A/N: Helllo! Thank you to you all for all the lovely comments and love for the last chapter! We start off where we left off with the crew. Just a heads up that the last section of this chapter has smut, I know some of you are probably abstaining from reading smut during Ramadan so I thought I'd flag it for you. This chapter is 13K words, so it's a long one, haha.

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

The backyard was alight with the soft glow of the fire pit, casting a cozy ambiance over the group nestled in plush sofas, surrounded by the endless canvas of a starry night. Dinner had been delightful, its various aromas more inviting than ever to Meerab, who found herself enjoying every bite, her movements animated, much to Murtasim's amusement. His eyes had been on her all evening, a smile on his face, giving an opportunity to Shahryar to tease him endlessly about how smitten he was.

After the meal, the night had drawn them outdoors, Aaminah and Salar's laughter mingling with the crackle of the fire before sleep claimed them, leaving the adults to revel in the kind of uninterrupted conversation that was a rare luxury.

Wrapped in a blanket beside Murtasim, Meerab relished the warmth and security of his side, her head comfortably resting against his shoulder. Their friends, equally snug in their seats, contributed to the voices and laughter that filled the night.

"Cold?" Murtasim's voice was soft, a whisper meant only for her, as he noticed her cuddling closer.

Shaking her head, Meerab looked up at him, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of affection. He adjusted the blanket around them, his lips meeting her temple in a gentle kiss, his arm drawing her closer, a protective hand resting lightly on her stomach. She hummed contentedly, the simple gesture flooding her with warmth.

Shahzain's voice broke through the comfortable lull, tinged with nostalgia. "Man, where have the years gone?"

Saad's laughter followed, a sound that seemed to echo around the fire. "What? Reminiscing the good old times?"

Murtasim smiled, his gaze still locked with Meerab's as he played with her hair.

Shahryar, with a snicker, chimed in, "I am still epic and fun, you're both dads...and Murtasim is just whipped."

"You were never epic and never will be," Murtasim shot back playfully, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he turned back to his friend.

"Damn right, I was the real genius," Shahzain boasted, only for Saad to quickly counter, "We all know Murtasim was the real genius."

Meerab, intrigued, turned towards Murtasim, who simply shrugged, an amused smirk on his face. Shahzain, unable to contain his laughter, reminisced, "Murtasim always acted like he was too cool to participate, until it was actually time to do something, then he had all the ideas."

"Like?" Meerab prodded, her interest piqued.

"There are too many to count," Murtasim attempted to deflect, but his friends wouldn't have it.

"Oh no no, we're going there," Saad declared, the excitement in his voice undeniable.

Shahryar, already looking between all of them, suggested, "Chronological order?"

Rani suggested, "I want to sleep at some point, so highlight of every year?" trying to condense the walk down memory lane.

"Year one has to be Professor Jamil," Saad said, sparking a chorus of snickers among the boys.

Dua, smiling, had clearly heard snippets of this legendary tale having gone to the same university. "The Bollywood one?"

Meerab turned to Murtasim, arching her eyebrow.

"Professor Jamil was a bore," Murtasim admitted, eliciting nods of agreement.

"A bore is putting it lightly. I could not stay awake in his class," Shahryar whined, his dramatization drawing laughter.

"We used to whack him to wake him up," Saad laughed.

"Ah, that's why he's so dumb," Meerab teased, joining in the banter.

Shahryar, feigning offense, warned, "If you insult me more, I might start teasing you back instead of your husband."

Meerab's pout elicited laughter from Murtasim, "leave my wife alone, Shahryar." He said, just as she expected.

"I miss it when I was the love of your life and you wanted me for my body, Murtasim," Shahryar joked, causing Meerab to burst into laughter.

Rani's impatience for the climax of the story mirrored everyone's anticipation. "So, what'd you do?"

"We swapped his presentation with a Bollywood dance compilation... of the most obscene moves we could find," Shahzain grinned, the memory still vivid in his mind.

"There were so many," Saad snickered.

"I stayed up all night looking for the best ones," Shahryar boasted, proud of his contribution.

"Of course, it had to be you," Meerab teased.

"Murtasim, your wife is growing on me, stop her," Shahryar said, a statement that had Murtasim throwing popcorn at him in mock annoyance.

"How'd you even get his laptop?" Rani pressed for more details, intrigued by the audacity of their plan.

"Shahzain bribed the IT guy," Murtasim revealed.

"Always throwing around your money, no matter what," Rani playfully chided, giving her husband a light whack. Shahzain just shrugged, his smile speaking volumes of his pride.

"What happened when he played it?" The question hung in the air, ripe with anticipation.

Saad, unable to contain his excitement, spilled the beans. "He was so flustered, he just opened his laptop and suddenly, the lecture hall was blaring 'Sheila Ki Jawani' and Jamil Sahab stood there, mouth agape, as Katrina Kaif danced across the screen." His retelling was so vivid, she could almost hear the music echoing through the night.

Shahryar, ever the performer, leapt up. "This step," he announced, demonstrating the hook step with an enthusiasm that only Shahryar could muster.

"MY EYES," Shahzain bellowed, shielding his gaze dramatically.

"Sit down, Shahryar," Murtasim commanded, tossing chips at him in a futile attempt to bring his one-man show to a halt.

Meerab turned towards Murtasim, an eyebrow raised in amusement and intrigue. "And it was your idea?"

He nodded, a playful arrogance in his smile. "Impressed?"

She shrugged, but her smile was undeniable.

"I heard everyone started clapping and dancing; he lost control of the whole class." Dua chimed in, the thought of the stuffy, bore of a professor having a class dance party had her giggling.

"Did he find out it was you all?" Meerab asked.

They shook their heads in unison, their faces lit by the soft glow of the firepit, casting shadows that danced across their amused expressions.

"Which set us up really well for Year 2," Shahryar grinned, the flicker of the flames reflecting in his eyes.

"Who was the victim this time?" Meerab asked, her curiosity piqued by their conspiratorial smiles.

"Hamza Abbasi." They all said together, their voices blending into a chorus of shared disdain.

"Who is that?" Rani inquired, tilting her head, a look of genuine curiosity on her face.

Dua piped up. "This stuck-up rich kid who drove a vintage Mercedes and acted like he owned the place."

"His father made hefty donations to the university," Murtasim added, his voice carrying a hint of distaste.

"We hated him. Well, Saad hated him the most... because he had a crush on Dua," Shahzain snickered, elbowing Saad playfully who pulled Dua closer to him, making her laugh.

Meerab giggled, drawn into the story by their antics. "So, what did you all do to his Mercedes?"

"VINTAGE Mercedes," Shahryar corrected, emphasizing the word with a broad grin that spread across his face.

"We disassembled the car," Saad said, his casual delivery of the statement belying the audacity of the act.

Meerab and Rani both gasped in unison, their reactions a mixture of shock and amusement.

"No!" Meerab exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked from one conspirator to the next, seeking confirmation that they had indeed dared to execute such a bold prank.

"It was Murtasim's idea!" Shahryar laughed.

"He loved his car above all," Murtasim shrugged nonchalantly, the corners of his mouth turning up in a knowing smile.

Meerab looked up at her husband, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You were always a gunda," she teased, the warmth in her voice belying the mock accusation.

He snickered, leaning closer to whisper, "Just creative."

She rolled her eyes at his justification but couldn't suppress the affectionate smile that followed.

"We took it apart, got trolleys, and moved all the pieces to the roof by elevator... and then reassembled it," Saad said, his tone casual as if disassembling and reassembling a car was an everyday occurrence.

"By yourselves?" Meerab asked, her skepticism evident, they weren't the type of men she imagined would find joy in hard labour.

