Disclaimer: This is an AU fanfiction featuring Saumya Tandon & Akshaye Khanna. It is completely fictional and inspired only by a few publicly mentioned moments. Everything else—feelings, conversations, relationship, and events—is purely my imagination. 😭🦋
A/N:This AU was inspired by an interview where Saumya mentioned visiting the Golden Temple with Akshaye. Everything beyond that is completely fictional and imagined for the story. Real-life inspiration, fictional universe. 🤍
By the time he stepped onto Stage Four, the morning had already slipped beyond saving.
Someone from the art department was still arguing over the placement of a brass lamp that had been moved less than an inch.
The sound department wanted another rehearsal.
Wardrobe had misplaced one of the duplicate jackets.
The assistant directors were walking faster than usual, their voices rising above the constant hum of conversations that seemed to happen all at once.
It was familiar.
Every film set had its own rhythm.
Some were quiet.
Some chaotic.
This one had chosen chaos.
He adjusted the cuff of his costume and walked past a cluster of junior artists rehearsing their positions. They barely noticed him. Or perhaps they deliberately pretended not to.
He preferred it that way.
Someone greeted him.
"Morning, Akshaye sir."
He acknowledged it with a nod.
Another person asked whether he wanted coffee.
He declined without thinking.
The makeup artist was already waiting near his chair, powder brush in hand.
"Five minutes," she reminded him.
He sat down.
The mirror reflected the same face he had spent years looking at beneath harsh vanity lights.
It never stopped feeling strange.
Not because he disliked the process.
Because somewhere between the lights, the makeup and the cameras, people slowly stopped seeing the person and started seeing the image.
He had grown accustomed to that long ago.
"Today's first scene," the makeup artist said casually while fixing the collar of his costume, "is with the new actress."
He gave the faintest nod.
"I know."
"You two haven't met yet, have you?"
"No."
She smiled.
"I thought production would've introduced everyone."
"So did I."
That was the end of the conversation.
Introductions happened when schedules allowed.
Schedules rarely allowed anything.
Across the floor, the assistant director glanced at his watch for what felt like the tenth time.
"Where is she?"
Another assistant jogged across the studio.
"Still in costume."
"How much longer?"
"Look test ran over."
A sigh.
"Wonderful."
No one sounded angry.
Just tired.
There was a difference.
The production had been racing against time for days.
Every delayed minute meant rearranging scenes.
Every rearranged scene meant someone else waiting.
The atmosphere wasn't hostile.
Only stretched thin.
He picked up the day's script again, although every line had already settled comfortably into memory.
Reading wasn't the point anymore.
It gave his hands something to do while everyone else hurried around him.
A voice echoed from somewhere behind the lights.
"She's here."
Several heads turned almost instinctively.
He didn't.
Not immediately.
He continued reading for another few seconds before finally looking up
She wasn't walking onto the set.She was almost... apologizing her way across it.
One hand held the edge of her costume so she wouldn't trip.
The other clutched a folder stuffed with loose script pages.
A makeup artist followed closely behind, still trying to pin a strand of hair into place.
"I'm so sorry," she said before anyone could even speak.
"There was traffic... then the look test took longer than expected... wardrobe needed alterations..."
"It's alright, Saumya" the assistant director interrupted quickly.
"We don't have time to worry about that."
He pointed toward the monitor.
"We're rolling in five."
Five minutes.
That wasn't enough time to introduce yourself to an entire crew.
It wasn't enough time to settle first-day nerves.
It wasn't even enough time to learn everyone's names.
She simply nodded.
"No problem."
Not defensive.
Not flustered.
Just... accepting.
Within seconds, three different people surrounded her.
Someone adjusted the fall of her dupatta.
Another clipped the microphone beneath her costume.
Someone from continuity rapidly explained where she would enter, where she would stop, which direction she had to look and when she should reach into her pocket.
She listened without interrupting.
No complaints.
No panic.
Just complete concentration.
He watched the scene from across the floor for a brief moment.
There was something oddly impressive about the way she absorbed instructions.
Not because it was extraordinary.
Because it was efficient.
She wasn't trying to draw attention to herself.
She was simply trying not to waste anyone else's time.
He looked away.
People often mistook observation for interest.
It rarely was.
"Final touches!"
The assistant director clapped his hands.
Crew members scattered to their positions almost instantly.
She finally stepped away from the crowd and walked toward the mark taped onto the floor.
For the first time that morning, there was no one standing between them.
No makeup artists.
No assistant directors.
No costumes.
Just the two actors about to share their first frame.
She stopped exactly where she'd been told.
Looked up.
Their eyes met.
For barely a heartbeat.
She looked like she wanted to say something.
Perhaps a simple hello.
Perhaps an apology for the rushed morning.
Instead, another voice cut through the silence.
"Quiet on set!"
The opportunity vanished.
She gave him a small, almost apologetic smile.
Professional.
Reserved.
He returned the gesture with the slightest inclination of his head.
That was all.
No introductions.
No handshake.
No ice to break.
Only two strangers suddenly expected to become believable companions in front of a camera.
"Ready?"
The first assistant director walked between them one last time, pointing toward a small brass lighter resting on the table.
"Alright."
He looked at her.
"You'll step in after his dialogue."
She nodded.
"You light the cigarette."
Another nod.
"He says his line."
A pause.
"You look at him."
She listened carefully, repeating every movement silently in her head.
The director clapped his hands once.
"Simple scene."
Simple.
Film sets loved that word.
Simple scenes usually required the most takes.
Someone adjusted the light overhead.
Another person checked the focus.
The script supervisor leaned over to continuity one last time.
Everything blurred into the familiar rhythm before a shot.
He rolled the unlit cigarette between his fingers absent-mindedly.
Across from him, she inhaled slowly.
Not out of nervousness.
Out of concentration.
She wasn't thinking about him.
She was thinking about hitting her mark.
Not blocking the camera.
Remembering the timing.
Remembering which hand held the lighter.
Remembering not to look directly into the lens.
It was her first scene of the schedule.
She wanted to get it right.
Nothing more.
"Quiet!"
The chatter dissolved almost instantly.
Even the studio seemed to exhale.
"Rolling."
"Sound."
"Speed."
The clapperboard snapped shut.
"Action."
His first line came easily.
Measured.
Controlled.
He barely had to think about it.
She stepped forward exactly on cue.
Not too quickly.
Not too slowly.
The lighter appeared in her hand.
A soft click.
The tiny flame flickered between them.
For one brief second, the entire world seemed to shrink until it was nothing more than that fragile orange glow.
He leaned in.
The cigarette caught.
She lowered the lighter.
Their eyes met.
Not because the script demanded it.
Because the moment hadn't quite ended.
"...Cut."
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Then—
"Very nice."
The director smiled.
"Let's go again."
Crew members immediately stepped forward to reset everything.
Someone took the cigarette from his hand.
Wardrobe straightened his collar.
She stepped back toward her starting mark, quietly reviewing the scene in her head.
One movement had been slightly quicker than she'd intended.
She made a mental note to slow it down.
The second take began.
Then the third.
By the fourth...
Neither of them needed to think about where to stand anymore.
The choreography had settled into muscle memory.
It became easier.
More fluid.
Almost effortless.
"One more," the director called.
"This will be the final."
Everyone returned to position.
"Action."
Everything unfolded exactly as before.
His dialogue.
Her entrance.
The lighter.
The flame.
The cigarette.
Except...
This time—
Something shifted.
Not in the script.
In instinct.
Almost unconsciously, as though his body had made the decision before his mind could question it...
He leaned forward...
...and pressed the lightest kiss against her forehead.
It lasted barely a second.
Gentle.
Unhurried.
Then he stepped back.
Silence.
The kind of silence that only existed when an entire film set forgot it was supposed to breathe.
Her thoughts scattered.
She had prepared herself for forgotten lines...
Missed marks...
Retakes...
Not this.
There was nothing dramatic about the gesture.
Nothing possessive.
Nothing rehearsed.
Yet the strangest feeling settled over her.
Not embarrassment.
Not discomfort.
Just... familiarity.
As if, for one impossible heartbeat...
They weren't two actors standing beneath blinding studio lights.
They were simply two people who had known each other for far longer than a single morning.
The feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.
She almost wondered if she'd imagined it.
"...Cut!"
The director's voice broke the spell.
A grin spread across his face.
"I loved that."
Around them, the crew immediately came back to life.
"That wasn't in the rehearsal."
"It worked."
"Should we keep it?"
Someone laughed.
Someone else began discussing the next setup.
The world had already moved on.
She hadn't.
Without meaning to, she lifted two fingers to her forehead.
The warmth was long gone.
But somehow...
The memory of it wasn't.
Across the room, he accepted a fresh script page from the assistant director.
Only then did the realization arrive.
Why did I do that?
He had no answer.
The director was saying something.
She knew he was.
Someone nearby laughed. A light was being adjusted. The makeup artist had already stepped in to blot the shine from her cheeks.
The set had returned to normal.
Only...
she hadn't.
Her fingers found her forehead almost absentmindedly.
Not because she expected to feel anything.
Just because—
Did that really happen?
Her brows drew together.
No...
It had.
She remembered it clearly.
Not the kiss itself.
The second before it.
The way he'd reached toward her so naturally, brushing away something near her temple as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
And then...
That brief, feather-light touch against her forehead.
She blinked.
That wasn't in the script.
Her heartbeat stumbled over itself.
Was it?
She turned instinctively toward the script supervisor.
No.
Everyone else seemed... fine.
The crew had already moved on to discussing the next setup.
The director looked pleased.
No one looked surprised.
Had they expected it?
Or...
Had they simply accepted it because he had done it?
She couldn't tell.
What confused her most wasn't the improvisation.
Actors improvised all the time.
It was...
her own reaction.
She should have frozen.
Stepped back.
Laughed awkwardly.
Done... something.
Instead...
for one impossibly small moment...
it had felt...
natural.
The thought startled her.
Natural?
She barely knew the man.
They hadn't even exchanged a proper hello that morning.
She didn't know what kind of coffee he drank.
She didn't know what music he liked.
She wasn't even sure she'd heard him speak in his own voice yet.
Everything between them had belonged to the characters.
So why...
Why had that single gesture felt so strangely familiar?
Almost...
She stopped herself.
No.
Don't be ridiculous.
It was just acting.
A choice made in the moment.
Nothing more.
He was one of the finest actors in the industry.
People admired him for instincts like that.
Of course he knew how to make a scene feel real.
That was why everyone wanted to work with him.
That was why she had spent half the previous night worrying whether she'd be able to match his performance.
She had been terrified.
Terrified of forgetting a line.
Terrified of missing her mark.
Terrified of disappointing a man whose work she had admired long before she'd ever imagined sharing a frame with him.
And now...
instead of thinking about the scene...
she was thinking about one completely unscripted second.
She let out the smallest breath and shook her head at herself.
Pull yourself together.
He's your co-actor.
That's all.
The assistant director's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Ready for the next setup?"
She looked up immediately.
"Yes."
Professional.
Calm.
Collected.
At least...
that's what she hoped she looked like.
Because somewhere deep inside...
one question refused to leave her alone.
Why didn't he feel like a stranger
Note:This is actually my first time writing a fanfic, so please don't expect too much from me 😭😭 I'm still figuring out my writing style and trying to get the hang of everything. This is just something I wanted to write for fun, so please be a little kind with me. 🥹🤍 I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed creating this little AU. 🫶🏻✨
Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.
Word count: 3.2 K
A/N : This is just a chotu sa time pass piece. I had this random idea to write something with the rain, so here it is. Hope you enjoy reading it! 💚
Warning: Mature content, Fluff , MDNI
The sky over the haveli had turned the color of a bruised plum hours before the first drop fell. When the rain finally broke, it came down with a heavy, rhythmic violence, sheeting off the terracotta roof tiles and washing away the thick, stagnant heat of the afternoon.
Down in the lower quarters and the high-walled courtyard, the haveli sat silent. Rehman’s men usually hovering like watchful hawks around the grand arched gates and the perimeter walls had retreated into the dry, vaulted stone basement, driven indoors by the torrential downpour. The vast estate was left entirely quiet, save for the roar of the rain hitting the marble floorboards and the lush garden palms below.
Up on the top-floor terrace balcony, Ulfat stood alone.
She wore a deep crimson chiffon saree that now clung to her skin like a second layer of water. The sheer fabric was utterly soaked, heavy with moisture, sticking to the curves of her hips and framing her bare torso. The rain was relentless, cascading over her shoulders, tracing the sharp line of her collarbones, and pooling in the soft dip of her waist. Her stomach glistened in the muted gray light, covered in a shimmering veil of water droplets that caught every flicker of distant lightning.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the stone balustrade, letting the cold water wash over her face, her lips parted slightly to catch the rain.
She didn't hear the heavy wooden doors of the upper wing creak open. She didn't hear the slow, deliberate thud of his rain-soaked boots against the wet marble.
Rehman had just returned.
He was still wearing his dark, charcoal-black kurta shalwar. The fabric was heavy, weighted down not just by the rain he had ridden through, but by the dark, metallic bloom soaking into the chest and sleeves. He had finished the business , a blood debt cleared in the dark alleys on the outskirts of the estate and the evidence of his handiwork was still wet against his clothes. The copper tang of blood mixed with the earthy, sharp scent of petrichor clinging to him.
He stopped at the threshold of the balcony, his dark eyes locking onto her.
Ulfat looked breathtaking. She was drenched, glowing, completely unbothered by the storm, her long dark hair plastered to her back in wet, glistening curls. Rehman felt the familiar, dangerous thrum in his veins shift from the adrenaline of the kill to something far darker, far more consuming. Beneath the wet linen of his dark shalwar, his length throbbed hard, rigid, and demanding.
He stepped out into the open rain, his movements silent despite his size.
When his thick, calloused hands slid around her waist from behind, Ulfat gasped, but she didn't pull away. She knew that touch. She knew the heat that radiated off his body even when he was soaked to the bone.
"You'll catch your death standing out here, jaan," Rehman murmured, his deep, gravelly voice brushing right against the shell of her wet ear. His breath was hot, stark against the cool drizzle.
Ulfat leaned back into his broad chest, her wet head resting against his shoulder. Her hands reached up to touch his arms, feeling the thick, drenched fabric of his kurta. When her fingers brushed the sticky, dark wetness at his chest, she didn't flinch. She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his dark, shadowed gaze.
"Death doesn't scare me, Rehman," she whispered, a subtle, flirty smirk playing on her reddened lips. "Besides, you always bring it home with you anyway, don't you?"
Rehman let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated straight through her back. "I bring what is necessary to keep this ground safe for you to dance on."
"Did you bring me anything else?" she asked teasingly, her fingers twisting slightly into his wet collar. "Or just the rain and your temper?"
Instead of answering verbally, Rehman reached into the deep inner pocket of his kurta, and pulled out a velvet-wrapped weight. He unwrapped it with one hand, revealing an ornate, heavily detailed silver kamarbandh. The antique waist-chain glittered even in the dim storm-light, studded with small emeralds that caught the gray sky.
He didn't say a word. He slid his thick hands underneath her wet saree pallu, his broad palms brushing against her exposed, glistening midriff. The contrast made Ulfat shudder , his hands were warm, rough, and stained with the day's violence, while her skin was slick and cool from the rain.
"Rehman..." she breathed out, her breath hitching as the cool, heavy silver pressed directly against her skin.
He wrapped the kamarbandh around her bare waist, his thumbs resting right over her belly button, pressing the intricate silver links firm against her flesh. He fastened the hook at the back with practiced, deliberate slowness, his knuckles dragging over the small of her back.
"I saw it and thought of how it would look resting against your skin while you bleed me dry," he growled softly, his lips pressing a brutal, tender kiss into the crook of her neck. He pulled the chain tight, just tight enough to draw her back flush against his lower body.
Ulfat gasped as she felt the rigid, throbbing hard length beneath his shalwar press right into the dip of her lower back.
"You're mad," she gasped, tilting her head back to give him better access to her throat. "Covered in blood, standing in the rain, buying me jewels..."
"I'm devoted," Rehman corrected darky, his mouth sliding down her shoulder, biting down lightly on the slope where her collarbone met her neck.
Ulfat whimpered, her fingers clutching his biceps as he left a deep, blooming mark on her wet skin.
He turned her around in his arms until she was facing him. His eyes flicked down to her bare stomach — the silver kamarbandh sat snugly across her waist, highlighting the dip of her belly, glistening with rain. Without breaking eye contact, Rehman dropped to his knees right there on the wet marble of the balcony.
"Rehman—"
"Quiet," he commanded smoothly.
He pulled her closer by the silver chain, resting his forehead against her wet stomach for a fraction of a second, breathing her in, the rain, jasmine, and his woman. Then, his mouth moved. He began worshipping her waist, his tongue sweeping away the raindrops pooling around the silver links. He kissed the swell of her hip, his teeth catching slightly on her skin, leaving hot, tender love bites along her hipbone while the rain poured down on his back.
Ulfat’s hands tangled in his thick, wet hair, her hips arching instinctively toward his mouth as a low moan escaped her lips. "Rehman...inside, let's go inside"
Rehman looked up, his dark eyes burning with an unholy fire, rain streaming down his sharp jawline. "As my lady commands."
In one fluid, powerful movement, he stood up and scooped her into his arms. Ulfat wrapped her wet legs around his waist, her arms locking around his neck as he carried her off the balcony and into the dark warmth of their master bedroom.
He slammed the heavy carved wooden doors shut with his boot, cutting off the sharp roar of the storm, leaving only the steady, rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the glass balcony doors. The room was dark, lit only by the faint silver glow of the sky outside.
Rehman carried her to the massive canopy bed, setting her down gently onto the silk sheets, though he didn't let go of her waist.
He hovered over her, his drenched clothes dripping onto the mattress. His dark kurta was torn slightly at the shoulder, soaked through with rain and dark, drying blood. Ulfat reached up, her small hands resting against his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart.
"Look at you," she murmured, her voice dripping with playful seduction as her fingers traced the line of blood soaking his kurta. "A monster returned from the dark."
"Your monster," Rehman growled, leaning down until his lips hovered a fraction of an inch from hers. "Do I disgust you, Ulfat?"
"You intoxicate me," she whispered, her hands moving down to the hem of his dark kurta. "Now take off these clothes before the cold gets to you, or …before I lose my patience."
Rehman grinned a sharp, wicked flash of teeth in the dim light. Instead of pulling off his kurta first, he leaned down and caught the string of her blouse lace between his teeth. With a slow, deliberate tug, he bit down on the delicate fabric ties at her back, loosening them one by one with his mouth, his hot breath washing over her bare spine.
Ulfat shivered, her head rolling back into the pillows. "Rehman...please..."
"Patience jaan," he murmured against her skin, tearing the final lace free with a sharp tug of his teeth.
He peeled the wet fabric of her blouse away, exposing her fully to his gaze. He stared down at her, her breasts rising and falling heavily, her skin flushed, and the silver kamarbandh catching the low light around her tight waist.
Ulfat didn't wait. She sat up, her eyes dark with a matching hunger. She grabbed the collar of his wet, blood-stained kurta and pulled him down into a searing, deep kiss. Their tongues clashed, hot and wet, tasting of rain and fierce desire. While kissing him, her hands moved with urgent efficiency, stripping the heavy, drenched kurta off his broad shoulders and tossing it onto the floorboards.
She broke the kiss, breathing heavily, her eyes trailing over his chest. Rehman was built like iron — scarred, muscular, covered in a thick mat of dark chest hair that was still damp. Ulfat ran her hands through his chest hair, her nails lightly dragging down his abs, tracing the old jagged knife marks and bullet wounds that mapped his history.
"Every scar tells a story," she purred, leaning forward to kiss a thick line of raised pale skin near his ribcage. "And this one?"
"A man who tried to take what was mine," Rehman growled, his voice dropping an octave as her mouth moved lower, kissing his stomach, her fingers playing with the dark hair trailing down toward his waist.
"And did he?" she teased, her eyes flashing up to meet his.
