Later, they cuddled on the couch. He had put on his pants, and she was wearing
his now buttonless shirt, perched in his lap.
He
had called home to say that they would be late: out for dinner and a movie.
He
lifted her chin, "Zoya."
"Hmm?"
"I'm
sorry."
"What
for?" she rasped her fingernail across his collar bone.
"For
being a total jerk."
"Shh
... don't," she held her finger against his lips and nipped the skin on his neck.
He
kissed her finger and sucked on it. She jerked in his arms and hid her face in
his chest.
"How'd
you get that scar?
Her
spine stiffened and her eyes and hands dropped. "Umm, I don't really know. I've
always had it."
She
relaxed again when he gathered her to him.
"Zoya,"
he murmured. He couldn't get enough of saying her name out loud now. "That was
so hot!" He wrapped his arms around her under the shirt to caress her bare and
warm skin. "I still can't believe you did that."
She
made a mewling sound and burrowed deeper. "Kya hua? Why are you hiding your face?"
He asked, puzzled.
She
remained silent, burying her face in her hands. He pulled her hands down.
"Zoya? What happened? Are you OK?
"I
can't believe I did that either," she whispered miserably. His heart lurched.
Was she regretting it already?
His
hands fell away, "are you ... I mean ... do you regret doing ... this?"
"No," came her strangled response and she jumped off clutching the shirt tightly in
front of her. She turned her back to him, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Zoya?
Did I do something to upset you?"
She
shook her head vehemently, her hair flying.
"Then
what happened? You're scaring me."
Something
suddenly occurred to him. He too got up to stand behind her, "are you scared
that you'll become pregnant? So what if you do. We'll get married as soon as we
can. Tomorrow if you want!"
She
turned back and melted in his arms, weeping quietly. "Zoya?" He held her to him
as tightly as he could, confused and concerned. He stroked her hair and back,
and murmured soothing phrases over and over again: "Tell me baby...," "I'll fix
everything... I love you so much." But after a while he just held her quietly,
rocking her, waiting for her to weather the storm.
As
she shuddered to a stop he wiped her cheeks with his handkerchief. Asad lifted
her chin, "ready to tell me?"
She
shook her head no first, then nodded yes. Taking his handkerchief, she wiped
her tears off his chest. "I was so scared you'd reject me and think of me as
shameless and cheap. But I couldn't go on one more day not knowing if you
really wanted to marry me."
"Oh
god Zoya, I've been so blind and stupid. I thought you wouldn't want to be with
someone so different from you. You kept telling me that I was stuck in the 17th
century that I thought you'd never want someone like me as your husband." He
kissed her, "I wanted to tell you so many times that I loved you, but I thought
you'd laugh at me and give me some new nickname."
"Asad!"
she gasped and held his face with both hands. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea that
I was such a dragon." She hugged him to reassure him, apologizing with a
thousand kisses on his face.
Later,
he fixed the cushions on the couch while Zoya went to the restroom to
change into more presentable clothing for going back home. Cushion in hand, Asad
smiled recalling their pillow talk. Hooking his finger under
her chin he'd demanded anxiously, "Zoya, how could you step out of the house
dressed like that, and that too with, you know, no ... voh ... actually ...?"
Cheeks
stained red, she had answered by lowering her gaze. "Um, I actually changed in
the restroom downstairs." She covered her face in embarrassment, " I ... ah ...
removed ... my bra and stuff there." She buried her flaming face in his chest. He
kissed the top of her head. "Oh god, now I can't get the image of you naked out
of my head."
She giggled. This power was new to her.
"So
you came here, mind fully made up, to seduce me?"
She
had looked up then, "to make you confess. The seduction was the only weapon in
my arsenal." Her eyes darkened with pain, "oh god, Asad, I nearly died when you
turned your back on me. I thought you ... found me disgusting."
He
gasped and reached for her. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, "and then when you
were kissing me I was terrified that my scar would put you off."
