Light streamed in through the sheer curtains, casting a golden veil across Maholi's bare skin.The sheets clung to her hips, her body flushed in the afterglow of the night before — not sore, but sensitized, still echoing with the memory of how he touched her, where he kissed her, and how deeply she'd let herself fall.
Abir lay beside her, chest bare, arm loosely draped over the pillow she had abandoned.He wasn't posing, wasn't guarded. His lashes rested gently against his cheeks, and the morning sun caught in the unruly strands of his hair.
He didn't look like a star right now.
He looked like a man who had finally slept after years of being on edge.
And somehow, he felt like hers.
Maholi couldn't help it — her fingers moved on their own.She traced the line of his nose, the soft flutter of his lashes, the curve of his lips — lips that had been everywhere on her last night.Her touch was featherlight, reverent — like she was learning a scripture in braille.
But before her fingers reached his jaw, his eyes snapped open — awake, burning.
He caught her wrist midair, the edge of a smirk tugging at his mouth.His voice — low, roughened with sleep and sin — slid over her like velvet laced with heat.
"You shouldn't touch me like that unless you're ready for what it wakes."
Her breath hitched.Her cheeks, already warm, went molten.
"You're impossible—" she whispered, trying to move away.
But he rolled — smooth, deliberate — and pinned her beneath him with a weight that was both tender and possessive.
"I warned you," he murmured, and then his mouth claimed hers — slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to taste her.
His kiss wasn't impatient.It was intentional.Every stroke of his tongue coaxed her lips open wider, and his hands were already moving — sliding down the length of her torso, memorizing her again like an addict tasting his drug of choice.
Maholi gasped as his fingers grazed the underside of her breast — not groping, but cupping her like something precious and fragile. He teased the curve with slow circles, brushing his thumb over her nipple until it hardened under his touch.
"I told myself I'd behave this morning," he whispered against her jaw, "But you... looking at me like that... You ruin every ounce of control I've ever built."
She tried to respond, but her words melted when his mouth found her neck — biting gently, then licking the sting with lazy affection.
One of his hands slipped under the sheets, grazing the inside of her thigh with knuckles that barely touched — until she parted her legs for him.
Unspoken permission.
And he took it.
His fingers slid between her folds — slow, unhurried — finding her already warm, already wet.
Maholi arched involuntarily, her breath catching, a soft moan breaking free as his fingers traced her with reverence.He circled her slowly, then dipped in just enough to feel how ready she was for him again.
"Still trembling…" he murmured, voice dark silk, kissing his way down her chest.
His mouth replaced his fingers on her breast — lips wrapping around her nipple, tongue circling, sucking, then flicking with sinful precision.Her back arched. Her hands tangled in his hair, thighs tightening around his waist.
"Still mine."
"You don't get to do this…" she whispered, but it came out as a breathless plea, not a protest.
He smiled against her skin — wicked, knowing — and then kissed lower.Lower.Between her ribs. Her navel. Her hips.
And then — his mouth disappeared beneath the sheets.
She cried out — sharp and soft — as his tongue found her again, licking her with aching slowness.Every stroke of his tongue was maddening, dragging her higher and higher, only to slow down again — tormenting her with patience.
"Abir—" her voice broke, needy, trembling.
He groaned softly against her, the vibration making her hips buck.He held her thighs open, his grip firm but reverent, devouring her like a secret he wanted to bury inside himself.
When her body shook, when her legs locked around his shoulders, when she moaned his name like it was sacred — only then did he rise.
And he didn't say a word.
He kissed her again — tasting her on his lips — and slowly, without needing permission, he slid inside her.
Deeper this time. Slower.
Her body welcomed him like he belonged — like it had been waiting all night for him to come back.
They moved together — not in a rush, but in rhythm.Every thrust purposeful, dragging pleasure from her nerve endings and letting it pool between them.
He kissed her lips, her throat, her chest — whispering her name like it was a hymn and a curse.
"You feel like home," he breathed into her mouth."You feel like everything I wasn't supposed to have."
And Maholi couldn't hold back.She wrapped around him, heart pounding against his chest, soul spilling between her gasps.
Their bodies tangled, twisted — until she broke first, shuddering around him with a cry that cracked in the center of her being.
He followed, moments later, burying himself deep, groaning her name like a man unraveling — as if she had stolen something eternal from him and he didn't want it back.
Later, when he lay beside her again, breath evening out, hand resting on her waist…She stared at the ceiling — silent, stunned, aching in the sweetest way.
She should've said something.
Should've reminded herself that this was temporary, fragile, unreal.
But as his fingers brushed lazy circles along her spine and he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder…
She didn't want to speak.Didn't want to explain.Didn't want to name it yet.
Because maybe, just maybe — in the quiet between their breaths — this wasn't pretending anymore.