Meerab's gaze traced the rhythmic rise and fall of his body. Up. Down. Up. Down. Standing in the door frame looking out onto the terrace, her grip tightening around the glass she held, Meerab found her throat parched despite having just downed the whole glass. She had gotten up early only to witness the sight in front of her, the lack of sleep no longer bothered her as she watched him.

Amidst this tranquility of the early morning, Murtasim's grunts of exertion were the only sound, creating a stark contrast to the serene environment. He was a picture of masculine beauty - his muscles flexing and contracting with every push up he did, beads of sweat trickling down his sculpted back and arms. The sight was a feast for Meerab's eyes, stirring a mix of desire and admiration within her.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Murtasim, cloaked in the sheen of exertion, was a symphony of motion that commanded all her attention. The tight black tank top he wore clung to him, displaying the muscles of his arms in raw detail. Each push-up he did seemed to enhance their definition, rendering the veins running from his elbows to his wrists all the more noticeable.

Her own breath hitched in her throat, her heart hammering loudly. His grunts of exertion, a testament to his relentless drive, echoed across the terrace and resonated within her, sparking an insatiable yearning. She couldn't help but remember the few times she had felt those muscles beneath her fingertips, the memory of his strength, his warmth sending a thrill through her body. The feel of his body pressed against hers, his strong arms wrapped around her in an embrace that was both protective and possessive, haunted her thoughts.

Her eyes traveled over his form, drinking in the sight of him. His hair, normally neat, was tousled with his intense exercise, seemingly mirroring his uninhibited spirit. Every fibre of her being yearned to touch that wild mane, to run her fingers through his hair.

Meerab bit her lower lip, her gaze tracing the rivulets of sweat that ran down Murtasim's arms, forming beads that glinted in the soft morning sunlight. His movements, so deliberate and controlled, held her captive, each flex and release of his muscles was like a beautifully choreographed dance she couldn't tear her eyes from.

As she stood there, a sudden rush of warmth crept up her neck, painting her cheeks with a soft pink hue. These thoughts, so intimate and raw, were uncharted territory for Meerab. Yet, they were as compelling as they were disconcerting, painting vivid pictures in her mind of him and her, tangled in between sheets.

In her mind's eye, she saw Murtasim hovering over her, his muscles rippling, straining as he moved. She imagined the rhythm of his thrusts, each one echoing the rhythm of his heart, fast and frantic. She could almost feel the pressure of his body atop hers, warm and solid, his weight a welcome anchor in the storm of her desire. His grunts of exertion during his workout now echoed in her mind as grunts of a different sort, evoking a symphony of sensations that caused a soft gasp to escape her lips.

Would he be as controlled and deliberate as he was now, she wondered. Or would the depth of their passion make him lose his carefully cultivated restraint? She envisioned his strong hands, calloused from years of working out, exploring her body with a tenderness that belied their rough exterior. His lips trailing a path of heated kisses down her throat, her chest, lower...

She shook her head, chastising herself for letting her thoughts run wild. Yet, the spark of desire, once ignited, was hard to put out. Each movement of his, each bead of sweat that trickled down his skin, only added fuel to her growing fire.

The very thought of him, of them together, brought forth a pulsating heat between her thighs, her body reacting to her own vivid imagination. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms around herself, the cool morning air a stark contrast to the heat brewing within her.

She marveled at the sheer muscularity of Murtasim's neck and shoulders, the taut sinews of his trapezius muscles moving rhythmically with each push-up. Her gaze slipped from his arms - bulging with the promise of strength and security - to his neck, the perfect column graced by prominent Adam's Apple and framed by a jawline that could rival a sculpture's masterpiece.

She could see the outline of his pectoral muscles even through his top, their solidity sending a tantalizing wave of curiosity coursing through her. Every part of him, from his well-defined abs to his prominent hipbones, seemed crafted to perfection. Thoughts of trailing her fingertips over his sculpted form sent a blush creeping up her cheeks.

His back was another mystery altogether, its definition only vaguely visible through his shirt. Yet, the promise of unseen muscularity was enough to spark her imagination aflame. As the heat surged within her, Meerab let out a soft moan, her thoughts awash with Murtasim, each heartbeat bringing forth fantasies filled with touch, taste, and whispers of mutual pleasure.

