Please read preivous part before continuing. Also also give your precious comments and feedbacks. This is help me in improve in the upcoming chapters.
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The next morning, I woke up to see one white jasmine flower on my pillow. It was the first gift he gave me. It was nothing and it was everything! We began to live with unspoken understanding.
I was arranging items in when he inside refrigerator when he came and sat at the dining table next to me, not in his armchair. I felt the warmth of his arm, but we didn't really say much. I reached for a water bottle and at the same moment my hand touched his.
We didn't get off quickly. We looked at one another and the world turned upside down.
On another day, I was on a stool in my room and working on a broken hook. It shook and I gasped. I heard a commotion, and he came to my door. He walked in and got it to work no problem; his fingers clutched my hand as he grabbed the screwdriver. He didn't leave. He was sitting in my room and had delicately put a strand of hair behind my dupatta. His fingers brushed my skin on my neck and it was like fire.
"We shouldn't," he whispered but he did not take his hand off. I replied back, "I know."
It was a phone call that broke the ice. Zeeshan mentioned that he was prolonging his vacation for another couple of months. "It is for us in the future, Zeenat", he said.
After the call, I sat on the couch, feeling trapped with a sense of prison.
Danish discovered me there. I said, "two more months," keeping my voice low. It's for the future, he said. I looked into his eyes, and I saw him with the same despair.
So, what else is there, Zeenat? asked his voice, rough. "Walk away? Destroy everything?" It was a slap of reality that his words brought. "So what?" I retaliated, my voice going up. "We just live like this? Like ghosts? I'm tired of being strong." He lifted his hand and then he froze, trembling. "Zeenat," he breathed. "We can't." It was too late. I shoved my hand flat against his chest, over the frenzied blood beating in his heart, and weaved my way in between him and the last inch of space. He withdrew and then slowly placed his hand over my hand.
"Already lost, we are," he whispered. After that he bent his head down and kissed me. Slow and hesitant, a kiss of surrender, of tears and of a love that was born in sin.
When we separated, we simply stood there, hand in hand, we both knew we were on the edge together.
A new, relaxed schedule had developed. He would guide me to wash dishes, our hands brushing as we went by a plate. We would sit very close together on the sofa watching TV.
One night I was unable to sleep. I peeked into his room to see him lost in his book. I knocked and he let me in. He was in front of me, and he put his hand to my cheek, and he put his forehead to mine. "We are in so much trouble," he whispered. I whispered, "I know."
Then came again another storm. Power went out again, but this time, I wasn't afraid. I lit a candle, and he came and sat next to me on the sofa. The rain was going, and he said, "It seems to wash everything away." "Does it?" I asked. "Does it take off a stain?"
He didn't answer. He simply gazed at me with his eyes of longing. Slowly, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and held his fingers on my cheek. I leaned into his touch, allowing him permission. He leaned closer, his warm breath on my face.
He whispered "Zeenat" and then kissed me once more. This kiss was special. It was not an emergency circumstance; it was an option. Slow and soft with a tenderness that stole my breath away. He pulled me towards him and kissed me back, his fingers in my hair. There was no past, no future and no Zeeshan for a little while. It was just us, the candle and the rain.
Finally, we separated, sharing along the same lines of the air of our breathing. "For so long, I've wanted to do that," he whispered. "Me too," I whispered back. That's when we sat there, and I didn't feel guilty. I just felt right. I was in the right place at the right time.
The candle had dimmed down to a blob of wax and the first grey light of dawn was putting in an appearance through the window. We were sleeping on the sofa, lying together like innocent and intimate as lovers. The first thing I heard was his heartbeat, steady and calm, as I opened my eyes and saw him lying on his chest, holding my head. In the few good moments, there was only peace. Then reality returned. I raised my head, and he stirred, and his eyes opened and fluttered. The warmth of the night before was all he could see in my eyes. I then caught the terror seeping in. He sprang to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. "It's the power," he mumbled, his voice thickening with drowsiness. "It's back."
Suddenly, the hum of the fridge broke this bubble, as the world turned on again, and the bubble we had inhabited all night had burst. I should... prepare myself for school, I said, standing up and smoothing my clothes. "Yes," he replied, getting to his feet.
We just couldn't meet each other's eyes. There was now a strange, frightening vibe to the space that had seemed so comfortable hours before.
I walked to my room, closed the door and leaned against it. I could still feel his smell on my clothes. I checked myself out in the mirror. I was the same as I used to be, except for my eyes. They held a secret. A gorgeous cursed secret.