"And it worked?" Rani added, equally intrigued.

"Well, we had help," Shahryar said nonchalantly, as if the confession was a minor detail in the grand scheme of their prank.

"Three mechanics and men to move the pieces. They don't lift a finger if they don't need to," Dua revealed, her statement drawing a chorus of laughter from the girls.

"So, you paid for it to get done?" Meerab snickered, her amusement growing with each revelation.

"It was our idea and execution!" Shahryar whined, his protest drowned out by the collective laughter.

"Did the car turn on?" Meerab asked, leaning in, her curiosity piqued.

They all nodded in unison, their faces alight with the shared memory of their triumph.

"It was the funniest thing, he had a breakdown about his car being missing..." Saad started.

"And then he kept pressing the car remote, and he could hear the honking," Shahzain added, the image of the moment causing giggles to ripple through the group.

"The scream he let out when he saw it on the roof," Murtasim snickered, the memory clearly a treasured one among the many antics of their youth.

"It was worth it," Shahzain said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

"You didn't get caught?" Meerab's voice was full of disbelief.

"Nah, everyone knew it was us, but they had no proof," Shahryar grinned.

Meerab's gaze drifted from the faces around the firepit to the stars twinkling above. The laughter continued, stories flowed, and in that moment, she felt an immense gratitude for the people surrounding her. The gathering felt like a family reunion. Despite the relatively short time she had known everyone as a group, there was an undeniable bond that connected them all.

Meerab found herself looking up at Murtasim as he spoke with his friends, he looked so happy, so utterly carefree. With his arm securely wrapped around her, his hand resting gently on her stomach, his voice by her ear, she felt an overwhelming sense of contentment.

As she listened to the stories of pranks and laughter, a curious thought crossed her mind, bringing a soft smile to her lips. Would their baby inherit Murtasim's affinity for pranking? The thought of a little prankster running around, with Murtasim's cleverness and her own wit, filled her with a delightful anticipation.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she felt Murtasim scooping her up in his arms, her drowsiness making her lean into his warmth. She could feel the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, a comforting lullaby, as he carried her through the silent halls of the farmhouse to their room.

In the bathroom, Murtasim set her down on the cool marble counter, she was barely awake but she trusted he'd deal with it. He retrieved her toiletry bag with familiarity, his movements deft as he helped her out of her clothes, his fingers gentle and knowing. With a warm cloth, he wiped away the remnants of her makeup from her face, each stroke gentle, each kiss he pressed to her cheeks making her hum.

Meerab shook her head softly when Murtasim mentioned grabbing her pajamas. Instead, she reached for his shirt, wanting the comfort of something distinctly him. With a gentle tug, she removed it from him. As she shed her bra and slipped into his shirt, the fabric enveloped her in his scent, making her smile. She returned his affection with kisses, her lips against his face and chest, murmuring a heartfelt yet sleepy "I love you," her voice a soft melody in the quiet room.

He lifted her once more, carrying her to their bed, where the sheets were cool and inviting. Tucking her in with a tenderness that made her heart swell, he promised to return shortly. After a quick visit to the bathroom, he slid back into bed beside her, drawing her close. With a whisper of "I love you," he kissed her gently. And as he pressed a kiss to her stomach, bidding their baby goodnight, she succumbed to sleep completely.

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

As light began to filter through the windows of the farmhouse, Murtasim's internal clock nudged him awake, far earlier than he had intended. Gently turning his head, he observed Meerab's peaceful slumber beside him. There was something infinitely endearing about the way she slept these days, one leg tucked within the warmth of the comforter, the other exposed to the cool morning air, and her lips pulled into a soft pout.

A tender chuckle escaped him as he brushed away the hair from her face, leaning down to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead. She hummed softly in her sleep, a sound that filled him with an inexplicable warmth. His hand found its way to her stomach, resting there lightly. "Good morning," he whispered, a greeting to their unborn child, before he reluctantly rose from the bed.

After refreshing himself in the bathroom, Murtasim's thoughts turned towards the simple comfort of a hot beverage to start the day. The layout of the farmhouse was still not second nature to him, but he navigated his way to the kitchen, drawn by the familiar scent of coffee.

To his mild surprise, Dua was already there, seated at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee cradled in her hands.

"You're up early," she noted, her voice soft in the quiet of the morning.

"I am used to it," he replied, the routine of early mornings had always been a part of his life.

"Me too, Salar is usually an alarm clock but he and Saad are sleeping soundly today," Dua smiled, gesturing to the freshly brewed coffee. "That was just brewed if you want coffee, or if you prefer tea, Raila Bi just stepped out to fetch some things."

"Coffee it is," Murtasim decided, pouring himself a cup. As he took his first, appreciative sip, Dua made a playful grimace.

"I don't know how you can have your coffee black," she commented, an amused twinkle in her eye.

He offered a light chuckle in response. "You get used to it," he said.

"Meerab's asleep?" Dua inquired.

"Hm, she needs all the sleep she can get," he replied, his voice laced with fondness that even he could hear in his voice.

Dua's smile widened, "She seems happy." Her observation made Murtasim smile, he was glad her happiness was obvious to others as well.

It was then that Dua shifted the tone of their conversation. "Can we talk?" she asked, a hint of seriousness underlying her words.

He raised an eyebrow in response, "are we not already talking?"

Dua let out a small chuckle, clarifying, "Something more serious. It might be a bit awkward, but remember, I am a doctor, one that deals with childbirth."

Murtasim nodded, his curiosity piqued.

"Meerab, Rani, and I were talking yesterday, and I might have shared a lot of information with Meerab, some of it a little overwhelming," she admitted, her voice laced with a subtle concern that immediately sent a wave of worry through Murtasim. His mind raced, trying to recall any hint of discomfort or unease in Meerab that he might have overlooked.

Unexpectedly, Dua's laughter pierced the momentary tension, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Nothing bad, we were just talking about how little the focus is on women themselves when they're pregnant. You're doing great already, Murtasim, which is why Meerab is so happy and healthy, but I think she's still nervous...as you must be too." Her words, sincere and reassuring, washed over him like a balm.

He nodded, acknowledging the truth in her observation. Indeed, beneath his veneer of calm, a sea of worries churned.

"Who's the gynecologist? I forgot to ask Meerab," Dua inquired, her curiosity genuine.

"Dr. Reema Abbasi," he replied.

Dua's reaction was immediate, her smile broadening, "I know her! She's amazing, she was faculty when I was training. She'll probably tell you everything I will, but I thought a heads-up might be nice so you can do some research before seeing her next time? If you don't mind, I don't want to overstep..." Her voice trailed off, tinged with hesitance.

Murtasim was quick to dispel her concerns. "Why would I mind?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. Gratitude filled him, realizing the depth of Dua's thoughtfulness.

Dua smiled, her expression easing into one of relief. "Of course. I guess – what I wanted to say was, that people, especially our elders, think women are made for childbirth, that it comes easily, and that they rebound easily. I think because of how they were sadly expected to do that and did in their time. But pregnancy and childbirth are not easy on many women. Many of them power through it all, and everything they're expected to do by their families, and then suffer the consequences downstream." Her words resonated deeply with Murtasim.

As he settled into a chair beside the kitchen island, facing Dua, the room seemed to shrink, the world outside fading away.

"There's more to it than just pampering your wife, a part of it, which most people forget, is focusing on childbirth itself, because imagine having to push a whole baby out of you," she explained, her words painting a vivid picture of the daunting, yet miraculous process.

Murtasim's expression, a blend of awe and apprehension, must have been transparent, for Dua chuckled softly, shaking her head in a comforting gesture. "Don't be afraid, it's natural, but there's a couple of things you can do to help her make sure she's ready, physically and mentally, to make sure she doesn't tear and need a million stitches, and recovers well after pushing the baby out," she reassured him, her laughter echoing softly in the room.