She watched him rise, an imposing figure, the sheen of sweat accentuating every contour of his muscular physique. As he gulped down water from his bottle, she watched the bob of his Adam's apple, her lips parting in an unbidden gasp. The sight of the water trickling down his body, leaving tantalizing paths on his skin, seemed to coax a flush to her cheeks and a heat pooling between her legs.

Lost in her thoughts, Meerab startled when Murtasim caught her eye, his dark gaze sparkling with a knowing glint. Her heart raced, her palms becoming sweaty, as if he could see right through her. She couldn't deny the admiration in her gaze, the budding desire that sparked to life within her.

Following the intense moment of eye contact, Meerab made a decision. Gathering her resolve, she ventured outside, choosing a seat on the wicker couch in the courtyard, placing her empty glass on the table in front of her. She watched him unabashedly, her eyes tracing his every move, her heart pounding a wild beat in her chest.

"You're playing with fire, Meerab." He called out, not missing a beat in his workout. His voice was rough, a hint of amusement and warning tangled in his words.

She adjusted herself on the couch, the heat between her legs growing more intense, a familiar wetness reminding her of her own yearning. She always felt like this around him, a wild, insatiable desire that seemed to consume her. "I know." She replied, her voice softer, almost a whisper.

She watched his biceps flex as he hoisted the dumbbells up in the air. Her fingers itched to trace the ripples of muscles, feel the tension beneath her touch, a tension she could relieve. Heat flushed her cheeks at the thought, her heart pounding at the illicit intimacy of it all.

His back muscles, rippling under the sweat-slicked black tank, drew her attention next. Her eyes traced the pattern of his shoulder blades, his broad shoulders tapering down to a slender waist. She could easily picture herself running her hands down his back, feeling the hard muscles underneath her fingertips, something she yearned to do.

She watched as his chest expanded and contracted with each deep breath, the firm pectoral muscles a sight she found both impressive and incredibly enticing. The urge to lay her hand over his heart, to feel it pounding under her touch, was almost too much. She imagined it would be strong and steady, much like Murtasim himself.

A new decision made, Meerab rose from the couch, retrieving a towel and a water bottle from the table. She walked over to him, her heart pounding in her ears, her palms sweaty.

Handing him the items, she watched as Murtasim took the water bottle from her, the skin of their fingers brushing, causing a shiver to run up her spine. She watched, her breath hitching, as he upended the water bottle over his head. The water trickled down his body, following the lines and dips of his well-defined muscles, the sight pulling a soft gasp from her lips.

Her fingers itched to touch him, to trace the path the water had taken. She could almost feel the hardness of his muscles under her fingertips, could almost taste the saltiness of his skin on her tongue. And for a moment, she lost herself in those thoughts, the reality of her desires for Murtasim hitting her like a wave.

In a daze, she reached up, pulling him down to initiate a passionate kiss. Their connection was electrifying, their lips and tongues entwining in a dance of desire, one that had been so rudely interrupted the previous night under the stairs. Each sensation was thrilling - the softness of his lips, the heat of his hands tracing paths down her back, the weak-kneed feeling evoked by his tongue exploring her mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke off, gasping for air. But he didn't stray far, his lips trailing kisses from her mouth to her ear, then down to her neck. The dual sensation of his soft lips and prickly stubble against her skin was a delightful contrast that always left her weak and trembling.

Finally, they pulled apart, their heavy breaths mingling in the air. As Meerab looked up, she found herself lost in Murtasim's dark gaze. His eyes, normally light and full of mischief, were now filled with a burning intensity that sent a shockwave of desire coursing through her.

Her hands slowly traced a path over his chiseled abs hidden by the black tank top, her fingers memorizing the feel of his hard muscles. A visible shudder ran through him at her touch, a testament to the effect she had on him. His gaze, filled with a desire that matched her own, never left her face, even as her fingers traveled further up his body to finally graze his well-defined arms.

"I need you." She whispered, her voice barely audible.

The admission hung heavy in the air between them, the raw need in her eyes baring her soul to him.

