Chapter 10.

Aliyaar did not want to close his eyes, at all. Over his right pectoral and under his chin the weight of her head was a delirious poison. His fingers stroked the bare arms that piled out of the silk sheets. Their legs had been tangled into a muddled mess overnight, her head finding it's way to his warm chest in the middle of the night. He stared at the creme ceilings and the cylindrical chandelier that with it's long crystals cast rainbows over the bed-frame. The light scattered through it and from the thick curtains that, he had forgotten to pull close last night,streams of sunlight filled in.

The bright screen of his phone blinded his already hazy vision as he read the bold white words 08:00. Eight am, on the dot. Placing the phone back on its place, ignoring the blaring red on the battery. Aliyaar breathed in softly and felt his waist cramp up. He was still living in the fatigue from the day prior, already wondering how was he expected to entertain a whole crowd of people in the evening once more. Weddings were tiring. They were nothing like the books described them to be ; there was no erotic wedding night and at the very least not at all comforting for the couple.

A silent yawn escaped his mouth, the pale eye lids clenched shut as he felt tiredness wash over him. Last night he had slept fitfully. Frozen in place, he could not turn and with Barekhna in his arms his body warmed up infinitely. He was not used to cuddling nor did he wear full clothing to bed. In his ever apparent need to accommodate her, Aliyaar was left feeling out of place. The back of his neck itched furiously as the tag of the shirt rubbed against it. Not all of the blame though could be placed on the sudden change in surroundings. Last night all of his dreams had been fulfilled. He had attained what ever his wildest dreams had been. His business had pulled through what could be called a tornado that pulled him in for a disaster. One that would leave him destroyed. To top it off, Aliyaar had married the woman he loved. There was nothing more he dreamt of, nothing more his heart desired. With a life so blissful, settled and full of blessings, sleep had abandoned him.

Dribbling raps on the door filtered through the abysmal silence to his ears. His reverie was broken but before he could break out of their embrace, the door was pulled open. Aliyaar grimaced, he had out of habit not locked the door — a thing he would soon have to change. Lilah popped in, grinning at him, dressed in a salmon pink dress. She bounced over to them with a giddy look in her eye, a sparkle as she waved at him shyly. Her eyes wide as they observed the figure of Barekhna, hidden under the duvet.

"Lilah!" Aliyaar warned as she reached out to touch Barekhna's hand.

"Yaar?" She whispered, tearing at the sound of his snarl.

"Why are you here?"

"Mama — mama asked me to come get — get come get you two." Lilah swallowed, wiping her hands against the bedsheets.

"We're coming," he said.

"Can I wake Barekhna up?" She looked into her brother's eye, pleading.

"Thank you Lilah, but I can do it."

"Pretty please?"

The yellow light that spanned over her thick black hair reflect on to the lights and then fell back on to the headboard. A breeze blew outside in gentle motions and the leaves twitched, tapping away at the windows in a lullaby. Blooming like the roses in spring hundreds of leaves fell on to the balcony by the second, most trees already bald. It was a sight of pure autumn, untouched by the glamours of human interference. A squirrel jumped on the white floors, or so Aliyaar could make out with his blurred gaze. Through the door left ajar, lightning poked her head through, sniffling along the edges of the room rushing over to his bed side.

Lilah yelped in fear, jumping on her place. Her kneecap accidentally struck Barekhna's elbow that jabbed over and hit Aliyaar in the throat. All three groaned, the bride's eyes opening in mortified pain as she clenched her hand to her chest, biting down on the tip of her tongue to keep the scream at bay. Her heart shaped lives morphed into a grim line, the skin beneath her ears rung as she turned over, hiding her face in the fluffy pillows. Lightning was startled and walked back cautiously, mewling and licking her paws that had been smacked at by Lilah's fist in unknown. As the shock wore off she stood up, whimpering with tears as the brother that would always comfort her, sidelined her.

"Ya-Yaar?" Lilah stuttered.

"Go Lilah." He sighed.

"I'm sorry Barekhna," she whimpered, her words spoken so soft that they managed to go unheard.

"Lilah go, please." Aliyaar spoke tight lipped, his tone lost in translation.

Sniffing she walked out, wiping at her eyes that pinched his heart straight. His throat dried and he felt like he had failed. Day one and already he was messing up the balance of relationships. Her distancing back and the fear in his pet's eyes punched him in the gut. How fleeting was peace. Lost in a moment — gained only in a life time.

"Barekhna you alright?" He spoke each word with a softness.

"I'm fine Aliyaar," she sighed, raising to meet his face, her hands tucking the sheets around her chest as she spoke, "but you were too harsh with Lilah just now."

"I know. I'll apologize to her." He sighed.

It was not her fault. Atleast, not entirely. Their marriage was new and it was a young dynamic that Lilah had yet to get used too. He wondered if he had, on Barekhna's first day ruined a potentially strong friendship.

"No, I'll talk to Lilah Aliyaar. I don't want her to think that I'm the reason behind your anger."

"Lilah's a sensible person, she won't think that way."

"Aliyaar you're sensible too but it's a new relationship and everyone is adjusting."

"Whatever you say." Aliyaar gave in, it was a battle he would not win he knew.

"I promise Aliyaar I'll coax Lilah. She's my sister too now, and we'll make your life hell together."

Can't wait — Aliyaar thought to himself. A gentle smile breezed on to his face as he thought of the two joining hands to torture him. Though he doubted the seriousness of the claims, he could not help but wish for those days to come — and to come fast.

Barekhna gripped the pale pink robe that lay on the ottoman at the end of the ottoman. Wrapping it around herself, she jumped out of bed, stalking towards the large walk in closet, Aliyaar following behind. Her fingers lingered over each of the hung up attire that had been a gift from her grandparents— shocking but strategic. Most if not all, were reds with tasteless decor, with cloth enough to cover her whole and the silhouettes odd. Blinking at the genial color of the salmon pink wrap around dress she clicked her tongue in distaste. Her heart ached at the thought of discarding all these clothes. Not a huge fan of waste — donation it is.

Dropping her hand on top of a matte black hanger — the color of the closer creme and black ; much like the rest of their quarters. Her feet nuzzled into the cashmere carpet the red sores calmed after the anti inflammatory bandages Aliyaar had applied despite her protests. Black was a no go, it was not a union she was displeased with. Red was what she planned to wear in the evening so she pushed the organza dress out of sight. Undecided, she turned to find her husband already dressed in a white boski kurta with fitted trousers, his hands fixing on the wide wrists a wristwatch. Barekhna's eyes freed themselves from the cloud of misfortune and confusion they had been covered in. Sliding out the ivory and white floor length frock that Aliyaar had gifted her—without reason.

The ivory of it was covered in gotta and lace made with professional hands. Dropping her robe in the room, without a single care for her husband who was alarmed, she slid on her matching bra and panties. The plain ivory trousers hugged her toned legs and hourglass figure. The frock, in a-pattern, the side panels pin tucked with a jacquard fabric. Barekhna brushed her hair and pushed in the long oval shaped earrings made of platinum and jugged diamonds. Her hair sat in it's natural waves and she parted it a bit to the side, swiping on a peachy shade.