"He died for even thinking it," Rehman replied, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head into the mattress. "And you are going to pay for testing my sanity all evening."
He kneeled down to open the drawstrings of her petticoat, along with marking her waist in the process with keep marks, he removed the petticoat and lingerie in one swift motion, leaving her only bare with a kamarbandh on her waist looking all his to devour. He unfastened his dark shalwar, kicking the heavy wet pants off the bed, leaving him completely bare, his thick, fully erect length resting heavy against her thigh.
Ulfat gasped at the sheer heat radiating off him. She looked down, at his size, throbbing and glistening in the faint light — that every time makes her feel that it's their first time making love.
Rehman didn't give her time to think. He grabbed the chain of the silver kamarbandh resting on her hips. With a firm, dark pull of the metal, he hauled her hips forward, pulling her flush against his pelvic bone. The cold silver pressed hard between their hot, slick bodies, creating an agonizingly delicious tension.
"Rehman..." Ulfat whimpered, her body arching off the bed as his thick tip brushed against her dripping, warm entrance.
"Look at me," Rehman commanded, his voice dark and commanding.
Ulfat opened her eyes, meeting his intense, possessive glare.
Rehman pushed forward, sliding his full, thick length inside her in one agonizingly slow, deep thrust.
" Ahhhhh! " Ulfat arched her spine, a high, breathless cry tearing from her throat as he filled her completely. Her walls stretched tight around him, wet, burning, and clinging to his massive girth.
Rehman let out a low, guttural roar, his head snapping back as her slick warmth gripped him tight. "Fuck... Ulfat, you're so tight….so wet for me"
"You...you fill me up so much" she sobbed lightly, her fingers digging deep into the muscles of his back, her nails leaving red crescents against his skin.
Rehman began to move. He didn't rush. He used the silver waist-chain as a reins, holding her firm against him, pulling her hips up to meet every deep, punishing slide of his dick. The silver links against her hipbone with every rhythmic thrust, a sweet, metallic music underlying their heavy breaths.
"Do you like this?" Rehman growled, dipping his head to devour her lips, his tongue plunging into her mouth in tandem with his hips pounding into her body. "Do you like wearing my silver while I stretch you open?"
"Yes! Ah! Yes, Rehman, deeper... please, hit it deeper!" she cried out, her voice breaking into sweet, shameless moans that echoed through the vast, quiet bedroom.
Rehman pulled his length almost completely out, leaving just the broad head inside her slick heat, before slamming back in with brutal, agonizing precision.
" Oohhh god! " Ulfat squealed, her toes curling, her thighs trembling wildly around his waist. "Rehman! "
"That's it, jaan. Scream for me. Let the whole damn haveli hear who owns you," he growled, his pace accelerating into a fast, relentless rhythm. His heavy body slammed against hers, wet skin slapping against wet skin, the silver kamarbandh biting deliciously into her waist with every heavy blow.
His hand slid down between them, his thick thumb finding her swollen, drenched clit, pressing down and rubbing in tight, agonizing circles while his lower body pounded her mercilessly.
Ulfat lost her mind. The combination of his massive length stretching her inside, the sharp, possessive pull of the silver chain on her hips, and his thumb grinding over her sweet spot drove her over the edge instantly.
"I'm coming! Rehman…ahh! " she screamed out, her inner walls contracting in violent, violent waves around his shaft, milking him with desperate, spasming contractions.
Watching her unravel broke the last shred of Rehman's control. He growled like a beast, leaning down to bite her shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise, and delivered three fast, deep, bottom-out thrusts, plunging as deep into her belly as he could go.
" Ulfat! " he roared, his body stiffening as he erupted deep inside her, pouring thick, burning streams of his seed straight against her cervix.
He held her pinned beneath him, his chest heaving like a bellows, his dick throbbing heavily inside her gushing warmth as they both rode out the lingering, intense tremors of their orgasm.
For long minutes, the only sound in the room was the heavy, ragged breathing of two exhausted lovers and the steady beat of the rain outside.
Rehman slowly eased his weight off her, though he didn't pull out completely until he had pulled her body tightly against his side. The silver kamarbandh sat crooked across her waist, smeared with sweat and love fluids.
Ulfat let out a soft, satisfied sigh, curling her head into his bare, warm chest. Her body felt completely boneless, melted from the inside out. Rehman pulled a heavy cotton sheet over both of their naked, sweat and rain drops sheened bodies, wrapping his massive arm around her waist, anchoring her against his pulse.
Within minutes, wrapped in the heavy warmth of the bed and the rhythmic sound of the downpour, both of them drifted into a deep, dark sleep.
An hour later, as the evening began to settle over the estate, the rain finally tapered off into a quiet, misty drizzle. The sky outside turned a deep, dusty indigo.
Ulfat woke up first— not with a gentle sigh, but with a sudden, sharp shudder.
A harsh chill crept up her spine. Her head felt heavy, throbbing with a dull ache, and a sudden tickle in her throat made her chest heave.
" Achoo! "
She sneezed sharply, shivering violently as she pulled the blanket tighter up to her chin. Her skin, which had been warm and flushed an hour ago, now felt clammy and pale.
Beside her, Rehman was awake instantly. His sharp instincts had him fully alert the second she sneezed. He sat up, his dark eyes sweeping over her shivering form.
"Ulfat?" his voice was deep, rough with sleep.
He reached out and pressed the back of his large palm to her forehead. His brow furrowed instantly into a deep, worried scowl. Her skin was burning up, a fever brought on by standing in the freezing rain while drenched to the bone.
"Dammit," Rehman muttered softly, his dark, dangerous demeanor from earlier melting away into pure, fierce protectiveness. "I told you you'd catch your death."
"It was worth it," Ulfat whimpered through chattering teeth, trying to offer a small, teasing smile, but she ended up shivering harder instead, curling into a tight ball under the blanket.
Rehman didn't waste time lecturing her. He swung his legs out of bed, pulling on a dry pair of trousers. He immediately strode over to the fireplace in the corner of the room, tossing in dry logs and kindling, lighting it until a roaring, warm amber fire filled the dark room with heat and light.
Next, he walked over to the washbasin, wetting a small, soft towel with lukewarm water.
He returned to the bed and sat on the edge. Gently, carefully with the same hands that had held a blade hours before he unfastened the silver kamarbandh from her waist, laying it softly on the nightstand. He peeled back the blanket and began wiping down her slick skin, cleaning away the traces of their lovemaking and the cold rain with tender, deliberate strokes.
Ulfat watched him through heavy, feverish eyelids. "You're taking care of me like a fragile doll, Rehman."
"You are not fragile," Rehman said softly, wringing out the ."But you are mine. And I don't let anything hurt what's mine , not even a little rain."
He got up briefly to step to the door, calling down the hallway for a maid to bring up a hot brew of ginger, cardamom, and honey. Moments later, he returned with the steaming cup.
Sitting back on the bed, he lifted Ulfat into his lap, propping her chest against his bare, warm torso. He held the hot cup to her lips, coaxing her to drink it slowly.
"Small sips, jaan," he murmured softly into her hair as she drank the spicy, sweet liquid, feeling the warmth spread through her chest.
When she finished, he set the cup aside and wrapped the heavy quilt tightly around both of them, pulling her body completely against his chest so his natural heat could burn away her shivers.
Ulfat rested her heavy head against his collarbone, her hand resting over his heart, feeling safe, warm, and entirely consumed by the man holding her. Rehman started massaging her head in slow , rhythmic motions to ease the discomfort.
"Rehman?" she whispered softly, her eyes fluttering shut as the comfort and heat began to soothe her.
"Hmm?"
"Next time it rains…" she murmured with a faint, sleepy smile, "...we are staying inside."
Rehman let out a soft, low chuckle, kissing the top of her feverish head tenderly. "We'll see about that, my love. Now sleep.”
Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.
A/N : This is based on the short discussion I had with @mcdreamyshepherd 😋 , I proofread it while I was half asleep, so please excuse any mistakes.
Warning: Mature content, MDNI
Rehman was sprawled across his massive, chair — that he didn't buy but earned. He lay there like a boneless cat, his long, muscular frame draped fluidly over the cushion , one arm hanging loosely over the armrest while his head rested against the high back. His sharp eyes were fixed on the ceiling, lost deep in a labyrinth of consuming thoughts. On the heavy desk beside him sat a crystal tumbler filled with amber alcohol, sweat beads running down the glass, entirely untouched.
The heavy oak door creaked open with an agonizingly slow, deliberate friction.
Ulfat stepped into the dimly lit room. She was wearing a deep, midnight-blue silk suit that clung elegantly to her curves. A sheer net dupatta was draped loosely over her shoulders, catching the faint glint of the amber desk lamp.
"Rehman," she whispered, her voice a soft, velvet caress that sliced through the heavy silence of the empty office. She stepped closer, the soft click of her heels muffled by the thick Persian rug beneath his desk. "Itni der se akele kyu bathe ho?" she asked, her voice laced with a mixture of fondness and gentle reproach as she reached him, placing a warm, soft hand on his tense shoulder.
He didn't say a word. His dark eyes slowly shifted from the ceiling, tracking up the length of her blue suit until they locked onto her face. The sheer intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. Without warning, Rehman’s large, calloused hand shot out, wrapping securely around her wrist. With a sudden, fluid tug, he pulled her forward.
Ulfat gasped as she lost her footing, tumbling directly onto his lap.
The moment her hips settled against his thighs, she froze. Through the fabric of her silk trousers and his trousers, she felt the unmistakable, rigid heat of him. He was already throbbing underneath her, thick and fiercely hard, pulsing with a desperate, pent-up need that had clearly been torturing him for hours.
A deep, low rumble vibrated in Rehman’s chest as his arms locked around her waist, anchoring her against his groin. "Main tumhare bare main soch raha tha, jaan. Aisi halat main haveli ke andar aata to koi dekh leta," he murmured, his voice husky, rough with an edge of raw desire.
A furious, burning redness crept up Ulfat’s neck, flushing her cheeks as she felt the sheer size of his arousal pressing squarely against her core. She tried to squirm slightly, but that only caused her to rub directly against his length, eliciting a low, ragged groan from the man beneath her.
"Rehman, ye sab kya hai?" she breathed out, her hands resting against his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart.
"Tumse pyaar hai," he replied instantly, his hooded eyes darkening as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning across her lips.
Ulfat let out a soft, chuckle , trying to maintain her composure despite the intoxicating heat pooling between her thighs. "Pyaar nahi, kentrol na karne ki bimari hai."
"Apni jaan ke liye..." Rehman murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her jawline, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, pressing her down harder against his throbbing ache.
"Acha ji?" she teased, her voice dropping an octave as she felt the undeniable power he held over her, yet realizing the absolute control she held over him.
"Hanji," he whispered against her skin, his teeth lightly grazing her earlobe, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
Ulfat felt her defenses crumbling. The isolation of the office, the late hour, and the overwhelming masculinity of the man holding her captive completely shattered her resolve. She finally surrendered, letting her body go soft against his, her fingers tangling into the thick hair at the nape of his neck. "Kuch nahi ho sakta tumhara," she sighed, a beautiful, wicked smile touching her lips.
"Aap chahein to kuch bhi ho sakta hai," Rehman growled, his hands sliding up under her kameez, his warm palms finding the bare skin of her waist, squeezing the soft flesh.
Ulfat’s eyes darkened with a newfound boldness. The modesty she usually maintained at the haveli began to melt away, replaced by a reckless, seductive confidence. She leaned close, her lips almost touching his, teasing him with the proximity. "Aur main jaan sakti hu ke ye 'kuch bhi' kya ho sakta hai?"
Rehman’s gaze dropped to her lips, his grip tightening until it was almost bruising. "Naieem aur Faizal ka bhai ya bhen ho sakta hai."
Ulfat’s breath hitched, her heart leaping into her throat at his explicit declaration. "Rehmannn!" she gasped, her face burning, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she shifted her hips deliberately, grinding her soft center right against the hard ridge of his cock.
Rehman choked on a breath, his eyes widening slightly before darkening into pure, unadulterated predator mode. "Boliye meri jaan... tadpa rahi ho apne shohar ko?"
"Maine kab tadpaya?" Ulfat whispered, her voice dripping with sudden, playful malice as she traced a manicured nail down his sharp jawline, stopping at his collarbone. "Aap hi yahan akele baith kar....gande khayal soch rahe the. Maine to bas pucha."
"Gande khayal?" Rehman laughed, a dark, wicked sound that echoed softly in the cavernous room. He gripped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look directly into his burning eyes. "Tumhe andaza nahi hai, Ulfat, ke is takht par baith kar maine tumhare sath kya kya karne ka socha hai. Puray do ghante se is darmiyan main sirf tumhare badan ki garmi ke bare main soch raha hu."
Ulfat’s heart hammered against her ribs. The sheer boldness of his words electrified her. Instead of shying away, she leaned down, her lips brushing his lower lip, tasting the faint trace of tobacco and raw masculinity on his skin. "To phir....sochna band kijiye, Rehman. Shohar hain aap mere, koi naye aashiq nahi jo sirf dur se dekh kar aahein bharein."
Rehman’s control snapped.
With a guttural growl, he locked his hand behind her head and slammed his mouth onto hers. The kiss was explosive, born of hours of agonizing restraint. He devoured her mouth, his tongue forcing its way between her lips to claim her completely, tasting her sweetness with a ferocious, starved hunger. Ulfat let out a muffled whimper, her hands gripping his shoulders as she matched his ferocity, opening up for him completely, her tongue dancing with his in a frantic, messy rhythm.
He tasted like fire, and she was more than willing to burn.
Without breaking the kiss, Rehman’s large hands became frantic. He reached for the edge of her deep blue kameez, pulling it up and over her head in one swift, impatient motion. The sheer net dupatta fluttered to the floor like a dying leaf, forgotten in the shadows. He tossed the silk shirt aside, leaving her in just her lace bra and trousers.
Rehman tore his mouth away from hers, his chest heaving as he looked down at her. The amber light of the lamp bathed her creamy skin in a golden, ethereal glow. His eyes roamed over the soft curve of her shoulders, the heavy rise and fall of her breasts stringing through the lace, and the smooth expanse of her midriff.
"Khuda ki kasam" Rehman rasped, his voice trembling as he looked at her naked torso. "Tumhe dekh kar imaan dol jata hai, Ulfat."
"To dolne dijiye na," she whispered, her eyes heavy with arousal. She reached for the buttons of his kurta , her fingers steady as she unbuttoned them one by one, exposing his broad, hair-roughened chest. She pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it drop behind him on the throne.
She leaned forward, burying her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin while her hands mapped the hard, muscular planes of his chest and abdomen. Rehman groaned, his hands immediately flying to the fastening of her trousers. He unbuttoned them and slid them down her slender legs, throwing them across the room along with her silk panties.
Now, she sat completely naked in his lap, her bare thighs resting against the rough fabric of his trousers. Rehman’s breath hitched as he looked at her full, unclad glory. He cupped her breasts, lifting them, his thumbs rubbing insistently over the tight, aching peaks through the thin lace of her bra until she cried out, arching her back. He quickly unhooked the bra, casting it away, completely uncovering her.
He leaned down, devouring her breasts, taking one full mound into his mouth, sucking hard while his tongue lashed across the nipple. Ulfat threw her head back, her fingers gripping his hair as she rode the waves of pure pleasure radiating from his mouth. He moved to the other breast, biting gently, making her whine and shift her hips helplessly against his rock-hard length.
"Rehman... please, I can't..." she whimpered, the friction of her bare skin against his clothed lap driving her to the brink of madness.
"Abhi to shuruat hai, jaan," Rehman murmured against her skin. He shifted her slightly, his hand sliding down between her thighs.
When his fingers brushed against her center, he let out a dark, satisfied chuckle. She was completely drenched, her slick, hot juices coating his fingers instantly. He found her sensitive bud, his thumb tracing heavy, deliberate circles around it, while his middle finger slid smoothly inside her tight, dripping channel.
Ulfat gasped, her body stiffening as he began to finger her. He pumped his finger inside her, adding a second, then a third, stretching her gently while his thumb relentlessly tortured her clitoris. The pace was agonizingly perfect. He watched her face distort in pure ecstasy— her eyes closed tightly, her lips parted as sharp, ragged pants escaped her.
"Dekho mujhe, Ulfat," Rehman commanded huskily.
She forced her heavy eyelids open, looking at him through a glaze of tears and lust.
"Tum sirf meri ho. Is jism par, is jaan par, sirf Rehman ka haq hai," he growled, accelerating the movement of his fingers. He drove them deep inside her, twisting his hand, finding the exact spot that made her toes curl.
Ulfat began to thrash against him, the pleasure reaching a violent, screaming crescendo. "Rehman! I...I am about to..." she cried out, her inner muscles clamping down tightly around his fingers as a massive, shattering orgasm ripped through her body. She shuddered violently, her head falling onto his shoulder as her wetness spilled over his hand, drenching his fingers completely in her release.
Rehman watched her climax with an expression of pure, possessive worship. He withdrew his wet fingers, licking them clean while keeping his burning eyes locked on her flushed face.
"Ab meri baari, jaan," he whispered darkly.
He quickly pushed his trousers down, freeing his massive, throbbing erection. It stood rigid, dark, and thick, glistening with anticipation.
Instead of pulling her back onto his lap immediately, Rehman stood up, lifting her effortlessly in his arms. He stood before his massive, throne— the symbol of his power, his authority, his empire. With slow, deliberate dominance, he placed Ulfat down right in the center of the seat.
Her whitish, naked body formed a breathtaking picture against the dark of his throne. She looked like a captive queen, completely vulnerable, her legs draped over the armrests, her center open and glistening for him.
Rehman stepped between her thighs, his eyes blazing. He gripped her hips, tilting her pelvis up to meet him. "Is kursi par baith kar maine bade se bade faisle kiye hain, Ulfat. Par aaj, main is kursi par apna sabse bada haq qayem karunga."
Without another second of delay, he guided his thick, rigid head to her drenched opening and pushed forward.
Ulfat let out a loud, breathless gasp as he filled her in one smooth, deep thrust. He was so big, so incredibly thick, stretching her walls to their absolute limit. He buried himself inside her up to the hilt, his groin slamming hard against her pelvis.
"Ya Allah... Rehman..." she choked out, her hands flying to grip the leather armrests of the throne as the sheer fullness of him sent a fresh wave of electricity straight to her core.
Rehman paused for a moment, letting her body adjust to his size, his chest heaving as he stared down at her. Then, he began to move.
He pulled back until he was almost completely out, before slamming back inside her with a fierce, possessive force. The heavy chair creaked under the violence of their passion. The slaps of their bodies colliding echoed loudly in the empty, silent office. Rehman was relentless, driving into her with long, powerful strokes that tore ragged, needy screams from Ulfat’s throat.
She arched her back, her breasts bouncing with every heavy thrust, her head rolling back against the headrest. Rehman reached down, locking his hands under her thighs, pulling them higher onto his shoulders to bury himself even deeper. Every strike of his cock hit her sweet spot, driving her right back up the mountain of pleasure she had just descended.
"Tum meri ho, Ulfat! Meri!" Rehman growled, his voice completely feral as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming fast, hard, and shallow, completely devouring her.
"Haan... aapki... sirf aapki, Rehman!" she screamed, her walls contracting violently around him, triggering his own breaking point.
Rehman let out a loud, guttural roar as his climax hit him like a freight train. He delivered three more deep, punishing thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible, pinning her to the throne as he shot his hot, thick seed deep inside her womb, filling her completely. Ulfat screamed as her second orgasm ripped through her simultaneously, her inner muscles milking him dry in a frantic, pulsating rhythm.
They stayed like that for a long time, chests heaving, sweat dripping from their bodies, completely tangled together on his grand throne in the dead of the night. Rehman leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, kissing her swollen lips with a deep, tender warmth that sealed his eternal claim over her.
The heavy haze of their shared climax was still lingering in the warm air of the office when a sudden, cold realization washed over Ulfat.