A hint of a smile ghosted his lips before he shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "You need to behave, meri jaan." He chided gently, though the heated look in his eyes contradicted his words.

At his rebuke, a pout formed on her lips. "It hurts." She admitted in a soft whisper, the vulnerability in her voice baring a part of her she hadn't before. The ache of his absence, the longing for his touch that was left unfulfilled - all of it had settled into a physical pain within her, a constant reminder of the distance between them. She could feel the frustration rise within her, a need for him that felt like a physical ache concentrated between her legs.

Murtasim, ever observant, was quick to realize the turmoil she was in. Leaning towards her, he whispered, his voice like a salve over her churning thoughts. "You know, you could help yourself."

His words drew a whimper from her, a soft, surprised sound that made her eyes darken. "That's hypocritical." She retorted, her voice a mix of frustration and yearning. "I can do that – something that is likely not allowed - but not waiting for the rukhsati and baarat is wrong even after a nikaah?" She pouted, her dissatisfaction evident.

His response was a laugh, a sound that was both soothing and infuriatingly composed. "Actually, there are some scholars that say masturbation is permissible under certain circumstances." He countered, a teasing glint in his eyes, refusing to comment on the other part of her sentence because he too knew it was stupid.

A scoff escaped her. "This is where you choose to take a liberal view?" She rolled her eyes, exasperation tingeing her words. Her frustrations simmered beneath the surface, a wellspring of unexplored desires and thoughts.

Murtasim merely grinned. "I mean...it's to avoid what your eyes are begging for Meerab, something that'll get you sent off to Lahore, then I won't even be able to see my wife's beautiful face. " His words were laced with a gentle tease that only spurred her frustrations. "So, put those pretty fingers of yours to use."

"You sure know a lot." The words slipped from her lips before she could hold them back. Jealousy seared through her, hot and powerful. "How do you know all of this?"

His response was another laugh, this one softer, more intimate. "Men talk, there's not a way that I haven't thought of you for years." His confession was simple, yet it held a depth of emotion that tugged at her heart.

A smirk played on her lips as she shot back. "Hmmm, if you had touched another girl I would have killed you."

His laughter filled the air, a joyful sound that made her heart flutter. "I haven't even touched you."

A moment of silence stretched between them before she finally whispered. "You can." The words hung heavy in the air, a statement, an invitation, an admission of her own desire.

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh, a gentle reprimand. "Meerab." Her name, spoken in his soft, loving voice, was both a balm and a reminder of the boundaries that had been set for them. She felt herself teetering on the edge of something intense and frighteningly powerful - an exploration of her own desires, her own self.

He sighed then. "You should know what you like so you can tell me." His eyes dark.

"I like you." She teased, ensuring she sounded flirty as she looked up at him, running her finger down his chest. "So you should help me."

He grinned. "You need to learn how to help yourself first, meri jaan."

She rolled her eyes and whined. It got her absolutely nowhere, just pinned up against a wall and kissed until she forgot to argue.

-----------------------------------

As the darkness of the night swallowed the room, Meerab found herself nestled beneath the covers, a cocoon of warmth and comfort around her. Her heart fluttered with an odd combination of excitement and apprehension as she let her hands wander down her body.

In her mind, her slender fingers transformed into Murtasim's large, rough hands - so warm, so strong, so wonderfully commanding.

Starting slowly, she let her hands glide over her clothes, tracing the fabric that hugged her form, mimicking the exploratory caress she imagined from Murtasim, remembering the way he touched her in the car and the previous night. Her fingers moved with a languid ease, cupping her breasts, sliding up her sides, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

But it wasn't enough, nothing like how it had felt when he had cupped her breasts over her bra under the stairs. Craving a more intimate touch, she unclasped her bra with deft fingers, sliding the straps out of her arm holes and pulling the garment out through the neckline. The discarded piece of fabric fell to the floor, a silent testament to her unfolding exploration.

Once again, her hands started their journey. Over her clothes, they found their way to her breasts, her fingers trailing over her nipples, drawing a hum of satisfaction from her lips. She could almost feel Murtasim's touch - his strong hands running down her body, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, the ticklish sensation of his beard against her skin. He would suck on her skin, she knew him well enough to know that he'd want to mark her, he had said so himself when they had caught themselves alone in the car, hips rubbing together.

