05

Her thoughts

Ulfat stumbled back, her breath hitching as the door to her room clicked shut behind her. The weight of Zaviyar’s lecture still hung in the air, his stern voice echoing in the silence. “Main hamesha itna sabar nahi dikhaunga.” The threat if it even was a threat felt like a brand on her skin.

She leaned against the dark wood of the door, her knees finally giving way as she slid down to the floor. The silk of her dress felt agonizingly smooth against her heated skin. She was mortified that he had seen right through her, but more than that, she was consumed by the memory of his hand on her waist and the dark, repressed hunger in his eyes.

Wo mujhse gussa tha, lekin uski pakar mein jo shiddat thi... She closed her eyes, and all she could see was the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders.

Her hands trembled as they moved instinctively, tracing the path his touch had taken. Imagining him touching her. The friction of the silk became a poor substitute for the warmth of his skin. Every breath she took felt heavy, saturated with the scent of his sandalwood cologne that seemed to have followed her into the room.

The "dirty thoughts" she’d had since seeing the villa weren't just thoughts anymore; they were a physical ache. She moved to the bed, the moonlight spilling across the duvet in pale ribbons. As she sought release from the tension he had coiled so tightly inside her, her mind stayed trapped in that dining room.

In the quiet of the villa, every soft sound she made felt dangerously loud. She imagined him just down the hall, responsible and restrained, probably reading a book or working, completely unaware of the chaos he had unleashed in her. Or was he? Kya wo bhi wahi soch raha tha jo main soch rahi hoon?

The contrast of his cold lecture and the heat of his grip was too much. As the tension finally broke, Ulfat lay there, breathless and flushed, staring at the ceiling. She had come here thinking she could play with him, but as she listened to the rhythmic thumping of her own heart, she realized she was the one caught in the trap.

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Ella

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Using the body as a canvas for high-level descriptive writing.

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