Her heart, which had just begun to slow its frantic rhythm, leaped violently back into her throat. Through the dim, amber glow of the desk lamp, her eyes swept past Rehman’s broad, sweat-glistening shoulder and locked onto the perimeter of the room. The office wasn't entirely enclosed by solid brick; the upper half of the walls consisted of large, expansive glass windows overlooking the dark, cavernous factory floor below. Though the night was pitch-black, anyone walking through the courtyard with a flashlight or turning on the main warehouse lights would have a clear, unobstructed view right into the elevated executive suite. They were entirely see-through.
Before she could even voice her sudden panic, the faint, echoing sound of a heavy metal door swinging open downstairs shattered the silence of the compound.
Clank.
Then came the unmistakable, steady thud of leather boots echoing against the concrete floor of the warehouse.
"Bhaijaan? Aap andar hain kya?"
The voice belonged to Uzair. It was clear, cutting through the vast emptiness of the building, his footsteps growing closer as he directed his path toward the metallic staircase leading up to the office.
Ulfat gasped, her body locking up instantly in absolute terror. The sudden tension inside her caused her inner walls to squeeze fiercely around the thick, rigid length still buried deep within her. Rehman’s cock was still fully inside her, resting heavily in her drenched warmth, and the tight, panicked contraction of her body made him swell instantly, turning rock-hard and throbbing aggressively against her sensitive core once again.
Rehman let out a low, ragged growl at the exquisite torture, his hands gripping her hips tighter to keep her still. His sharp eyes darted toward the glass windows, his jaw tightening as the heavy footsteps began to thud against the iron stairs outside.
"Rehman..." Ulfat whispered frantically, her hands gripping his biceps so hard her nails dug into his skin. Her face was completely pale, flushed with a mix of leftover lust and overwhelming panic. "Uzair... Uzair aa raha hai. Hum....hume dekh lega."
Rehman looked down at her, a wicked, dangerous glint flashing in his dark eyes despite the proximity of his brother. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her burning earlobe as he gave one slow, deliberate, shallow thrust that made Ulfat choke on a sob, desperately covering her own mouth to stifle the sound.
"Dar lag raha hai, jaan?" Rehman murmured, his voice a gravelly, teasing whisper. "thora aur zor se dabaogi mujhe, to main yahin sab ke samne tumhe phir se apna bana lunga."
"Rehman, khuda ke liye!" she pleaded through her teeth, her eyes wide as the footsteps reached just a few feet away from the heavy oak door.
Rehman knew exactly when to play and when to protect. Seeing the genuine terror in his wife's eyes, his protective instincts overrode his wicked amusement. He reluctantly but smoothly withdrew himself from her wet heat, a low groan escaping his lips at the loss of her warmth.
"Baki ka kaam bedroom main chal kar karein?" he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers with a dark, burning promise of what was to come.
"Haan, please," she breathed out, scrambling off throne.
With frantic efficiency born of sheer adrenaline, they grabbed their scattered clothes. There was no time to dress perfectly. Ulfat hastily pulled her midnight-blue silk trousers up and threw the lace bra and kameez over her, not bothering to fasten anything properly, simply wrapping her sheer net dupatta tightly around her torso and shoulders to hide her bare, marked skin. Rehman quickly pulled up his trousers, fastening it with a swift, practiced motion and throwing his unbuttoned linen kurta over his broad shoulders, leaving it open but enough to cover his frame.
Just as Uzair’s hand touched the heavy brass doorknob from the outside, Rehman grabbed Ulfat.
Before she could even take a step, he scooped her up effortlessly in a powerful bridal carry. Sneaking out through the private, rear connecting door of the office— a hidden exit that led directly into the residential wing of the estate— Rehman vanished into the shadows, carrying his queen away just as the main office door creaked open behind them.
He didn't stop, his long strides carrying them swiftly through the dimly lit, silent corridors until he kicked open the door to their private bedroom sanctuary. He slammed the door shut with his heel and locked it, plunging them into the absolute safety of their own dark, secluded world where the rest of the world couldn't reach them.
Akshaye Khanna X Saumya Tandon,
oneshot, ~5k words.
tried writing angst and hurt/comfort for the first time. don't know how it turned out but oh well. but thoda fluffy, spicy, smutty bhi hai so yeah, basically a five course meal lmao. mdni !! (ik kisiko ghanta farak nhi padhne wala but still.)
no ai used cus i dont need a clanker to make me cry or get me wet. i am very capable of doing that myself.
not proofread though, plus i wrote this while being in my feels at midnight so if you see any discrepancies or mistakes here and there, no you didn't lol.
one more thing, hindi isn't my first or second language, but i speak it more or less fluently. still, if you find some grammatical errors, or words that dont exactly fit, please don't hesitate to reach out!
The IT couple of bollywood; thats what all the tabloids had called them back then, when they had started dating. The very same tabloids that had been befuddled what exactly to print after their split 5 years later, because unlike other celebrity splits, there had been no rumors, no cheating scandals, not even any news from "trusted sources close to the actors", because well, none of that had actually happened.
Akshaye Khanna and Saumya Tandon hadn't ended with a scream. There hadn’t been a shouting match. There were no broken plates. They had ended with a whisper that was far more lethal. Seven years ago, in his Alibaug villa, filled with the smell of jasmine tea and half-read scripts, the friction of their careers had finally worn the silk of their relationship thin. They were just two people realizing that their worlds were pulling them in opposite directions - his need for a quiet, aloof existence clashing with her rising fame and the noise that followed it. He was the brooding recluse, a man who guarded his soul behind a wall of silence; she was the rising star, vibrant, needing the validation of words he didn't know how to speak.
"Tum kuch kehte kyun nahi, Akshaye?" she had asked that final night, her suitcase sitting like a tombstone by the door. "Iss khamoshi ka main kya karoon?"
He had looked at her, his heart screaming a thousand sentences, but his lips remained pressed in a thin, stubborn line. He thought she knew. He thought the way he watched her sleep or the way he kept her favorite brand of dark chocolate in the fridge was enough.
Hum labon se keh na paaye unse haal-e-dil kabhi... Aur woh samjhe nahin yeh khaamoshi kya cheez hai.
He had wanted to tell her that his silence wasn’t indifference, but a fear of holding her back. She had mistaken his withdrawal for a lack of love. She walked out, thinking he didn't care. He let her go, thinking he wasn't enough, that she deserved someone who could tell her she was the sun. It was a classic tragedy of two people who spoke different languages of the soul.
They had walked away thinking they were set free. They didn't realize they had just entered a different kind of prison. When they had enden, it was not with a bang, but with a silence that had stretched across years. Seven years of "no comments" to the press, skipping the same award shows, and carefully managing mutual friends.
Since that day, Akshaye had thrown himself into his work, his isolation becoming legendary in the industry. He was the enigmatic bachelor, dedicated solely to his craft. He had tried to date, of course. There were a few shallow encounters, dates that felt like a performance, a bad script he couldn't connect with. Every time a woman laughed, he compared it to Saumya’s chime-like laughter; every time someone brushed past him, his skin crawled, missing her touch. Eventually, he just stopped trying. It was easier to be alone than to constantly search for her in others.
He suspected it was the same for her. Though they moved in different circles - him, the arthouse darling; her, the television queen turned serious actor - news traveled. She remained conspicuously unattached. He’d see pictures of her at events, radiant and solitary, and a part of him would feel a sick sense of relief, immediately followed by the ache of regret. They were both living in a self-imposed exile from love, bekhabars, as the ghazal went, who had known the true intoxicating power of love and couldn't settle for anything less.
Every November 14th - their anniversary - Akshaye would drive to a small, nondescript Irani cafe in South Bombay. He would order two cups of chai and a plate of bun maska. He wouldn't touch the second cup. He would just sit there, staring at the steam rising, imagining her across from him, complaining about the calories while stealing a bite of his bread.
Saumya’s ritual was quieter. On their anniversary, she would drive to the beach at 2:00 AM, the same spot where they’d once shared a single plate of bhel puri and talked about a future that felt like a certainty. She wondered if they were once again looking at the same moon, together, yet apart. To the tabloids, she remained "happily single", but the truth was simpler: after tasting love with him, everyone else felt like a dull soberness.
But their silences didn't end when their relationship had. It just morphed into an inability to reach out. Their phones remained a graveyard of unsent texts, which neither could bring themselves to send.
"Hi. I saw a vintage typewriter today and thought of you."
“I saw a film today that reminded me of you.”
"I miss the way you look when you’re reading."
"Saw your interview today. You looked tired. Eat something."
"They’re playing our song at the mall. I hate this mall."
“I’m sorry.”
"Are you okay?"
“Main mar raha hoon tumhare bina.”
"Akshaye, I'm sorry. Just come back."
She would stare at the "send" button until her thumb ached, the blue light of the phone illuminating the tears she refused to let fall. She never sent them. To reach out was to admit that the "independence" she fought for was actually just loneliness. He would refrain, because what if he was the only one stuck with the physical ache of their shared past? The only thing he wanted was to see her happy; if she was happy without him, he'd keep it that way.
The ghosts of their past were kept in secret places. On difficult shoot days, she would find herself in her walk-in closet, reaching for an oversized, faded linen shirt he’d left behind. She wouldn't wear it; she’d just press her face into the fabric, searching for the faint, disappearing scent of sandalwood and old books, wrapping it around herself when the nights felt too suffocating.
Akshaye sat in the dim light of his study, the smoke from a single cigarette curling into the air like a ghost. On his desk lay a weathered copy of The God of Small Things. Tucked inside page 142 was a dried, flattened hibiscus flower; crimson once, now the color of a bruised memory. She had tucked it there during a walk in Lodhi Garden, years ago, laughing about how he was too serious for his own good.
Just like it, a napkin lived inside his copy of The Great Gatsby—a crumpled paper napkin from a roadside dhaba. On it, Saumya had scribbled a fake "contract" when they first started dating: “I, Saumya, promise to always share my dessert, provided Akshaye promises to never grow a beard.” He had grown the beard. He had lost the dessert. But the ink was still blue, and her handwriting still looked like a heartbeat.
One of saumya's black hair ties had lived on his gear shift for three years before he moved it to his wallet. He’d catch the scent of her - that lingering mix of petrichor and expensive shampoo - and for a split second, he’d forget they were apart.
Hidden in a locked folder on his phone was a Voice Memo (0:12 seconds) from 9 years ago. It wasn't a confession of love; it was just her laughing in the background while he tried to figure out a new camera. “Akshaye, tum kitne serious ho jaate ho… look at me!” He would play it on the nights when the silence of the apartment felt like it was crushing his chest.
Saumya kept their "Our Song" Vinyl- A scratched copy of a Jagjit Singh record. They had danced to it once on one of their anniversaries many years back, barefoot in his kitchen, with only the light from the refrigerator. She never played it now. Just seeing the cover made her chest ache with a physical, bruising pressure. "Hosh waalon ko khabar kya…" she’d whisper, tracing the title.
And in the back of her freezer, a half-eaten chocolate bar: a bizarre, crystalline bar of dark sea-salt chocolate from a trip to Ooty. They’d shared half of it before their last fight started. She kept the wrapper and the remaining three squares in a Ziploc bag. It was a literal piece of their last "sweet" moment, frozen in time, gathering frost.
For Akshaye, the yearning wasn't just poetic, it was a physical ache that settled in his marrow. On nights when the Mumbai humidity felt like a lead blanket, he’d find himself staring at the ceiling, his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. He’d close his eyes and try to conjure the specific, honeyed scent of her skin, the way her breath hitched in a jagged rhythm against his neck. But when he moved, it felt clinical. Empty. Every time he finished, the silence of the room felt ten times louder. He missed the way she fitted against him, the friction, the scent of her jasmine hair-oil mixing with the musk of their shared sweat. He remained celibate not out of a sense of nobility, but because the thought of anyone else’s touch felt like sandpaper on an open wound.
Saumya lived in a similar purgatory. She’d lie in her bathtub, the water cooling around her, her fingers tracing the curves of her own body where his hands used to linger. She would try to recreate the weight of him, that overwhelming sense of fullness that only he could provide. But her own touch was a pale imitation. It was a phantom limb; she could feel where the love used to be, but the sensation was gone.
They used to have a language of their own; a shorthand of touches and whispers.
“Akshaye, aur nahi…” she used to moan when he’d tease her, his tongue tracing patterns on her inner thigh until she was weeping with need.
“Tum meri ho, Saumya. Yaad rakhna,” he’d growl back, his ego fed by the way she completely unraveled under him.
Now, those memories were daggers.
When the offer for 'Khaamoshi' came, neither had actually thought the other would sign up for it, that was, until the first table read.
The room went airtight when Akshaye walked in. Saumya was already there, her hair open, cascading over her shoulders.
Unse nazrein kya mili, roshan fizaayein ho gayi..
The lyrics flashed through Akshaye’s mind, unbidden and painful. He looked older, more rugged, with a weariness in his eyes that made Saumya’s breath hitch.
"Akshaye," she breathed, the name tasting like a prayer and a sin.
"Saumya." He pulled out the chair opposite her. "I didn't know you were Zoya."
"I didn't know you were Kabir."
They lied to each other's faces, both knowing they had checked the casting rumors months ago.
As Akshaye looked into Saumya’s eyes, the professional mask cracked. He saw the girl who used to make him tea at 3 AM; she saw the man who used to read Neruda to her until she fell asleep. Akshaye’s hand, resting on the table, twitched. He wanted to reach across and cover her hand with his, to feel the pulse he used to count against his own chest. He didn't. For a heartbeat, the set disappeared. The "roshan fizaayein" weren't the studio lights; they were the terrifying sparks of a love that refused to die.
After the filming started, they started playing a high-stakes game of "who blinks first."
Akshaye would purposely leave his shirt unbuttoned an extra notch when he knew she was watching, letting her see the jagged scar on his chest she’d given him during a particularly passionate argument. He knew she’d want to trace it. He knew she’d want to soothe it with her tongue.
Saumya, in turn, would laugh a little too loudly at the director’s jokes, her hand lingering on the man’s arm just to watch Akshaye’s knuckles turn white as he gripped his coffee mug.
The most toxic moments happened in the shared makeup trailer. The mirrors were framed with bright, clinical bulbs that stripped away any pretense. One evening, while the stylist was away, Akshaye watched Saumya through the glass. She was tracing the line of her collarbone with a highlighter, her neck arched.
"I remember the night of the premiere of your third film," Akshaye said suddenly, his voice low and raspy. "We were in the car. You were wearing that silver dress that was impossible to unzip. You looked at me just like you’re looking at the mirror now - hungry, but pretending to be bored."
Saumya’s hand froze. "That was 10 years ago. I don't remember the dress."
"Lie," he countered, standing up and walking to her chair. He placed his hands on the back of it, trapping her. "You remember because half an hour later, that dress was on the floor of the garage, and you were begging me not to stop. Yaad hai na? How you used to whisper in my ear, 'Akshaye, please, I can't wait anymore-'?"
One moment they were professionals, discussing camera angles with a clinical detachment that felt like a slap. The next, they were in a corner of the studio, sharing a single cigarette in a way that felt more intimate than a sex scene. Akshaye would hold the cigarette for her, his fingers lingering against her lower lip as she took a drag. He would watch the smoke curl out of her mouth, his eyes dark with a hunger that bordered on violent.
"Pehle toh tum mere hothon se dhuwan leti thi," he had murmured.
"You still smoke the same brand," she noted, her voice softer, the ego slipping for a fraction of a second.
"I don't like change," he said, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke toward the moon. "I like things that burn slow and hurt a little. Tumhe yaad hai na, Saumya? Hamari woh aakhri raat? Before the fight. How you wouldn't let me go even when the sun came up?"
Saumya took the cigarette from his fingers, her touch lingering on his skin like a brand. She took a puff, her eyes never leaving his. "I remember every second, Akshaye. I remember how you tasted, how you smelled, and how you looked when you realized you’d lost me."
"Do you still have that old velvet armchair in your library?" she had asked another evening, her voice a velvety purr. "Or did you burn it along with my letters?"
Akshaye’s knuckles turned white with the effort of clenching his fists. "The chair's still there. I just don't sit on it anymore."
"Why not?"
"Too many memories of you sitting in my lap as I read Ghalib to you, while you tried distracting me by kissing my neck. I kept it to remind myself of how much noise you used to make, how you used to beg me not to stop when I finally retaliated."
Saumya’s eyes flared, a mix of a sudden, sharp heat, and something else that couldn't be named. "I never begged, Akshaye. I demanded. And you were always so happy to obey."
Akshaye was leaning against a stone pillar, rubbing his temples.
"You're getting migraines again," Saumya said softly, stepping into his space.
Akshaye stiffened. "It's just the lights."
"Abhi bhi jhoot bolna nahi seekha tumne," she murmured. "You always rub your left temple when the pain starts behind the eye. You need adrak chai."
Akshaye looked at her then, really looked at her. The professional mask cracked. "Why do you remember that? You’re supposed to be over this. The national sweetheart who has moved on."
"And you’re supposed to be the recluse actor who doesn't care about anyone," she snapped back, her eyes flashing. "But I know you still have that copy of Roy’s book. I saw it in a paparazzi photo of your library last month. The hibiscus is still in there, isn't it?"
Khulti zulfon ne sikhayi mausamon ko shaayari...
Saumya had let her hair down; it cascaded over her shoulders in dark waves. She held two glasses of red wine. She set one down in front of him and took a seat on the floor, leaning against the mahogany bookshelf of the set while the crew was taking a break.
"Why didn't you ever date anyone else, Akshaye?" she asked, her voice devoid of its usual poise. "The industry talks. Everyone wondered why the most eligible bachelor in cinema became a monk."
Akshaye looked down at her, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Because I’m a perfectionist, Saumya. And I already had the best. Anything else felt like a rehearsal for a play I didn't want to perform in."
Jhukti aankhon ne bataya mai-kashi kya cheez hai...
He knelt down in front of her, tracing the curve of her jaw. "Your eyes... they still tell me more than your words ever did. You’re miserable, aren't you? Tell me Saumya, please, for god's sake, I need to know."
Saumya’s eyes welled up. She reached out, gripping his forearm. "I waited for a call. For a sign. But you were so cold, so final."
"Main toot chuka tha, Saumya. Tumhare bina shehar khali lagta tha, kaam bojh lagta tha. I almost called you a thousand times. You're still saved as 'Home' on my phone, do you know that? Every time I saw the moon over the sea, every time I heard a ghazal... my phone was in my hand."
"Why didn't you?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't answer. Or worse... that you’d answer and sound happy without me."
The set of Khaamoshi was a sprawling, recreated haveli in the outskirts of Mumbai. The floor was covered in thick, Persian-style rugs, but in one corner, the stone remained bare and cold. Between takes, Saumya was hurrying toward her vanity when she tripped slightly on a loose floorboard. There was a sharp, metallic snap - a sound so delicate it should have been drowned out by the chatter of the crew. But for Akshaye, it sounded like a gunshot. He turned just in time to see a string of silver beads scatter across the floor.
Saumya gasped, dropping to her knees. "Oh no. No, no, no…"
It was a thin, oxidized silver anklet. It wasn't expensive jewelry; it was a rustic, street-bought piece with a charm in the shape of an "A" and tiny ghungroos that had long since lost their loud chime, reduced to a dull, secretive tinkle.
"Don't touch it!"
The roar came from Akshaye. The entire set went into a vacuum of silence. Akshaye marched across the room, his face a mask of primal, unhinged fury. He knelt in front of Saumya, pushing the technician’s hand away with a force that was borderline aggressive.
"Akshaye, it's fine, it's just a—" Saumya started, her voice trembling.
"It is not fine!" he snapped, his voice a low, jagged growl. "This was… you were wearing this in Darjeeling. 11 years ago. The night it rained outside."
Saumya sat back on her heels, her breath hitching. They had indeed bought that anklet from a Tibetan market during their first trip together.