I want to mark you so bad. So everyone knows that you're mine.

He had stopped himself then, knowing people would question the marks, but he would mark his wife, he would kiss and bite and suck on her skin until it was red, sending pleasure shooting through her.

A soft moan left her at the thought.

Closing her eyes, she could almost smell the familiar musk of his cologne, the sensation of his body heat pressed against hers. A sigh escaped her as she let her hands slip underneath her shirt, her fingers tracing the bare skin of her waist, moving up to cup her breasts. Each touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sigh slipping past her lips. She yearned for his touch, knowing how his hands would fit perfectly around her waist, how his fingers would touch her just right.

Her imagination painted a vivid picture of Murtasim, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how pretty she was, how much he loved touching her. A blush spread across her cheeks at the thought, her heartbeat quickening. Even though he wasn't physically there, in her mind, he was a comforting and exciting presence, guiding her through her own self-discovery.

She envisioned Murtasim's presence, his rougher, more assertive touch. Her own fingers mimicked his, as she imagined, grasping her breasts, tugging gently at her nipples. Each pull was met with a low hum of pleasure escaping her lips, her body responding in kind.

She conjured up the image of Murtasim bending down to lavish attention upon her breasts, his mouth alternating between tender kisses and playful nips. His tongue would swirl around her nipples while his fingers worked their magic.

With some apprehension, she brought her fingers found their way to her mouth, moistening with saliva before tracing it over her hardened nipples, the sudden coolness causing goosebumps to spread across her body.

But it wasn't enough, the craving for his mouth, his touch, his reactions, persisted.

Her hands wandered lower, fluttering over the smooth skin of her stomach, envisioning him trailing kisses down the path they traced. Uncertainty bloomed as her hands moved beneath the waistband of her pajamas, her breath hitching - she had consciously left her underwear off.

As her fingers found the heated core between her legs, a surprised gasp left her lips.

It was unfamiliar territory. She knew her body, but this part of her anatomy felt like a stranger under her own fingers. She was wet - a fact she had grown accustomed to - courtesy of Murtasim's constant presence - and she knew, from her avid reading, what she needed to do.

Her fingers trailed lower, seeking the treasure that had been mentioned in whispered secrets among friends and hinted at in the pages of the books she'd read. She imagined Murtasim, his rough and yet tender hands, deftly parting her folds, his fingers delving into her heat. She replicated the movement with her own, but the sensation felt... incomplete.

The throbbing pulse between her legs was hard to ignore, a beacon calling for attention, and she answered.

Her fingers brushed against her clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive to her touch. She swiped her fingers over it in circles, then side to side, trying to find the rhythm, the technique that would bring her the coveted pleasure. But it was elusive. The friction was stimulating, yes, but it did not bring her the wave of ecstasy she had been led to anticipate.

Emboldened, and somewhat desperate, she pressed a finger inside herself. It slid in easily, her wetness making the way. The sensation was new, a peculiar stretch that had her arching off the bed. But again, the pleasure seemed to be just out of reach, an illusion that would disappear the moment she tried to grasp it. She tried another finger, the added stretch creating a sensation that was intense but not quite right.

Meerab's brows knitted together, her heart pounding as she let her imagination run wild. With her teeth lightly biting her lower lip, her mind conjured images of Murtasim, powerful and masculine, pressing her into the plush mattress beneath them.

She envisioned the way his body would feel, solid and warm atop hers, his roughened skin providing a stark contrast to her own smoothness. His firm muscles would undulate against her softer curves, the rhythm of their bodies matching the cadence of their shared desire. The smell of him would fill her nostrils - a potent mixture of sweat, the sharp tang of metal from his daily workout, and the earthy, masculine scent that was undeniably him.

In her mind's eye, she could feel the coarse hair on his chest rubbing against her sensitive skin, the sensation both abrasive and incredibly sensual. She could imagine the hard planes of his abdomen pressed against the softness of her own, his hips nestled between her thighs in an intimate embrace. His large, rough hands would glide along her skin, mapping her body with the familiarity of a lover who'd studied every inch, every curve, every hollow.