It was a day at school that was torture. I was going through the lessons smoothly, replaying in my mind all of the events of the preceding night. His eyes gazing on me, his hand on my back, his kiss on my lips. I'll catch myself smiling and then have to do my best to keep a straight face. I was like a second life to myself.
On arriving home nothing was heard in the house. I discovered a note on the kitchen table beside a cup of tea which he had prepared for me. Had to be at campus for a study group. - Danish. My heart sank. I had been fearing him and I had been hoping to see him. I took the brew, which was still hot, and the little thing was like a lifeline.
That night he came home late, after I'd eaten, and was sitting in the living room not reading a book. I heard a key in the keyhole and my heart began beating. He came in, looking tired. He stopped to look at me. "Hey," he said. "Hey," I said back. Words were unspoken in the air. He dropped his bag and walked into the living room but he didn't sit. He was standing by the window and gazing into the night.
He said softly, "I'm sorry about last night." I cried a little because my heart was broken. I stood up and said, "No. It was not just you, Danish, you didn't. You didn't, Danish, I didn't, either." He looked at me with a puzzled look.
He was looking at me; his eyes were going into mine. He seemed so be dishevelled and broken. He said in a barely audible voice, "I'm scared. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose him, I'm afraid that I will hurt you, I'm afraid of what it makes me." I put my hands on his hands. "Yes, I'm afraid too," I said. "But I'm more frightened of getting back to how things were before. I can't live in that quietness anymore!"
He leaned his forehead against mine, as he had in his room. This is such a catastrophe, he cried. I whispered, "I know..... I know," a single choking tear escaped and ran down my cheek. He kissed the tear from my face and his lips were soft against my skin. He then looked at me and the terror was replaced gradually.
Something like resolve. He said, "Okay, Zeenat." He was not giving a promise of the future. He wasn't making a plan. He simply stated the facts about us! That's all that was needed, and that's just what happened. He leaned in and kissed me, it was a soft kiss, not passionate, but promising. An agreement with one another to endure this calamity.
One sunny afternoon when I didn't attend school for half a day and got home early. There were no people in the house. I went to his room and saw that he was looking out of the window and that he had left his book on the desk. I must have startled him, because he looked up when I came in, and the longing in his eyes was raw, it stole my breath. He didn't say a word. Only he extended his arm. I ran to him and he wrapped his arms around me like he was afraid I was going to disappear, brought me down on his lap. "I can't do it anymore," he whispered against my hair, his voice thick with emotion.
"I can't pretend, I can't study, I can't breathe without thinking about you!" I tilted his face up to mine, my thumb stroking his jaw. We kissed with passion. This kiss, he had captured my mouth in, was not like the tentative, gentle kisses we had shared before. This kiss was a kiss of hunger, a kiss of desire, a kiss of a year's supply of want and need. He parted my lips, took my lips, and my intensity matched his. My hands were clenched on his hair and pulling him closer, I needed to feel him, all of him.
Breathless, I was held in his arms; he stood, lifting me at ease, my legs wrapped around his waist. He put me on his bed, his body over mine, his eyes dark with desire as I was. "I've been thinking about this," he breathed, taking in my face, my neck, my body. "So many times."
He didn't rush. He wasted no time, re-finding me with open arms. His fingers moved across the curve of my collar bone and then slowly, deliberately, he started to unbutton my kameez in the front. Every button that I had was being pressed by his knuckles, and it made me shiver. He tore open the cloth, and his eyes grew darker, upon seeing the simple black lace of my bra.
He lowered his head, and his lips touched the rounded area over the lace of my bra. The touch was electric in so many ways. He stretched his hand out to clutch at my back, but his fingers were slightly dishevelled, then released.
He removed the straps from my shoulders, never taking his eyes off mine, exposing my boobs to him. He spent a lot of time on his hands, and on his mouth, getting to know every curve, every sensitive spot. He licked the nipple around and around till it was a tight, hard peak, and then he suckled it, licking lightly.
My back arched off the bed and I had a soft gasp. He gave the same treatment to the other boob, his hands caressing my stomach, my hips, my thighs, playing fire and setting me on fire for him.
I tugged at his shirt and I had to feel his skin, against mine. He sat back and pulled it over his chest, exposing his hard muscles of his abdomen. I ran my hands over him feeling the warmth, the strength. I dragged him back to me; the bare chest of his body pressed against my bare boobs; a bliss I never knew before.