"Tear?" The word slipped from his lips, laced with fear. The word seemed almost too brutal, too harsh.

Dua nodded, her expression solemn. "Things stretch more than they can to get the baby out, things tear," she explained, her directness underscoring the reality of childbirth, dispelling any illusions of simplicity.

His stomach felt like it had dropped through the floor, a visceral reaction to the stark imagery. "For everyone?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn't read any of that online, most of the articles just focused on the baby.

"Most women, yes. Sometimes there is no way to avoid it, but you can minimize it by massaging the area as you get closer to labor. It's like you're lifting a huge weight that day; it's easier if you've stretched," she explained.

"I see," he said, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to fit together in his mind. Dua's explanation was meant to define his role in ensuring Meerab's well-being and recovery.

"And then, when the baby comes into this world, her body is going to be tired, she's going to be a mess emotionally, too. Suddenly you have this baby that needs you 24/7, and you lose yourself in the mix...a lot of women develop postpartum depression," Dua continued, her voice softening as she broached the topic. "There is of course no magic formula to ensure it doesn't happen, but there are risk factors and protective factors...so talk about that, plan for it, plan to give her time for herself, to make sure she can shower at least once every two days if not once a day, that she feels like Meerab sometimes and not just the baby's food source."

Murtasim nodded, his mind racing to absorb every detail, every piece of advice.

Dua leaned forward, her voice earnest. "Meerab is strong, she'll be fine, but I fear that because she's strong, she won't ask for the help she needs – there's so much you can hire people for, a doula to coach you through the process, a personal trainer to help with exercising and stretching safely, breastfeeding classes, learning how to change diapers, making sure everything feels ready to go before the baby arrives. And then there are some things only you can do, Murtasim. So, Meerab is going to need you... I can see that you're already there in every way you can be, and will continue to be, but a lot of times we put the baby first because we think the mother isn't the vulnerable one, but you're going to need to put her first."

Murtasim absorbed her words, feeling the weight and warmth of their truth. He nodded, "I know, she takes care of the baby, I take care of her first and then the baby." His voice was soft but firm.

Dua's face lit up with a grin, her eyes twinkling with approval and amusement. "You're taking this better than Shahzain," she remarked.

Curiosity piqued, Murtasim couldn't help but snicker, a light-hearted moment amidst the gravity of their discussion. "Why, what'd he do?" he asked, eager for the anecdote.

"Started googling perineum tears and then had a breakdown," Dua laughed.

"Should I not google it?" Murtasim asked, half-joking, half-serious, caught between the desire for knowledge and the fear of what he might find.

"Google the instructional video on how to do the massage first," she suggested pragmatically, steering him towards the useful over the potentially overwhelming.

He nodded, mentally bookmarking her advice, appreciating the practical guidance amidst the vast, often intimidating sea of information.

Dua's tone softened. "I said this to Meerab, but call me if you need anything, I know you're scared too..." She trailed off, the knowledge that Saad had shared his fears with her didn't surprise him; Dua was his wife, after all. "If it helps you two feel any better, I can come down to Hyderabad when Meerab delivers," she offered, her generosity and willingness to be there for them both evident in her sincere expression.

Murtasim was momentarily taken aback, the magnitude of her offer sinking in. His eyes widened, surprise and gratitude flooding him. It was one thing to offer help; it was another to be willing to cross cities to provide it.

Dua smiled, her warmth enveloping the room. "You don't realize how much we missed you, and how happy everyone is to see you with Meerab...she really is perfect for you, Murtasim. And we all love her too, she just fits, so anything for you two."

"Thank you," was all Murtasim could muster, his voice thick with emotion.

The sudden, lively sound of Salar's babble broke the serene quiet. Murtasim turned just in time to see Saad rounding the corner. Salar, nestled in Saad's arms, was the epitome of boundless energy, wiggling happily and kicking his feet.

Dua's laughter filled the room as she eyed her husband. "How long have you been standing there?" she inquired.

"I didn't want to interrupt," Saad replied, his smile reaching his eyes as he approached, greeting Murtasim with a friendly tap on the back.

To Murtasim's sheer astonishment, Salar, with the unspoken trust and innocence of a child, leaned out from Saad's embrace toward him.

Taking Salar into his arms, Murtasim felt a warmth spread through him, a preview of the paternal affections he was soon to fully understand. Saad's laughter echoed in the space as Salar cooed at Murtasim, he was so cute.

Dua's voice, feigning a sigh of mock complaint, drew their attention. "Where's mama's good morning, Salar?" she asked, even as Salar's attention remained firmly on Murtasim.

The room filled with laughter as Salar, with the fascination only a child could muster, grasped at Murtasim's slightly longer beard, his tiny hands pulling with delighted squeals of "roarrrr."

"So that's why he likes him, Murtasim the lion," Saad remarked, humor in his voice as he wrapped an arm around Dua's shoulders.

Raila Bi's timely entrance offered a momentary pause. Murtasim, while still engaged in the playful antics with Salar, requested a glass of milk for Meerab.

Salar's energy, began to wane as he turned his attention toward the island, his small voice chanting "Mama mama mama" in a mantra of love and longing.

Watching Dua scoop Salar into her arms, the tenderness of the moment was palpable. The pure joy that lit up Salar's face as she showered him with kisses was a scene of unscripted beauty, a glimpse into the everyday happiness of family life.

Dua's eyes met Murtasim's, her gaze imbued with wisdom. "They grow up so fast, cherish it while you get the chance," she sighed, her words a gentle reminder of the fleeting nature of these precious early months.

He nodded, his heart full. "Thank you again, Dua," he said, his gratitude deep and sincere, as Raila Bi handed him the glass of milk.

"Any time, and I mean that, Murtasim, both of us do," Dua assured him.

Murtasim told them he'd be right back before he ascended the staircase, the glass of milk in his grasp. As he stepped into the bedroom, the morning sun filtered brightly through the windows, casting a serene glow over the empty bed as he gently closed the door behind him.

The moment Meerab emerged from the bathroom, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere, as if the room itself exhaled, basking in her presence. Her beauty, both natural and unaffected, struck Murtasim anew, a daily revelation that never ceased to amaze him. Her hair cascaded down her back, unfurling like a silken curtain. Her face, freshly washed, glowed. Her eyes, still a little hooded from the tender embrace of sleep, held within them the quiet depth of the night's dreams, reflecting a world only she could see.

And there she stood, wrapped in his shirt, an impromptu garment she had pulled off him and insisted on wearing the previous night. The sight of her in his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on her frame, took his breath away.

Murtasim wondered, not for the first time, how someone could be so gorgeous all of the time.

He watched as Meerab's lips morphed into an adorable pout, the kind that tugged irresistibly at his heartstrings. "I woke up alone," she whined, her voice carrying a soft, melodious tint of mock displeasure.

Murtasim couldn't help but chuckle, the sound bubbling up from a well of affection within him. He approached, placing the milk on the TV console before turning to her, his hands gently cradling her face as he bestowed a tender peck on her lips. "Sorry, meri jaan," he murmured, the endearment whispering of love, "good morning."

Her response, "good morning, I don't like waking up alone," was murmured against his lips, even as he dotted her cheeks with kisses.

"I know," he conceded softly, his fingers delicately pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her gaze then shifted to the glass of milk, and her lips twisted into a new pout. "I also don't like milk," she announced, casting a look filled with defiance towards the glass.

He laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the room. "Just one glass, Meerab," he cajoled, their daily ritual unfurling with a comforting familiarity.