And then there was the pulsing heat of him, his arousal pressing against her most sensitive place, a tantalizing promise of the pleasure yet to come. The imagined feeling of his hot length sliding into her sent shivers racing down her spine, her body automatically responding to the vivid fantasy playing out in her mind. The thought of him filling her, stretching her, was so enticing, so real, it felt like a mere whisper could shatter the illusion and bring her crashing back to reality.

She imagined the sounds he would make, grunts and moans echoing in her ear as he thrust into her, their bodies merging into one. The thought of his husky voice whispering her name, his breath hot and ragged against her skin, made her own breath hitch in anticipation.

Yet, despite the tantalizing details of her fantasy, the void he would fill remained untouched. She was brought back to the harsh reality with a pang of frustration, her body aching for a release that remained just beyond her reach. The frustration gnawed at her, leaving her flushed and restless, a bundle of unfulfilled desires and yearning.

She did all that promised to get her off, to ease the ache the settled inside her - she touched her clit, pressed her fingers inside herself, find a rhythm to bring her to the brink. But reality was different from theory. When she attempted to rub her clit again, it seemed lacking. When she pushed a finger inside herself, it felt vacant and without the rush she expected. Various attempts, different rhythms, and new techniques all brought her up but failed to tip her over the edge.

Frustration knotted in her stomach, but she remained persistent, her fingers defying her thoughts, continuously seeking that elusive pleasure. Her mind was a whirlwind of images of Murtasim, her body a canvas of her own exploration, yearning to connect the reality of her touch with the fantasy of his.

Meerab's breaths came in short gasps, each inhalation filled with mounting frustration. The silence of the room was broken only by the soft rustling of the sheets, the beating of her heart against her ribcage echoing loudly in her ears. Her imagination was a vivid panorama of Murtasim's movements - his touch, his breath, his intensity.

With every passing moment, her frustration only grew, the pleasure she was chasing remaining a step ahead of her. Her body was a symphony of sensations, but it felt like it was playing the wrong tune. Her desire, rather than being quelled, only amplified, turning into a yearning inferno that her own touch was incapable of satisfying.

She was left yearning for the man whose mere presence made her weak, whose touch she knew would bring her the pleasure she was so desperately seeking. The reality of her loneliness and the fantasies of Murtasim's touch painted a bittersweet canvas in her mind, the beautiful agony of desire and frustration blending into a silent, self-contained storm under the darkness of the night.

A flood of frustration coursed through Meerab, tears filling her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of her quickened breaths, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Her fingers worked feverishly as she tried to mimic the movements she could only imagine Murtasim making.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she envisioned Murtasim, him leaning into her, whispering sweet and passionate words into her ear, his breath fanning against her neck. She could almost feel the rough texture of his beard grazing her skin, his hot and insistent kisses leaving a trail of fire down her neck. His hand, she pictured, would replace hers, his fingers digging into her hips, holding her firmly as he claimed her.

She found herself writhing under the pressure of her own fingers, trying to match the rhythm she envisioned for him – hard, fast, and relentless. The motion, the imagined sensations were intoxicating, but it only amplified the gnawing emptiness that begged to be filled.

"Damn you, Murtasim." She whispered into the quiet darkness, her voice a mix of longing and vexation. She imagined his chuckle, a deep sound that would vibrate against her chest, and his comforting words whispering to her, encouraging her to find her own path to pleasure.

With renewed determination, Meerab's fingers returned to her core. She pushed two fingers inside her, feeling the stretch and the warm wetness that enveloped her digits. At the same time, her thumb found her clit, stroking it in the way she thought Murtasim might – for he would touch both.

Each stroke brought a new sensation, each push a different kind of pressure. Meerab's breath hitched, her heart pounded in her chest, her body heated up under the onslaught of feelings. But still, the orgasm she chased remained elusive, always a breath away but never within reach.

Her body yearned for Murtasim, for his touch, his warmth, his reassurance. The desire for him was palpable, a relentless ache that couldn't be soothed. Her attempts only stoked the fire of longing, pushing her further into the abyss of frustration and anticipation.