They both remembered the night when he had put the anklet on her for the first time. He had sat her down at the edge of the bed, and knelt down in front of her. He had lifted her left ankle in his hands, bringing it up to rest on his shoulder while he tied the anklet around her. He had leaned down, biting the S-clasp of it, and then kissing the bone there before looking up at her again. She had giggled, pulling him up by his collar and kissing him as they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. About half an hour later, the same ankle had been on his shoulder again, this time making the same rhythmic chhan-chhan sound in time with each of his thrusts, the "A" charm on the anklet dangling.
Through the breakup, the moves, and the 7 years of icy silence, she had never taken it off. It was her secret tether to the only man who had ever made her blood feel like liquid gold.
"Usse yaad hai." she realized, a hot tear spilling over.
An hour later, the set was on a forced break. Akshaye was in his darkened vanity van, the door unlocked. Saumya walked in without knocking. He was sitting at the small table, the broken silver pieces spread out on a white tissue paper.
"It’s an old, rusted piece of silver. Why do you care if it broke now?" She stepped closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. "You haven't touched my skin in seven years. Why does it matter if I wear it or not?"
Akshaye finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, radiating a dangerous heat. He stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Because as long as I heard that faint chann-chann when you walked past me on set, I knew you hadn't moved on," he hissed, pinning her against the vanity mirror. "I knew that despite the 'no comments' and the cold shoulders, you were still carrying a piece of us. It was the only thing giving me hope that I wasn't the only one living in a graveyard."
He reached down, his hand sliding up her leg, under her skirt, his fingers tracing the bare skin of her ankle where the silver had been just an hour ago. The touch was electric, a hunger that had been denied for too long finally breaking the surface.
"I missed this," he groaned, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder. "I missed the way it felt against my hand when I held your legs. I missed the way it sounded when… when I was inside you, and you were shaking so hard the silver wouldn't stop ringing. I miss the sound of these bells, Saumya. I miss the way they’d jingle when you’d wrap your legs around me. I’ve spent five years hearing that sound in my dreams and waking up to a silent room. Mujhe pagal kar diya hai tumne."
Saumya’s knees went weak. The little back-and-forth "yo-yo" game they had going on for the last few days was dead. The broken anklet had stripped away every defense.
"Toh jod do." she whispered, her hands finding the back of his neck, pulling him down. "Mujhe bhi… aur isse bhi."
Akshaye didn't wait for a second invitation. He moved with a predatory grace, hooking his hands under her thighs and hoisting her upward in one fluid motion. Saumya let out a soft, startled cry that was immediately swallowed by his mouth. He didn't just kiss her; he devoured her, his lips bruising hers with the weight of seven years of starvation. His tongue forced its way inside, tasting her deeply, reclaiming every inch of her mouth as his territory.
He backed her into the vanity mirror with a thud that rattled the glass, his body a wall of scorched heat pinning her in place. With a violent jerk of his arm, he swept the surface of the vanity clear. Crystal perfume bottles and glass trays crashed to the floor in a symphony of destruction, but neither of them flinched. He sat her down on the edge of the marble, his hands moving to the heavy pleats of her saree.
"Seven years, Saumya," he snarled against her lips, his voice a low, jagged vibration. "Seven years of reaching for you in the dark. You think you can just walk back onto a set and pretend those seven years didn't happen? That I didn't see you looking at the director just to make me jealous?"
"I didn't think you'd care," she gasped, her hands trembling as she tore at his shirt, popping the buttons until they rattled like hail on the floor. "You were so cold, Akshaye. So final."
"Jhoot," he countered, his hands roaming her body roughly, yanking the silk away and tossing it to the floor like trash. He gripped her hips, grinding his hard, throbbing heat against her belly. "You're mine, Sam. You've always been mine."
He bit her lower lip hard enough to draw a whimper, then immediately descended on her neck, sucking hard, leaving a dark red mark - a brand of ownership that would be impossible to hide from the cameras tomorrow. He didn't strip her gently; he tore at the fastenings of her blouse, the hooks popping as he exposed her lace bra, her full breasts heaving with each ragged breath.
"Say it," he demanded, his teeth grazing her collarbone. "Say who you belong to."
"You," she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Only you, Akshaye."
That did it. Akshaye growled, a primal sound from deep in his chest. He scooped her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the daybed. He threw her onto the leather, his eyes devouring her. He stripped off his shirt in one motion, revealing a chest tight with tension.
He loomed over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one massive palm. "No more games. No more going back and forth." His free hand shoved away the last of her blouse, exposing her stomach. He leaned down, his tongue tracing a hot path from her navel to the edge of her bra, then yanking the cups down to free her. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak until she cried out. He marked her there too, biting down just enough to leave imprints, then switching to the other with rough, starving attention.
Saumya writhed beneath him, her hips bucking up, seeking friction. "Akshaye, please… I can’t… I’ve missed this so much."
He released her wrists only to flip her onto her stomach, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hands yanked down the rest of her clothes in one swift pull, baring her to the cool air of the van. "You kept that anklet for seven years," he rasped, his palm cracking against her cheek in a sharp, stinging spank that made her yelp. The sting bloomed into heat, her cunt dripping as he spanked her again, harder, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. "This is for every night I woke up to a silent room."
He found her clit, circling it roughly before plunging two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her scream. Saumya pushed back against his hand, fucking herself on his digits, but Akshaye pulled them out abruptly. "Not yet. You come when I say the silence is over."
He stripped off the rest of his clothes, his cock springing free, veined and throbbing. He grabbed her hips, pulling her up onto her knees. He rubbed the head along her soaked slit, teasing her entrance without entering. "Beg for it, Saumya. Tell me you need me to break the silence."
"Fuck me, Akshaye," she pleaded, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I need you inside me. Please."
"You know I love you, right bebe?"
"Huh- yes?"
"Good. Because I'm gonna fuck you like I have absolutely zero respect for you."
With a guttural groan, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. She squealed, feeling herself stretching around his girth, the burn exquisite as he filled her completely. Akshaye didn't give her time to adjust; he pulled back and slammed in again, setting a punishing, rhythmic pace. His hips snapped against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the van. He gripped her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat as he pounded into her.
"Mine," he grunted with each drive. Sweat slicked their bodies, his balls slapping against her clit, building the pressure unbearably. He reached around, his fingers rubbing her swollen nub in tight circles, forcing her toward the edge.
"Come for me," he ordered, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. Saumya shattered, her pussy clenching around him like a vice, waves of pleasure crashing through her as she screamed his name. Akshaye didn't stop, fucking her through the orgasm, prolonging it until she was sobbing.
He pulled out, flipping her onto her back. His eyes burned with possessive fire as he hooked her ankles over his shoulders, folding her in half. He slammed back in, deeper than before, his cock hitting her cervix with each thrust. He captured her mouth in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as he rutted into her like an animal.
"Tell me who you belong to," he demanded against her lips.
"You," she gasped, her nails raking down his back, leaving raw red scratch marks. "Only you, Akshaye. Forever."
With a low groan, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, flooding her with hot spurts of cum. He kept thrusting shallowly, milking every drop inside her, marking her as his territory. Saumya came again, her walls fluttering around him in the silence that was finally, beautifully broken.
They collapsed together, Akshaye’s body covering hers, both spent. He stayed inside her, softening slowly. Gently, he rolled them to the side. Akshaye pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her like a shield, his hand tracing the bite marks on her skin with a dark, satisfied pride. The graveyard was finally gone.
"We were always bad at it," Saumya whispered, her forehead resting against his chest afterwards. "Talking. We let the silence win."
"Then don't talk," Akshaye murmured.
"Mujhe laga tum mujhe kabhi nahi maaf karte for walking away." She looked up at him through her lashes.
His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Maafi toh paraaye logo ke liye hoti hai. Tum toh meri jaan ho."
Ishq kijiye, phir samajhiye..
Zindagi kya cheez hai.
A/N: omg okay. wild ass ride i know. i started out w angst and likhte likhte my hand slipped and thoda wild ho gaya at the end. fully blaming it on my dearest moots who asked for makeup sex >u< AAAAAAA tell me how it was love u byeee !
A/N: Requested by my love @pavbhajisupremacist based on her dhurandhar quote post. I don't know how it turned out to be. Read and let me know. It's all fluff, romance, flirt, drunk Rehman chaos and Ulfat handling him.
Word count: 2.5K
Rehman stumbled through the corridors of his haveli at midnight until he reached his master bedroom. The door slammed open, and he entered inside, tripping over the corner of the rug. Ulfat was sitting on the bed, reading a book. When he entered, she looked up at him, and realization settled over her. His uneven footsteps and narrowed, squinting eyes told her exactly what was coming next.
Drunk Rehman. Too drunk to the point that he might have forgotten his own name. She sighed deeply and placed a bookmark between the pages.
Rehman narrowed his eyes as he found a woman sitting on his bed. His black kurta was slightly wrinkled, his hair messy, his sleeves folded, and the top few buttons of his kurta were open, revealing his toned chest. His expression carried the confidence of a man who had consumed enough alcohol to believe he was the smartest person alive.
He gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his chest and muttered to himself "Mere kamre mai itni haseen larki... ya Allah, lagta hai kal qayamat hai."
He then squinted harder, leaning forward slightly to look at her more closely "Lekin yeh hai kon... aur yaha kaise ayi?"
Ulfat lowered her book completely and watched him with an amused expression. Rehman cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Aap kon hai, mohtarma?"
Ulfat slowly blinked "What?"
Rehman pointed dramatically at her.
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
Rehman stumbled forward "Aap mere kamre mai kya kar rahi hai?"
Ulfat pressed her lips together, realizing that the idiot had absolutely no idea who she was. A mischievous thought crossed her mind. She decided to play along and tease him about it the next morning.
"Rehman," she said calmly, setting the book aside, "you came home drunk."
Rehman immediately straightened himself and lifted his chin "No, I'm perfectly fine."
Rehman moved forward and walked directly into the cupboard. The cupboard won. Rehman's forehead bumped into it with a dull thud. Ulfat immediately covered her face with her hands to hide her smile, her shoulders shaking slightly. Rehman recovered with dignity that didn't exist.
"I meant to do that."
Ulfat nodded seriously "Of course... maine toh kuch kaha bhi nahi."
Satisfied with her answer, Rehman walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Resting his chin on his palms, he stared at her face. A long silence settled over the room. Then Rehman narrowed his eyes again as if inspecting her.
Ulfat pressed her lips together. "Acha?... kaha dekha hai?"
Rehman hit his fist against his palm. "Yahi toh yaad nahi aa raha kaha dekha hai."
Ulfat remained calm. "Zaroor dekha hoga apne mujhe... apki haveli ke samne wale ghar mein rehti hu."
Rehman gasped dramatically. "Meri haveli ke samne ghar bhi hai?... Mujhe kyu nahi dikha?"
Ulfat scratched her temple and deliberately avoided looking into his eyes, otherwise she would burst into laughter. "Ap busy rehte hai na. Subah jaldi chale jate hai, raat mai late wapis ate hai. Isliye nahi dekha hoga."
Rehman snapped his fingers. "Point." He nodded to himself as if she had revealed a great mystery.
Then he once again rested his chin on his palm and looked at her dreamily. "Waise apka naam kya hai?"
Ulfat narrowed her eyes. "Apko mera naam nahi pata?"
Rehman lowered his gaze. His cheeks turned the darkest shade of red as he smiled shyly. He began rolling the hem of his kurta around his finger. "Nahi ji.....woh kya hai na ke mujhe larkiyo se baat karne mai sharam ati hai."
Ulfat bit the inside of her cheek. "Ulfat naam hai mera."
Rehman repeated it carefully, as if saying a secret "Ulfat."
The name lingered on his tongue for a moment. He straightened himself and held out his hand. "Mera naam... Rehman."
Ulfat shook his hand. Rehman didn't let go. Instead, he kept staring at her face as if he were looking at the most beautiful view he had ever seen. Ulfat's heart jumped inside her chest. Seeing how hopelessly her idiot husband was attracted to her was strangely endearing. Drunk or sober, he always found his way back to her.
Ulfat raised a brow. "Kya dekh rahe ho?"
Rehman smiled like a fool. "Apko dekh kar woh gaana yaad aa raha hai."
Ulfat tilted her head. "Konsa gaana?"
Rehman cleared his throat and sang the line in his hoarse voice. "Mere samne wali khidki mai ek chand ka tukda rehta hai."
Ulfat tried hard to stay serious, but her lips twitched into a smile. "Yeh ap kya kar rahe hai, Rehman?"
"Shhh." Rehman raised a finger. "I'm trying to flirt with you."
"You are terrible at doing that."
Rehman pouted. "How rude... efforts matter only."
Ulfat spoke. "You don't even know who I am."
Rehman ignored that completely and offered a crooked grin "Kya kabhi apko kisi ne bataya ke ap kitni khoobsurat hai?"
Ulfat smiled. "Ji, bahut baar."
Rehman immediately knitted his brows. "Kisne bataya?... Kon hai woh chichora insan?"
Ulfat made the most innocent face she could manage. "Ji, woh insan mere husband hai."
Rehman gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his chest "You are married?"
Ulfat nodded. Rehman looked at her as if she had personally offended him.
"Kyuuu?"
Ulfat stared at him. "Kya kyu?"
"Aisa kyu kiya apne?"
"Kya kiya maine?" Ulfat laughed.
"Mujhse milne se pehle kisi aur se shadi kyu kar li?"
The heartbreak in his voice was so genuine that Ulfat had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing.
"I am sorry."
"You should be."
Rehman folded his arms across his chest and pouted. An actual pout. The feared gangster of Lyari was sulking like a child because a stranger, who was actually his own wife, was married. Ulfat was trying very hard to control herself and not pull him into a kiss.
After a moment of sulking, Rehman asked again, hope shining in his eyes. "Is your husband handsome?"
Ulfat nodded, looking far too pleased with herself. "Yes."
Rehman narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "More than me?"
Ulfat replied without hesitation. "Yes. Very much."
Rehman immediately crossed his arms over his chest in disagreement. "Impossible. I'm the most handsome man alive in Lyari."
Ulfat rested comfortably against the headboard. "You haven't seen my husband. That's why you're saying that."
Rehman slowly lowered himself onto the mattress and looked up at her face like a child listening to a bedtime story "Does your husband give you gifts?"
"Yes."
"Flowers?"
"Daily."
Rehman looked wounded.
"Does he love you?"
There was a tiny bit of hope left in his voice.
"Oh... a lot. He is so much in love with me. I'm his jaan."
Rehman's shoulders slumped. He pouted and buried his face into the mattress. His voice came out muffled. "That's unfair."
Ulfat folded her arms and smiled. "What is?"
Rehman turned his head and looked back at her. Then he pushed himself up and sat on his knees. "Your husband didn't do the right thing."
Ulfat questioned him. "Do what?"
Rehman looked completely serious. "Look at yourself. You are so pretty and beautiful."
He gestured dramatically toward her "He didn't give me a chance to try and impress you. How could he allow you to get married already?"
Ulfat coughed into her hand to hide her laugh. "Really?"
Rehman nodded firmly. "As a man, I'm disappointed in him."
That was it. Ulfat couldn't hold it in anymore. She burst out laughing. Rehman's face immediately lit up. He pointed at her proudly.
"There."
"What?"
"I made you laugh."
"You are impossible."
His grin widened. Then suddenly his expression became serious. "Ulfat ji... ek baat kahu?"
Ulfat was enjoying this far too much. "Jee, kahiye na."
Rehman cleared his throat dramatically. "Sheeshi bhari gulab ki, patthar se tod du... Ulfat ji, ap kahe toh apke shohar ka sar phor du."
Ulfat gasped and placed a hand over her chest. "Nahi... kyuuuu? I love him so much."
Rehman made a pout like an angry child. "I am jealous of that man."
Ulfat nearly choked. "Kyu?"
"Because he got you."
He stood up suddenly and offered her his hand. "You are too pretty to be anyone's wife but mine."
Before she could reply, he gently pulled her toward the mirror. They stopped in front of it. Rehman stared at her reflection. "Look at yourself."
He pointed at the mirror "This pretty face... these pretty green eyes... soft cheeks...those delicious lips"
His gaze lingered on her reflection with genuine admiration. "And now look at me."
Ulfat obediently looked at him. He looked like a complete drunken disaster.
"I am such a handsome, hot freak." He pointed at himself proudly. "With this sharp jawline... these muscles... look at my toned chest."
To prove his point, he opened the remaining buttons of his kurta. Ulfat bit the inside of her cheek so hard it almost hurt. Laughing now would ruin everything.
"I did a lot of workouts for this." He flexed his arm proudly.
"We are a perfect couple. Two hot people will make beautiful kids, you know."
He nodded as if presenting scientific evidence. "Our genes will do their work."
Ulfat felt heat crawl up her neck, but somehow managed to keep a straight face. She turned toward him. "You are trying to convince me?"
Rehman nodded eagerly. Then he spoke with complete confidence. "Leave your husband and come to me."
Ulfat's eyes widened. "Why?"
Rehman spread his arms dramatically. "Because I am handsome."
Ulfat replied instantly. "You just bumped your head into a cupboard some time ago."
Rehman grinned widely. "That doesn't matter. I am still handsome."
Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong. Even drunk, Rehman was looking annoyingly appealing, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to maintain her composure.
Rehman took a step closer. "Come with me. We will leave this place."
"Aur hum jayenge kaha?"
He shrugged. "Pata nahi. Woh baad mai dekh lenge."
Ulfat blinked. "That's your grand proposal? with no planning?"
Rehman nodded proudly. Ulfat shook her head and laughed. "I am sorry, Rehman, lekin aisa nahi ho sakta. I love my husband so much. I won't leave him."
The words hit him like a bullet. Rehman's face crumpled. Then, to Ulfat's horror and amusement, he actually started crying. He sat down on the floor and stomped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum.
"Whyyy? Why can't you marry me?" He pointed at himself dramatically. "Please marry me, Ulfat jaan. I promise I will love you more than your husband. I will take care of you. I will do everything you say."
He sniffled loudly. "Mai joru ka ghulam ban kar rahuga apka. Please maan jao na."
Ulfat looked at him for a moment before kneeling down in front of him. "Phir mere husband ka kya hoga?"
Rehman looked at her through his teary lashes. "Naam bataye mujhe uska."
He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "Everyone fears me. Mai use duniya se gayab kar duga."
Ulfat laughed. "Mere paas ek aur idea hai."
Rehman sniffled. "Kya?"
Ulfat gently helped him stand on his feet. "Ap abhi ja kar so jaiye. Jab subah uthenge na, tab tak mere husband ja chuke honge."
Ulfat smiled softly. "Ha....Phir mai apse shadi kar lungi."
"Lekin us se phele hum date par jayenge" Rehman confirm before moving
"ha pakka...baut sari date par jayenge" Ulfat noded taing him towards bed
Rehman grinned like an absolute fool. Without another word, he stumbled toward the bed and dropped onto the mattress. The moment his head touched the pillow, he fell asleep. Ulfat shook her head fondly. Leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
"Pura pagal hai..." Her smile softened as she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Jaisa bhi hai... hai toh mera."
Then she pulled the blanket over him and tucked it around his shoulders before turning off the lamp.
The next day, Rehman woke up late. The sunlight entered the bedroom through the large window and fell directly on his face. His eyes fluttered before slowly opening. He blinked several times to adjust to the brightness. With a groan, he grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his face. The one name he could never forget escaped his lips.
"Jaan... yeh khirki band karo please."
Ulfat entered the room holding a glass of lemon water for his headache. She placed the glass on the bedside table and sat beside him on the bed. Gently, she took the pillow off his face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
"Uth jaye, Rehman. 10 baj gaye hain."
Rehman slowly opened his eyes and looked at her, but his head throbbed painfully. "Ulfat, mere sar mai bahut dard ho raha hai... sone do mujhe."
Ulfat smiled, remembering the events of the previous night. "Aise kaise? Rehman, uthe. Apne kaha tha aj mujhe date par lekar jayenge."