"How do I look?"

Barekhna turned to a frozen Aliyaar, twirling around for him. She broke into a bright smile, walking towards him, her fingers pushing his jaw shut. Her brown eyes stared deeply into his frozen gaze, her reflection inside of them crystal clear. All the mirrors in the world could not match up to the clarity of his eyes, the way her face was like a million stars inside of them. Barekhna's heart drummed inside her chest like a hard beating drum, and the span of her throat tightened up.

"Aliyaar?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"You look like you." He choked out, kissing the side of her head.

"That's such a boring compliment." She frowned.

"No," he smiled, taking out the ivory, embroidered khussas from the dedicated shoe closet as he spoke, "you looking like you means you look like, the night sky, a glittering jewel with hundreds of stars. That you look like a confident woman with a heart softer than a rose. You look like Barekhna, the woman I love."

He kissed the back of her hand, placing his lips on top for a short moment. Barekhna leaned in to his embrace, her eyes salvaging that which they could of his complacent face. Her fingers brushed the unruly beard and she combed his hair, her heart singing in tune as they touched the soft tussles. Their eyes drifted and stilled on to each others lips. Like gravity, the two hovered over each others faces until their breaths mixed and brushed the tops of their skins. Aliyaar slid his hand around her waist, hoisting her in place as he dipped a few centimeters. Barekhna bit her lip in anticipation, her neck raising to press their lips together — at last.

It was sweet. Like a honeyed desire, their mouths tasted like their peppermint toothpaste. Her hands wrapped around his neck, her feet tipped over as their lips rubbed against each others with prowess. His beard grazed her skin softly, his tongue sloppily unwinding into his mouth. The inexperience was riveting and raised the moment to ten folds it's value. He tightened his hold around her figure, pressing tighter into his chest, their lungs crushed against the power of each other's figures. Aliyaar held her and stroked the skin where he imagined her ribs to be, plummeting into feelings unknown as they fought to the last to hold on to each other. Tearing off, only as they ran out of breaths and their lungs expanded beyond limit.

"For a first kiss saint, you've done well." She whispered with her eyes closed.

"A siren's guide can teach one." He spoke with a lopsided grin.

"Touché!"

Blanched sunlight washed the sofas in the lounge a bright color as they walked down the stairs with soft steps. Their hands hugged each others and her fingers danced over the edge of the wooden bannister, sated smiles on top of their swollen lips. Pinching their lips with the secrets that they held, deep and unanimated they brushed their feet on the creme carpets with black detailing. The taupe wooden detailing in the sandy limestone struck the light. Soft sounds turned louder as they turned the corner and walked into the lounge, bright smiles and pitch loud laughter that broke through a silence. From pulled back blinds, a splendid hue of natural lights fell into the room, covering the expanse. Against the beige walls and faux palm trees, sage green sofas were struck in an oval foundation, seats all covered with the immediate family of the groom, making gentle chatter.

Barekhna felt the thick air of love that surrounded the people inside the room. It was a resplendent shade of peach, the auras that intermingled and transpired against her soft skin. Different. Inherently different from what she was used to. There was not, a single ounce of hate held back nor were they passing snide remarks. Instead, there was a joy that lingered in each of their eyes and a spirit to accommodate her. Gently they hugged her and kissed her head, they pushed envelopes of gifts into her hands and greeted her. Barekhna felt overwhelmed as her father-in-law kissed her head and passed a small box to her, it was more affection than anyone had ever shown her.

In her almond shaped eyes a fierce light lit up as she spotted Aman standing behind the crowd. With a softness, a shyness in his eyes he walked towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Barekhna grinned in his arms and kissed his cheeks, glad to see him after a long eighteen hours. Draping her salmon pink veil over his other side by accident as he talked to her in a soft voice, squeezing her tight in a grip. Exchanging their greetings she turned around, the absence of her giddy sister-in-law bit at her heart. Frowning just for a fleeting moment, her facial muscles twitching she turned to the crowd that looked at her with wide eyes.

"Where's Lilah?" Barekhna thought out loud.

"She went to call you guys but didn't return." Filza shrugged, sipping on her glass of water.

"I'll go get her!" She nodded, looking at Aliyaar for approval—it was her first day and she did not wish to ruin the harmony.

"Are you sure? Maybe Aliyaar should—" Lyana seemed skeptical.

"No it's alright," Barekhna shook her head, squeezing her mother in law's hands, "I don't want her to think of me as the bad guy."

"As you wish Barekhna, we'll wait for you to return before breakfast is served." Gulaab nodded, ending room for any and all arguments.

Barekhna marched to Lilah's bedroom, taking in the pastel shades she smiled gently. Running a hand through her hair, Barekhna sat beside her, the bed sinking under her weight. Her grin watered over the expressive eyes that were free of the ice swimming inside, her hands not once stopping before brushing aside the curl in Lilah's hair. The genteel young woman twitched and stared at her with tears that fell one after the other. She clenched her teeth, biting down on her tongue. Never had she dealt well with tears, in fact, she always ran away from the sight of these. Comfort was not her strong suit, instead, being hard headed and cold was her power. Still though, Barekhna fought the urge to run and brushed the lock of hair out of her eye, wiping the tears with her fingers softly.

"You — you hate me." Lilah stated matter of factly.

"Who has been telling you lies about me?" Barekhna frowned, tapping her chin.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't mean to hit — to hit you."

"No harm done Lilah. You're brother is stupid, don't take his words to heart." Barekhna said.

Frowning, Lilah pinched her lips together, as if mulling over the words she was to utter next, "Yaar isn't— isn't stupid. He's won — won awards all his life as top of class and made it — made it to the dean's list every year! Also also — he graduated as the valedictorian. Yaar won," she sighed, out of breath, "won all the competitions he took part in and has eleven first position trophies from science fairs."

"Wow Lilah, you're so smart for remembering all that!" Barekhna replied.

"I'm—I'm smart?"

"The smartest woman ever!"

"Really?"

"Hell yeah! And I can't wait for us to make Aliyaar's life hell!" Barekhna spoke.

"Me too!" Lilah said.

➖➖➖➖➖

The romantic red of her reception dress flared like a singular enthusiast spark against the cool wind. Her hair in a sleek updo, the baby hairs curled over her forehead. Her cheeks had been airbrushed with the softest of peaches and then a hint of gold, the Charlotte Tilbury lipstick, in a shade of pink mixed with a beige tone covered her lips. Above her cupids bow the artist had skimmed a gold highlight and the smoked out browns and reds on her eye lids let the brown eyes breathe free. Barekhna brushed her wispy lashes with the mascara and smiled as her younger sister-in-law fixed the nath for her. The hanging pearls fixed in the low bun, covered by her heavy embellished veil.