"Never!
All these months I've itched to hold you and touch you." He had swooped to kiss
her in reassurance.
"That
scar makes you who are. And I love you."
And
then he'd pulled her to the floor and kissed her from her nose to her toes. Every
kiss was a promise to erase every hurt, and an erotic plea for forgiveness. With
his body, he once again showed her how much he loved her. With his words
whispered hotly in her ears, he told her about his fantasies and how he would
make her enact every single one of them. He ceded all rights over to her, to
exact any imagined revenge on him for the rest of their lives.
Still
in his mutilated shirt, she had offered herself up to be conquered and
worshipped. Moaning and arching under him she had been reduced to a mess of
twanging nerve endings.
There
wasn't a single coherent thought in her mind, or sassy word on her lips anymore.
The only word to escape her mouth was the repeated litany of his name as he
branded her flesh and molded her body to fit his. Every sigh a prayer, every
thrust a vow, their mating tango crested into a final raw jubilee cheer.
Back
to marshalling the cushions, Asad smiled as he remembered their lovemaking: the
first sexy, frantic and all-consuming; and the second, soulful, softer and slower. But just as torrid.
Still
lost in lust, he accidentally knocked her bag down on the floor. He didn't even
realize that he'd been whistling under his breath. He'd be surprised to know
that he even knew how to whistle.
Zoya's
treasures and trifles spilled onto the carpet.
He shook his head in wonder.
Why would she
carry the entire world in her bag? How heavy would this thing be, and was she
ever able to even find anything in there?
He
started to put the spilled contents on the coffee table. Laid out in precise
little military rows, the objects were neatly sorted out by category and type.
He
fantasized.
If
she'd only give him permission, he'd organize her bag so that she would never
have to rummage through it trying to find something. Things would be labeled in
see-through baggies ... He plotted on, already thrilled about how she would show
her appreciation for his super organizational skills that would make her life
so easy.
He
frowned.
Why
were there two pairs of sunglasses in here?
He
tut tutted.
Who
put sunglasses in the same place as keys and pens? This lens already had
a minor scratch. And especially when there was a case right there! He opened
the case and rolled his eyes.
Of
course. Empty.
Zoya!
He breathed her name.
He
picked up a thick envelope absently, and would have put it away, except that it
had the logo and address of a local travel agency. His skin prickled.
Oh
god, don't tell me!
He
opened it and pulled out ticket details for a flight to New York.
For
tomorrow.
In
the bathroom Zoya dressed back in her signature jeans and shirt. She folded the
mini skirt--her comrade in arms, and his ruined shirt--her victorious trophy.
She
caressed the shirt.
It
would go in her closet ... better yet, under her pillow, for permanent nighttime
wearing and safekeeping.
She looked up at herself in the mirror. "Look at you
Zoya Farooqui. Happy now?" Her dimples flashed and she covered her face unable
to meet her own flushed gaze.
She
lowered her hands and gazed at her reflection.
And
grinned cheekily.
"Yes,
yes, yes! I'm on top of the world, so sue me!"
She
twirled with her head thrown back.
"Aaj
main uppar, aasmaan neeche, aaj main aage, zamana hai peeche ..." she sang under
her breath. "Tell me, oh khuda, ab main kya karoon? Chalun seedhi ki ulti
chalun!"
She tried moonwalking.
And
failed.
But
who cared.
She
squealed softly and jumped up and down in glee.
Resting
her palms on the counter, she leaned in to look at her face closely. Her lips
were swollen, her chin red from whisker burn. Her eyes had at least a 1000
stars in them.
Her
eyes narrowed, lips curled with mischief. "Aaj main uppar," she blushed as she
hummed to herself, "jahanpanah neeche ..." Giggling, she covered her face again.
Picking
up the clothes, smile on her lips and song on an endless loop in her heart, she stepped out.
Asad
was standing at the window staring out into the dark night. She walked up to
her bag to put in the clothes and saw the coffee table.