Rehman's eyes snapped open and he immediately sat upright. He looked at her carefully before pointing at himself. "Maine kaha tha date ka?"
Ulfat nodded sincerely. Rehman narrowed his eyes. "Maine kab kaha?"
Ulfat replied calmly. "Kal. Jab ap mere husband ka murder karke mujhe bhaga kar le jane wale the yaha se mujhse shadi karne ke liye."
Rehman stared at her as if she were telling him a horror story. "Jaan... kal kya hua tha?"
Ulfat looked at him innocently. "Tumhe nahi yaad?"
Rehman slowly shook his head.
"Kal tum khud ka murder karne ke liye tayar ho gaye the... aur mujhse flirt kar rahe the."
Rehman relaxed a little. "Tum toh meri jaan ho. Tumse flirt karne mai kya problem? Lekin ek minute..." He frowned. "Mai khud ka murder kyu karna chahta tha?"
Ulfat replied immediately. "Kyu ke maine kaha ke meri shadi ho gayi hai, toh tum rone lag gaye the. Isliye mujhse shadi karne ke liye mere husband ka murder karna tha tumhe."
Then she proceeded to tell him everything he had said the previous night. With every sentence, Rehman's expression became more horrified. Finally, he buried his face in his hands. His ears turned a deep shade of red.
"Ya Khuda..." He groaned loudly. "Maine yeh sab bola tumhe? Itna embarrass kar liya khud ko."
Ulfat laughed. "Mujhe toh bahut maza aya. Mere liye toh best night thi. Tumne bahut hasaya mujhe."
Rehman looked at her, feeling far too pleased by that answer. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her a little closer. Leaning toward her, he whispered, "Waise option bura nahi hai..."
Ulfat immediately became suspicious. "Kon sa option?"
Rehman grinned. "Chalo bhag chalte hai."
Ulfat rolled her eyes. Rehman continued anyway. "Genes achi hai hamari. Kafi pyare bache honge hamare."
"Rehman." Ulfat gave him a warning look, but he completely ignored it. Instead, he brought his face even closer.
"Socho. Meri good looks... tumhari beauty..." He pointed between the two of them. "Kya haseen bache honge hamare."
Ulfat felt warmth creep up her neck. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she pushed lightly against his shoulder. Rehman looked entirely too pleased with himself. Then he rested his chin on her shoulder and continued teasing. "Kitne bache chahiye waise tumhe?.....mujhe twins bana ne ka bhi process ata hai""
Ulfat immediately pushed him back. "Shut up, Rehman. Utho aur tayar ho jao."
Rehman blinked in genuine confusion. "Tayar kyu hona hai?"
Ulfat stared at him. "Kyu ke hamara jo ek beta hai na, Naieem. Use aj bahar lekar jane ka promise kiya tha apne."
Rehman processed that information for a moment. "Oh..." He nodded thoughtfully. "Hamara already ek beta hai."
Then a slow smirk appeared on his face. Ulfat instantly knew he was about to say something ridiculous. "Koi baat nahi." He shrugged casually. "Naieem ko bhi toh uske bhai behen chahiye honge na."
Ulfat pointed a threatening finger at him. "Rehman."
But he continued anyway. "Aur bachon ke liye bhi soch sakte hain hum."
Ulfat grabbed a cushion and threw it at him. Then she immediately sprinted out of the room before he could continue. Rehman caught the cushion, fell back onto the bed, and laughed loudly. The image of her blushing face was enough to keep him entertained for the rest of the morning.
Disclaimer: This is based on the characters Rehman and Ulfat played by Akshaye Khanna and Saumya Tandon. It's for the chemistry of the couple. It has no link with the real life Rehman and it doesn't promote and kind of such activities, hate and violence.
Warning: The plot is 18+. It has mature content, smut, explicit sexual details, kissing, handjob, sexual intercourse, finger sex use of bold language.
It's an Alternate Universe story where young Rehman and Ulfat are students in same university/college.
Rehman Baloch and Ulfat Hasin were in the final year of their MBA, bound by a connection that ran far deeper than the world could ever perceive. To everyone else, they were simply close friends. In truth, they existed in a space that blurred every boundary between friendship and something far more consuming. Their relationship thrived in secrecy, in stolen glances and quiet moments. Almost every day began or ended with a lingering kiss, soft yet possessive, as if both needed that assurance to breathe through the rest of the day.
They spent hours together under the pretense of assignments and projects, moving freely between each other’s homes while their families remained unaware, convinced of their harmless companionship. They had agreed on one thing with unspoken certainty. After graduation, they would finally reveal the truth. Until then, their love lived in shadows.
Today, however, carried a different weight. It was Rehman’s birthday.
Ulfat had woken early to bake him a cake with her own hands, knowing how much he cherished that small, personal gesture. The celebration with their friends was lively, filled with laughter, but beneath it all, something more intimate simmered between them.
Now, they sat in their final lecture of the day, tucked away on the last bench in the corner. The classroom lights were dimmed as the projector flickered against the board, casting a soft glow across Ulfat’s face.
Rehman was not paying attention. His gaze remained fixed on her.
She looked ethereal in her soft pink kurti, the fabric catching the faint light. Half of her hair was loosely gathered in a clutcher, while a few strands escaped, brushing against her cheeks every time she moved. Her dupatta rested carelessly around her neck. She was engrossed in her notes, her brows slightly drawn in concentration. A faint pout settled on her lips as she wrote, completely unaware of the effect she had on him.
Rehman’s jaw tightened slightly. He wanted to taste those lips.
Slowly, deliberately, his hand moved and came to rest on her thigh. The touch was firm, claiming. Ulfat’s pen stilled mid-sentence.
Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing in a sharp glare. Without a word, she removed his hand and turned back to her notes, her posture rigid. Rehman only smirked.
A few seconds later, his hand returned, this time more confident, fingers pressing lightly before beginning to trace slow, deliberate patterns. His gaze never left her face.
She shot him another warning look, her eyes flashing with restrained irritation, silently commanding him to stop. He answered with a faint, teasing smile that held no intention of obeying.
Ulfat exhaled softly through her nose, choosing to ignore him, but her fingers tightened around her pen.
Rehman leaned closer. His fingers slid further, inching toward her inner thigh with calculated slowness. A subtle shiver ran through her body.
She straightened slightly, her shoulders tensing as she tried to maintain composure. Her eyes flickered shut for a brief moment, as if grounding herself, but it only encouraged him more.
His other hand moved around her waist, pulling her closer to him, his grip firm yet controlled. The proximity sent a wave of heat through her, her breath faltering ever so slightly.
He watched every reaction, every suppressed movement, as though committing it to memory.
The torment continued, quiet and dangerous, hidden beneath the stillness of the classroom, until the bell rang sharply through the air.
Ulfat immediately pushed his hand away, her movements quick as the lights flickered back on. She grabbed her bag without sparing him another glance and walked out.
Rehman chuckled under his breath and followed.
He caught up to her in the corridor and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. The moment she turned, she pulled her hand free, her glare fierce.
"Kya tha yeh, Rehman... class ke beech mein, seriously?" Her voice was low, controlled, but her eyes betrayed her agitation.
Rehman tilted his head slightly, a slow, familiar smirk forming on his lips. "Ulfat, aaj mera birthday hai. Humare beech decide hua tha na, ke birthday ke din sab allowed hai."
Her lips parted in disbelief, and she stepped closer, lowering her voice further. "Haan, lekin iska matlab yeh nahi tha ke tum class ke beech mein shuru ho jao."
He took a step toward her, closing the distance, his gaze dark with amusement. "Okay... matlab kar sakta hoon. Bas class ke beech mein nahi." His voice dropped, softer now. "Alright. Chalo ghar chalte hain phir."
Ulfat let out a short, incredulous breath, forcing a tight smile. "Shut up, Rehman. Main kahi nahi ja rahi. Mujhe assignments complete karne hain."
He immediately softened his expression, his tone shifting into something deceptively innocent. "Ulfat, please na... chalo na ghar."
She stared at him, shaking her head slightly, a hint of exasperation slipping through. "Rehman, pagal ho gaye ho tum."
His grin widened, eyes glinting with mischief. "Ab tum pagal bolo, gadha bolo ya kuch bhi... ghar toh tum chal rahi ho. And that’s final."
Before she could protest, he caught her hand again, this time holding it firmly, and began leading her toward the parking area.
Ulfat resisted for a brief second, her fingers tensing in his grip, but she knew that look in his eyes. There was no escaping him today.
They reached Rehman’s house just as the evening began to settle into a quiet hush.
The moment they stepped inside, Rehman’s mother appeared from the living area, her face lighting up warmly at the sight of Ulfat. “Ulfat beta, aa gayi tum,” she said fondly, gently cupping her cheek before turning toward Rehman.
“Rehman, hum shaadi mein ja rahe hain. Kal subah wapas aayenge. Shaadi Karachi se bahar hai isliye rukna padega,” she explained, adjusting the edge of her dupatta. “Tum khana mangwa lena. Maine maid ko ghar bhej diya hai. Aur Ulfat ko bhi kuch khila dena. Bhooka mat rakhna ise.”
Rehman gave a small nod, slipping effortlessly into the role of an obedient son. “Jee, Ammi. Aap bas niklein, warna late ho jayega.”
His father called out from behind, and within moments, they were gone, leaving the house wrapped in an unusual silence. A silence that felt dangerous.
Rehman glanced at Ulfat, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, before taking her hand and leading her upstairs without a word. As soon as they entered his room, he shut the door behind them with a soft click. The sound lingered.
Rehman exhaled as if shedding all restraint and threw himself onto the bed, spreading out lazily like a man claiming his territory. “Finally,” he muttered under his breath, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Ulfat shook her head at his dramatics, though a small smile tugged at her lips. She placed her bag neatly beside the bed and sat down at the edge, maintaining a deliberate distance from him. Without wasting time, she pulled out her notes and resumed her assignment, her focus returning with practiced ease. She knew him too well that he won't do any work related to studies today. So she has to do hers and his part of work too.
Nearly an hour passed.
Ulfat was almost done, her pen moving steadily across the page, while Rehman had made no effort to even pretend to study. Instead, he hovered beside her, his presence constant and intrusive in the most familiar way.
His fingers absentmindedly played with the loose strands of her hair, twirling them, letting them slip through his fingers. At times, he leaned closer, pressing fleeting kisses against her cheek, the curve of her jaw, the side of her neck, each one deliberate enough to distract, yet soft enough to avoid outright protest.
Ulfat barely reacted. Her only response was a slight shift of her shoulder or a quiet inhale as she continued writing, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
That only made him more persistent. Finally, his patience snapped.
Without warning, he snatched the notebook from her hands.
“Bas, Ulfat. Bahut ho gaya aaj ke liye,” he said, his tone firm yet laced with playful authority. “Ek din mein itna nahi padhte.”
Ulfat immediately looked up at him, her brows knitting together in irritation. “Rehman, kya batameezi hai yeh? Khud toh padh nahi rahe, mujhe bhi nahi padhne de rahe.”
He leaned closer, lowering himself slightly to meet her gaze, his expression softening just enough to disarm her. “Ulfat, mere birthday ke din toh gussa mat karo na,” he murmured. “Chalo, movie dekhte hain.”
Before she could respond, he got up, already reaching for the remote. Within seconds, the screen flickered to life. He played an adult movie.
Ulfat watched him carefully, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she realized exactly what he was doing.
“Rehman…” she began, her tone warning.
But he simply ignored it.
The lights went off, plunging the room into a dim glow illuminated only by the screen. He returned to the bed and settled beside her, closer than before. The mattress dipped under his weight as he pulled the blanket over them, enclosing them in a private world.
His arm slid around her waist, pulling her into him without hesitation.
Ulfat let out a quiet breath but didn’t resist this time. Instead, she shifted, allowing herself to rest against him, her head settling on his shoulder. Her hand lightly gripped the fabric of his shirt, as though grounding herself.
The movie played on, but neither of them was truly watching.
Rehman’s hand moved slowly, almost absentmindedly, tracing the outline of her arm before drifting along the curve of her waist. Then tracing the inner of her thighs. His touch was unhurried, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize her.
Ulfat remained still for a moment, her breathing steady but deeper than before. Then, quietly, almost instinctively, her fingers moved.
One by one, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt, her movements slow and careful, tracing the hard lines of his chest. Her gaze lowered as if avoiding the intensity building between them.
Rehman stilled for a fraction of a second, watching her. The room grew heavier with silence, thick with everything they were not saying.
By the time the movie ended, neither of them had truly followed the story.
The air between them had changed.
It felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something that had been building since morning. Their bodies were too aware of each other, every small touch leaving behind heat that refused to fade.
Slowly, almost instinctively, they turned to look at one another.
For a moment, neither moved.
Their breathing had deepened, their gazes locked, searching, questioning, yet already knowing.
Then Rehman moved. He leaned in and captured her lips with his. The kiss was not gentle.
It was deep, consuming, filled with a hunger he had been suppressing all day. His hand slid firmly around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer as if even that distance was too much.
He had wanted this since morning. Needed it.
His lips moved against hers with urgency, his breath warm, uneven. When he bit down softly on her lower lip, it drew a quiet sound from her, one that only seemed to fuel him further.
Ulfat responded without hesitation.
Her hands rose, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer into her space, into her. She melted into him, yet held him just as tightly, matching his intensity in a way that only she could.
The kiss deepened. Slower in moments, then suddenly intense again, like waves crashing and retreating only to return stronger.
Their breaths tangled. Their movements grew less controlled.
When they finally pulled apart, it was only because they had to.
Ulfat’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips slightly parted, her eyes heavy with emotion. Before she could fully recover, Rehman leaned in again, capturing her lips once more, this time even more intensely, as if he refused to let the moment slip away.
The faint sound of their breaths and whispered movements filled the room, breaking the silence that surrounded them.
His lips trailed away from hers, moving along her jaw, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every inch. He paused briefly, his forehead resting against hers, their eyes meeting again.
There was no innocence left in that gaze. Only desire. Only need.
Ulfat's hands moved to his shirt. She opened the remaining buttons and pulled it off. Rehman's hands moved to her kurti. He paused briefly, searching her face for hesitation but she didn't resist. In one swift motion, he removed it, leaving her in her lace bra that cupped her breasts.
His eyes roamed over her body before he moved closer. Slowly, he pushed her down onto the bed. Hovering over her, he buried his face against her skin, kissing every inch of her body. Her soft skin felt warm beneath his lips. He bit near her cleavage, drawing a moan from her as her fingers tangled in his hair. "Ahhh...Rehman..."
Moving lower, tracing her curves, he gripped the waistband of her trousers and pulled them down, leaving her in her panties. Ulfat sat up and pulled his pants down, leaving him in his boxers.
Rehman pinned her back gently onto the bed and began kissing and sucking her inner thighs, biting gently. Then he moved up and removed her bra. Her breasts were free, her nipples hardened. He took one into his mouth while kneading the other, sucking hard enough to make her arch beneath him. Soft moans escaped her lips as he bit down gently. He switched to the other, giving it the same attention before leaving both swollen.
He trailed his lips slowly down her body, unhurried, as if memorizing every inch. Her skin felt warm beneath his mouth, soft and alive, reacting to every touch he placed on her.
It was the first time he was exploring her like this.
They had kissed many times before. He had tasted her lips, her neck, her jaw, the delicate skin of her shoulders. But this… this was different. This was deeper, more intimate. This was the part of her that had always remained hidden beneath layers of fabric, something he had only imagined before.
His breath grew heavier as he moved lower, his lips lingering, his touch more deliberate. When they were alone, his hands would often trace the curves of her body over her clothes, especially her soft breast. He had memorized those curves without ever truly touching them.
But tonight, there was nothing in between.
The moment his lips had closed around her nipples, the way she had reacted, the way her body had arched beneath him… it had done something to him. Something raw and consuming.
He hadn’t expected it to feel like this.
The softness, the warmth, the way she responded to him… it pushed him further, made him lose the restraint he had always held onto. Every sound that escaped her lips only drove him deeper into it, making his grip tighten, his movements more intense.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite control anymore.
And then, without thinking twice, he lowered himself again, completely lost in her. He groan against her ear "if you want me to stop....just tell me" Ulfat nails scratch his back arching beneath him her voice not above then a whisper "don't stop Rehman....it feels soo good"
Then he moved down between her legs and removed her panties. She was already wet.
He buried his face there, sucking and kissing slowly. Ulfat's legs closed around his head as she gripped the bedsheet tightly. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Rehman... please... I want you."
Rehman smirked softly. "Itni jaldi nahi, meri jaan."
He continued sucking her juices until he was satisfied, then pulled away and removed his boxers. His cock was thick and hard like steel. The arousal was evident, stiff and leaking with precum. He stroked himself gently before rubbing his cock against her wet pussy coating himself with her wetness.
Then he took Ulfat's hand and guided it to his hard length. She wrapped her fingers around him and began to stroke, making him groan her name. "Ahhh Ulfat"
Ulfat then pushed him back slightly and made him lie on the bed. She shifted herself between his legs, her shoulders brushing softly against his thighs, sending a faint shiver through him.
Her hand wrapped around his hard erected cock holding him firmly in her soft palms as she began stroking him slowly, then gradually harder. Her touch was warm, confident, making his breath hitch. She leaned down, her hair falling forward, and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before her tongue brushed over it, tasting the precum that had gathered there.
Rehman closed his eyes, his head falling back against the pillow as a low groan escaped him. “Ulfat… fuck… it feels too good…”
Her other hand moved lower, cupping his balls before giving a gentle squeeze, and that pulled a louder groan from his chest. His fingers tightened against the bedsheet.
Ulfat then took the tip of him into her mouth, giving it a light suck before pulling back slightly, watching his reaction. Then she leaned in again, taking his cock deeper this time. Slowly, inch by inch, she adjusted, her movements steady, until she had taken more of him in.
She paused for a brief moment, her breath warm against him, then began moving, her lips and tongue working together in a slow rhythm.
Rehman’s hand moved instinctively, reaching into her hair, his fingers tangling at the roots as he held onto her. His breathing grew heavier, uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Ahh… fuck…” he groaned, his voice strained. “Take it, meri jaan… just like that…”
Her eyes watered slightly as she took him deeper, pushing herself to take more of him, her grip tightening around what she could not fit. The sensation pushed him closer to the edge, his body tensing under her touch.
Just as he felt himself about to lose control, his grip tightened, and he pulled her back slightly, guiding her away, taking himself out of her mouth before he could release.
Rehman pinned Ulfat back onto the bed. He entered two fingers inside her opening and curled them, making her arch beneath him as a soft gasp left her lips. His thumb pressed firmly over her clit, applying steady pressure that made her eyes flutter shut.
He continued thrusting his fingers inside her, slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. His other hand moved to her chest, holding one of her breasts as his fingers pinched her nipple tightly, drawing a sharp groan from her.
Then he bent down and took her nipple into his mouth again, teasing it before sucking harder, his tongue flicking over it. His hand shifted to her waist, gripping her firmly, holding her in place as her body reacted to every movement.
Her breathing had grown heavier, uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Ahhh… Rehman… please… I’m about to…” she moaned, her voice trembling.
Rehman released her nipple, leaving it swollen and sensitive, and moved his face close to her ear. His hot breath brushed against her skin, sending a shiver through her.
“Yes, meri jaan… release it for me… I’m here…” he whispered softly.
He continued thrusting his fingers deeper, maintaining the pressure with his thumb, his pace steady and controlled. Her body tightened, her hands gripping onto him as she reached her peak, releasing over his hands, her warmth coating his fingers.
Rehman slowly pulled his fingers out, watching her reaction for a moment before bringing them to his mouth, tasting her. His eyes darkened before he leaned over her again.
“Now taste yourself, meri jaan,” he murmured.
He crashed his lips against hers, capturing her mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. His lips moved hungrily against hers, parting them as his tongue slipped inside, exploring slowly at first, then deeper. The kiss grew more intense, his hand coming up to hold her jaw, tilting her face to deepen it further.