Fierce like her personality, the scarlet red shirt hugged the curve of her breasts and dipped along her hips. Thin gold sequins and jewels were stitched with the finest hands, a maestro's work. The dropped neckline curved above her cleavage, thick straps made of copper beads held it in place. She felt the work on her fitted sleeves, the ends in a thick border of gold and a spray of light mother of pearls. Taking a deep breath she fingered the two necklaces on her neck, the choker style with it's industrial look one from the family's heritage and the one that, like a triangle kissed her breast bone, made specifically for her.

Barekhna shook her head in excitement, the heavy veil brushing the top of her vanity, her heavy earrings striking against her jaw — a feeling she adored. Sipping on a glass of iced water through a straw she carefully plucked her bag off of the table, wrapping it around her wrists before following out behind Filza's whose own burnt red lehnga covered the bare floors. With sweaty palms — a result of the heavy attire she wore, Barekhna lifted her silken red skirts, the self imprint like the most expensive of works hindered in her hold as they climbed down the stairs into the private lounge. A professional photographer and the groom in awaiting.

"I'll leave you to it then jethani ji, my husband awaits." Filza winked, waving her fingers in the air sassily.
[Elder sister-in-law.]

"Of course deewrani ji, off you go to your royal carriage." Barekhna smirked, forcing the double meaning of her words out.
[Younger sister-in-law.]

Tension eased in the inexplicable silent lounge. Trapped between the taupe sofa chairs and his piano, the groom his tailored fit tux looked — and very well was, worth a million bucks. The gelled back hair and the sequined bow in his neck were choices she had made for him. Walking softly through the entrance, Barekhna walked towards the photographer who cursed in his native language, probably at the difficulty of shooting her husband. Aliyaar wrapped an arm around her elbows and fixed the edge of her lehnga, that had gotten stuck to a thread on it's own. He kneeled and gently undid the knot, standing again to face her.

The man could rival the looks of the devil. His handsomeness could not, be explained even in the listless number of books published. The ruggedness of his preppy look, curving lashes that brushed down on his cheeks anytime his face relaxed. And the lips she had learnt — she could not do without kissing. He stood out, and outshone the rest of the attendees in every room he walked into. Lighting up the air with his gentleman aura. Barekhna felt her heart pinch and skip a beat, her hands fixing the cufflinks with their initials. Perhaps that was a thing she was beginning to adore, the attention he paid to details was limitless. At the singular sight of his smile she melted, bones and all. Jello.

"You look like your net worth."

Tipping her weight forward, she ran a hand through his hair, curling a strand around her finger before letting it fall over his forehead. Her breasts unknowingly brushed against his front, crushed where his riveting pectorals rested. Her words eased the little bit of tension inside his jaw, his face rising into a blooming smile at last and the photographer took a chance to snap the perfect image. Capturing the spark between them.

"You look like the reason a saint would want to climb down to hell."

Gently raising her hand to his mouth he pressed his lips against her cold henna stained skin. The touch of his lips melted the icy ire on her skin and warmed up the blood inside her arteries. Heat wavered around them as he stared from beneath his half hooded eyes, pitch black orbs staring back at her from their place. Resting an arm around her lithe waist, Aliyaar puller her closer into himself, against the backdrop of a large painting of Napoleon Bonaparte — his prized possession. The two could represent royalty. Amongst their noble genes and ravishing looks, the two were wining at the game of life.

"If you could now switch poses, it would be a delight." The photographer cleared his throat.

Placing themselves at his disposal they waited for further instructions. Under the warm lights of the Italian chandelier, their faces were kissed in gold and unanimous power. Outside in the charcoal night, the stars glittered across the clear horizon. In the gardens bright lights spilled and the hedge lights under the foliage kept the place from swimming in oblivion as the reception progressed. A chilly wind blew — an early arrival of winter, credited. Inside though, the tension and heat remained at an all time high as Barekhna took seat on the low rise stool of the grand piano.

She stared at Aliyaar with empty eyes, her lips parted softly whilst he towered over her frame. His fingers pushed under her chin, keeping the square jaw in place. Her hands fisted the upholstery of the stool, her back reclining into the air as she waited for the sound of the camera's click. In the meantime, their eyes focused on each others, staring and hovering over each other's figures. Softly, he slid a thumb on her chin, resting it beneath the shadow of her lips, only gently moving it around in soft motions. Barekhna gulped with anticipation as heat rose around them.

His deep and once warm eyes — mystified into a thick haze by the clouds of lust and want dragged over her face. As if, without making contact he planned to imprint himself on to her. His gaze lingered on her soft lips, the pads of his thumb slyly moving around the beads of her nose-pin, triggering the millions of neurons in both their bodies to go frantic. Their hearts palpitated the longer the two maintained contact. From under her skirts, Barekhna moved her shoes to graze the back of his calves. A grin — barely seen for a minute resulted as he clenched his jaw. Leaning over, Aliyaar's forehead almost touched hers, his warm breath brushed the top of her face.

"Don't play a game that will drown you saint," she whimpered, feeling her muscles ache as his hand slid over her neck gently — the photographer long gone.

"What gives you the idea I'm in it to loose?" He humored her, feeling a part of him come to life that had previously never seen the light of day.

"If you were serious," she whispered, rising in his hold to press a palm against his heart, "you wouldn't have waited five years to marry me."

"That's exactly why I waited Barekhna." He smiled, his eyes glinting with an emotion that constricted her throat.

"You're lying."

"Yet you're the one who is a lawyer."

Basking in the tug of their words that were snide to anyone else but just an eccentric way of their personal communication, they dragged each other out of their nest. Arm in arm with their affections worn like a pinafore, they stepped out of the detached lounge and walked into the gardens. There was a seductive chatter that gravitated people towards itself. Hearts were beating and with the music that reminded one of an opera, they were romanticized. Munching on the bites of food — served before the couple arrive, the event was dwindling to it's climax. It struck the screens as the lights dimmed and the music seized, a soft white spotlight falling on to the richly dressed figures, walking towards the centre of the garden.

The canopy where his parents engagement had taken place years ago was covered in baby breaths and peonies, white roses grazing their figures as they cut through the sharp air. He helped her on to the cemented stairs, her fingers grazed the green metal of the curving railing. A pleach covered the resting grounds of his parents pets, that were being moved to Islamabad in a few days. A bittersweet moment. Lightning sat with her head hanging, a diamond collar on her neck as she waited for the two, a curving bench awaiting them.

"And who is this?" She motioned towards the dog, smiling at it's alertness.

"Lightning."

"Light-ning?" She thought out loud, "you named your pet after me?"

"Yes?" He squeaked, his cheeks flushed instantaneously.

"Oh you're the definition of boy obsessed aren't you?" She said.

"I—" he swallowed his words, they were too passionate to be announced in a crowd.