"Mr.
Khan, yeh dukaan kis liye lagayee hai? Ooh, you found my Passion Plum lipstick.
I thought I'd lost it."
He remained silent.
"Asad?"
She
walked up to him and hugged him from the back. He was sculpted in stone, rigid
and unmoving.
"Asad?" It was her turn to be scared now. What happened? Was he
mad at her?
He
disengaged himself from her arms, turned around and flung something on his
desk. She stepped back in fear, her face pale and eyes wide.
His
dark gaze raked her face. He grabbed her upper arms and shook her hard, not
caring that he would leave punishing bruises. "How could you?" he demanded with
gritted teeth.
"What
happened?" he voice quivered.
"What
happened? You want to know what happened?" He flung her away.
Stalking
over to the desk and grabbing the recently tossed envelope, he growled, "this
happened. Why do you have tickets booked for tomorrow? You are leaving?"
Her
eyes lowered.
She
gulped.
"I
... would have ... but no, I'm not leaving now."
She
raised her chin defiantly.
Nearly
crumpling the envelope in his fist, he yelled, "why the hell would you
even consider that?"
He
saw her eyes swimming in tears. "If ... you had said no today, I would have
left."
Her
voice broke.
In
two swift steps he was by her side. "Zoya! Dammit, you would have left me!" He
pulled her to him in a bear hug, "oh god, it killed me, seeing these tickets.
I'm sorry baby, I'm such a fool. I wish I hadn't wasted so much time. Don't
ever think of doing anything like that." He rocked her in his arms after sucking
her tears dry.
Framing
her face with both hands, he brushed his nose against hers. "Thank god, you
came here like a raging temptress today. Up to me, may be I still wouldn't have
confessed by next year."
She
sniffed and then giggled. "Ya think!" she sassed "Sab kuchh Zoya Farooqui ko hi karna padta hai!"
But
her face became serious again. "But Asad would you have gone through with the nikaah
without confessing your love?" She traced his jawline. "You know, everyday I
would dread each time you tried to tell me something. I thought you were
struggling with the words to break up with me as gently as possible."
He
groaned. "Oh god no! I was dying to tell what you meant to me, but somehow I
couldn't get past the 'we're so different' hurdle."
He
cupped her face. "I had no idea that you thought I was breaking up with you.
And then seeing you so comfortable and friendly with Ayaan would make me think
if I was even the right guy for you."
Her
eyes shone. "Asad! You were jealous of me and Raabert? Thank god! I thought I was
that only one jealous! I was so damn jealous of all the time you spent with
Tanveer."
She
rose on her toes and kissed his forehead. "But you better tell her now, I am
not going to stand around watching her hug you and latch on to your arm any
damn time." If he were wearing a tie, now would be the time that she'd have
tightened it around his neck. But since he wasn't, she stabbed his chest with
her finger, "you stay away from her, or there'll be hell to pay."
He
chuckled, loving her jealousy. "Oh really, Ms. Farooqui? What will you do?"
"I'll
flirt with Ayaan."
"Zoya!
Don't you dare!"
She
tossed her hair over her shoulder "nahin to kya karenge aap?"
"I
will spank you!"
Her
mouth fell open. He had his arms crossed across his chest, chin jutting out and
a scowl on his face.
"Fine!
I'm going to New York tomorrow." She spun on her heel.
And
found herself lifted up in the air and thrown over his shoulder.
Pounding
on his back she shrieked, "Mr. Khan, put me down, right now." He walked over to
the sofa and dumped her in its plush softness. Against the very same cushions
he had just neatly plumped and arranged. He ripped out the itinerary from the
envelope, tore up the sheets into tiny squares, and dumped the vengeful
confetti on her head.
She
gasped at his audacity. Even more that he would mess up his precious neat-freak
altar of an office.
"Go!"
he challenged softly.
"Oh
really?" She stood on the sofa and whooped silently seeing his gaze thinned in disapproval.