Ulfat responded instinctively, her hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him closer as their breaths mixed. She could taste herself on his lips, a faint saltiness that only made the moment more overwhelming.
Rehman’s tongue moved against hers, slow and deliberate, then more demanding, as if claiming every bit of her. He kissed her again and again, not giving her a moment to pull away, his lips pressing, lingering, then capturing hers once more.
Her soft breaths escaped into his mouth, her body still sensitive, still trembling beneath him.
Only when they were both breathless did he finally pull back, his forehead resting lightly against hers as they struggled to steady their breathing.
He then moved down and gently spread her legs, positioning himself between her thighs. His breath was warm against her skin as he guided himself, rubbing his cock against her wetness, coating himself slowly. He aligned himself with her opening and began to enter her gradually.
As he pushed inside, her body tensed, her walls stretching around him. A sharp cry escaped her lips. “Ahhhh Rehman… it hurts…”
Rehman immediately leaned closer, his face near hers. He brushed away a damp strand of hair stuck to her forehead and placed a soft kiss there. His touch turned gentle, his voice lowering to soothe her.
“Relax, meri jaan… I’ll go slow… and if it still hurts, tell me, I will stop… okay?”
He kept kissing her softly, distracting her, his lips brushing against hers, her cheek, her temple, while he slowly moved further inside, giving her time to adjust to him. Inch by inch, he eased himself in until he was fully inside her.
She clutched onto him, her breathing uneven at first, but slowly the sharp pain began to fade. In its place, a strange warmth spread through her, turning into a growing desire to feel him completely.
Rehman stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, his hand gently stroking her side. Then he began to move slowly, careful and steady, pulling out slightly and then pushing back in. Each movement was controlled, allowing her to get used to him.
Gradually, his rhythm deepened. He began thrusting more confidently, his pace increasing as he felt her responding to him. Her body started to move with his, her walls tightening around him, drawing a low groan from his chest.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against her neck and collarbone, marking her skin with soft bites and lingering kisses. His breathing grew heavier, his movements more intense as they both got lost in the sensation.
Their sounds filled the room, her soft moans mixing with his strained breaths.
Soon, they both reached their peak. Rehman buried his face into her neck, his body tensing as he released, a deep groan escaping him.
They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathing heavily.
Rehman lowered himself over her, not putting his full weight, but enough for her to feel his warmth. Their bodies were hot, slightly damp with sweat, their breaths slowly calming.
He lifted his head slightly and kissed her cheek softly. “This was my best birthday ever… you gave me the best gift of my life, meri jaan… I love you so much.”
Ulfat smiled softly beneath him, wrapping her arms around him. “Anything for you, my hero… I love you more than words can explain… just promise me you will never leave me.”
Rehman smiled widely, his eyes soft. “Marna hai kya tumhe chod kar… kahan jaunga main tumhe chod diya toh… qayamat tak sirf tumhara hoon main… abhi toh nikkah karke zindagi bhar ke liye tumhe apna banana hai.”
Ulfat looked into his eyes, all her love reflected in them, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Rehman’s lips curved into a mischievous grin as he whispered, “Abhi toh aisi aur bhi bahut si raatein aur din guzarne hain tumhare saath… after all, meri khud ki cricket team banane ke liye mehnat karni padegi na.”
Ulfat’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open. “Haww… sharam nahi aati tumhe… pagal ho gaye ho… hato peeche.”
She lightly swatted his chest, trying to push him back, but he only laughed, tightening his hold around her. He buried his face into her neck, inhaling her scent deeply.
“Ab toh main kahi nahi ja sakta… you just agreed for a lifetime contract with me.”
He pulled the blanket over them, their soft laughter echoing in the room as he continued teasing her.
I'm not an expert in writing smut. Don't know how it turned out. I'm going to hide somewhere 🙈 You guys read and tell me how was it🫠
Tagging few whom I know will read Rehmat story for sure. Still if you don't want to get tagged let me know. And if you want to get tagged in my stories tell me.
A/N: well inspired by Bengali Rehmat, I have written something for Punjabi Rehmat 😝✌🏽, hope y'all enjoy, TYSM my bbgurl @mehfil-e-random for your wonderful ideas which have made this story so beautiful ❤️
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; all characters and events are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental
Coming to to the Indian side of Punjab had never been part of Rehman Baloch's plans. For a Pakistani, it was risky enough and for a wanted Balochi rebel who had just betrayed one of Karachi's most notorious smugglers, it bordered on insanity.
A week earlier, Rehman had double-crossed Haji Laalo by diverting a cache of weapons and cash meant for the crime lord's own dealings to the Balochi rebels under Shirani's command. Laalo was many things, but forgiving wasn't one of them and by now, every one of his men would be searching for him who had robbed him blind.
Rehman fled Karachi on the first train to Lahore, but even that city offered little safety since Haji's network stretched across Pakistan, and Lahore would only delay the inevitable. So with an impetuous courage and what little money remained in his pocket, he purchased a forged passport and boarded the Samjhauta Express bound for India.
The moment the train crossed into Indian territory, panic settled in his chest as immigration checks would expose the fake passport within minutes. Before the train could gather speed, he leapt off into the open fields somewhere near Attari, just outside Amritsar, while the train continued its journey towards New Delhi.
Days of running, hiding, and surviving finally caught up with him and the adrenaline that had kept him moving abandoned him all at once. He stumbled through the mustard fields before collapsing onto the soft earth, where sleep claimed him almost instantly.
Warm sunlight crept across his face the following morning.
"Oye puttar, kitthon aaya ain? Te ethe khetan vich kyun paya hoya ain?" (Son, where have you come from? And why are you lying here in the fields?)
Rehman slowly opened his eyes to find a broad-shouldered Sikh farmer standing over him, concern etched across his weathered face. Luckily he understood and spoke enough Punjabi to answer and cast off doubt.
"Sardar ji... main bas raah bhatak gaya si. Tuhanu pata ae sab ton nere pind kithe ae?" (Sir... I simply lost my way. Do you know where the nearest village is?)
The farmer, who later introduced himself as Inderjeet Singh, gave him a suspicious glance but chose kindness over questions, "Chal puttar, mere naal aa." (Come, son. Follow me.)
He brought Rehman to Attari, a peaceful village resting only a stone's throw from the border. After learning that Rehman wished to make a telephone call to his "relatives," Inderjeet pointed him towards the village post office before returning to his farm.
As Rehman wandered through the narrow village path, trying to decide his next move, fate intervened.
Quite literally.
He collided with someone carrying an enormous bundle of hay. The stack scattered across the dusty ground. Before he could apologize, an irritated voice rang out.
"Oye! Akhan ghar chhad ke aaya si? Dekh ke nahi tur sakda?" (Hey! Did you leave your eyes back home? Can't you watch where you're walking?)
Rehman looked up and his breath caught because standing before him was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She wore a maroon kameez with a cream dupatta draped carelessly over one shoulder, her long braid resting against her waist. Kohl framed a pair of striking green eyes that gleamed beneath the morning sun, plump rosy lips that he was tempted to kiss instantly, and milky white skin he wanted to feel under his palm and despite the irritation on her face, Rehman’s heart was only too thrilled to skip a couple of beats
What the hell???
"Oye!" she snapped again. "Sunn vi reha ain? Saraa bhoosa zameen te sitt ditta." (Hey! Are you even listening? You've dropped all my hay onto the ground.)
Rehman blinked himself back to reality, "Ji... maaf kariyo. Meri galti si. Main madad kar denda aan." (I'm sorry. It was my mistake. Let me help you.)
"Haan, theek aa. Par sambhal ke chakki." (Fine. But pick it up carefully.)
He nodded and silently began gathering the scattered hay. Their fingers brushed as she passed another bundle into his arms and warm sparks shot through his chest. He frowned at himself.
What on earth was wrong with him?
"Kithe rakhna ae?" he asked quietly, still shuddering from the inferno blasted upon by her presence. (Where should I keep this?)
"Mere naal aa. Tainu waise vi raah di bahut lod lagdi aa." (Follow me. You clearly need someone to show you the way.)
He couldn't even argue.
They walked towards her farm, where several cows lazily chewed fodder beneath a shaded stable and once he stacked the hay neatly inside, Rehman dusted his hands off, patiently waiting for her to settle down.
"Madam ji... tuhadda naa?" he asked hesitantly. "Maafi theek tarah mangni si." (Ma'am... what's your name? I wanted to apologize properly.)
She looked over her shoulder.
"Ulfat."
"Ulfat..."
The name rolled effortlessly off his tongue. It sounded beautiful. He coud keep saying till the last day of his life.
"I'm really sorry, Ulfat ji."
She expression softened as she looked at him properly for the first time, he looked beaten up and exhausted, and waves of empathy instantly flared up within her, "Koi gall nahi. Eh tan hunda rehnda ae." (It's alright. These things happen.)
She turned away to continue her work. Her braid swung behind her, lightly brushing across his shoulder. A faint scent of lavender shampoo lingered in the air which made his senses momentarily drunk.
Before she could walk away completely, he found himself speaking again, "Ulfat ji... je thonu kise hor bande di lod hove... main khetan vich kam kar sakda aan. Main mehnat ton nahi darda." (If you need another worker... I can help in the fields. I'm not afraid of hard work.)
She stopped walking. Turning around, she rested both hands on her hips and examined him with open curiosity, "Main tainu pehlan kade nahi vekheya." (I've never seen you before.)
"Eh chhota jeha pind aa. Nave bande turant nazar aa jande ne." (This is a very small village. New faces are noticed immediately.)
Then a teasing grin spread across her face, "Te sach dassan... Pakistan wale Punjab ton enna sohna chikna lychee vi aa sakda?" (And honestly... I didn't know someone this handsome could come from Pakistani Punjab.)
Rehman nearly choked.
Had she...
Had she just called him handsome?
"Ji... main ki?" (I'm... what?)
"Chikna lychee?" (Handsome lychee?)
She laughed, turning to fetch something, Rehamn coudn’t quite see, “Eh Mountbatten nu batwara karna hi kyun si?" (Why on earth did Mountbatten have to partition Punjab?)
Before Rehman could answer, she reached behind a stack of hay and smoothly produced a rifle, aiming it squarely at his chest.
"Hun dass. Hindustan vich ki kar reha ain?" (Now tell me. What are you doing in India?)
Rehman immediately raised both hands, "Dekho ji... main Pakistan ton zaroor aan, lekin bure irade naal nahi aaya." (Look... I am from Pakistan, but I haven't come here with bad intentions.)
"Main kujh khatarnak lokan ton bach reha aan." (I'm running from some dangerous men.)
"Bas kujh dinaan layi panaah chahidi ae. Phir main chala jawanga. Kasam se." (I just need shelter for a few days. Then I'll leave. I swear.)
She continued watching him in silence. His clothes were torn, dust covered his face, old scars crossed his hands and jaw. More than anything else, he looked tired, utterly defeated and resembled a man who hadn't slept properly in days.
Finally, she lowered the rifle, "Theek aa." (Fine.)
"Khetan vich kam karega." (You'll work in the fields.)
"Par je koi hoshiyaari kiti na..." she tapped the rifle. "...fer sidha fauj nu phone karangi." (But if you try anything clever... I'll call the army immediately.)
Relief flooded through Rehman and his knees nearly gave way,"Shukriya... bohat bohat shukriya." (Thank you... thank you so much.)
She sat down on an overturned bucket opposite him, resting her chin on both palms, "Waise..." she held an inquisitive stare..
"Tusi asal vich kitthon de ho?" (By the way... where are you actually from?)
Rehman hesitated before answering, "Main Karachi da aan... lekin asal vich Balochi aan."
(I'm from Karachi... but I'm actually Balochi.)
He looked her directly in the eyes with raw honestly, "Mera naa Rehman Baloch ae." (My name is Rehman Baloch.)
Ulfat's eyebrows shot up, "Oho!" she laughed, "Mainu taan pata hi nahi si Balochan de munde enna wadhiya maal hunde ne!" (Well! I had no idea Balochi men were this fine!)
Rehman's ears immediately turned scarlet. He looked away, trying to scare away the ever growing blush, she had managed to bring up, embarrassing a man who had stared death in the face all week... without even trying. Rehman rubbed the back of his neck, his ears still burning from her remark.
"Waah..." he muttered, a self conscious expression settling on his face. "Mainu lagda si sirf Pakistan de lok hi enni sidhi gall karde ne. Hindustan de lok tan bade progressive nikle."
(Wow... I thought only people in Pakistan spoke this openly. Turns out people in India are quite progressive.)
Ulfat raised an eyebrow before letting out an amused scoff, "Main kadon keha main flirt kar rahi aan?" (Who said I was flirting?)
She folded her arms across her chest, an amused grin spreading over her face, "Main tan sirf ik munde di objective tareef kar rahi aan." (I'm simply appreciating a man objectively.)
Then she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice, "Te waise vi... tu Balochi ain." (Besides... you're Balochi.)
"Suneya ae tusi saare azaadi layi lad rahe o." (I've heard all of you are fighting for your independence.)
"Dushman da dushman... dost hunda ae." She finished with a mischievous wiggle of her eyebrows. (The enemy of my enemy... is a friend.)
Rehman laughed. It escaped him before he could stop it, light and effortless, carrying away a week's worth of exhaustion, shaking his head, looking back at her with softened eyes.
"Tusi bohat ajeeb o..." he huffed. (You're very strange...)
"Aur bohat khatarnaak vi." (And very dangerous too.)
The smile on his face transformed him. Gone was the weary fugitive she had found in her fields that morning. In his place stood a young man with kind eyes, laugh lines that looked as though they had once appeared often, and a radiant smile capable of making anyone lower their guard.
Wait did she just call him beautiful ???
She cleared her throat, silently scolding herself, "Chal, Balochi." She pointed towards the fields. "Hun kam te lag. Sara din gallan hi maarniyan ne?" (Come on, Balochi. Get to work. Are we going to spend the whole day chatting?)
"Ji... ji, theek aa." Rehman quickly stood up, dusting off his worn kurta. "Main hune lagda aan kam te." (Yes... yes, alright. I'll get to work right away.)
He had barely taken three steps when her voice rang out again, "Oye hero!" (Hey, hero!)
He turned around, confused, "Haan?" (Yes?)
"Kithe chall paya ain?" (Where do you think you're going?)
Rehman blinked, "Kam... karan?" he answered uncertainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. (To... work?)
She looked him up and down examining his state, before sympathetically shaking her head, "Eh haal bana ke?" (Looking like this?)
"Tainu sheesha vekheya vi ae?" (Have you even looked at yourself?)
She gestured towards his dusty clothes, "Lagda ae kai dina ton na dhang naal roti khadhi ae, na nahaaya ain." (Looks like you haven't eaten properly or bathed in days.)
Rehman looked away sheepishly.
That... wasn't entirely wrong. For the past week, survival had become his only routine and food was whatever he managed to grab. Sleep happened wherever his body finally gave up and bathing had become a luxury he simply couldn't afford. Without another word, Ulfat disappeared into the farmhouse.
A few minutes later, she returned balancing a steel plate carrying two piping hot aloo parathas glistening with homemade butter, a bowl of fresh white makkhan, spicy mango pickle, and an enormous brass tumbler filled with chilled shardai.
In her other hand rested a neatly folded white kurta-pyjama with a blue checked gamcha.
She held everything out to him, "Pehlan roti kha." (First, eat.)
"Phir naha lai." (Then go take a bath.)
"Eh kapde paa lai." (Wear these clothes.)
Rehman stared at her gratefully, his voice overcome with emotions, "Shukriya..."
"Bohat bohat shukriya." (Thank you... thank you very much.)
Taken aback by his gratitude, she spoke with warmth, "Shukriya naal pet ni bharna." (Gratitude won't fill your stomach.)
"Chup chaap kha." (Now quietly eat.)
Rehman obeyed without another word. The first bite of buttery paratha nearly brought tears to his eyes. Warm. Fresh. Homemade. He hadn't realized how hungry he truly was until that moment.
By the time he emptied the last drop of shardai, a pale white moustache clung stubbornly to his upper lip.
Ulfat couldn't help admiring him, "Oye Baloch..." she giggled, "Teri muchhan te vi lassi ug gayi." (Your moustache has grown a layer of lassi.)
Before he could react, she stepped closer, using the edge of her dupatta, she gently wiped the white line from above his lip.
"There." she said, "Hun banda lag reha ain." (There. Now you actually look like a proper person.)
Rehman was convinced his heart had abandoned all military discipline and declared independence on the spot.
The days that followed settled into a comfortable rhythm. Every morning before sunrise, Rehman joined the workers in the fields. He ploughed soil, carried sacks heavier than himself, repaired fences, harvested wheat, fed the cattle, and hauled water until his shoulders ached.
The only breaks he allowed himself were for meals, water, and a few hours of sleep.
Ulfat had arranged a simple charpai beneath the shed beside the cattle barn, insisting he rest there instead of sleeping outside. But at night, instead of battling himself with the shivering cold, he found himself chattering with Ulfat, speaking of everything and anything under the sun.
Rehman spoke of Balochistan, of mountains that glowed gold beneath the evening sun, of endless deserts, camel caravans, folk songs, and the dream of a homeland free from fear.
Ulfat, in turn, painted vivid pictures of Punjab. Of mustard fields stretching to the horizon, Lohri bonfires, Baisakhi fairs, tractor races, stubborn buffaloes, and village gossip that travelled faster than the wind.
During one such evening, while they rested on a charpai with steaming cups of chai in their hands, Ulfat mentioned her studies in passing.
"Waise..." she stirred her tea. "Main M.Sc. Organic Agriculture kar rahi aan." (By the way... I'm pursuing a Master's in Organic Agriculture.)
Rehman paused halfway through taking a sip, "Sach?" (Really?)
She nodded proudly, "Haan ji." (Yes.) "Pind de lokan nu lagda ae khet sirf hal chala ke sambhal jande ne." (People in the village think farming is just about ploughing the land.)
"Par mitti vi zinda hundi ae." (But the soil is alive too.)
"Je usdi sehat changi hove, tan fasal vi changi hondi ae." (If the soil stays healthy, the crops stay healthy as well.)
"Main chemical ton bina vadhiya paidawaar kiven hove, ohde te research kar rahi aan." (I'm researching how to improve crop yields without relying on chemicals.)
Rehman glanced at her for several seconds before breaking into a grin, "Oye hoye..." he laughed softly, "Main tan samjhya si tusi sirf sohni ho." (I thought you were only beautiful.)
"Pata lagga dimaag vi Rabb ne khul ke ditta ae." (Turns out God was equally generous with your brains.)
Ulfat rolled her eyes, trying very hard not to break into a smirk, "Makhan na la." (Don't butter me up.)
He defended valiantly, "Nahi, kasam se." (No, I swear.) "Main waqai bohat impress hoya aan." (I'm genuinely impressed.)
Then a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes, "Par ik gall dassan?" (But can I tell you something?)
"Haan, dass." (Go on.)
"Je teri research kamyab ho gayi..." he sighed dramatically, "...tan paidawaar vadhegi." (...then the crop yield will increase.)
She nodded in anticipation, "Haan."
"Te fer mainu hor zyada mehnat karni pavegi." He placed a hand over his heart in mock agony. "Eh zulm ae mere te." (And then I'll have to work even harder. This is oppression against me.)
Ulfat burst into laughter so loudly that even the buffalo tied nearby lifted its head, "Oye nikamme!" she laughed, "Main science padh rahi aan, te tenu sirf apni mazdoori di fikar ae?" (You fool! I'm talking about science, and all you're worried about is having to work harder?)
Rehman raised his brows innocently, "Main tan practical banda aan." (I'm just a practical man.)
"Waise..." she treaded cautiously, "Tu pehlan dassya si na..." (You mentioned something before...)
"Tera kam ki hunda si Pakistan vich?" (What exactly did you do back in Pakistan?)
Rehman scratched the back of his neck, the question had been coming eventually but he just hadn't expected it to arrive so soon or make him so nervous, "Eh..." he coughed awkwardly, "Thoda jeha ajeeb lag sakda ae." (This might sound a little strange.)