She responded with a drawn-out whine, an endearing protest that they both knew would end in compromise.

"Half a glass, for our choti shehzadi," he bargained, as was their custom.

"Fine," she conceded, her sigh a melodious surrender.

Guiding her to sit on the bed, he took the glass of milk and knelt before her. As he handed her the milk, he pressed a kiss to her belly. "Good morning meri choti shehzadi, enjoy the milk," he whispered.

"She likes chocolate better," Meerab countered, her voice playful as she took a sip.

Murtasim chuckled. "Fine, we'll get her chocolate," he agreed.

"A huge stash, but Maa Begum can't see it," she added.

. "Yes, meri jaan, a whole suitcase filled if you want," he declared, his words a pledge to her happiness.

Watching Meerab smile as she drank the milk, her joy evident in the curve of her lips, Murtasim felt a surge of happiness himself.

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

The living room buzzed with the soft chatter, filled with the warmth of afternoon sunlight that spilled through the windows, casting a golden hue on the faces gathered there.

Among them was little Aaminah, her curiosity as boundless as the sky above, her eyes wide with the wonder of discovery.

She had gravitated towards Meerab, her movements tentative yet filled with a child's inherent gentleness, as if the very world held a whisper of magic. "Youw baby is inside?" she asked, her small hand touching Meerab's stomach with the softness of a petal falling on water, her voice tinged with fascination, knowing, yet marveling, that Meerab harbored a new life within.

Meerab nodded, her smile as radiant as the sun, "I do," she affirmed.

"How old?" Aaminah's inquiry was filled with the earnestness that only children possess.

"Four months," Meerab said, her voice a gentle echo in the room.

"Oh, smawwer than Zeeshan," Aaminah observed, her comparison drawing a line between her known world and this new revelation.

Dua's squeal of delight cut through the air, "You decided on a name?!" She asked Rani and Shahzain.

"We did, and my big mouth husband told my big mouth daughter and now everyone knows," Rani sighed, her exasperation fond, as laughter softly filled the room.

"When I pat-pat mama's tummy, Zeeshan kicks so hawd!" Aaminah shared, her actions mimicking her words as she gently patted Meerab's stomach, her eyes alight with wonder.

"Our baby's legs aren't strong enough yet, they're still growing," Meerab explained, he couldn't wait until he could feel their baby kick.

Aaminah hummed, a sound of contemplation, before her curiosity leaped forward once more. "Name?" she inquired, her head tilting so adorably to the side, capturing the hearts of everyone present, especially Murtasim, who found her innocence utterly heartwarming.

Meerab shook her head, a gentle denial on her lips, "We don't have a name yet."

"Boy or giwl?" The question sprang from Aaminah's lips, her gaze flickering between Meerab and Murtasim.

"Girl," Murtasim answered swiftly, stealing a moment before Meerab could voice their uncertainty. Her look towards him, an eye roll veiled in affection, made him grin.

Aaminah's next action was to place her index finger on her chin, a gesture of deep thought, drawing a veil of suppressed laughter from the adults. "Meewab aunty and Muwtaim unca...Meetaim!" she exclaimed, her creative fusion of names a sweet testament to her affection and imagination.

Meerab's laughter, pure and uplifting, filled the room. "That's pretty," she complimented, her hand reaching out to playfully tug at Aaminah's ponytail, a gesture of affection that seemed to anchor the little girl in a moment of pure happiness.

"You braid my hair like this?" Aaminah asked, her small hand touching Meerab's braid, her voice hopeful.

"Of course, come sit here," Meerab invited, patting the couch beside her.

As Meerab began to braid Aaminah's hair, Murtasim watched, his heart swelling with a warmth that seemed to fill the very air around them. He saw a future where Meerab would do the same for their daughter, where moments of laughter, curiosity, and love would define their days.

"I wish you could stay longer," Rani sighed.

"I have classes, he has work," Meerab pouted.

"Maybe we can plan another visit after you settle in with the baby," Murtasim suggested to Rani.

Rani nodded, then pursed her lips at him, "you're kinda scary when you want to be, wanna tell Zeeshan to come out already?" She asked, patting her stomach.

Shahryar snickered, "I don't think your baby would listen to anyone, Rani."

Rani nodded, "true, he doesn't even listen to me, can you believe that?" She sighed dramatically causing everyone to laugh.

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

Meerab's awakening was a slow crawl from the depths of sleep, her consciousness emerging like a diver breaking the surface of a deep, dark ocean. For a moment, she lingered on the cusp of dreams and reality, the fragments of her dream slipping through her fingers like fine sand.

All she retained was the certainty that Murtasim had been there, at the center of it, and the warmth of the dream left her with a pleasant, lingering soaked sensation between her legs. Her nipples, too, seemed to ache with a strange intensity, pressing against the fabric of her silk camisole, which now seemed more a constraint than a garment meant for comfort.

Her eyes fluttered open, reluctantly parting with the remnants of her slumber. The room around her was shrouded in darkness, the kind that spoke of an hour too late for yesterday and too early for today. As the fog of sleep cleared, she realized her disappointment at the escape of her dream's details, only the sense of joy and a vague blush that it had been something intimately delightful involving Murtasim remaining.

Her breathing was heavier than she anticipated, each inhale and exhale echoing unnaturally loud in the silent, dark room. She became acutely aware of the tangle of sheets that ensnared her, an indication of the unrest, or perhaps the too-vivid dreams, that had visited her. A pillow was wedged firmly between her knees, a makeshift attempt at seeking the relief she must have sought unconsciously.

Turning in bed with the hope of finding solace in Murtasim's presence, her hand stretched out into the cool, empty space beside her. The realization dawned slowly, a whisper of loneliness creeping in—Murtasim hadn't come to bed yet. Work had piled up over their weekend away, and he had been working on something before she fell asleep.

A soft whimper escaped her lips, a sound of longing and frustration in the quiet of the room. Instinctively, her thighs clenched around the pillow, seeking some form of pressure, some semblance of the contact she craved. She began to rock gently, a motion driven by an intrinsic need for release, for the quelling of the fire that seemed to consume her from within.

The silk of her panties, now a hindrance, slid against her skin, contributing to the sensory overload, moving in ways that made her make a mess of the pillow, yet she did not care. The pillow was insufficient—too yielding, lacking the firmness she found herself desperately needing. The realization dawned on her, clear and undeniable: she needed more, something beyond the softness of her pillow, something that could truly quench the burning that suddenly coursed through her.

Her fingers danced over the fabric of her camisole, mimicking the motions she yearned for from Murtasim—pinching and pulling on her nipples. Each motion was a call to the sensations she imagined, the rough tenderness of his touch, the warmth of his breath against her skin, the feel of his mouth lapping at her nipples and biting down on them like he did.

With each pinch and pull to her nipples, a gasp tore from her lips, her body reacting with an instinctual arching of her back, her hips bucking up. "Murtasim," tore from her lips over and over again, in a low moan. She felt like she was ready to burst out of her skin. Every touch, every sensation was overwhelming and she lost in a sea of longing, and need, and ache.

She needed more.

Her hand ventured beneath the barrier of her clothing, seeking the heat and pulse of her longing. Her fingers found her clit, the sudden change of pressure elicited another obscene moan from her lips. She was swollen with need, pulsing in time with her heart, hot, slippery, and sensitive.

She imagined Murtasim above her, playing with her clit, his thumb moving in circles, teasing her, she could almost hear the chuckle he let out when she moved against her own fingers. The pressure was a sweet agony, a direct contrast to the frustratingly gentle caresses she had been subjecting herself to with the pillow. She rubbed her knuckles against her clit, in circular motions that sent her into spasms when Murtasim did it.