Meerab's phone trilled suddenly, shattering the cocoon of silence around her, startling her. She fumbled around on her bedside table, her fingers closing around the cool, familiar object. Murtasim's name flashed brightly on the screen, she swiped to accept the call.

"Hello?" Her voice came out more breathless than she intended, the result of her failed endeavors.

"Meerab, what's wrong? My watch keep going off without a pattern." Murtasim's deep, concerned voice vibrated through the line.

"Oh." She said, breathless again, as she realized she must have been pressing the button on the watch she never took off somehow, the little buzz he could feel.

"Are you okay?" He asked and then he paused, his breath hitching before he spoke. "You sound...out of breath."

"I'm...I'm okay." She replied, her voice shaky. A knot formed in her throat, the frustration mounting into a feeling so overwhelming she could barely contain it.

"Meerab, tell me what's wrong," Murtasim's voice was gentle now, coaxing her to share.

"I can't...Murtasim, I can't...get myself off." She admitted in a barely audible whisper, a mix of embarrassment and desperation. "I – I don't know what I am doing wrong."

Silence greeted her on the other end before Murtasim finally replied. "I'm...I'm going to help you, Meerab. Trust me?"

A single tear trickled down her cheek, wetting the pillow beneath her, as she whispered. "I do." Meerab gasped into the phone, her voice trembling with unspent desire, her breathless words pulling him in deeper, making his heart hammer against his ribs.

"Shh, Meerab." He murmured, his voice low and soothing, thick with longing. "I'm here, I've got you. Now tell me, where are your hands?"

"Um..." She hesitated, her voice faint, "on... on my breast." It felt a little odd to say.

"That's good, meri jaan." He encouraged, his voice growing huskier, more intimate. "Now imagine it's my hand there, instead of yours. Feel the warmth, the strength of my fingers as they circle your nipple, pulling it lightly."

A soft whimper slipped from her lips, a clear indication she was picturing exactly what he'd described. Encouraged, Murtasim continued. "Get your airpods, meri jaan."

She pulled her body up a little, her hand going to the night table and picking up the white case, flipping it open and pulling her airpods out before putting them in her ear, the familiar tone sounded immediately, followed by the sound of Murtasim's breathing.

"Good?" He asked.

She hummed.

"Slide your other hand down, Meerab, down to that sweet spot between your legs. Tell me how wet you are for me." He whispered, huskily seconds later.

"Soaking...I always am." She muttered.

He swallowed thickly, a groan resonating in her ear.

Murtasim's husky voice continued, filling her ears with the sound of him. His voice, deep and laced with desire, was enough to make her knees weak, let alone the explicit instructions he was providing her.

"Touch yourself, meri jaan." He instructed, his voice laced with a quiet authority that sent a thrill of excitement down her spine. "Imagine my fingers there, sliding through your folds. Can you feel how they'd explore you? How they'd trace every inch of you? How they would delight in how wet you are for me?"

Her body shuddered at his words, at the mental image of his hand between her legs. She let out a whimper as her fingers followed his instructions, a hushed gasp following her whispered. "Yes." Even though they were still her fingers, it felt so much better suddenly.

"Good girl. Now, your fingers are my fingers, understand?" He murmured into the phone. "Imagine it's my hand moving against you, pressing and circling. Feel how I'd move over your clit, just like this."

She gasped at his words, her hand moving in sync with his instructions. She could almost feel him there with her, his body heat, the rough texture of his fingers, the intoxicating scent of him filling the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, the fantasy of Murtasim being there with her growing more vivid with each passing second with his voice in her ears.

He continued, his voice dropping lower. "I'd make sure to touch every part of you, Meerab. I'd want to see you squirm, hear those sweet sounds you make. And when you can't take it anymore, that's when I'd slide a finger inside you."

Her breath hitched at his words, the imagined sensation of him inside her making her dizzy with desire. His voice echoed in her ear, his words wrapping around her like a warm blanket, comforting her in her frustration, promising her pleasure she hadn't yet experienced.

"Don't rush, meri jaan." Murtasim's voice calmed her again. "Take your time, explore yourself, feel everything. I want to know every sound you make, every whimper, every sigh. I want to know how you feel when you finally let go for me. So take your time."