His hands moved down my body to my salwar's waistband. He looked at me, and his eyes were full of questions; a last, silent plea for permission. I responded by raising my buttocks, allowing him to pull the cloth off and I was now fully exposed to him. He knelt between my legs and looked at me adoringly. He pushed his head down, a soft kiss to my inner thigh, then up, his breath dancing over my already dripping pussy.
I stiffened all my muscles in anticipation. As soon as his tongue brushed the edge of my clits, I felt a rush of pure pleasure through me. Slow and methodical, probing me, exploring me, in an intimacy that was overwhelming and innately right. He learned all my folds, all my rhythms, which made me gasp, and my hands where he held them, my pleasure rising and rising to an intolerable extremity.
The world opened up and broke me apart, a scream ripped from my throat, a stream of blinding joy that cascaded through me like waves. I wasn't back in control of myself yet, and he was rolling over me, taking his last clothes off.
He wedged himself between my thighs, and his hard dick pressed against my pussy lips. He barely looked away from my eyes, his raw and vulnerable face. My name was a prayer on his lips, "Zeenat" he whispered. Slowly he made love to me, a deep thrust, a deep and deliberate one, that filled me. There was no pain, no hesitation.
There was the sense of complete, total union. He started to stir, at first slowly and then more rapidly and challenging; as we needed it. I held his legs in my hands and pulled him harder, and danced the same rhythm, as we danced through the ages.
The sound of our fucking filled the room; his low groans, my soft screams and the slap of skin on skin. It was not a rush in the desperation, but a union of depth and soul-shattering.
He pushed his hips harder against me, and struck a place deep within me and gave me another jolt of pleasure. My fingernails clawed his shoulders as I held on to him as he pushed me to the edge again.
He beckoned with a harsh voice, "Look at me! I opened my eyes, facing his piercing stare. He said, "I love you," his thrusts were more wild, rougher. I gasped the words out of me, "I love you too.
When he said that, I heard our confession together, and it undid me. As my pussy clenched around him, I cried out his name, my orgasms so strong, it was almost pain.
He followed me over the edge with a blissful, deep groan and his body shook in resonance with mine as he pumped me full of his hot cum. He fell on top of me; his weight was a comforting weight.
We were both breathing heavily; bodies covered in sweat. We've been lying there for a long time, entwined, beating in a frenzy, in harmony.
He rolled over onto his side, cradling me in his arms, my head under his chin. He ran his fingers through my hair tenderly, possessively.
After a few moments of breathing, his hand started to wander once more, making patterns on my skin, and I felt jolts of sensation again with his dich gaining strength again. His fingers moved up my back, and I arched against him.
"I'm surprised," I whispered in his ear again, my voice filled with a hunger that was new and different. He turned again, standing between my legs again. This time there was no hesitation, no slow build up.
He flashed into me with a strong and quick push of dick in my pussy that took my breath away. We danced together with urgency, as if we were striving to become one, to unite, to merge. His hands were clutched around my hips as he pulled me against him with every stroke, and started going deeper and deeper into me.
My legs went around his waist, and I matched him, matching his intensity. We kissed passionately -- tongues swirling and breathing clashing. In this room the noises of our love making filled the room as my lips met his, my skin slapped his, my soft cries of pleasure, his guttural groans of ecstasy.
He moved slightly, changed the angle of his thrusts and suddenly he was hitting that spot deep in me that caused jolts of electricity to run through my body. "There!" I gasped, my nails biting his back. "Don't stop! Fuck me harder!" He said yes, just shifting his tempo, driving into me, relentlessly, with precision.
It was like a coiled spring of pleasure, the more it was pressed, the more it coiled. I felt my heart beating as if I was getting close to the edge; my body shaking with excitement. A series of blissful sensations swept over me, deeper and deeper each time. My inner walls tightened around him, holding him captive, and he shouted my name out, and followed me over the edge and his body shook, and he let go.
We fell on each other, our arms and legs and our skin glued together. He rolled onto his side and I rolled with him; his arms were around me very tightly. My head laid on his chest and his heart was pounding in a regular rhythm under my ear.
My fingers traced against his chest, I said, "Wow...Well, done." He replied with considerable softness but firmness, "Be Always with me." I lifted my head to his face and he looked at me, my heart pounding with emotion. "Always," I vowed, with kiss.
The room was silent with only sound of our falling breaths. There was still the guilt, it lingered in the corner of the room. Here in his arms though, where he was all around me, and the smell of him on me. This was all that was important. This moment. This man. I had not only betrayed my husband, but I betrayed myself. I had made my own decision and for the first time, totally and forever, I selected myself.
....to be continued...