Her body responded as if he were there, her pulse quickening, her skin aflame with need. She sought to replicate the pressure, the rhythm that he mastered, but her own touch felt inadequate, a shadow of what she craved. Her fingers were too small. Yet, the fantasy propelled her forward, his name on her lips a phantom sound that spurred her deeper into the throes of her solitude-driven ecstasy.

As the crescendo of her longing reached its peak, she called out to the empty room, "Murtasim," leaving her mouth over and over again.

She rubbed her clit faster, like Murtasim did, imagining him over her, imagining the way the muscles in his forearm moved when he touched her like this, and the way he spoke to her, whispering her name, commanding her to finish for him.

The waves of her release washed over her, leaving her trembling, gasping for breath, yet unsatisfied, somehow feeling even more so than she had when she woke up. The room settled around her, the silence echoing the void of her unmet desire.

Meerab, with a sudden clarity of purpose, pushed herself upright in bed. Her feet sought the cool touch of the floor, and her hands, moving with newfound determination, located her silk pajamas and robe that matched the silk camisole and panties she wore. She slipped them on, noticing the waistband of the pajamas was now a little tighter around her stomach.

As her gaze flicked to the clock, its digits glaring back at her—11:40pm—a frown marred her brow. The hour was late, unreasonably so for Murtasim to still be absent. It struck her as neglectful, even if unwittingly so. She was spoiled, she knew that, but she wasn't going to just lay there and wait for him.

Guided by a mixture of frustration and longing, Meerab traversed the familiar, yet silent, halls of their home with a grace that belied her inner turmoil. Upon reaching the study, she discovered Murtasim, so wholly absorbed in his work that her entrance and the sound of her locking the door went unnoticed.

There was a moment, a breath of time, where she simply stood and observed him, the man who had kissed her goodnight with promises of a quick return after he wrapped up the work that had been neglected due to their trip over the weekend, now lost to his responsibilities.

Murtasim was a vision of casual focus, clad in a sweater and pajamas, his post-shower hair now dry and falling carelessly over his forehead. His eyes, usually so full of warmth for her, now scanned documents with a critical eye, his lips moving silently as he read through them. The sweater, a rich maroon that complemented his complexion exquisitely, clung to him in a way that stirred a deeper appreciation in Meerab, appreciation she had denied herself of the last time he had worn it – when she had gone to the village because she had missed him.

But she could admire him now. He was hers to admire after all.

The study, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was transformed under the glow of the desk lamp and wall sconces into a stage that illuminated Murtasim in a light that was almost otherworldly. Meerab had always found a unique allure in watching him work; the seriousness with which he approached his duties as a feudal lord added an unexpected layer to his already complex character.

As she stood there, lost in her observations, another wave of desire surged through her, startling in its intensity. It was a feeling that had become a stranger to her in recent times, buried under the weight of her nausea and fatigue, along with the mundane aspects of daily life. Yet, now, as she watched him, that familiar heat that had flooded her system when she awoke, reignited with a longing she thought temporarily quelled.

She couldn't recall the last time she had been so consumed by desire, the kind that quickened her pulse, sent shivers of anticipation down her spine, filled her stomach with knots, and pooled all her desire between her legs. The last time she had a dream so intense had been when they were on their honeymoon.

But she longed for his touch right then, for connection, more than the sweet and tender caresses they shared in passing moments. She yearned for the way he touched her and made her feel alive.

With a resolve strengthened by her desires, Meerab began her approach, each step measured, closing the distance between them. Murtasim, finally looking up from his work, greeted her advance with a smile.

His voice cut through the tension of the room, light and teasing, "Missed me?" The simplicity of the question, imbued with a warmth that only he could convey, beckoned her closer.

"Mhmmm," she affirmed with a nod, circling to the right side of his desk to stand by his chair. The sight of him leaning back, looking up at her with an expression mingled with affection and inquiry, stirred a blend of emotions within her.

"I am almost done, you should go back to bed, meri jaan," Murtasim sighed, a note of resignation in his voice.

"I am not tired," she countered, her voice a soft declaration of her renewed vitality, perhaps a gift from her extended rest that afternoon. As she gazed down at him, a question posed itself silently within her— why was her husband so hot?

"Stop looking at me like that," Murtasim groaned, his gaze darting between her lips and her eyes.

"Like what?" she queried, feigning innocence as she bridged the gap between them. With deliberate grace, she positioned herself in his lap, facing him, her legs straddling the chair, and wrapped her arms around his neck. This closeness, this intimacy, was what she craved, the warmth of his body against hers, the scent of him enveloping her—a blend of eucalyptus and mint tinged with the subtle citrus of bergamot.

She met his gaze, her smile a reflection of the myriad emotions swirling within her. With a sigh that spoke volumes, she confessed without words how much she loved him.

"Like that," he murmured, his hands finding their place on her lower back, a gesture that conveyed both comfort and a hint of capitulation.

"You can work now, I won't look at you," she whispered, a playful compromise as she nestled her face against his neck. Her lips grazed his skin, a tactile whisper that promised more, her fingers threading through his hair in a tender exploration.

Murtasim's admission whispered into the space between them, "I don't think I can work now." His hands, a familiar presence, traced paths of warmth down her back, slipping beneath the silk of her robe and camisole to caress the skin beneath. The roughness of his calloused hands, a stark contrast to the smoothness of her back, stirred a deep warmth within her as they settled on her stomach. "You feeling okay?" he asked, his voice vibrating against her skin.

She was fine, just needy. Nodding against the crook of his neck, Meerab felt the reassurance in his touch, the gentle rubbing of her stomach that had become a ritual between them. It was his way of connecting, of marveling at the life they were nurturing together.

"Perfect, your choti shehzadi seems to be settling in and not making me feel nauseous and tired anymore," she murmured back. It as the hormones however that were now running rampant and making her feel something entirely different.

His laughter, light and resonant, filled the room, "I love how she is my choti shehzadi when she does something you don't like." The sound of it, rich and heartwarming, tethered her to the moment.

"Better get used to it," Meerab teased, a playful warning laced with affection. "Now back to work, I don't want people to be angry at me when you tell them you didn't get to it because of me." Her words were muffled against his neck, her lips tracing a trail of kisses along his sharp jawline.

Murtasim's response was to pull her closer, eliminating any space that might have remained between them, her chest pressed firmly against his.

"I'll stop if you don't keep working," she breathed out, her teeth grazing his neck in a gentle threat that elicited a deep groan from him, a sound that vibrated through her, igniting a spark of mischief within.

Suppressing a giggle, she felt his movements as he adjusted their positions, tucking them into the desk, his hands withdrawing from under her camisole to brace around her. The cool edge of the desk pressed against the small of her back gently, a stark reminder of the reality of their surroundings, yet doing little to diminish the heat that simmered beneath her skin.

He leaned in closer, his gaze over her shoulder, as if attempting to return to his neglected work, yet the proximity, the shared warmth, spoke of a focus shifted, priorities realigned to the moment they were entwined in.

"Good job," she whispered, her chin resting on his shoulder, their cheeks almost pressed together.

Meerab allowed Murtasim a few moments of pretended concentration, a shared silence that enveloped them comfortably. She nestled closer, drawing in the warmth radiating from him, his presence a comforting, steady heat. With a soft, contented smile playing on her lips, she reminisced about how he was always warm—how she would sneak her cold feet against the warmth of his calves, eliciting a startled yelp from him some nights, a sound that never failed to amuse her.

Despite the intimate embrace, Murtasim seemed determined to maintain a semblance of productivity, the quiet rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of pen on paper serving as a testament to his focus. However, Meerab's patience waned quickly, her desire stirring her to action.

