere soye huye hone ka fayda utha rahi thi, meri jaan?" He asked, voice rough from sleep.

"Hmm." She kissed his cheek. "Good morning."

"Wo to hai hi," he said, taking in her naked figure.

Her eyes widened, remembering the state she wss in. She smacked his chest. "Kuchh to sharam karo, din dahade-" How was one supposed to dress after this? There were no suitcases in the room. Had her things been brought and arranged in the cupboards already?

She yelped as he suddenly grabbed her by the waist, dragging her so that she was sitting on top of him as he sat up against the headboard. "Sharam? Apni hi biwi ko sarahne me sharam?" Biwi. The reminder sent a shiver of delight through her. He rubbed his thigh against her core, the friction sending sparks shooting through her. It was embarrassing how quickly she got wet, slick coating his thigh as he moved.

She held on to his shoulders tightly, trying to bury her face in the crook of his neck, but he wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her back. "Kitni baar batana padega tumhe ki mere se chhupna nahi?" He growled. "Sab dekhna hai mujhe." That was what he had said last night too, but it felt different during the day, somehow. She had seen how he looked at her, lust and adoration in his eyes, but to bare herself like this, in the light-

He leaned forward to take one of her nipples in his mouth, teeth scraping against the bud. They were still sensitive from when he had played with them yesterday, and an involuntary cry slipped from her lips. She felt him smile against her chest, smug at how easily he could make her react like this.

Well, two can play at that game.

He was still hard, cock resting against his stomach, and she reached out, wrapping her hand around it. He made a choked sound, teeth sinking into the skin of her breast in surprise before he let go. "Meri jaan..."

She had wanted to do this yesterday too, when he first bared himself, but she hadn't been quite thinking straight enough to vocalize that desire then. It was thick and long, curving a bit to the left as she stroked him from root to tip. A bead of precum formed at the slit, and she swiped her thumb across it, bringing it to her mouth to taste him. Something musky and masculine, slightly bitter and salty. He shuddered at the sight. "Ya Allah-"

There is no God here, she thought. Or at least so they said. She had never understood what the huge fuss over sex was for, before, but now she did. And if this was a sin, then she was willing to be cast down into hell as long as it was beside him. She leaned down, holding his member in her hand as she licked a stripe up its side. The hand in her hair tightened, his stomach muscles rippling. She opened her mouth wide to take in as much of him as she could, tongue pressing against the vein on his underside, using her hand to stroke the rest. He threw his head back and cursed loudly. She bobbed her head up and down, familiarizing herself with the heat and weight of him. She understood now why he had enjoyed going down on her so much. There was something about seeing him completely unraveled by a few strokes of her hand and mouth.

She looked up at him, grey eyes meeting his dark ones, and he pulled her off his cock hastily, panting. She wondered if something had gone wrong. Had she accidentally hurt him? "Rehman-"

"Mujhe aise dekhogi to yahi khatam ho jaunga," he rasped as he dragged her close. He slid his hands down to her core, slipping two fingers inside, roughly scissoring her open. She was embarrassingly wet, his fingers making squelching sounds as they drove into her cunt. She felt him twist his hand, hitting that spot that made her whimper and buck her hips towards him. He pulled her until she was right over his cock, removing his fingers to spread her wetness over himself.

She trembled as she felt the blunt head press against her pussy, struggling for a moment before it went in. God, he was thick, making her feel like he was carving a space out for himself inside her. She slid down slowly, her inner walls convulsing as she took more of him. She was full, she was so full, but there was still more to go. Slick pooled at the base of his cock and she felt his hands tremble at her waist from the effort of holding back. She let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan as she lowered herself completely, nails digging into his shoulders. It felt oddly right, in a way, being filled like this, like they were completing parts of each other.

She let herself catch her breath before she began moving, his hips thrusting in time with her. Her legs burned as she moved, trying to set a rhythm. She must be creating quite the obscene image, riding him as her breasts jiggled from the thrusts, throat and chest blooming with bruises, lewd moans spilling out of her, but she couldn't bring herself to care, not when it felt like this. And he seemed to like it anyways, if his words were any indication. She knew he liked to talk, but apparently he liked to talk during sex too, and oh God the things he said- calling her perfect, beautiful, saying he wanted to ruin her, to save the memory of the sounds she was making forever, of wanting to keep her like this, naked and stuffed and hungry for his cock- it all made her head spin. The coil tightened in her stomach- her peak was approaching, and fast. Then his hand went to her clit, rubbing, squeezing, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and she screamed his name and shattered, coating him with her release.