The night was a contrast of colors and grandeur oozed from each inch of the dark grounds. Amongst the streamers, lined with gold lights the families mingled and laughed at the words of gloating and merriment. On the cusp of dripping pink roses and peonies, that stood out from behind the thin frames of gold. Plum shades and maroons that in no way dimmed the shine of the bride, the women young and plenty walked around. Like butterflies of the night their beauty and glimmer was in the soft gait and the flying of their hair. Embroideries and sequins that rolled over their dresses for days fell short in the face of ever lasting grace.

Amongst the ladies that had spent more than twenty years married, the shade of ivory and silvers his aunts and mother stood out like an alluring mirage. One of power and might. The epitome of strength. Prepared for this day for years, he had laughed when his aunt, Myra pulled out a long floor sweeping dress. Made on fine net with heavy silver zardosi, the back covered in intricate work of lattices, they hugged her figure and the gauze as well as tissue used to add weight to the dress brushed the carpets. Her hair in an updo and the soft smile as she talked to his mother, who too stood out in the saree, a gift from Barekhna.

Aliyaar propped his elbow on top of the curving bench's handle, his legs crossed and a hand fixed in between Barekhna's. He smiled with a softness, his gaze melting into a puddle of mud as his mother walked over, kissing the two of them on their heads before motioning Aliyaar to follow her. In the depths of his fast beating heart, the adrenaline pump in his veins freezing all other emotions, he walked towards the centre of the venue. The pump of his blood only gained strength, no amount of lavender could douse his nerves from the complexity they were transfixed in. Licking the cracks along the bottom of his lip, he drummed his fingers along the top of his thighs, sliding on to the raven chair. In nervousness his knee hit against the onyx wood, a hiss escaped his lips and he forced himself to bite his tongue to stop the startling cry.

As the sounds of the soft keyboard mingled and played through the speakers, everyone lost their breath. Gasps and cries of shock filled the atmosphere and he bit down on his tongue, she saw, to hold back his visible nervousness. Barekhna's fingers tightened on the skirts of her dress as she waited and then felt her hurt burst into an energetic flutter. Aliyaar was the epitome of a shy and reserved man, to hear him be vocal of his emotions and sigh in a husky baritone voice, she felt the tiniest bits of her reservations chip away. It was them alone in that moment as he looked dead into her eyes, as if searching for his reflection in them. Barekhna winced at the outpour of love, dripping in it's after affects. Gauging her own reaction, she felt the muscles in her face twitch and the base of her throat clench as he hummed out the words, meaning it so much more than perhaps the singer even.

"I knew I loved you then, but you'd never know." His voice wavered not for a moment even as his face turned a tad bit red.

"Look how we've grown," his voice filled into the air.

Barekhna hiccuped, biting her tongue before singing along under her breath to the tune that his fingers played, "and I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old!"

➖➖➖➖➖

There were a lot of things that she had planned and many that she had not. In front of fate though she had lost and staring out of the window that opened into a small balcony, the tall fir trees filling every inch of her eyes, a sharp river coursing through the mountainous terrain, Barekhna felt like a fool. If a few months ago someone had told her that there was a marriage and honeymoon in her cards, she would have laughed on their face with a bright grin. She was sure her eyes would have in a seductive glint mocked the person that spoke them, sipping her coffee out of a large mug. Of course, she learnt now that she had been the laughing stock instead. Sipping coffee out of a glass cup, in the middle of a secluded piece of land — Barekhna was whole.

Dousing the rest of her cup, a thin mist still settled on the hill, she walked back to the king sized bed. Lifting the brown floral blanket from one corner she slid in, her back making contact with the cold mattress. A thin chill had made it's way under her hard skin and she shivered, hoping it would melt off soon. Sighing in relief she pressed her back against Aliyaar's front, even in his sleep, he moved until his arms were around her torso, pulling her into his chest even deeper. Barekhna mulled and pincher her lips as the realization that she was grinning struck her hard. A lot of that, she knew she had been doing lately and it was a weird yet startling fact. Her heart was fluttering but she could not let it beat anymore, not after what his walking out on her had done to her. The ice around her was for a reason.

To her it was a mutual contract, but maybe, an inch of her wanted to accept it as more.

Grooming a reaction, her eyes wandered over the tapestries inside the bedroom. On the geometric styled ceilings with a soft white finish, the brown and black detailings struck the room with a hard touch. The large glass opened into a private garden, the hut closed off on either side by tall hills and forests. After having parked their cars in the main part of the hotel's parking, the two had ridden on horsebacks to their rented huts. Their luggage, still locked and sealed lay behind the thin screen that acted as a small divider to change clothes. A small attached bathroom added for privacy. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon, a hawk flew low and tipped it's wing into the icy cold water — showing off it's powerful skill.

Coffee grounds stuck to the bottom of her cup, their shadows lingered like tiny ants on the bare walls, nothing but a large mirror on it. The lack of a strainer had been never more problematic than it was this morning, but to battle the chill and to wash some of the tiredness away, Barekhna had thrown it down her throat. Her lithe frame, covered only in a sheer robe filled the room. The knots came undone as she nuzzled her mouth into his chest, her nails scratching his scalp. Aliyaar looked youthful. Away from the world of responsibilities, in the dreaming realms, he looked sated at last. She curled his hair around her finger and the stout smile that followed suit was nothing short of perfection.

I've never felt as powerless as I do in your arms — Barekhna thought out loud. Vigorous tickles on her lower belly, the goosebumps that lined her skin with an alert lattice all pulled the strings of her logic, leaving it in a puddle, a mess. Smacking her lips, she shifted to find a more comfortable spot, anywhere their bodies touched a fire was lit up and it was impossible to douse. His leg wrapped around one of hers, a hand tucked under his head and the other wrapped around her ribs in a crushing grip as if she would disappear. Trapped between his physical figure and his thoughts so spiritual she reluctantly turned away, staring at the rising sun. Free horses grazed in the meadows opposite their hut, dandelions spruced around the surroundings as she bit her lip. Her stomach grumbled — it had been eighteen hours since there reception feast, the last time she had eaten. It was her fault though, her consciousness pointed out, pressed underneath the chambers of her fast paced brains.

"You're up?"

His morning voice, with strained vocal cords was perhaps the most indulgent sound she had ever heard. The muscles of her thighs tightened as he lowered his hand, splaying it across her stomach. He chuckled in her ears feeling — and hearing the growls louden. Nuzzling his face inside her hair, the sleep still dictating his actions he inhaled the peach scent of her conditioner.

"Good morning Aliyaar." She whispered in reply.

"Mornin'" he grumbled, with his eyes half shut.

"I'm hungry Aliyaar and unless you want to see my stomach eat itself up, let's go get breakfast."

"In a bit Barekhna," he sighed, his head resting on her bony shoulders, "itni pur sakoon jaga mein jaldi kaam karna tou gunnah hai."
[To work super fast in such a peaceful place is sin.]

"Alright then pretty boy," she spoke, pulling out from his embrace, "aap sooiye aur mein ja rahi hun nashta karnay."
[You sleep and I am going to go have breakfast.]

"Acha, ruko!" He groaned, pushing the covers away from his body.
[Alright, wait!]

