Maktub | 18+

Chapter 9 (18+)

The reflection staring back at her in the full-length bathroom mirror felt like a stranger’s face...ugly, ruined and thoroughly claimed.

Layla stood under the harsh morning light spilling through the frosted window, still wrapped in the heavy white bathrobe she’d found hanging on the door. She hadn’t dared look at herself until now and now she couldn’t look away.

Her cheeks were flushed deep, unnatural pink but not the soft glow of a new bride waking up beside her husband. No. This was shame. Disgust.

A hot, sick flush that crawled from her chest to her throat and refused to fade.

His marks were everywhere, on her neck, her collarbones, the soft skin of her breasts and n*****s. She lifted a trembling finger on her throat, tracing the mark with her fingertip. The skin felt tender, sensitive, like it still remembered his lips there.

She rubbed.

Hard.

Violent circles with her thumb, then her whole palm, pressing until the skin turned angry red. As if she could scrub him off. As if erasing the mark would erase the night. As if it would undo the ache pulsing low between her legs, the dried blood staining her inner thighs, the faint stickiness still clinging to her skin: their mingled essence, undeniable proof that it had really happened.

It had really happened.

A broken sob tore from her lips raw and ugly.

She turned away from the mirror, unable to face it anymore and stumbled into the shower, fumbling with the robe until it pooled at her feet. Hot water hit her skin like punishment. She stood under the spray, arms wrapped around herself, letting it scald her shoulders, her back, her thighs. Steam filled the glass cabin, blurring everything.

She didn’t know when he had stopped last night.

She had fainted midway. Her body had simply shut down.

She pressed her forehead against the cold tile wall and the ache between her legs throbbed with every heartbeat.

Suddenly two strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, yanking her back against his bare, wet chest under the pounding shower spray. His hot breath fanned across her dripping neck, mingling with the steam.

“You did me dirty last night, Layla,” he whispered in her ear as his tongue touched her nape, slowly, teasingly, tasting water on her skin.

She tried to twist away to maintain distance, but his grip tightened around her waist locking her firmly in place against him.

“Stay still.”

His hands slid down slowly, sensually over her slick, heated skin, palms gliding along her waist before he grabbed her hips hard, fingers digging in.

“I’m… I’m tired…” she said slowly, voice small and trembling beneath the roar of the water.

“I know. But you fainted last night on my c**k… so this much you owe me, don’t you think?”

He curled his fingers around her neck, turning her face toward him so their eyes locked through the steam.

If looks could kill, he would be six feet under. Her glare burned with raw fury, exhaustion, and humiliation, but he met it shamelessly.

“Put your hands on the wall,” he commanded.

When he saw she looked confused as hell, eyes wide, lips parted in stunned silence, an amused smirk slowly adorned his lips. Without waiting, he grabbed her wrists and pressed her palms firmly against the slick, warm glass wall in front of her, holding them there and then he aligned himself behind her hot, hard, insistent and entered inside her slowly.

Her breath hitched sharply, She was already so sore from last night, every muscle tender, every inch of her raw and protesting, and now he was inside her again, stretching her swollen walls without mercy. The heat of the water did nothing to dull the deep, throbbing ache.

“Yahzaan… please…”

It was the first time she’d said his name out loud like that, soft, broken, pleading and the sound of it on her lips hit him like a drug. Pure euphoria rolled through him, dark and electric. His hips stuttered for half a second, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he pressed his forehead to the wet curve of her shoulder.

"f**k. Say it again."

“Just once,” he rasped, voice thick with desperation he didn’t bother hiding. He didn’t give her the chance to answer, didn’t wait for permission. He started moving slow at first, then deeper, his thick, veiny c**k dragging against her sensitive inner walls, tearing little gasps from her throat with every thrust.

His lips found her neck again, kissing, sucking, marking fresh bruises over the ones already blooming there. One large hand slid down between her thighs, cupping her mound possessively, palm pressing firm so she felt the pressure everywhere. His other hand zeroed in on her c**t, fingers circling, teasing, slick with water and her unwilling arousal. He circled his fingers in relentless pattern that made her knees buckle.

She tried to brace harder against the glass, fingers scrabbling, but her body betrayed her clenching around him even as tears mixed with the shower spray on her cheeks.

He kept the rhythm punishingly steady, hips snapping forward, grinding deep each time he bottomed out.

“When was your last menstrual?” the question was suddenly, so casual, like he was asking about the weather.

Layla’s mind blanked for a second confusion clouded her mind, Heat crawled up her neck, flooding her face until it burned crimson beneath the flush already there.

"What?"

“When, Layla?” he pressed, quieter this time, but no less insistent. His fingers never stopped teasing her clit...slow circles, maddeningly precise.

“Just… just a week ago,” she managed, voice small and shaking.

“Hmmm.”

He sounded… relieved?

“Why?” she whispered, barely audible over the water.

“Low chances of you getting pregnant like this,” he answered, almost offhand, hips rolling in a slow, grinding circle that made her whimper. “Or we’d have to arrange the pill. Yesterday I lost control… and now too. But I swear, I never f****d anyone without a condom. Ever.”

Her eyes widened.

The words landed like ice water despite the scalding spray. She quickly averted her gaze staring at the swirling water draining at their feet, at the steam curling up the glass, at anything except his face. Shame twisted harder in her gut, Her throat tightened. She bit her lip until she tasted copper, refusing to let another sound escape, not a sob, not a moan, nothing that would give him more of her.

But her body didn’t listen.

It clenched around him again traitorous, involuntary as his fingers pressed harder on her c**t and his thrusts grew sharper, hungrier.

Yahzaan felt it too. Of course he did.

A dark, satisfied hum vibrated against her neck.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing the fresh bruise he’d just made. “Let me feel you.”

Her legs shook uncontrollably, barely holding her up. Black dots began to swim in front of her eyes, pulsing and spreading like ink in water. Then her stomach let out a loud, hollow grumble, sharp and unmistakable even over the rush of water. Heat rushed to her cheeks in a fierce, burning wave. It had been far too long since she’d eaten anything, and he had drained every last drop of energy from her body.

Yahzaan heard the sound too. His rhythm faltered; he stilled inside her. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out and turned her gently to face him.

“When was the last time you ate something?” His voice was low, quieter than before.

Humiliation burned hotter than anything else hotter than shame, hotter than the water. She stared down at the swirling drain, unable to meet his eyes.

“Layla?” he pressed, firmer now.

“More than twenty-four hours,” she said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

He studied her for a long moment, eyes tracing the pallor under her flush, the faint tremor in her limbs. No smirk. No teasing. Just a heavy, searching silence.

Then he leaned down.

His lips brushed hers, soft at first, almost careful, like he only meant to steal the briefest taste, unable to resist the pull of her mouth. But the second their lips met fully, the kiss turned hungry: his hand sliding to the back of her neck, tilting her head, deepening it with a quiet urgency he couldn’t hold back.

Her small fists weakly landed on his chest pushing at first, then shoving him away with what little strength she had left.

He broke the kiss instantly, breathing rough. He stepped back under the water, putting real space between them.

“Finish the shower,” he said, voice gravelly but controlled. “Come down when you’re done.”

With that he turned and walked out of the bathroom.

_______________________

End of the chapter

Thankyou for reading

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