Her legs shook as she collapsed against him, but he wasn't done yet. He grabbed her by the hips and moved her up and down his cock, chasing his pleasure, pulling her into a kiss to swallow her cries. The overstimulation was too much and she clenched tightly round him, gasping in ecstasy. Before long he followed her over the edge, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt, coating her walls with hot spurts.

They lay against each other, trying to catch their breath. There were angry red indents on his shoulders from her nails digging into him, and her waist bore fresh marks of his fingers in addition to the ones he had left all over her yesterday. His cock slowly softened and slipped out of her, the movement against her sensitive cunt making her hiss. They stayed there, tangled in each other until she suddenly felt him shake in laughter. "Kya hua?"

"Subah uthkar good morning kyu bolte hain pata chala," he snickered. "Jisne bhi ye shuru kiya pakka wo-"

"Besharam!"

He burst out laughing, drawing her in for another kiss.

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1995

Ulfat set Faizal down on the sofa, giving her arms a break from carrying the two-year-old. He was too small to keep up with the other members of the family, but he refused to be left alone even for a moment and cried unless he was with one of them. It inevitably led to someone- usually her or Rehman- having to carry the toddler once he got tired of following them around. She sat down next to him, taking a minute to rest. "Bohot lamba din tha aaj ka, nahi?"

He nodded seriously, launching into a story about one of his toys gathering an army to battle with the other. She pretended to follow what he was saying, a fond smile on her lips as she watched him speak. There was a patter of heavy footsteps coming up the Haveli entrance, and Uzair stumbled in, sweaty and out of breath, flopping down dramatically onto the floor. "Bhabhi, aapka bachcha shaitaan hai," he declared. He noticed Faizal sitting next to her. "Ye wala nahi. Waise ye wala bhi hai, lekin mai uski baat kar raha hoon." He pointed at Naeeim, who had just come in, equally tired and dirty, a football tucked under his arm.

"Chachu bas naraaz hai kyunki wo haar gaye," Naeeim told her cheerfully, coming to sit next to his uncle.

"Tum nau saal ke bachche se haar gaye?" Ulfat asked, amused.

"Mai haara nahi! Isne mujhe giraya! Ab mai sade cheh foot ka, zyada zor se girunga, uthne me bhi utni hi der lagegi." Uzair was indignant. "Ye cheating kar raha hai!"

"Abbu ne bola aap bhi yahi karte the unke saath," Naeeim pointed out. "Agar aapko chahiye to rematch kare?" He held ball in front of him.

Uzair batted it away. "Mai thak gaya hoon. Aaj nahi."

"Itni jaldi?"

"Jaldi?" Uzair asked incredulously. "Teen ghante se khel rahe hai hum- bhabhi kya khila kya rahi hain aap ise?"

"Itne bade hokar bhi thak gaye," Naeeim mused. "Ammi, chachu buddhe ho rahe hain kya?"

A snort of laughter escaped her at the question, shoulders shaking in amusement as she watched Uzair sputter. "Buddha? Buddha? Teyees ka hoon mai-"

"Matlab mere double se bhi zyada," Naeeim said sagely.

"Dekhiye, maine kaha na ki ye shaitaan hai?"

"Ammi, chachu-"

Faizal, bored with them, pulled at her arm, launching back into his story even as Naeeim and Uzair continued their back-and-forth. She tried to keep up with both conversations at once, but she was hopelessly lost. Faizal yanked her dupatta to get her attention again. "Haan haan meri jaan, sun rahi hoon, bolo-"

"Apni ammi ko tang kar rahe ho?" Rehman asked from the door as he toed off his chappals. He must have returned quietly during the chaos. He looked tired, but he was smiling warmly, happy to see them.

"Abbu!" Faizal jumped from the sofa, ignoring her panicked cry- he was too small to be jumping off the furniture- as he ran to his father, arms raised to demand to be held. Rehman laughed as he grabbed the little boy, picking him up and bringing him over to her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, before turning to the pair lounging on the floor. "Ye kya haal bana rakha hai?"

Uzair repeated his complaints, casting the football a dirty look. Rehman just chuckled and set Faizal down next to her again.

"Sab aapki galti hai bhai. Aapne sikhaya use-"

"Achha sikhaya. Bachpan me mujhe girata rehta tha, ab bhugat." Naeeim beamed at his father's approval.