Begrudgingly, he walked through the washroom door and stepped out a while later. His eyes were rimmed red — the signs of his sleep being disturbed, despite the need to run back to the bed which he stared at with longing eyes Aliyaar got dressed. The white polo hugged his toned body and he threw a black jacket on top to keep the cold at bay. His chinos, folded over and the sneakers he wore added to the youthful aura he carried. Aliyaar's other half though — looked much like his better half with a crescent moon smile that was brighter than the night sky. The acid washed jeans that rose a few inches above her waist, with a neatly tucked in cashmere hoodie, ticked all the perfect boxes and her now shoulder length hair hid the delicate white gold earrings.

"There's a really amazing breakfast house around the corner, they serve full English breakfast."

Aliyaar explained as they walked through the rugged terrain. Tiny streams pushed past them and the spray of their cold water felt riveting. Barekhna took the splendid sight in front of her in with bated breath, her fingers traced over the cement hedge, a deep fall beneath for anyone that trespassed. Their shoes crushed the tiny rocks and the tinted sunglasses protected from the bright sun, who was still as full of life as ever.

"Itni dur bhi wohi? Nahi Aliyaar, I want the authentic experience. Ghee sai bharay parathay aur mirch sai bharay omelette. Take me to a local place." She beamed.
[Even this far that experience?]
[Oil filled bread and omelette's full of spice.]

"It won't be as hygienic."

The dimples in his cheeks dropped as he stared at her with his eyes covered in an upsetting shadow.

"I may have a sensitive gut but trust me okay? I want this Aliyaar!" She clicked her tongue, pouting until he nodded his head.

Passing through a great number of water logged streets that had been broken due to years of neglect, they arrived at the market square. It was full of people, tourists and locals alike thronged in large groups. To barter for the price of the pashmina they had spotted, or to munch on the many local delicacies. The place was full of vibrancy and life. The sun's light fell at an angle and the shadows from the trees on the neighboring slopes fell into the centre, the cobblestone pathway curved into a road. Tiny shops lined the sides, with bodies brushing past one another as they walked into the crowded restaurants.

Barekhna led the way, turning around every now and then to see if he was following her. She knew nothing. Of the people or the culture,nothing — it was a shame, her distance from her roots. All the blame could of course, be pushed on her grandfather, whose selfishness had resulted in destruction. Aliyaar squeezed her hand, guiding her into a barely breathable shop. The stone benches were covered in advertisements and the metal table covered in a bright turquoise green was dingy, on the verge of falling. Barekhna bit down on her tongue to hold back her thoughts, the air inside heavily oily and smoky. Sounds of men shouting the orders — an extreme back drop for a lazy morning.

Tucking her legs under the table, Aliyaar sitting beside her with his shoulders brushing her figure, they sat like an awkward pair. Though there was nothing but a serenity around them. Resting her hands on her lap, the cross body bag still hung on her frame as she watched Aliyaar place an order with a calmness, not an ounce of nervousness could be felt from his posture. Speaking in a soft tone with a kindness, explaining the particulars more than once, his face still the epitome of calmness. It was a rare sight for her, she mused. A man so gentle — even her father and brother would sometimes loose their calm, but never Aliyaar. He treated everyone with an equality, people were all on one pedestal.

"You seem a bit skeptical." He smiled down at her, his back shielded her from the curious gazes of the tourists around them.

"I've never eaten in a place like this," she shrugged.

"Seriously?" Aliyaar spoke with a start.

"Mummy was extremely particular about what we ate, and where we ate. Plus, I spent a large chunk of my life in England."

The conversation drifted off to an undermined end with each of their thoughts taking over. In the shire of a comfortable silence they heard all that the voices in their heads had to say, hands still clasped in a tight hold as they waited for their food. Through the ever growing crowd, families and people of all ages rushed in and out, staring at them with a peculiar look. The luxuriousness of their plain attires spoke for itself, and the two stood out like sore thumbs. If there was room for salvation, it was cut off as Barekhna tied her hair into a ponytail, the large pigeon sized stone on her wedding band reflecting the bright sunlight from its centre. Spilling into the room an array of short rainbows.

Teeming with oil the plates produced from a cheap plastic and thin metals were rushed on to their table, napkins thrown across with a hurried hand and nothing more. The man hollered their order, sliding the thin dish of chickpea curry on to the table, its legs trembling from the force he slammed a plate of a deep red omelette. It was scrambled and the thin slivers of onions and peppers flamed up, the spice could be smelt from miles away. Served with the crispy paratha that tore off with lightest of motions and was almost as airy as chiffon, it filled the mouth with a thick coverlet of oil. Blanching all other flavor — lest you dipped it in the sugary tea, or filled it with the omelette that tasted nothing like the ones in Lahore's posh restaurants.

Fair naan's crisp on the edges with the smokiness of the tandoor feeding into the entire aura of Pakistani, Barekhna's eyes lit up. It was soft and airy, the dough authentic as she tore into it, steam pushing out of it. Her hand covered with instantly and she hissed at the touch, chewing softly and breathing out from her mouth as she did so. The tanginess from the curry and the soft chickpeas wrapped in the warm bread filled her mouth with an array of flavors. Her mouth watered for another bite — even as she fed herself another — despite having insisted that she did not feel like eating it prior to the food's arrival. The oil dribbled down her fingers, the tip of her nails pushing the green chillies out of her way. Spice and her did not go along well.

Aliyaar noticed the water collect inside her wide eyes as she ate his breakfast, her own laying out on the table, dying. Curving his lips into a smile as the whiskers on his face rose a few inches, he raised his hands to undo the seal on the filtered water bottle. Observing in delight, as she chugged it down, some spilling out from the sides of her face, dripping down her long neck. Noticing that he would not be getting his choice of food anytime soon, Aliyaar tore the lukewarm paratha, the long loops falling on top of one another as he broke the egg, chewing with articulate manners. His leg bounced under the table in nervousness, the top of his right eye twitching as he tried to make out the words on the wall adjacent to them.

"Want some coffee?"

Their breakfast done with and the bill paid, the two walked out of the tiny restaurant to join the huge throng of people walking through the city centre once more. Now in the centre of the sky, the sun's light fell on their backs like a comforting hug as a cold wind rustled through their hair. The questions in the hearts and minds were left there as weariness from their work and wedding finally fell off of their shoulders. Dribbling between what they wanted and what society demanded — the two had been spread thin, until their blood dried on to the tarmac for the elites to marvel at.

"No. My mouth is still bland thanks to the bitter coffee I had in the morning." Barekhna shivered.

"Tea then?"

Aliyaar stared at her with a hopeful glint in his longing filled eyes. Her hand wrapped around his waist, their steps in sync as they walked up hill. He panted in silence, the skin behind his ears pinched and turned red with alertness as he reviewed their surroundings. Their guards were around, but a part of him could not let go of the eeriness.
Paranoia.
It gripped him hard, the words she spoke falling on deaf ears as they walked back to their hut. He could feel his heart hit the front of his ribs and move across it's terrain, the nerves in his feet triggered and he fought the urge to run out of sight.