With a mischievous spark in her eyes, she released her hold from around his neck, her fingers finding their way to the delicate structure of his ear. She traced its outline slowly, deliberately, a grin spreading across her face as she felt, rather heard, the pen fall from his grasp.

Unable to resist the urge to escalate their flirtation, Meerab leaned forward, her lips capturing his earlobe in a gentle bite before she lavished attention across his jawline and down his neck with soft, insistent kisses. Each touch was a spark, igniting a deeper desire.

Her hands, previously content to linger in the space between them, now sought more intimate exploration. Pressed closely against him, she marveled at the sensation of her fingers against her own body as they traced the contours of his chest. The fabric of his sweater and shirt, a mere barrier, was soon overcome as she lifted them slightly to slip her hands beneath.

The feel of his skin under her fingertips, the lean muscles of his stomach that tensed at her touch, sent a thrill through her. She traced each line and curve with a feather-light touch, her nails leaving a trail of light scratches in their wake, a tangible reminder of her presence, her desire.

A shift in their positioning brought a new intensity to their embrace, a groan escaping Meerab as she became acutely aware of his hardness, pressing against her as proof to his own rising desire.

Meerab leaned back slightly, the edge of the desk pressing firmly into her back once more, a sensation that heightened her awareness of the moment. She began to rock her hips against his, a bold movement that elicited a deep, resonant thud from his hand as it dropped to the desk.

"I thought you weren't up for this," he murmured, his voice a blend of surprise and arousal as he wrapped his arms around her. His hands found their way to her back, resting there, stopping the desk from digging into her back.

Meerab couldn't help but chuckle softly at his words, leaning in to whisper against the warmth of his neck, "I am sure you read in your books that women's libido seems to rebound after the first trimester." Her breath danced across his skin, a reminder of the shifts and changes her body had undergone, the initial weariness giving way to a burgeoning desire that now pulsed between them.

"And if you're still wondering if I am up for this then I am apparently doing this wrong," she teased, her lips finding the juncture of his neck, sucking softly at the skin there, marking him with the evidence of her desire, her need for him.

Her actions drew a visceral response; his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her towards him with a deliberate slowness that belied the urgency of their desire. Their mouths met in a clash of teeth and longing, a kiss that spoke volumes of the time spent apart, of the softness that had pervaded their intimacy, now replaced by a hunger, a roughness that Meerab had missed.

She moaned into the kiss, his lips soft yet insistent against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth with a dominance that sent shivers down her spine. His grip on her hair, firm at the base of her neck, allowed him to control the angle of their kiss, to delve deeper, to claim her mouth as if rediscovering her taste.

The kiss was everything she remembered and more—rough, hard, and filled with a hunger that mirrored her own. It was a departure from the gentle caresses and soft pecks that had become their norm. This was the Murtasim she had missed, the intensity, the passion that had always been a cornerstone of their relationship, now reignited in the silence of the study.

Meerab, fueled determination, ceased her tactile exploration beneath Murtasim's shirt to tackle the maroon sweater he wore. A brief pause in their ardent kissing allowed his arms to shoot up in cooperation, the sweater soon joining the forgotten world on the floor.

"You had to wear so many layers today of all days," she teased breathlessly against his lips, her fingers already busy hiking up the white t-shirt he wore underneath. With a swift motion, the t-shirt followed the sweater, cast into oblivion behind the chair, as her hands returned to clasp around his neck.

"This can't be comfortable for you, we should move," Murtasim voiced his concern, his hands settling on her stomach once more, the protective touch sparking a flicker of reassurance within her.

"I'll tell you if I am not comfortable," she whispered back, her voice a soft murmur of assurance.

"But the baby—"

"Will be fine – trust me," she interrupted, a gentle firmness in her tone. "I need you," she added, a simple admission that carried the weight of her longing, her need for him.

His groan, louder this time, was a sound that vibrated through her.

"The room then—"

"Right here," she insisted, her words cutting through any lingering hesitation. Her father was away in the village, Maa Begum and Maryam visiting a relative, the privacy of their current situation, with the absence of immediate family, presented an opportunity they seldom had.

Murtasim's sigh, one of resignation mixed with arousal, prefaced his next action. Leaning into her, his arms extended behind her in a sweeping gesture that sent all the papers on his desk cascading to the floor with a thud.

Her laughter, light and infectious, filled the room at his action.

"And how are you going to explain that mess?" she teased.

"Something along the lines of how my wife seduced me and I missed her," he shrugged, his words playful yet laden with truth. Seizing the moment, he rose from his chair, her body following his movement, her legs securely wrapped around his waist.

His hands, ever careful and attentive, guided her onto the desk, ensuring her comfort as she was gently settled onto the clear surface. "Don't try to lean forward, I don't want you to get hurt," he murmured, his concern a constant presence even amidst the passion.

She sighed, not in frustration but in deep affection, pulling him closer with her legs, the action drawing a soft groan from both as his hardness aligned perfectly with her core.

Meerab's gaze, intense and filled with an unspoken plea, locked onto Murtasim's as she placed her hands against the warmth of his bare chest. "You're not going to hurt me, our choti shehzadi will be fine. I will tell you if I feel uncomfortable – I need you, please," she voiced her needs and assurances, her words hopefully a balm to any lingering worries he harbored. The sincerity in her eyes, coupled with the soft determination in her voice, seemed to lift the weight from his shoulders, his nod signifying his acquiescence.

As he leaned down to capture her lips in a reaffirming kiss, Meerab took the moment to slip off the robe that draped over her camisole.

A mutual groan filled the air, a shared vibration of desire as he ground against her in a slow, deliberate motion, echoing the depth of their need.

"I picked that one out," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the camisole that clung to her form.

She couldn't help but giggle at his comment, a light, joyful sound that filled the room. "You did," she affirmed.

Murtasim moved back slightly, his expression a mix of desire and admiration as he took her in, his hands reaching out to cup her breasts over the fabric. "They're spilling over the top already," he observed, a hint of awe in his voice as his thumbs grazed her nipples through the thin material, drawing a gasp from her lips.

Meerab laughed softly, aware of his recent hesitance to comment on the changes in her body despite the fact that his eyes had lingered on her larger breasts every time they showered together in the mornings. "About time you noticed," she teased, her voice playful and light.

His chuckle resonated with warmth and affection. "Oh, I noticed," he assured her, gently pulling down the straps of her camisole to bare her to his gaze and touch. His fingers danced gently around her now-exposed nipples, a touch that sent heat shooting through her in a way that even her fingers pulling and pinching did not. "I was just trying to be respectful of the fact that you were tired and unwell," he confessed, his voice low.

"You can be disrespectful again," Meerab teased back, inviting him to abandon the restraint he had imposed on himself.

His response was immediate, a light pinch to her nipples that elicited a sharp moan from her lips, a clear indication of her heightened sensitivity. The rush of heat that followed, pooling between her legs, was undeniable.

"I need you to write that down and sign it for me so I can start groping you and trying to fuck you at every moment again," he groaned, half-joking, half-desperate, the intensity of his gaze burning into her.

She giggled at his words, a playful challenge in her voice. "We'll see about that."

Then, without another word, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was all-consuming, passionate, and devoid of any remaining barriers.

Meerab responded with equal passion, her hands wandering from his bare chest to wrap around the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, if such a thing were possible. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his skull, a soft moan escaping into the kiss as their bodies pressed closer, leaving no room for anything between them but the fabric of their remaining clothes.

Murtasim's hands moved with a purpose, tracing the lines of her body before resting on the small of her back, pulling her to the edge of the desk. His touch was assured, each movement designed to bring her closer, to deepen the kiss that consumed them both. His fingers danced along the hem of her camisole, brushing against the warmth of her skin, teasing the boundary between cloth and bare flesh.