In the darkness of her room, with Murtasim's voice guiding her through the phone, Meerab explored herself. His words became her reality, each whispered command conjuring vivid images of his touch, his taste, his love. Though she was alone, with his voice in her ear, she felt anything but.

Murtasim's voice was a rough whisper over the phone, his words more intimate and tantalizing than any physical touch. "Where are your fingers, meri jaan?"

"Inside me."

He groaned. "How many?"

"One."

"Add another one."

She complied, pushing another finger into her warmth, moving the two of them in and out, like she imagined his fingers doing.

"Can you feel it, meri jaan? How my fingers would move in you just as yours are?"

She nodded, her fingers stilling for a moment. "Yes." She breathed out, her voice barely audible.

His chuckle was low and sultry. "I'd touch you slowly, stroking...making you squirm under my hands. Your body, Meerab...I constantly dream of how it would feel under my touch."

Her heart pounded at his words, her breath hitching as she tried to follow his instructions. Her fingers moved, trying to imagine it was his touch she felt.

"Press your fingers against your clit, rub your clit for me." He guided, "Can you feel that, Meerab? That's where I'd focus, right there. And I wouldn't stop until you're writhing, crying out my name. Imagine how that would feel."

Tears prickled in her eyes, frustration simmering at the edges of her desire. His voice was comforting, his instructions explicit, and the anticipation of his touch was driving her mad.

"I would tease you." He murmured. "I want to feel you shudder under my touch. And when you're begging for me, only then, I'd slide inside you."

She gasped, a shudder rippling through her at his words, imagining his cock sliding into her- she had never seen it – but she knew he was big with how he felt when she rubbed against him. He was speaking with such fervor that she could almost feel him, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his fingers exploring her with a tantalizing slowness until he was ready to slide his cock in.

"And I'd make you wait, I would stay still until you beg for me." His voice dropped lower, full of promise.

"Muurtasim." She gasped.

"And then, I'd finally give in, thrusting into you, so deep and hard that you'd see stars."

She whimpered at his words, her hand moving to follow his instructions, her fingers fucking herself faster, imagining it was his cock. His words were a lifeline, guiding her through her frustration, bringing her closer to the edge of pleasure. His voice painted vivid images, of his hands on her, of his lips trailing fiery kisses down her neck, of his body merging with hers in an intimate dance.

His instructions became more insistent, his voice guiding her closer and closer to the edge. His words filled her with anticipation, with desire, with a longing so deep that she could almost feel him there with her, touching her, loving her. And in the quiet darkness of her room, with Murtasim's voice guiding her, Meerab chased her pleasure, lost in the vivid images he painted.

The feverish pitch of her pleasure was so tantalizingly close, yet the relief she craved seemed just out of reach, like she was at the top of the cliff but scared to jump down. The intense sensation built up in her, creating an unbearable pressure that she couldn't find release from. Desperation took hold as she clawed for that peak, her body tensed and waiting for the sweet release.

Her breath hitched, a whimper of frustration escaping her. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and trickling down her cheeks. She gasped, sobs shaking her body as she kept trying to push herself over that elusive edge. The sound of her own voice, pleading and desperate, echoed in the quiet room.

"Murtasim...please, I can't." Her voice was a strangled whisper, raw with need. "I need you, help me please."

There was silence on the other end of the line, followed by a guttural groan that echoed in her ear. The sound sent a jolt of pleasure through her, her body reacting to the raw desire in his voice.

"I wish...I wish I could be there, Meerab." He said, his voice laced with regret and longing.

But as much as she wanted him there, he wouldn't. A sob tore through her at the realization, her body wracked with the frustrating nearness of her pleasure.

Then, suddenly, the line went dead. Murtasim had hung up. The sudden silence in the room felt deafening, a stark reminder of her solitude. With a cry of frustration, she threw the phone and airpods aside, her body aching with an unsated need. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, her body vibrating with a want that was left unfulfilled. The yearning for Murtasim, his touch, his presence was unbearable, the absence of his voice making her feel lost and empty.

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A/N: DON'T SCREAM! I'll post the next chapter within a day or two, and it's called A Helping Hand, so make of that what you will. 

But please tell me what you thought about this chapter, hehehehehehehehehehehhee.