"Aliyaar?"

Barekhan snapped. Ten minutes of engaging in a one sided conversation, she was worn out. The arch of her brows flushed over the liner above her lash-line. Deeply enriched with the shade of bark, her eyes stared at him with an unforgiving temperament. Despite the soft — easy going arrangement of her facial muscles there was an anger pulsated underneath with full force. There was a temptation in her hands to pinch his chin, to give him a bit of pain — a sadistic thought. Carnal pleasures — her mind mocked.

"So-sorry I didn't — didn't get what you were saying."

Aliyaar swallowed the bitter pill of her indifference as she rolled her eyes, forcing him to take seat on the bench in the middle of the trekking course. She crossed her legs, pressing her back into the metal back as the two stared on into the sight in front of them. It was euphoric. Full of poise and prose. The dramatic rise of the forestry on the mountain top, the fresh water rushing downstream, it's gushing sounds filling the backdrop with a sort of unanimity. Everything was one in the middle of this heaven. In the centre of an auspicious globe. The trees taller than them covered the sight for miles, rocky boulders seating grounds for the cheeky monkey's.

"Can I say something without offending you Aliyaar?" She started.

"Of course." He replied, nodding his head.

"Why haven't you brought up us consummating our marriage?"

Aliyaar coughed harshly at her words. He could feel the vocal cords in the back of his throat flare up, the cells and blood rushing out of there place. His hands shivered as he locked them under his knees, the whitish tone of his skin turned into an endearing peach as his words repeated in his mind. Why? There were numerous answers to that, and he had none to give explicitly. Not at the moment. Countering the fast pace of his heart and holding back his shivering breaths he forced the cover of semblance on to himself.
Lie.
Lie.
Lie — his mind chimed into the empty lacerations. Yet he knew that his failure to lie would result in even more embarrassment. The way her steely eyes froze at his face and the plump lips that pouted in anticipation, he knew the words.
And they escaped his mouth before he could calculate the consequences.

"Ideally I'd like for it to happen when you actually like me and," he smiled with a knowing gaze, watching her smile fall of as he spoke, "and not see of me as a way out of your family's toxic tendencies."

"So you know?" Her eyes shone with a streak of guilt, her hands resting on his ice cold ones.

"I do. It's okay though, you're allowed to play me for a fool."

"I'm sorry Aliyaar, I got into this relationship for all the wrong reasons," she breathed out, allowing herself to speak for once how she felt, "but I want to stay for all the right ones."

"Okay." He nodded.

"Okay? Just like that? You won't throw a tantrum?"

"Okay, just like that because I know you don't lie."

"What if I am?"

"Then it's the sweetest lie I've ever been told." He shrugged.

"Oh saint," she bit her lip, overcome with the urge of kissing him — hard.

"I've decided Aliyaar I want us to consummate before we go back to Lahore."

"Barekhna there is no pressure. Take your time."

"I am ready Aliyaar." She stopped, "though it's an awkward conversation I'm glad we got it out of the way."

"I am too." He agreed.

"Well then just wait and see how good this siren is at luring in saints."

➖➖➖➖➖

There were about a million things that could have gone wrong. A trillion more that should have. Absolutely, no strings held back from the laceration that would bleed out not only destruction, but a slow coursing poison too. Amongst the heavenly bodies and the trivia's of the day, there was just about a long list that was prepared — to keep surprises at bay. In the resplendent mountainous terrain with the open lustrous views of nature, and the close by touch of all that thrived within, man was a fickle memory. A hallucination— a debris of an importance that could and would he wiped from the very face with a flick of a tree branch. It was within the wildernesses's right ; one it did not exploit to its fullest.

All that could have gone wrong did not in-fact go wrong. Instead, things fell into place like a jigsaw puzzle, going where commanded to with the smoothness of soft churned butter. In the respite of plans to tour the city's historical sites, a night out on their 'balcony' — which in truth was just a window opening into a private back yard that was right next to the wide sil-sil. So seemingly, whilst one plan was eroded and dropped due to the sudden ache in her legs, another cropped up in his mind. The conversation from yesterday still lived in his mind with a vividness, even as he walked back with a bag of groceries. It was true that he had not accounted for all that he should have — leaving Aliyaar no choice but to, pray that the shower of rain would not fall at the very last second.

Rocky stones, dried out in the open sunlight were piled first into an oval heap, till they were three inches thick and the centre of them was left hollow. Dried grass, branches and twigs going in next. The cut through the back of his hand and dug into his bare legs, the shorts riding up as he bent to work on his project. With shaky fingers, in the soft kiss of the setting sun he gathered the wood for the small bonfire, skewering the cubed pieces of cottage cheese he had found pre-marinated at a local store. Over the open fire that burned with shades of oranges and yellow, it's embers flickered and laid to rest on the back of his hand as he worked the fire, blowing into it. The top of the iron skews, ones he had rented from a shop nearby, pushed through the top, a tomato and chili pierced through it to add flavor as they roasted slowly over the open fire.

The depth of his eyes like the fire gained only strength as the sun lowered further, the first star appearing on the clear skies. Here everything breathed. Here there was nothing holding it back. In this part of the world, as the lights dimmed and the skies cleared of all that troubled it, a millennia of stars covered the purple skies. The inky depthless, ranging in streaky lines from a deep purple to a midnight black soon after, Aliyaar saw the firefly's flock together in between the branches of the trees around him. Their buzzing sounds gave an ample background to his thoughts ; as he forced himself to stop. Like divine chatter that has no need to start — never a need to come to an end, his mind worked ragingly fast, pushing him into a glass box as he mindlessly stirred the pot of rice around.

With a political movement he stroked the ends of the skewers and turned their sides, the beans simmering over the open fire, letting out a gentle steam only. Aliyaar felt himself sweat as a result of sitting in front of open fire, he coughed into the crook of his arm every now and then as they smoke rushed to his face, burning his vision as he strained the pot of rice. Every inch of his pores were doused in the smoke and he could feel a thick layer of soot on his face. Yet there was an airiness about him. His facial features were relaxed as he squinted behind the frames that once more filled up with fog. They smudged impressions of his fingers on top of the glass annoyed him, the hem of his cotton tee shirt to stained with spices to work as a suitable alternate.

A gentle hand pried them out of his hands. Soft fingers, with red nails and bones that like the moon gave of a fair share of luminescence. Dressed in an aqua ankle length shirt and trousers that hugged her calves, Barekhna found seat beside him. With the edge of her fitted sleeves she cleared them as much as she could, her genteel fingers brushed aside the lock of hair that rested on his forehead with the strength of an ancient relic. Breathing out through her nose she whistled at the sight of his biceps, curling an arm around them as he served their food. It looked plain — simple, she noticed, licking the seam of her lips that had melted into one since the afternoon. Plans of a well thought out seduction well under way inside her head.

"What have you made for us chef Aliyaar?"