Ulfat narrowed her eyes,"Dass." (Tell me.)
He avoided looking directly at her, the cha in his hands appearing very interesting, "Main..." he hesitated, "Thoda bohat gangster si." (I was... something of a gangster.)
The steel bowl slipped from Ulfat's lap, scattering peas across the courtyard, "TU KI SI?" she practically shouted. (YOU WERE WHAT?)
Rehman immediately raised both hands in surrender,"Arre suno te sahi!" (Please, hear me out first!)
"Poori gall sun lo!" (Listen to the whole story!)
She folded her arms tightly, still not convinced, "Dass." (Go on.)
He took a deep breath, "Main paise layi gangster nahi baneya si." (I didn't become a gangster for money.)
"Na shauq layi." (Nor because I enjoyed it.)
"Saade Baloch lokan layi..." he said quietly.
"...azaadi layi." (...for the freedom of my Baloch people.)
"Jehde hathyaar assi lainde si..." (The weapons we acquired...)
"...oh saade lokan nu bachaan layi hunde si." (...were to protect our people.)
"Kai vaar kanoon saade naal nahi kharda." (Many times, the law doesn't stand with us.)
"Te jadon kanoon saath chhad deve..." he looked down at his rough hands.
"...kai lok galat rasteyan te tur painde ne." (...when the law abandons you, some people end up walking difficult roads.)
He contiued, his tone softening against his rough baritone, "Mainu apne kite har kam da maan nahi." (I'm not proud of everything I've done.)
"Par ik gall da maan zaroor ae..." (But there is one thing I am proud of...)
"Main apne lokan nu kade dhokha nahi ditta." (I never betrayed my people.)
Ulfat studied him for a long moment and the tension in her shoulders slowly disappeared, "Mera taan addha saah hi ruk gaya si." pressing her hand heavily against her chest. (You nearly gave me a heart attack.)
"Main sochiya si koi don, smuggler ja mafia niklega." (I thought you were about to tell me you were some don, smuggler, or mafia boss.)
Rehman laughed sheepishly, clasping his hands, "Enna vi mashhoor nahi si." (I wasn't that famous.)
She smacked his shoulder, "Hun hass vi reha ae!" (And you're laughing now!)
He rubbed his arm shyly, "Tusi vi na..." (You really are something...)
If Rehman wasn’t already falling for the fierce Punjabi kudi, he swore his heart didn’t beat faster every time she came within his vicinity, talked animatedly about her plans for organic farming or teased him and his tired bones after a long day of majdoori.
Rehman knew if he stayed a bit more longer, he would end up asking her Bauji for her hand in nikkah, he just needed a good reason to go back, and just as he was thinking of justifying one of them to leave for Pakistan, strolling near the back of her house, early in the morning, woken up after a lng night of restlessness, the thoughts keeping him awake, he heard a sound, a rustle in the verandah, and upon turning he was dead.
Ulfat had just stepped out after her morning bath.
Her damp hair fell in dark waves down her back as she stood on the verandah, slightly bent forward, gently drying it with a large fluffy towel. A fresh cotton kameez, still damp in places, clung tightly to her curves, while the cool morning breeze toyed with the loose strands escaping her braid. Humming softly to herself, she seemed completely unaware of the world around her.
Or so Rehman thought. A second later, she glanced up, the corners of her lips curved, transforming into a beautiful laugh Rehman had come to fall for over the past few weeks, "Oye!" she laughed. "Ajj enna savere uth gaya? Lagda ae meriyan aadatan da asar hona shuru ho gaya." (Hey! You're awake so early today? Looks like my habits are finally rubbing off on you.)
She chuckled to herself as she walked past him towards the house, swinging the towel over one shoulder with effortless ease and her hips sashaying with sensual ease.
Rehman remained rooted to the spot since his brain had simply preferred to malfunction rather than entertain any of the filthy thoughts which were threatening to flood his poor brain.
The woman was going to be the end of him. He shut his eyes tightly and tilted his face towards the sky. "Ya Allah..." he whispered under his breath, "Eh kehri aazmaish paa ditti tusi mere hisse?" (Oh Allah... what kind of test have You placed before me?)
He let out a slow breath before quietly adding, "Main tan sirf panaah mangan aaya si..." (I had only come here seeking shelter...)
"...eh tan saans hi chori kar baithi." (...instead, she has gone and stolen my heart.)
Just then, Ulfat's voice floated back from inside the house, "Oye Baloch!" she called.
"Khade khade duaavaan hi mangda rahenga, ya ajj khetan vich vi auna ae?" (Hey, Balochi! Are you going to stand there praying all morning, or do you plan on coming to the fields today as well?)
Rehman opened his eyes, a heavy sigh leaving his lips, "Ji... aa reha aan!" (Yes... I'm coming!)
That day, he arrived at the khet, a few minutes later than usual, which was very out of fashion for him but how was he gonna explain to the fierce Punjaban that the excuse for his delay was her and her annoyingly sexy antics, which had left him furiously pumping his cock and soft groans filling the tiny bathroom, visions of her milky white skin underneath his, his cock drowned in the depths of her creamy walls invaded his thoughts, tightening his core, before he shot ropes of his hot load, decorating the walls of his shower, watching it flow down the drain, as reality slowly seeped into his horny dazed mind.
But the fire was burning from both sides. Ulfat was no less. She never hidden her objective appreciation for Rehman’s good looks, she often caught herself staring at his obscenely sharp jawline, or the way those two stubborn strands fell on his beautiful face, or his lips shut tight while toiling in the fields which left her breath hitched, or the way his brown eyes twinkled whenever he was given food or appreciation, in a way he was really her golden retriever, just a very sexy one.
She managed to convince herself that it was just a silly crush despite the time she spent lounging on the tractors, making strategies for farming which included ogling Rehman and his muscles rippling underneath his kameez while he toiled in the fields.
The illusion that it was "just a crush" shattered one particularly scorching afternoon. The sun hung mercilessly overhead, and the men had been working since dawn without complaint.
Wanting to give everyone a break, Ulfat balanced a large steel tray filled with chilled glasses of homemade lassi and made her way through the fields, humming softly to herself as she walked.
One by one, she handed a glass to each worker. After handing over all the glasses except the last, she headed towards Rehman, mumbling a song, prancing joyfully, before she came to a halt.
He was standing near the irrigation canal with his back turned to her, "Oye, Baloch," she called cheerfully.
He turned around, excitedly, "Arre, Ulfat ji!" His face immediately brightened. "Tusi lassi lai ke aayi o?" (Oh, Ulfat! You brought lassi?)
He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead gleefully, his sun-kissed face providing a calming presence, "Tuhanu ethe aun di ki lod si?" (You didn't have to come all the way here.)
"Main aap hi ghar aa janda." (I would've come to the house myself.)
The words barely registered in Ulfat’s mind and whatever comeback she had been preparing died on her tongue because Rehman had removed his kameez to escape the oppressive summer heat and weeks of working in the fields had left their mark.
His shoulders had broadened, his arms had grown noticeably stronger, his abs were glistening, rock hard and rippling under the relentless labour.
Sunlight caught the sheen of sweat along his skin as he stood catching his breath, entirely unaware of the effect he was having on the woman in front of him, as if he literally did not look like a supermodel stepping into a Vogue cover.
She mechanically extended the glass of lassi towards him, and Rehman accepted it graciously, sparks flickering through his core, when their hands touched, "Shukriya ji." (Thank you.)
He lifted the chilled glass and drank deeply, clearly grateful for the relief from the heat.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he slurped the cold lassi, the droplets of perspiration travelled from his corded neck, rolling down to his muscular chest and finally trailed down to his inviting core, before finally disappearing in the dark trail beneath his salwar.
Heat bloomed inside her, she could feel her panties dripping from her heated core, she stared for precisely one second too long before snapping herself back to reality.
Rehman lowered the empty glass, looking thoroughly refreshed, "Sach dassan..." his deep voice performing summersaults in Ulfat’s belly. .
"Ajj tan jaan hi wapas aa gayi." (Honestly... I feel alive again.)
Before he could say another word, she spun on her heel and hurried back towards the farmhouse. Rehman frowned in confusion, "Aree..." he called after her, "Ruko te sahi!" (Wait a second!)
"Tusi ajj gallan vi nahi kitiyan." (You didn't even stay to chat today.)
She merely waved over her shoulder without turning around, "Nale kam kar!" she shouted, her voice carrying across the fields, “Menu urgent kaam aagya si” (Just get back to work!, I have got some urgent work)
The urgent work included Ulfat somehow dragging herself to the safe quarters of her room, her chest heaving from the exertion of the heat crawling up her chest due to Rehman’s unintentionally sensual behaviour.
She peeled off her kameez and salwar, her fingers travelled down to her weeping core, brushing past her soft walls, thrusting inside her hot, inviting pussy, hitting her g-spot in repetitive motions, one hand on her mouth, muffling her moans, imagining Rehman's tanned muscular frame covering hers, her thighs bracketed around his, as he nudged his veiny cock at the entrance of her aroused hole, she cried out his name cumming violently on her fingers, her warm liquids dampening her salwar.
She would have to face questionable gazes from her mother, but it was worth it.
Aside from the obvious havoc Ulfat wreaked on his poor nether regions every time she smiled at him fresh out of the shower, Rehman wasn't entirely sure when his feelings had stopped being a harmless infatuation and quietly become love.
Perhaps it had been the day he carelessly nicked his hand on a faulty piece of farm machinery. The cut itself had barely hurt, but Ulfat's reaction had caught him completely off guard. She had fussed over him, cleaned and bandaged the wound herself, and sternly forbidden him from working for the next two days, as though he were a reckless child incapable of looking after himself. Her concern had been both heartwarming and strangely amusing. No one had scolded him for getting hurt in years.
Or perhaps it was the countless little things she did without ever announcing them.
On the days he worked longer hours in the fields, an extra roti would quietly appear on his plate. When his old clothes began wearing thin from weeks of hard labour, she somehow found him another neatly folded kurta. When the summer sun grew harsher, a fresh pagri would be waiting for him before he even realized he needed one.
Whenever Ulfat walked past him, a lopsided smile found its way onto his face before he could stop it. Whenever she spoke to him, he listened as though every word she uttered deserved his full attention not paying heed that her organic farming techniques may just increase his working hours. Even the other labourers had begun exchanging knowing glances whenever the usually composed Rehman transformed into an awkward puppy smiling like a fool in her presence.
If Haji Laalo had seen him now, he would've never believed this was the same man who once had the galls and audacity to steal weapons from under his nose and escape half of Pakistan.
As for Ulfat, despite the sleepless nights she had spent cursing the stupidly handsome and sexy Balochi rebel for making her sheets and panties wet, she had seemed to had undeniably fallen for his humanity.
She had watched Rehman spend hours helping repair the village school roof without expecting so much as a word of thanks. Later, he patiently entertained the village children, laughing with them, poorly imitating Punjabi tongue twisters, indulging them in a game of footbal, as though he had known them all his life. Beneath the scars, the strength, and the haunted eyes was one of the gentlest men she had ever met.
Or when during the first monsoon shower when an elderly neighbour struggled to save her grain from the rain, Rehman rushed through the downpour without hesitation, carrying all sacks to safety before returning completely drenched, brushing off everyone's praise as though he'd done nothing remarkable. Watching him smile despite the rain and exhaustion, Ulfat finally gave up pretending it was merely a crush.
Although she did reprimand him, for catching a cold and being bedridden for two days, entertained by the theatrics he displayed for a well built man knocked down by a common cold, when he adorably pouted with childlike innocence or snuggled more inside the blanket, or when he complained about almost dying from the cold, he couldn’t be more cuter, and she swore she could have kissed him right there and then.
And this is why today they found themselves in the Gurdwara, Ulfat realized she needed to cleanse her thoughts and without knowing so Rehman’s too, from the very ridiculous sexual and romantic tension they had developed for each other over the past few months, and dragged his ass to the local Gurdwara.
The peaceful atmosphere inside the Gurdwara settled over them almost instantly. Heads covered, shoes left outside, they stepped quietly into the cool marble hall. Together they bowed before the Guru Granth Sahib, sat side by side during the kirtan, and later shared simple langar with everyone else.
As they walked out of the Gurdwara courtyard, the gentle echoes of kirtan still lingered in the air. Rehman stole a glance at Ulfat walking beside him, her head covered respectfully with her dupatta. The silver sunlight danced across her face, and for the hundredth time that day, he found himself wondering how a single woman could steal his breath just by existing.
His fingers instinctively slipped into the pocket of his kurta. where the small velvet box was still there. It had been there for weeks.
A few weeks earlier, after receiving his first wages from working in her family's fields, he had wandered through the village market looking for something... anything... that could express even a fraction of what he felt for her.
That was when he had seen them. A simple pair of delicate chaandbalis.
The moment he laid eyes on them, he had imagined them adorning Ulfat's ears. In his mind, she had smiled, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and the tiny bells had swayed gently against her neck.
She had looked nothing short of divine.
He had bought them without a second thought. Yet ever since then, they had remained tucked safely inside his pocket.
Half the day they spent bent over the fields until exhaustion overtook them. Whatever little free time remained was consumed by meals, engaging conversations, or much-needed sleep. Somehow, despite carrying the gift everywhere, the right moment had never arrived.
Or perhaps...
He had simply been afraid, he had told himself it was merely a token of gratitude. A small thank-you for giving a weary stranger shelter, for feeding him, for trusting him, for treating him like family. But as he looked at her now, he couldn't even lie to himself anymore.
Shukriya?
No.
He loved her, with every scar on his body, with every beat of his stubborn heart, with every breath he took in the fresh Punjab air. If she asked him to cross another border, he'd do it without hesitation. If she asked him to stay in Punjab forever, he'd never look back.
If there was ever a place to speak honestly, it was after standing before God. and surely the Almighty would show a little mercy to a man who had spent the last half hour praying with complete sincerity.
Either Ulfat would return his feelings or she'd march him straight back to the border herself in the clutches of Haji Laalo.
Rehman let out a nervous breath, "Ulfat ji..." he rasped quietly, "Ikk minute... mere naal aao." (Ulfat... just a minute. Come with me.)
She looked at him curiously, his eyes gazing into his puppy browns "Kithe?" (Where?)
"Bas... do minute." (Just... two minutes.)
She nodded and followed him towards a quiet corner behind the old peepal tree, away from the bustle of the courtyard.
Rehman's heartbeat thundered in his ears as his palms had begun to sweat. With utmost courage, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the tiny velvet box.
His voice was barely above a whisper, sharp contrast to the rough edges of his tone, "Eh... main... tuhade layi laya si." (I... I bought this for you.)
Ulfat's eyebrows lifted in surprise, "Mere layi?" (For me?)
He nodded shyly, an unmissable blush settling on his cheeks, "Haan... "Meri pehli kamai naal." (With my first earnings.)
"Main sochiya..." he swallowed, clearing his throat in an attempt to gather more courage, "...shayad tuhanu pasand aa jaan." (...I hoped you might like them.)
Ulfat took out the tiny chandbaalis from the velvet box, her eyes shone with gratitude, and a massive toothy smile cut through the heavy tension.
Before Rehman could gather enough courage to confess everything he'd rehearsed a hundred times in his head and before Ulfat could even think about what she was doing, her limbs acted on their own accord, her hands reaching for his shoulders as she leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his lips.
Rehman's eyes fluttered open, his breath catching in his throat, the reality of what had just happened settling over him, "Ulfat..." he gasped, his chest heaving.
Almost instinctively, his hands found her waist, holding her gently yet securely, as though she were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
"Rehman..." Ulfat breathed, her own voice soft, her forehead brushing his.
"Main..." he stammered.
"Mera matlab... assi... yani..." He let out a helpless laugh, completely losing the battle with his own words. "Mainu samajh hi nahi aa reha ki ki aakhaan." (I... I mean... we... that is... I don't even know what I'm supposed to say.)
The sight of her usually composed Balochi maal stumbling over every syllable made Ulfat smirk coyly, "Oye Baloch..." she murmured, a playful impatience laced into her voice, "Hor kinne chir sochda rahenga?" (How much longer are you going to keep thinking?)
Rehman gazed into her emerald orbs, searching for any hint of doubt, but he just found clarity and love in full display, his gaze descended to her lips and leaned in, in the quiet corner of the garden of the Gurdwara, their lips met again, a soft groan escaped Rehman, feeling the softness of Ulfat’s lips, he angled his face, pushing in, deepening the kiss.
He pulled her closer, their bodies brushed each other, heat travelling from his warm muscles to her colder one, her nipples erect in the cold winters of Punjab crushed against his chest, evoking sweet cries out of Ulfat drowned by Rehman's passionate kisses, eating her out.
His hands travelled from her waist, and gently settled on her nape, angling her head back, his lips experimentally, biting her lower lip.
Ulfat moaned softly, the fingers gripping his thick locks. His tongue kept fluttering at the seam of her lips and with a soft whimper, she parted her lips, and their tongues met for the first time.
Rehman growled, his tongue sweeping across her mouth, exploring every inch, his movements getting more audacious fueled from Ulfat's soft whimpers, the slick noises from their wet kisses filling the surrounding.
Their tongues intertwined in a fearsome duel mirroring their hearts, Ulftat took matters into her own hands, kissing him back with equal fervour, her nails scratching his chest, eliciting a strained groan from Rehman, slowly rocking his hips into hers. His hard arousal seeking heat of her wet warmth, bringing out his muffled moans as her lips devoured his, her tongue exploring every nook and corner of his mouth, tasting the holy prasad they had just consumed, and that moment the irony of the situation came down crashing back to her.
They parted finally, gasping for air, but their desire was still untamed, Rehman bent lower, his lips ghosting over her slender neck, placing short deep kisses, reaching her collarbone, biting into it, “Ahh Rehman…..”, Ulfat cried, her voice sending a flash of heat down his core.
"Mmm... Ulfat..." Rehman mumbled into her skin, licking the bite, placing soothing kisses on it, "Tusi enni sohni kiven ho? Enna chir eh husn mere ton luka ke kiven rakhya?" (Mmm... Ulfat... how are you so beautiful? How did you hide all this beauty from me for so long?)
He brushed a trail of gentle kisses along her collar, making her shiver before she tugged him back by the hair. Rehman let out a helpless groan, looking up at her with wide, adoring eyes.
"Oho!" Ulfat scoffed, trying to look offended. "Main luka ke rakhya si?" (Really? I was the one hiding?)
She folded her arms, her face transformed into an adorable indignation.
"Te tusi?" she teased knowingly, "Enne dina ton darpok ban ke phirde si. Mainu hi pehla kadam chukna peya." (And what about you? You spent all these days being such a scaredy-cat. I had to be the one to make the first move.)
Rehman chuckled sheepishly, his fingers softly framing her face, "Maaf kar deo, meri jaan." (Forgive me, my love.)
He gently took both her hands in his own and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles, "Tuhadi ijazat ton bina... main kujh vi nahi kar sakda." (Without your permission... I can't bring myself to do anything.)
His puppy eyes looking straight into her golden greens made Ulfat instantly melt into a puddle,”Oye Baloch..." she muttered bashfully,"Je hor enniyan sohniyan gallan karda reha na..." (If you keep saying things like this...)
"...taan mainu Gurdware waleyan nu pehlan hi dassna pavega ke vyaah di tayyari shuru kar den." (...I'll have to tell the people at the Gurdwara to start preparing for a wedding.)
"Mainu koi aitraaz nahi, Ulfat ji." (I have absolutely no objection, Ulfat.)
"Main tan apne aap nu duniya da sab ton khushnaseeb mard samjhanga..." (I would consider myself the luckiest man in the world...)
"...je mainu tuhanu apni biwi kehna naseeb ho gaya." (...if I'm fortunate enough to call you my wife one day.) Rehman beamed, his lips finding her neck again, breathing in her lavender scent, "Ya Allah... main tan waqai tuhade nashay da mareez ho gaya aan." (Oh Allah... I've truly become addicted to you.)