As Murtasim's lips continued their journey down her neck, engaging in the tantalizing cycle of sucking, biting, and licking he knew drove her wild, Meerab's hands found their own paths. One moment they tangled in the softness of his hair, and the next, they were tracing the warmth of his skin, marveling at the smooth muscle beneath. His movements, always so attuned to her desires, sent waves of anticipation through her.

Gently, yet with undeniable intention, he guided her back onto the desk. The cool surface against her bare skin contrasted sharply with the heat emanating from his body as he loomed above her. From this angle, lying down and looking up, Murtasim appeared larger, almost commanding, a vision that stole her breath away.

She wanted him.

A gasp escaped her as his hands found her stomach, resting with a protective gentleness that enveloped her in a sense of safety as he leaned down, his lips found the skin around her breasts, his nips and teases reigniting the longing she had woken up with.

She had missed the feeling of his large hands on her body, the soft press of his lips against her skin, and the warmth of his breath. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze, finding in his smile.

As he cupped her breasts, the weight of them familiar in his hands, he traced his fingers around her nipples with a deliberateness that had her arching off the desk, moans spilling from her lips. There was a profound difference in his touch versus her own, a truth Meerab felt in her very bones as his name became a litany on her lips.

He explored her body slowly, fingers circling her nipples, flicking, and pinching lightly, his attentiveness was unwavering. Her body seemed different, more sensitive, and the way he watched each reaction, each gasp or moan, she knew he were committing every nuance to memory for future exploration.

He leaned over her, pressing his lips against hers again, before he resumed his descent. His lips traced a path down her neck and chest, each kiss, lick, and suck driving a moan of his name from her lips.

As Murtasim's hands cupped her breasts and squeezed, Meerab was struck by an intensity of sensation she hadn't anticipated. The tender manipulation of her breasts seemed to forge a newfound pathway of desire, directly igniting a pulsing warmth between her legs. His tongue's playful teases around her nipples sent a surge of arousal through her, manifesting as a noticeable wetness that surprised even her.

The sound of her groan filled the room, a testament to the depth of her arousal, especially as he pressed his hips against hers, rubbing his hardness against her.

The feel of him so close, so ready, spurred Meerab into action. She moaned his name, an invocation as she drew him even closer, her legs tightening around his thighs with purpose as she pulled him into her. The friction of his erection against her, even through the thin barrier of their pajamas, drew a groan from Murtasim, a sound that vibrated through her, amplifying her need.

She wanted him inside her.

"More," she found herself whispering as she moved her hips, a plea made with eyes that sought and found his in the dim light.

Her breath caught as his finger traced the seam of her pajamas between her legs, the fabric, now cool against her heated skin, pressed against her, a teasing promise of what was to come. "Off," she commanded softly, a whisper that carried the weight of her need.

"Yes, meri jaan," Murtasim responded, his voice a warm chuckle that seemed to resonate with the promise of fulfillment.

With deft movements, he removed the barriers of her pajamas and panties, the fabric joining the forgotten pile on the floor. His gaze, dark with desire, returned to her, taking in the sight of her arousal with an audible groan. "So wet, and so swollen," he observed, his fingers exploring her with a reverence that sent shivers through her. "I read about it, some women are especially aroused during the second trimester," he noted, his finger circling her clit with a deliberate touch that confirmed her heightened sensitivity.

"Lucky you then," she gasped out, her body responding with a keen shudder as he expertly navigated her arousal, his nail lightly grazing her in a way that had her gasping for breath.

"Good?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and desire, seeking her affirmation.

"So good," she whispered back.

As Murtasim's fingers traced the slick path along her, the sound of her arousal filled the space between them. "Fuck, you're so wet, meri jaan," he groaned, his voice heavy with need, the tactile evidence of her desire under his touch sending a jolt of arousal through her.

"I had a dream," Meerab gasped out, the sensation of spreading wetness with his fingers intensifying her need, she loved his perfect long thick fingers, their strength making her crave his touch even more.

"About?" he prompted, his fingers slowing slightly, coaxing her to meet his gaze. "Look at me, meri jaan."

Opening her eyes, she found him looking down at her, an intensity in his gaze that beckoned her deeper into the moment. "Good girl, what did you dream about?" he asked, curiosity laced with desire in his tone.

"I – I don't remember," she hummed, lost in the sensation as his thumb began to circle her clit, drawing gasps from her lips. "But I woke up...needy," she managed to say, her voice a breathy acknowledgment of the arousal that had stirred her from sleep.

At her admission, a groan escaped him, his desire mirrored in the sound. "Did you touch yourself before coming to find me?" he asked, piecing together her state of arousal with the knowledge of how wet she felt after an orgasm.

She nodded, her affirmation met with a knowing chuckle from him. "But it wasn't enough," he hummed, pressing down against her clit with a precision that coaxed a moan from her, her body instinctively arching in response to the exquisite pressure.

"Don't move too much, hands on your stomach," he whispered, his voice a gentle command that she readily obeyed, placing her hands as instructed despite knowing the baby was safe.

Meerab's heart skipped as the sound of the chair scraping against the floor reached her ears. She lifted herself slightly to witness Murtasim positioning himself in the chair directly in front of her, nestled between the V of her spread legs. His grin, laden with promise and mischief, sparked a warmth within her even before his fingers began their teasing journey up her thigh. The ticklish sensation morphed into delightful giggles.

The transformation of her giggles into a deep, resonant moan was seamless as he slid a finger inside her. The familiar feel of his long, thick fingers – a sensation she had sorely missed – was enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through her. Her body's immediate response was to clench around him, an instinctive plea for more, for the depth and fullness that only he could provide.

As he experimented with his pace, varying from tantalizingly slow to a rhythm designed to stoke the fires of her desire, Meerab found herself caught in a cycle of mounting arousal and forced patience. Whenever her movements on the table became too enthusiastic, an indication to the edge she teetered on, he would slow, his hands soothing her thighs in a calming gesture, before resuming his exquisite torture.

"Murtasimmmm," she gasped as she felt his tongue against her, tracing a wet path along her slit, catapulting her pleasure to new heights.

"Hmmmmm," he hummed against her when one of her hands found his hair, fisting the strands between her finger. It was a sensation so profound, so exquisitely rendered, that she couldn't help but vocalize her ecstasy, a scream of delight that echoed off the walls. His mouth was relentless, his tongue and lips licking, sucking, blowing, biting – driving her absolutely mad.

"I'll have to find another place to work," he murmured against her, his breath warm on her skin as his tongue flicked her clit with precision. "I can no longer work here without thinking of doing this anymore."

Ah, his words, a mixture of resolve and resignation, only served to heighten the pleasure. "Ah- it's all – oh Murtasim – part of my evil scheme to – get attention," she managed to articulate between gasps, as his fingers danced within her and his tongue circled her clit, drawing a chuckle that vibrated against her.

The climax that overtook her was monumental, a tidal wave of sensation that left her writhing, her body arching and twitching against the desk. The intensity was such that she was left wondering whether its magnitude was due to the time elapsed since he had last touched her or the heightened sensitivity Murtasim had alluded to.

As the sound of the chair scraping against the floor signaled his movement, Meerab opened her eyes to find Murtasim standing over her, a smile adorning his face. His gaze, warm and appreciative, roved over her form, while his hand, brushed against his beard, a trail of moisture glistening slightly in the light.

"You're so gorgeous like this," he whispered, his voice low and intimate as he gently moved her hands away from her stomach to caress her bump.