Barekhna's words flew with the air, there was something in the overly sweet tone that pushed against his ear drums the wrong way. Her cheekbones flared up as she took in every inch of his well built frame, dragging a finger over his thighs in teasing motions, observing the silent hitch in his breath. Dripping in the swelling bottoms of the ever incessant thoughts that drove a wedge between herself and her better future, Barekhan fisted her hands. The air was buzzing with the scent of his strong cologne, and with the kissing warmth of the diminishing fire, she wondered how it would feel to touch his skin. To bask in the after affects of something meaningful.

"It's simple people food, paneer tikka with rajma chawal."

The definitive grin on Aliyaar's mouth, that shaped the heart of his cupid's bow into a stretched moon crescent, plummeted her heart to the ends of her being.

"You and I," she stared at him, the stars shining inside his wooden irises that looked dead into hers, "we're not simple people my love."

"We can pretend to be," his voice wavered, his torso leaned over with his fingers gently brushing out the hair that stuck to the side of her face, "for now we can be."

"Okay."

"Okay."

He nodded, forwarding the dull silver spoon, the two beginning their dinner in silence.

Aliyaar stepped into the small shower with a calculated motion. The cold water sprayed across his back and his eyes closed on their own accord at it's relieving pressure. He brushed his hair out of his face, the bony thickness of his wedding band dragged over his face, it's metal cool to the touch. With it's anxiousness, the water drowned out the sweat and dust on his figure into a murky mess in the drain, fatigue washed itself out of him as he massaged his scalp, taking time to savor. There was a melancholic air about his face — covered in paleness and the thick dark circles prominent as he lathered on a bit of moisturizer on to his skin, rubbing the towel through his brunette hair. Water logged it had turned an abysmal charcoal, that would as if not wash our with all the chemicals in the world even.

Outside the air had changed, and he felt it the moment he unlocked the bathroom door. Though cool wind rushed to greet him — a lusty heat remained and almost rubbed against his throat. Swallowing with great difficulty he dropped the towel over the make shift stand, with almost blinded vision his hands searched for the trusty spectacles that were no where to be found. Aliyaar gaped, a blurry figure stood in the shadows by the thin curtains as silver moonlight shone on the floors of their bedroom, dandelions wrapped in a thin crown resting on top of the bed. His mouth dried, adrenaline pumped through his blue blooded veins as he made his way — on shaky legs across the room. In the sinning dark — rational thoughts had escaped him, and it was not until he was in the close proximity of the shadow, the scent of freesia's his only savior.

Aliyaar was a teenager when he had first realized he was losing his vision. It started off as the blurry words on the farthest walls, then the missing words before it eventually became a large number of things and constant headaches. Only after that did he complain to his parents — hoping it was not a burden. Years had passed since, and contact lenses had become his best friends. Now, up-close to the face he could map out even in the deepest of slumbers, Aliyaar found it hard to see her exact expression. It was pitch black in the corner where the stood, and all he could make out was the soft chiffon that brushed his front every few seconds. Blinking rapidly, as if the woman before him was a hallucination, he reached out with his hand to feel over her face, dropping a wall down. For once.

What harm was there in just stealing a touch?
Was there a bit of an issue if he touched her face? Or was it wrong? The math erred inside his brain, and before he could mull over the do's and don'ts, Aliyaar placed the back of his still cool fingers against her cheekbones. They were sharp — resilient like her nature he felt, dragging them lower to her soft cheeks that rarely ever bloomed into a blinding grin. In a sudden shot of confidence he drug his hand lower, feeling the veins and pulse in her neck. It throbbed, the beats as fast as his — shivering. He could feel her swallow and her warm breath fogged against his hands. The sharp triggers against his skin were nothing short of daggers pushing through the layers of his skin. A pain — certainly full of an unknown ache toyed with the pulse in both their hearts and maimed their auras, just a little.

Then, there was a push against his shoulders, his figure staggered at the force, her frame forcing him to move over until the both of them stood in partial moonlight. Aliyaar's mouth dried at her sight. Like the Sahara, like a stranded soul that wished for the taste of an oasis — one that he found in her. The fine tips of her chopped hair blew out into an inward curl, brushing her dimpled chin. Blood red on her lips painted an image of her sucking his blood, draining him of everything. Of all that he was. Undoing the beige chiffon wrap on her lithe figure she walked to him in nothing but a beige lingerie. The dropped sleeves attached over the bodice with a thin see through material, a corset with thick embroidered vines underneath held her bust in place and put her long toned legs on display. Aliyaar's mouth dropped open as her hands undid the towel around his waist — leaving him bare ; his insecurities on display. Yet her gaze seemed to never move from his face.

There was a jubilation bubbling in Barekhna's throat as she watched him loose his breath. The tiny goosebumps that came to life on her skin were not only one sided — a cocky grin on her face as she twirled for him. Wrapping an arm around his wide throat, she bit down on her tongue, her red tongue licking her teeth — putting on a show of a smile for him. As his hand wrapped around her, squeezing the flesh on the sides of her hips, Barekhna clenched her legs, placing a hand on his chest, the other on top of his as their eyes seemed to not leave each others.
Hooked.
Frozen.
Lost.
They were in the midst of a stalemate, waiting — dreaming of taking the first step towards something more.

mature content — avoid if not comfortable.

The roughly azure skies, that were like the most stringent of God's mercies, lit a serene path between the distance of their bodies. A hair's breadth only — a tiny minuscule of distance kept them apart, tearing at their senses with a force that was exemplary. Their breaths in swirls of expensive mint and eucalyptus were anything but calming, the sensations of the warmth striking against the bareness of each other, riveting. Like a channel ; frozen with dreams and desires, something twitched.
Snapped.
Broke into shards and then they were free of all that shackled them as she made the first move.

Along the articulate length of his neck she dragged her lips slowly, leaving behind a dry spark, one that surrendered into everything. The maroon stained his throat and he stood frozen — in shock still grasping at the reality with open hands and wide eyes. What was reality? Aliyaar parted his lips, hoping for a word to fall but nothing save for a shuttering moan escaped, her fingers running up his back. The nails dragged slow — a cruel pace as she sucked on the skin below his jaw, his hands squeezing her flesh tight.
Marks left behind.
The callousness of pain painted room for pleasure.

Licking the skin with her warm tongue, Barekhna stood on the tips of her toes, staring dead into his brown eyes that refused to blink. Purring softly into his ears, she bit on to the lobe softly, his harsh breath and pulsating back doing wonders for the already overflowing rivers of confidence. The tip of her nose pressed into his neck, rubbing over to his cheeks until they were pressed together so firm and up close that nothing could pass through. She could feel the beats of her heart turn suspiciously ravenous, the firmness of her lower belly clenched into a wetness that smeared her thighs — and all from the hazy look that he had.