Too freakin' bad jahanpanah!
The
decimated paper shreds rained onto the sofa and the carpet. Some snowed at his
feet. He crossed his arms again, eyes narrowed into threatening slits.
Fists
at her waist she declared, an avenging Oracle: "I won't be going now."
"No,
please go, what's keeping you here? Aap New York mein hi theek hain."
If
he had said this yesterday, she would have probably burst into tears and fled
from the room.
But
today was another day. She was the master of his universe now.
"Haan,
main New York mein theek thi, par ab Bhopal hi mere liye New York hai. Aakhir
mera saara saaman toh yaheen hai." She too crossed her arms across her chest
and glared, miming him.
"Saaman
bag mein pack ho sakta hai," he sputtered.
"Par
aap to kissi bag mein fit nahin ayenge?" she looked up at him, too innocently.
"Neeche
utariye," he ordered.
"Nahin!"
"Ms.
Farooqui!"
"See,"
she pointed an accusing finger at him. "You are back to calling me Ms.
Farooqui," she pouted. "May be I will go back to New York after all. I already
packed my bags before I came here!" She looked at him under her lashes.
"NO!"
he roared and dragged her down from the sofa, crushing her in his arms. "Don't
you even think it!"
Driving
back home had been torture and bliss. Unable to keep their hands off each
other, they had been honked at and probably cursed out a thousand times by irate
denizens of Bhopal rushing to get home.
"Asad,
pay attention to the road," she had instructed tongue in cheek, while her hand
played havoc with his blood flow. She had turned in her seat and stared at him.
When he turned to look at her, she slowly licked her lips and dipped her head.
"Zoya!
No, you'll get us killed."
"At
least you'll die a happy jahanpanah."
"Zoy--!"
His body jerked. "Oh god, woman you'll be the death of me." He moaned through
clenched teeth, rolling his head on the headrest.
"Zoya,
stop! Stop! There's a police bike following us."
"Liar!"
she giggled.
"No
seriously! Please baby."
The
car was slowing down. She lifted her head and grabbed the burqa from the bag at
her feet. Some quick thinking and action, and by the time he rolled down the
window, his lap was modestly draped.
She
had laughed all the way home. Half-way there, he had cracked a regretful smile
too.
Damn
that over-vigilant cop!
At
home, Phuphi and Najma had obviously retired for bed.
Just
past the living room, they gazed at each other longingly for the longest time.
Looking up the stairs, he had grabbed her for a quick kiss. And was completely undone
as he tasted himself on her. Pushing her away from him he groaned, "oh god, if
I had confessed any earlier, you'd already be pregnant by now!"
Her
eyes had gone soft then. She felt a primal tug in the pit of her stomach.
"Asad!" She swayed.
He
held her at an arm's length, "Zoya, my mother and sister are upstairs. Go to
your room and don't look back. Please!"
She
sighed and complied. And giggled when she heard him swear under his breath and
mutter, "cold shower here I come!"
She
couldn't resist it, "aww, you'll come without me?"
"Zoya!"
he threatened as hard as he could in a loud whisper. "GO!"
"Let's
just go back to your office then?"
"Zoya!"
But
as he walked into his room, Asad knew exactly why he hadn't thundered that she
lock her door.
Two
cold showers later, he'd still kept twisting and turning in bed. Every second
had him imagining her mouth on him, or him moving, pummeling inside her.
He
marched into her room and came to a halt. Her bedside lamp was on but she was
fast asleep half-propped up against the headboard.
She
was wearing his shirt.
He
groaned.
She
knew he'd come and had even waited up for him.
He
leaned over her and curled his tongue around her exposed nipple. His fingers
touched and stroked her lower. She stirred and he took her nipple fully in his
mouth sucking it hard. Her back lifted off the bed even before her eyes popped
wide open.
Arms
around his neck and head falling back, she writhed and breathed, "Asad, make
love to me."