"I love your fingers," she responded, her voice tinged with the delirium of her recent climax, a confession of admiration for the hands that had brought her so much pleasure. Murtasim chuckled but didn't reply with words; instead, his gaze continued its exploration of her body, as if seeing her anew, each curve and contour a revelation.

Her own eyes couldn't help but wander down his physique until they settled on the outline of his arousal, clearly defined against the fabric of his pajamas. The revelation of his readiness, the evident lack of barriers beneath the thin material for what he claimed was 'easy access', sparked a renewed desire within her.

With a strength borne of longing, Meerab lifted back upper body from the table, sitting and reaching out to him, her hands finding the firmness of his stomach. She pulled herself up to kiss him, tasting the remnants of her on his tongue. Their lips moved in a dance of familiarity, the bite she took of his lower lip a punctuation of her need, her hands wandering over his skin, tracing the definition of his muscles.

Her fingers teased the drawstrings of his pajamas before pulling them loose, the fabric yielding under her touch as she allowed it to fall. The air that rushed against his exposed skin drew a groan from both of them—Meerab because she had missed his cock, and Murtasim likely because of the way the air the room felt against his hardness or the way she was looking at him.

Meerab wrapped her hand around his cock, her touch was both gentle and firm, as she moved up and down along the length of him. She watched him closely, noting the tilt of his head back, the closure of his eyes, and the tension in his jaw.

In this moment, she was acutely aware of the sacrifices made in silence, the unspoken patience Murtasim had shown during the recent weeks of her fluctuating desires. She had no sex drive over the past few weeks, but that didn't mean he didn't, yet she hadn't heard even a hint of complaint.

As Meerab intensified her grip, the subtle change elicited a reaction from Murtasim that captured her full attention. His mouth parted slightly, a precursor to the jaw-tightening that she had grown so familiar with. Determined to break through his restrained exterior, she focused on eliciting the gasps and moans that she so dearly missed, the sounds that testified to his pleasure.

Briefly, she withdrew her hand, and his eyes fluttered open in response, a silent query in his gaze. He watched as she ran her fingers along her own slick warmth, gathering her wetness on her fingers and palm.

"Fuck," he groaned, the raw need in his voice more eloquent than words as she returned her hand to him, now slick with her arousal. The added wetness made her movements smoother, reducing the friction and allowing her to increase the pace and intensity of her strokes.

Her hand moved with purpose, varying the pressure and twisting slightly as she neared the tip, before gliding back down in a rhythm that was both deliberate and instinctive. A soft moan escaped her as she observed the effect of her actions, captivated by the sight of him in her hand—thick, long, and hard, responding to her every touch. She loved the weight of him in her hands.

The realization that his jaw had relaxed, his facial features softened in surrender to the sensations she invoked, filled her with a heady mix of triumph and tenderness. His eyes remained closed, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks, as she quickened her movements, driven by the euphoria of his gasping breaths transitioning into shallow pants.

It was intoxicating, the power she wielded, the ability to render him undone with nothing but the stroke of her hand. She could bring Murtasim Khan, a man of strength and composure, to the brink with her touch alone. Watching him gasp and pant, completely at her mercy, made her absolutely giddy.

Murtasim's decision to halt her actions signaled a shift in their dynamic, a momentary pause in her ministrations that drew a curious arch from her brow. His gentle shake of the head and the deliberate way he eased her back onto the table spoke volumes, his protective instincts guiding his actions.

Lying down once more, she extended her hands towards him, a silent plea for closeness, only to be met with his gentle refusal. "It's better like this, I don't want to put my weight on you," he explained, his concern manifesting as he teased her with the length of him, drawing a sharp gasp from her as he rubbed against her slit. The heightened sensitivity made every touch, every glide, feel intense.

With a smirk that promised more, he aligned himself with her, and with excruciating slowness, began to push inside. The initial stretch, the feeling of being filled by him once again, made her sigh. Her body, already primed with anticipation, mourned his teasing withdrawal with a frustrated groan. "Murtasimmm," she whined.

He chuckled as she whined, but sound quickly turned to breathless pants as he pushed inside her again, inch by inch, stretching her, until he was sheathed inside her fully.

"Fuck, meri jaan." He groaned as he stilled for a second.

A whimper left her as her walls moved to accommodate him, had he always felt this good inside her?

"Okay?" He asked, looking down at her.

She nodded.

It felt different, tighter, with every nerve ending singing. His hands roamed her body in lieu of kisses, maintaining a distance that left her pouting for the closeness they both craved as he set a slow pace.

"Stop," she whispered.

He froze, worry etching his features, "did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice panicked.

She shook her head, maneuvering herself into a seated position. The shift in angle, the deeper connection, prompted a shared gasp from her. "You were too far," she gasped, closing the distance with a tender peck on his lips, her legs finding their place around him once more. "You can move now," she encouraged, initiating a rhythm that beckoned him to follow.

Resuming with a sigh, Murtasim matched her movements, his hips moving gently as he thrust into her deep. Her hands explored him, tracing the contours of his body with a light touch.

Sounds left her – gasps, moans, his name, whimpers as he moved within her. With each sound she made, his pace increased, his movements became more urgent, driving her to moan against his neck, a sound of pure need.

She loved how he felt inside her, it was like the whole world ceased to exist around her and the only thing that mattered was him – the sounds he made, the way he felt inside her, the way he touched her, the way he reacted to her touch, the way he looked covered in sweat as he pounded into her.

He made her feel so...hungry, an insatiable feeling settling into her stomach, swirling and fluttering – just wanting more of him. In this embrace, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them and the overwhelming sensation of being connected.

It seemed that Meerab was too sensitive to last long, within minutes she felt herself gasping his name against his ear as he continued to pound into her, the orgasm starting in a slow vibrating wave at her feet and travelling through her body, concentrated around the muscles that clenched around him, a gush of wetness making him curse and move faster.

As the climax overtook Meerab, her voice breaking the silence with Murtasim's name, there was a palpable shift in him, a fraying of the self-restraint he had maintained throughout. His response was primal, marked by a bite to her neck that was more intense than any touch he'd bestowed upon her that night, evidence to the depth of his own arousal and the edge upon which he teetered.

In the aftermath of her release, Murtasim enveloped her face with his hands, his kiss a storm of emotion, a clash of need and passion. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her to him with a grip that balanced on the fine line between rough and tender, igniting a moan from her lips that melded with his, their tongues in a duel as his movements became more urgent.

Meerab's response was instinctual, her legs tightening around him, drawing him in closer, urging him deeper. The bite to her bottom lip, a sharp punctuation to the sensation of him filling her completely, spurred a gasp from her, a breath caught between pleasure and anticipation of the pressure building within her once more.

Seeking a connection beyond the physical, she broke from their kiss, allowing only the press of their foreheads together, granting her the proximity needed to observe him in his most unguarded moments. His expression, one of intense concentration and pleasure, his jaw clenched and eyes shut tight, made her whimper.

The moment he twitched within her, signaling his impending release, was met with a shared gaze, a silent exchange that bridged their souls as he groaned, his climax intertwining with hers in a shared spiral of ecstasy as she felt him emptying inside her, her walls pulling and pulsing around him.

The room fell into a serene quiet, punctuated only by the sound of their synchronized breathing and the ambient tick-tock of the clock, grounding them back in reality.

"Okay?" He whispered against her skin, a touch as soft as his gaze, searching her eyes for any sign of discomfort.

"Perfect," she affirmed, her voice a soft echo of their shared satisfaction, as she bridged the gap between them, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "But sweaty and really warm...I think I need a shower." She muttered, pressing a miss against his bicep.

His laughter, light and content, filled the space between them as he pressed a kiss to her head.

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

A/N: Sooooooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part?