The bedroom smelt of lazy seduction as the two let their hands wander across the bodies. Aliyaar's fingers out of curiosity drug down her bare arms and rested there, feeling the heat of her skin swim across his own being. The glint inside her eyes was dangerous and threatened to over power him to the point of no return. Her fingers wrapped around his chin, each one taking it's time — dropping him into the bowels of hell as he waited. From the ashy moonlight her cheekbones looked full of their own light, her grin mystique and the aura around her that of a silvery siren. Beguiling — befitting, Barekhna was that.

"Can you smell that?" She whispered, her lips grazing his almost like a hallucination.

"Wh-at?" His voice cracked, the pressure of her presence breaking him off from reality.

"Smell that saint?" She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, "it's your desperation to have a taste of the forbidden fruit."

"I-" he broke off, his heart pacing like a wild horse, he was afraid that he would die any moment.

"It's okay though, everyone needs a bit of corruption."

Pushing the glasses on his nose away, her fingers tapped down his body, slowly dragging across the abs that pulsated under her touch. His hot skin marred hers and set her on fire too — it was equally painful for the both of them but their stubbornness came out to play. Barekhna's thumb rubbed softly over the scar left behind by the accident. Aliyaar inhaled sharply and stumbled on his feet, falling on to the bed as Barekhna took this as a chance. With legs either side of him, she sat gently on top of him, her hands rested against the fast beating heart, toying with the scruff of his beard as she leaned in, her hair surrounding the two as a shield.

"Kiss me." Her voice full of a husky dominance.

Aliyaar chuckled, pinching her chin, his face rose to meet her lips. Barekhna's eyes fluttered shut in anticipation though the moment never came as his pressed her lips softly to the corner of her angled mouth, sliding his hand around her throat. With the softest of force he pulled her in, brushing his lips against her ears as he dragged out each syllable with a dexterity.

"Saints don't kiss sirens."

"Good thing only one of us is a saint."

The words spoken with a formidable accent and soon after her lips were on top of his. She pressed his face in between her hands, forcing his back to press deeper into the mattress as she kissed him with full force. Aliyaar groaned into her mouth as her lips moved against his with a bruising force, his hands moved up her thighs in a blood coursing movement. Barekhna pressed her lower body against his, leaning over. Her arms wound around the space occupied by his frame, the feeling of his crawling hands set alive sporadic sparks that twitched and lightened her up. The flutters in her lower belly increased as she sucked his lips, their tongues battling for the upper hand. A burst of mint filled her mouth as she pushed her tongue through the seam of his lips, dragging it along his teeth with a slow pace.

Dull pressure built up in her back as she pressed her legs against his torso tighter, rubbing her slick core against his abs. The diluted wetness gained intensity and coated her outer thighs as Aliyaar's hands crawled under her negligée, wrapping around her back and the other undoing the strings of the corset. His fingers — aristocratic in nature looked out of place on a woman's chest, and the alarm in her mind drummed against the skull as she ignored all thought. For once, Barekhna wanted to feel and feel nothing more than how it was like to be a man's woman. Breaking off their kiss she breathed free, the constraints of the corset off, her breasts spilled out and her skin turned a shade of flushed pink as his heated gaze ran over her. Though even then — she could not ignore the respectful piety inside of them.

"You're absolute perfection."

Aliyaar pressed his hand against her cheeks, rubbing the skin beneath her eye as he dragged it over to her neck. His lips leaving behind soft open mouthed kisses. Then, he was dumbfounded. Too embarrassed to continue— too shy to ask for help. What society asked of him, and the morals instilled meant he should have known how it would take course but Aliyaar was blank. The words stuttered on his tongue as  he wondered what the right movement was. Soft wetness that now coated his stomach sparked a chain of reactions and he could feel his hardened dick press against the inside of her thighs.

"Only you would by shy with a woman naked on top of you Aliyaar." Barekhna teased, winking with the prowess of a lioness.

"Sorry about that. I'll understand if you don't want to continue." He replied.

"Pagal ho gaye ho? I think it's endearing saint, you live up to your name — and I to mine." She kissed his lips a last time.
[Have you lost it?]

Slipping her soft hands around his wide wrist she drilled it down her body. The rough tips of his fingers edged the pores of her neck and Barekhna's eyes closed on their own accord, feeling the weight of his palms on her skin. A throbbing took birth between her legs and she clenched her legs until the ached with want. A porous moan escaped her swollen lips as she guided his hands to her warm breasts, the beating pulse inside of him trapped. Aliyaar bit his lip, a rapture fulfilling him to every inch as he pressed the pads of his thumb against the erect nipple, taking his time around her areola, feeling the flesh of her breast.

Shifting their positions, Barekhna lay under him, his body between her legs pressing down on her. She hummed in satisfaction as he nuzzled his head between the valley of her breasts, licking the strip of skin — the shudder in her bones the reaction he was looking for. Wrapping her hands around his cashmere hair, she pushed him to her aching tits, the feel of his tongue against them dropped her from a plateau of emotions — the verge of an orgasmic collapse. His beard rubbed her sensitive skin and his tongue toyed with her as if she were a rag doll — his rustic movements an explanation of his inexperience, of his naïveté.

"Aliyaar!" She gasped, her voice a pitch too high with a mournful tone resonating at the end.

"Did I do something wrong?" His worried eyes met her lust filled ones.

"You're doing too good," she clenched her  jaw, "but I need to feel you inside of me or this sensation will end me!"

"Oh!"

Aliyaar stared into her eyes, his lips kissing each lid with gentleness. The wells of his palms felt down the side of her curves, squeezing her love handles in reassurance as he pushed open her legs. His fingers reeled in the arousal that covered the sides of her thighs, pushing them apart until his torso could rest in comfortability. Barekhna's back rose off of the bed, her heels pressed around his waist as she felt him push in gently. A gasp escaped her lips at the sensation, her sensitive walls could map out his dick, feeling each vein and twitch as he stopped a few seconds later. Staring at her for the go ahead before moving in, softly. He frowned, sweat covered his forehead and back as he controlled the urge to move at a tenacious pace. Breathing into the crook of her neck, he could feel the walls of her vagina clench and unclench around him.

Barekhna twisted her hips — in search of friction. Aliyaar took that as his sign and his hips rolled along her first at a soft pace, alternating with hard strokes as she guided him with her raspy voice. He held her hands above her head, their fingers locked as they joined in a depth full profoundness. Her cries were like the first rains of June — relieving. Aliyaar felt himself twitch, his movements gaining a harshness that was missing from him for the most part. The torrents of a fleshy encounter turned them both savage with their needs as the bit and held on to what they could. Their orgasms rushed through their brains to the ends of their toes — leaving them helpless and a piles of bones. Aliyaar pushed both of their highs out, sweat dribbling down his hair and back, the tension in his lower calves finally ceasing as Barekhna passed him a lazy smile. Her lips cracked and her voice broke off as she whispered something— spilling in and out of consciousness.

"You make me feel saint. I don't know how I feel about that."

"Luckily for you," he kissed her head with a gentle smile, "you've got our entire lives to figure it out."

Sprinkles holy water
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