Uzair glared at his brother, before a slow smile spread across his face. "Waise, bhai, aapne aate hi Faizal ko utha liya, bhabhi ke paas bhi gaye... mujhe aur Naeeim se kaun gale milega?"

"Tum dono paseene se chip-chip ho-"

"Faizal aapka favourite hai kya?"

Naeeim scowled. "Nahi! Mai favourite!" He got up and wrapped his arms around his father. Rehman wrinkled his nose at the sweat getting transferred to him, but he hugged his son, unwilling to let him believe he was loved any less. "Mujhe dono utne hi pasand hai, beta. Ma-baap ke favourite nahi hote."

Uzair was watching with an evil glint in his eye. "Ab mai hi baaki reh gaya. Mere se bhi gale lag lo, bhai-"

"Hatt!" Rehman stepped back. "Sab samajh aa raha hai mujhe. Harami saal-"

"Bachcho ke saamne nahi!" Ulfat reminded.

Uzair grinned as he got up and opened his arms wide. "Arre, mai to bas apne bade bhai ka swagat kar raha hoon."

"Door reh madar- peechhe hatt-" Rehman quickly turned tail and walked out of the room as fast as he could, Uzair chasing him.

"Bhai! Arre bhai, ruko to!"

Ulfat laughed as she watched their antics. Thirty-five and he was still running around with his brother like a boy. She could hear them thundering up the stairs.

Thirty-five, she realized suddenly. It's been twenty years since we met. Things had changed so much- they were obviously older now, calmer and less impulsive, the odd grey hair making itself known once in a while. He was no longer the scrappy young boy she had run into, and she wasn't the same person she had been either, but she quite liked what they had become. What they had made, too, as she looked around her. Three children, a family and a home, full of happiness and laughter. Something they had both wanted dearly for years.

A pleasant breeze blew through the windows, heralding the coming of spring. Birds chirped loudly at each other, creating a ruckus as they headed back home for the day. The sun was setting, turning the sky fiery and casting the room in an orange glow as Faizal sidled up to Naeeim to ask him something. Upstairs, Rehman was yelling and Uzair was laughing.

Life was perfect.

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A/N: Aaaaaannddd, done! 10 chapters, one epilogue, 85k words and a little over three months, and it's finally over. I want to thank every single one of you who read, liked, or commented on this. Seriously, I wouldn't have been able to finish this without you guys encouraging me. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of love this series has gotten. I probably won't be able to read your comments right away, but I'll definitely reply once I'm back from home! I hope you had a good time (ik I certainly did). Let me know what you think of it! Asks and DMs always open ofc.

We didn't need a sociologist to tell us that, we already knew we had issues woman (another w for self aware kweens 👑) and even if we didn't have issues, we would've liked him just the same (not every liking stems from some deep seated trauma)

Isn't it an innately human response to desire what we cannot seek ?

I don't understand how this can be classified as a hallucination. Simping on fictional characters has been a pattern for centuries and even more so for villainous characters, it's nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe the scale at which it has occurred and for the first time seen a desi evil character receive so much praise and adulation by Indian women has these people losing their marbles.

The Indian society who is infamous for suppressing the desire of women has the galls to judge who we can or cannot like even on a fictional front is certainly telling of their intentions if not for the sociological concern behind it.

💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽💅🏽

Some of this is true.

Part of Rehman's appeal lies in the fact that he was ridiculously hot purely in the way how he existed and treated people around him.

Keeping aside the massive aura farming he did as the Sher e Baloch, Rehman was a good dad, a biwipaglu caring husband, an affectionate brother and a benevolent leader (until he fuckd up ofc).

ALSO GURLLL IT ISN'T THAT DEEP, HE WAS HAWT AS HELL AND MAYBE WE JUST WANTED (we do) TO FUCK HIM STUPID. AS SIMPLE AS THAT.

LOOK AT HIM AND TELL ME U DON'T WANNA RIDE THAT DAKAITI D.