He
groaned and kissed her hard.
"Thank
god, you're a mind reader," he said after they came up for air. He kissed down
her throat and cleavage. Wherever his fingers marched, his lips obediently followed.
But
more lazily, greedily.
They
lingered longer, detouring here and then there, feasting, forgetting, and then
suddenly remembering to catch up with the eagerly exploring fingers.
First
her back, and then her hips lifted and thrashed off the bed; she could almost
have been levitating frenziedly under a magician's spell.
He
stopped and detached himself. Cold air rushed over her heated flesh. She nearly
cried out in frustration, groping blindly for him. Opening her eyes though, she
smiled.
He
was shedding his clothes. Shredding, more likely.
Something
ripped.
"Why
did you even waste time getting dressed?" she pouted.
"Don't
want to kill my family," he grunted and slipped into bed with her.
And
crushed her in arms.
They
sighed in gratitude and moaned in anticipation.
Their
bodies homed in by instinct, magnetized and heat-seeking.
"Where
was I?" he asked, reacquainting himself with her warm skin.
She
guided his mouth to her needy nipple and his hand to her wet and throbbing
entrance.
"All
over, here ... hurry," she sighed and wiggled.
"So
impatient, Ms. Farooqui?" he teased as he gratified the other nipple by pulling
it painfully with his teeth.
"Just
please, put your head in the game!" She coached breathlessly arching, fully
aroused.
He
chuckled and rubbed himself against her.
"My
head will have to wait, sweetheart," he promised. "Let's work on your game for
now."
"Atta
boy!" she cried and lurched as his late lateef mouth soon caught up with his
firmly stroking, parting and invading fingers. His procrastinating tongue was
firmer and hotter, making up for lost time, and stoking her fire.
His
teeth were sharper as they punished her for being so damned tempting and wet
for him.
He
stroked.
And
sucked.
She
writhed.
He
scrambled to cover her mouth so that she wouldn't wake up the whole house and
expose their undercover, stealth mission. He slithered up on his elbows to hush
her with his mouth. As his tip brushed insistently against her, he shuddered
uncontrollably and rammed in to bury himself to the hilt. She almost shook his
mouth off; so violently did her body jolt in response.
Her
nails scratched his back and slid down to rake and wedge him in deeper. He
wrenched her arms over her head to grip the headboard behind her. Going up on
his knees he gripped her hips to plunge in deeper, harder.
The bedsprings
protested.
Her
hands scratched at his heaving shoulders. "Please, please baby, harder," she intoned,
eyes closed, legs wrapped around him.
He
disentangled her legs and rolled them over on his back. "Ride me," he
demanded. His hands kneaded her hips and butt as she twisted and churned over
him.
The
sighs and sounds of their lovemaking steamed the room. Each touch was electric
and each dragged breath more intense than the previous one.
His
hands lovingly brushed her breasts, thumbs stroking their tips. He rose to lave
them. His tongue tugged and teeth nipped.
He
thrust two of his fingers in her mouth; she bit them and sucked away the sting.
He removed them to spread her and pinch her swollen cl*toris. His fingers
teased and thumb rolled over her tight, throbbing bud.
Darts of molten desire
stabbed her.
She
mewled and wiggled restlessly.
Her
thighs convulsed, and her hips rocked frantically in response. "Oh god, Asad! Aaah!
Asaaaddd!" He had to cover her mouth with his hand to suppress her orgiastic cries.
Crashing
her on her back, palms bracing him, he pounded into her. "Zoya, look at me,
baby. Look at m--! Zoyaaa!" He collapsed on top of her, wrung out and sated.
He
squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back in release. The corner of his
eye barely registered a plump suitcase and backpack propped by the door.
"You
would have really left me?" He asked later in the darkened room. "Zoya?" Her
soft and regular breathing told him that she had fallen asleep. Tucking her
into his side he too slept, resolute and at peace.
She
wasn't going anywhere now.
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