Are you saying Rehman doesn't have an elite literary taste ??? That would be the worst assumption to make.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who loves holding you close to him. After an intense session of 'lovemaking', he'll sit with his back to the headboard, while you lay against his chest, playing with his fingers and venting about your day. He'll hum and respond whenever it's necessary, occasionally placing kisses against your hair. You'll nuzzle against his hairy chest, content in his warmth as he tightens his hold on you.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who is lowkey embarrassed to be called as your boyfriend, not because he's ashamed of you, not at all, but because of the age gap. He's a man in his forties and being called 'boyfriend' by a young pretty girl like you makes him shy. But he also loves the jealous gazes he gets from men your age when you parade him around. Besides, he doesn't plan on being boyfriend for long. He's had the ring ready in his wallet ever since your first date together.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who doesn't believe in any of the modern dating rules. When you're both in bed, cuddling while you scroll through your phone, he'll scoff at every reel that talks about some new dating theory. He asks why there's this need to play so many games if you like the person and call it stupid while kissing your forehead.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who has to hold himself back from pouncing on you whenever you walk around the haveli in his clothes. Let it be one of his old shirts, or his kurta, it swallows your frame and he's obsessed with how it looks on you. Sometimes he gets his clothes in your favourite colour so you'll steal it.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who attends weddings often with you right beside him, turning heads and giving the people something new to whisper about. Both of you don't care, and it's not like anyone was daring enough to question the Sher-e-Baloch.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who yaps about his gun collection passionately. He'll point to each gun and tell you the mechanical stuff about it while you zone out staring at his breathtaking side profile. He ofcourse notices this and asks you to repeat what he just said. You'll cheekily smile in reply while he shakes his head in disapproval even though you can clearly see the blush creeping up his neck.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who'll randomly hug you throughout the day. You'll just be cleaning a shelf and he'll wrap his arms around you, manhandling you into facing him. While you're still confused, he'll tilt your head upwards and press his mouth against yours. It's not even a proper kiss, just the both of you smashing your lips together. Before you can respond properly, he'll pull away, pat your cheek with a smile, and walk away like nothing happened.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who grabs at you like you're a fluffy toy. You'd be making tea for him in the kitchen when he comes up from behind to squeeze your belly or ass. He's not soft with it either. He grabs like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. He'll scold you whenever you say anything bad about your body and tells you that it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He has a way of proving it too which ends with you limping around the house for a few days. He loves keeping you all chubby for him and he gets the cook to make your favourite dishes all the time so you'll eat a lot.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who drops the most specific and unusual compliments that has you pausing in confusion. He'll be so shameless with it too. "Your tits look very soft today", he'll murmur casually as he squeezes them through your shirt while you stand there looking confused.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who openly judges the type of shows you watch. He'll squint at the drama, and roll his eyes before grumbling about how it's so 'unrealistic'. An hour later he'll come back and ask "So does the man figure out that the girl he's been searching for is actually his maid?" with the most serious expression ever.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who brings home an abandoned puppy one night and tells you that he found it in the gutter, shivering in the rain. You've both been talking about getting a pet together so you're excited and immediately agree to the idea. You take care of the puppy together, taking it to the vet, buying treats, and he's thoroughly confused when you name it 'Biscuit', but doesn't question it. He adores the tiny creature and he lets it sleep on his lap while he works in his study. Although as days go by he gets jealous when he sees Biscuit hogging all your time. You'd both be watching tv at night and Biscuit would walk in, placing himself between the two of you, gaining your attention. Your boyfriend will pout but he secretly loves that he's building a family with you.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who texts like he's about to break up with you. The first time he texted you, he sent "We need to talk" and you began crying because you thought he was about to call it off. Meanwhile Rehman was wondering why you didn't reply to his text and came to see you. He's terrified to find you sobbing and frantically asks you for the reason. When you tell him why, he is so confused because he just wanted to let you know that he wishes to call you and hear your voice. You pause your crying, and begin slapping at his chest (though it does nothing to him) for scaring the living shit out of you. He'll later ask Uzair to teach him how to text properly using 'emojis' because he doesn't wanna scare you again.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who swears his hair is turning grey faster than usual from the shenanigans you pull with the gang members. You'll team up with them to tease him or to try some new experimental bullshit Siyahi has come up with (which somehow ends up with a fire no matter what). He'll stand with his hands on his hips, looking like an exhausted mama hen while he scolds the lot of you for not behaving, though his tone significantly softens when he talks to you. Uzair scoffs at the change and rolls his eyes while you secretly stick your tongue out at him. Rehman swears that he regrets introducing the guys to you but he's secretly so happy that his girl is fitting in so well with the men he considers as family. Although he wishes there were less fire incidents.

Older-boyfriend!Rehman who has a matching 'Sher' tattoo with both your initials designed into it in a hidden spot on his body. It was something you both did for your anniversary and he's obsessed with it. He intends to get another one soon – the date on which he first saw you.

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