Ulfat closed her eyes, her body responding to the pleasure Rehman was bestowing on her, "Haye Rabba... tusi mard vi na, saare ikko jehe hunde o." (Oh God... you men are all the same.) her laughter rang out through the verandah,"Tusi tan mainu chandbaliyan vi nahi paaiyan, te sidha vyaah tak pahunch gaye!" (You haven't even put these earrings on me, and you've already jumped straight to marriage!)
Rehman’s head imemdiately flicked up, detaching from his current spot of addiction; Ulfat’s neck, he tenderly took the chandbaliyas from her fingers, With careful hands, Rehman tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and fastened the first chandbali, then the second. Stepping back to admire her, a proud smile spread across his face.
"Lo ji..." he said satisfactorily, "Ho gaya." (There... all done.)
"Kiven lag rahi aan?" Ulfat asked, giving a little twirl as the chandbalis swayed gracefully from her ears, wiggling her eyebrows expectantly. (How do I look?)
His was breath caught in his throat, his eyes drank up the sight before him, "SubhanAllah..." he breathed. "Tusi bilkul jannat ton utre hoye farishte vargi lag rahe o." (You look like an angel sent straight from heaven.)
Without another word, Rehman gently took both her hands into his own, closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against them for a lingering moment, silently thanking Allah for placing someone like her in his life.
"Rehman..." Ulfat teared up, her eyes glistening, "Eh tusi ki kar rahe o...?" (Rehman... what are you doing...?)
She cupped his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing lightly across his cheeks. He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with sincerity, "Tusi meri panaah ho, Ulfat." (You are my refuge, Ulfat.)
"Meri najaat..." (My salvation...)
"Meri jaan... kade mainu chhad ke na jaana." (My love... please never leave me.)
He turned his head and pressed a gentle, reverent kisses into the centre of her palm. Determination filled in Ulfat's eyes, "Kade nahi." (Never.)
"Main kade vi tuhanu chhad ke nahi jawangi." (I will never leave you.)
"Jadon tak saah chalange..." (As long as I breathe...)
"...maut saanu vakh na kar deve, main hamesha tuhade naal haan." (...until death separates us, I'll always be by your side.)
She promised fiercely as she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss upon his forehead.
Rehman smiled, actually smiled, his bateesi on full display, and Ulfat was sure her heart stopped beating, because never has he looked so beautiful than he did right now, the laughter lines softening and his eyes sparkling, his hair still mused from her fingers when they were down at each other’s throats, his face basking in the evening light and the sharp planes of his beautiful husn prominently standing out, he was really handsome Oh God.
"Oye..." he teased, "Enna ki vekh rahe o, Ulfat ji?" (What are you staring at so intently, Ulfat?)
She answered without the slightest embarrassment, "Ki hoya?" she shrugged, innocent smile cutting through her whiplashed expression, "Apne mard nu vekhan di vi ijazat nahi?" (What? Am I not allowed to admire my own man?)
The words apne mard... my man... settled deep inside Rehman's heart. The possessiveness from her washing his heart with warmth and unexplainable happiness.
He cracked up, shaking his head, "Theek aa..." he , "Jinna marzi taadna, taad lo." (Alright... admire me as much as you want.)
"Par hun pind wal chaliye." (But let's head back to the village now.)
"Nahi tan eh saare buddhe saanu labhde labhde itthe aa jaan ge." (Otherwise all those village elders will come looking for us here.).
Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.
Word count: 8.5 K *ahmm*
Warning: plot <<<<porn , breeding kink, lactation kink , both are equally horny asf. Mature content. MDNI .
A/N : Last time it was honey, this time it's mango. Won't say much. Just go and enjoy this 😌👅
"Ulfat?" Rehman’s voice was a low, gravelly whisper, cutting through the ambient hum of the haveli kitchen.
Before she could even register the sound of his footsteps, his heavy arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against his chest. Ulfat had been leaning over the counter, inspecting the elaborate lunch spread Akhlaq Chacha had prepared. Chacha had already finished everything, leaving everything neatly laid out for her final inspection, while Fatima Baji hovered in the corner, quietly sorting through the remaining spices.
Sensing the sudden shift in the temperature of the room and the unmistakable aura of intimacy Rehman brought with him, Fatima Baji discreetly gathered her things and took her leave, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
A sudden, soft warmth crept up the back of Ulfat’s neck, blooming into a deep crimson. "Rehman, kya kar rahe hain aap" she chided him gently, though there was no real heat in her voice. Turning within the tight circle of his embrace, she looped her arms around his waist, forcing him to look her in the eye.
"Ab apni jaan se mohabbat karne ke liye bhi kisi ki ijazat chahiye?" Rehman murmured. His dark eyes held a lazy, dangerous spark. His hands slid down from her waist, anchoring firmly on the curve of her hips, applying a slow, deliberate pressure that drew a soft gasp from her.
Ulfat felt her ears burning. The sheer audacity of his touch, even after all these years, never failed to disarm her. "Bade besharam ho rahe hain aap," she whispered, her hands moving up to cross over his broad shoulders, her fingers digging slightly into the fabric of his kurta.
"Apni Ulfat ke liye koi bhi khitab manzoor hai humein," he replied smoothly, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
He leaned down, his shadow completely enveloping her, and captured her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. Ulfat melted into him, responding with an intensity that matched his own.
But the spell was abruptly broken by the rapid, chaotic thump-thump of small, bare feet slapping against the marble floor. Naieem, now a six year old, was hot on the heels of his nine month old baby brother. Faizal, having recently mastered the art of high-speed crawling, was on a relentless mission to explore every dangerous corner of the house.
"Faizal! Ruko!" Naieem yelled.
Panicking at the sound of the boys heading straight for the kitchen, Ulfat hurriedly pushed Rehman away. By the time the two boys burst through the threshold, Ulfat was standing primly near the spice shelf, while Rehman was leaning against the refrigerator on the completely opposite side of the kitchen, looking entirely innocent.
Faizal took a sharp U-turn at the sight of his parents, gurgling happily as he crawled-raced back toward the main hall. Naieem stopped in his tracks, letting out a dramatic, exhausted sigh that seemed far too heavy for a six year old.
"Abbu, dekho na! Faizal meri baat hi nahi sun raha," Naieem complained, trudging over to Rehman and tugging pitifully at the hem of his linen kurta. "Agar usse chott lag gayi toh?"
Rehman chuckled, opening the fridge and pulling out a few ripe, golden mangoes. "He has just discovered the joy of exploring the haveli, beta. And more importantly, the joy of disturbing others," Rehman said, casting a wicked, sidelong glance at Ulfat. "Let him enjoy. Chalo, we will eat some mangoes, okay?"
With an effortless lift, Rehman scooped Naieem off the ground. Naieem was getting taller by the day, his limbs stretching out, but to Rehman, he was still the little boy who fit perfectly in the crook of his arm.
"Yayy! Mangoes!" Naieem exclaimed, his exhaustion instantly forgotten.
Rehman walked out of the kitchen, carrying the boy on one hip and the fruit in his other hand. Right before he cleared the doorway, he paused, throwing a slow, deliberate wink over his shoulder. Ulfat could only look away, a fresh wave of blush coloring her cheeks.
The rest of the afternoon tore Rehman away from the domestic sanctuary of the haveli. He spent it in the gritty, narrow alleyways near Chakiwara, settling an informal dispute. It wasn't a difficult affair; the opponent was already intimidated by Rehman’s reputation and the sheer weight of his previous work. A brief, cold demonstration of authority was all it took to seal the deal.
When Rehman returned home later that evening, a satisfying, sharp smirk lingered on his face. However, his clothes bore the grim markers of his trade — flecked with a bit of dirt and a few stray drops of someone else's blood.
He went straight to the washroom to wash away the grime of Chakiwara. Emerging clean and refreshed, he slipped into a comfortable, light blue kurta and loose trousers, the soft cotton a stark contrast to the heavy tension of his day.
Descending the stairs, he didn't see Ulfat in the main courtyard. Only Uzair was there, sitting under the soft glow of the veranda light, meticulously reviewing a stack of legal documents.
"Uzair," Rehman called out softly. "Ghar ke baqi log kahan hain?"
Uzair looked up from his papers, the sharp line of his jaw relaxing as he passed a warm, respectful smile to his brother. "Bhabhi and the kids are upstairs in the room, Bhai. They went up a little while ago."
Rehman nodded, reciprocating the smile with a gentle clap on Uzair’s shoulder before heading up the grand staircase.
Inside the bedroom, the atmosphere was thick with exhaustion. Naieem was already fast asleep, sprawled out comfortably. Faizal, however, was fighting with everything he had. The infant was kicking his tiny feet in the air, shifting and rolling across the expansive bed. Ulfat lay beside them, half-asleep, her eyes heavy and filled with fatigue wearing her down from a long day of chasing an overenthusiastic baby.
Rehman stepped into the room with silent, practiced grace. He carefully adjusted Naieem’s blanket, scooped up a squirming Faizal to settle him securely against his mother's side, and gently shifted Ulfat into a more comfortable sleeping position. Kissing her brow softly, he slipped into the adjoining room to sleep on the smaller divan, wanting to give her space to rest fully.
The next morning brought a quieter energy. With Naieem safely sent off to school, Rehman carried a giggling Faizal downstairs, handing him over to Uzair for some uncle-nephew bonding time.
Rehman then ventured back upstairs, carrying a couple of perfectly ripe, fragrant mangoes. He found Ulfat in their room, quietly folding and sorting the baby's freshly washed clothes into the wooden chest.
Hearing his footsteps, Ulfat looked up. She didn't say a word, but a soft, knowing smile graced her lips. Rehman sat down on the low couch near the window, slicing a mango with a pocket knife. He handed her a large piece, keeping one for himself, immediately diving into the rich, sweet fruit. He ate with an unabashed, primal relish— God, he love mangoes.
Ulfat took the piece from his hand, but instead of eating, she simply leaned against the armrest, watching him with an intense, unblinking gaze.
"Do you remember something?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm, smooth as silk.
"Mhmm?" Rehman hummed around a mouthful, his eyes closed in sheer bliss as he sucked the rich juice from the fruit. He looked entirely consumed by the sweetness, oblivious to the storm brewing right in front of him.
Ulfat’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze tracking the drop of juice that threatened to spill from his lip. God, this man is going to be the death of me, she thought.
"You seriously don't remember what happened yesterday? What we were doing before we were interrupted?"
Rehman moved his head in a lazy gesture of disapproval, not even looking up as he continued to eat like a man starved.
"Why the hell are you eating a mango right now?" she asked, her voice dripping with sudden, playful frustration.
Rehman finally stopped, the mango hovering inches from his mouth. He looked at her, his brow furrowing in genuine, albeit slightly amused, confusion. "Because I love it," he said, his tone dripping with quiet, absolute confidence.
"Oh, God. Rehman," Ulfat sighed, putting her piece down on the silver platter. She stepped closer, her tone shifting into something far more suggestive, her eyes darkening with intent. "I have never seen you leave your work incomplete before. So why this sudden lack of dedication?"
She didn't need to spell it out. The reminder of yesterday's charged, interrupted encounter hung heavily in the space between them. The sudden shift in her energy— the raw, unfiltered desire radiating from her made Rehman freeze.
The mango slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft thud back onto the plate. The lazy, gluttonous expression instantly replaced by a dark, predatory smirk.
"To der kis baat ki, jaan?" Rehman growled low in his throat, his eyes locking onto hers as he began to slide forward on the couch. "Hum abhi kaam shuru kar dete hain."
But before he could stand, Ulfat anticipated his move. "Mhmm. Now I want to eat a mango," she murmured.
Rehman barely had time to register her words before Ulfat moved. Sweeping a fresh slice of the fruit into her hand, she stepped into his space and sat firmly right on his lap, straddling his thighs.
Rehman’s hands reacted instinctively, his large palms locking onto her hips with a bruising, possessive grip. Ulfat didn't pull back. Instead, she shifted, rocking herself against him deliberately, a slow, torturous friction. She felt the immediate, rigid shift in his body, knowing with absolute certainty that the mere thought of pinning her down was already driving him over the edge.
"Jaan, baad mein aam kha lena," Rehman groaned, his voice turning hoarse, his fingers digging deeper into her hips as he tried to tilt her pelvis closer. "Abhi kaam pura karte hain na. Please."
Ulfat completely ignored his plea. A dangerous, beautiful smirk played on her lips as she brought the mango to her mouth, taking a slow, deliberate bite, letting a drop of the sweet juice cling to her lower lip.
She looked down at him, her gaze dropping to the collar of his light blue attire.
"Remove your kurta," she commanded softly, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Rehman’s breath hitched. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the hem of his fabric and pulled the kurta over his head in one swift motion, tossing it blindly onto the floor, exposing his broad, hair-roughened chest.
Ulfat leaned in close, the scent of the sweet fruit mixing with the warm, musky scent of his skin. With agonizing slowness, she smeared the golden juice across the center of his chest, her fingers tracing the rigid lines of his muscles.
"I’ll have my own ways," she whispered against his skin. Ulfat leaned down, her lips hovering just bare millimeters from the broad expanse of Rehman’s bare chest. She watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the dark, coarse hair glistening where she had just dragged the rich, sweet pulp of the fruit. A low, ragged breath escaped his throat, hot against her cheek.
Slowly, deliberately, she pressed her tongue to his collarbone, licking upward in a slow, torturous stroke. Rehman’s entire body went rigid under her. He let out a low growl, his large hands anchoring onto the fabric of her salwar, his knuckles white with the effort it took to keep himself from simply flipping her over and taking control.
"Ulfat..." his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated directly against her lips.
"Ji, Rehman?" she whispered back, her voice dripping with an innocent mischief that completely contradicted her actions.
She didn't let him answer. Leaning up, she captured his lips in a kiss that was nothing like the gentle, stolen caresses of their everyday life. This was demanding, hungry, and thick with the taste of sweet mango.
Her tongue slipped past his teeth, tangling with his in a slow, languid rhythm that made Rehman’s head spin. She kissed him with a quiet fury, her hands rising to cup his jaw, her fingers tracing the rough stubble of his cheekbones.
Rehman let out a muffled groan, his restraint snapping like a fragile thread under pressure.
He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes dilated, almost entirely black with desire. Before she could even draw a full breath, he captured her mouth again, kissing her so deeply, so thoroughly, that she could feel the vibration of his groan in her own chest. He sucked on her lower lip, biting gently, marking her, leaving her lips swollen, flushed, and stinging with a delicious warmth.
With a sudden, explosive burst of movement, Rehman lost all semblance of composure. He didn't want to wait; he couldn't.
His large, calloused hands slid down her waist to the backs of her thighs. In one effortless, fluid motion, he lifted her straight off his lap.
Ulfat let out a soft, breathless giggle, her hands clinging to his broad shoulders for balance as her feet lost touch with the floor. The sensation of being completely weightless in his arms, entirely at his mercy, sent a thrill of pure adrenaline through her veins.
"Bade jaldi mein hain aap, Rehman," she teased, her eyes sparkling.
"Tumne hi toh kaha tha, jaan…kaam pura karna chahiye," he growled against her neck, his lips grazing her jawline as he carried her the short distance to their grand, wooden bed.
He lowered her onto the soft mattress with surprising gentleness, his large frame immediately hovering over her, blocking out the morning sun.
Without taking his eyes off her, Rehman stepped back just enough to rid himself of the remaining barriers.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and his cotton boxers, stripping them down his long, muscular legs in one swift, impatient motion. He kicked them aside, standing completely naked before her in the soft light of the room.
Ulfat’s breath caught in her throat. Even after all these years of marriage, the sight of him never failed to make her heart race. He was built like a fortress — broad-shouldered, scarred from his past, his muscles defined and hard-won. And now, fully aroused, his hardening length stood proud and rigid against his stomach, glistening slightly with the first traces of his desire.
A slow, knowing smirk played on Ulfat’s swollen lips. She let her gaze travel slowly from his face, down his thick neck, across his broad, mango-smeared chest, down the line of his flat abdomen, and finally to the heavy length between his thighs.
"Pasand aaya?" Rehman asked, his voice low and dangerous, noticing the appreciative trail of her eyes.
"Bura nahi hai," she retorted softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her own dupatta.
"Achha? Bura nahi hai?" Rehman’s smirk widened, dark and predatory. He crawled back onto the mattress, his heavy knees settling on either side of her hips. He hovered over her like a shadow, his sheer size making her feel beautifully small. "Now, let me have my dessert."
He leaned down and kissed her. It was a deep, consuming possession.
He drank from her mouth as if she were the only source of water in a desert, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting the remnants of the mango, the sweetness of her mouth, and the heat of her desire. He kissed her until her head spun, leaving her lips even more swollen and hot, tingling with the heavy friction of his mouth.
Slowly, agonizingly, he trailed his kisses down her chin, his stubble scratching pleasantly against her soft skin. He moved to the sensitive dip beneath her jaw, pressing his lips there, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her perfume and clean sweat.
Ulfat let out a soft, trembling sigh, her head tilting back to give him better access.
"Rehman.." she whispered, her hands finding their way into his thick, dark hair, gently tugging.
He didn't stop. His mouth traveled lower, his lips hot and wet as they pressed against her collarbone. Every press of his lips, made a delicious shiver ripple across her skin.
He reached down, his hands working with practiced, reverent care. He untied the drawstring of her salwar, sliding the soft fabric down her legs and tossing it to the floor.
Next came her cotton kurta. He gathered the hem, pulling it up and over her head, leaving her in only her matching lingerie.
Rehman paused, his eyes sweeping over her body. She was beautiful — curvy, soft, her skin glowing like warm honey in the morning light. He unhooked her bra and slid her underwear down, exposing her completely to his gaze.
Instead of rushing, his hands moved to her belly. His fingers traced the soft, silver stretch marks that mapped across her skin, the beautiful, permanent reminders of the two lives she had carried and brought into the world for him.
He leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the silver lines of her stretch marks. "Tum har din aur haseen hoti ja rahi ho, Ulfat," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with a deep, reverent love that made her chest ache with affection.
"Yeh aapka dekhne ka nazariya hai," she whispered, her fingers stroking his hair.
"Nahi," he murmured, kissing her belly button. "Yeh sach hai."
As he raised his body slightly, his bare, mango-laden chest pressed flush against her bare breasts. The sticky, sweet syrup on his skin smeared deliberately across her soft, pale mounds, binding them together in a sweet friction.
Ulfat gasped at the sensation, the contrast of his hot, hairy, sticky chest against the sensitive skin of her breasts.
Rehman smirked, enjoying her reaction. He shifted his weight, rubbing his chest against hers in a slow, circular motion, thoroughly coating both of her breasts in the fragrant mango juice.
He then looked down at one of her breasts, the nipple already hard and dark, glistening with the golden syrup. He captured the peak in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip to taste both the sweet fruit and her soft skin.
Ulfat’s back arched off the mattress, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping her lips. The sheer intensity of the sensation, the cold sweetness of the mango combined with the burning heat of his mouth was driving her crazy. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he sucked, drawing the sensitive bud deep into his warm mouth.
But as he sucked, a sudden, warm, sweet taste mixed with the mango.
Rehman froze. He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide as he looked down.
There, clinging to the dark, swollen peak of her breast, was a tiny, pearlescent bead of milk, rising from her nipple.
With Faizal only nine months old and still nursing, her body was fully alive with the natural cycle of motherhood.
Rehman stared at it for a long, quiet moment. A wave of profound, raw emotion crashed over him.
This was the woman who had built his home, who had borne his children, whose body still nourished their baby boy. He looked up at her face, his eyes softening with an intensity of love that was almost overwhelming.
"Rehman..." Ulfat whispered, suddenly feeling a flush of self-consciousness, her eyelashes fluttering down in shyness as she tried to pull a hand up to cover herself. "Woh...actually..."
"Shh," he hushed her gently, grabbing her hand and pinning it softly beside her head. His smirk returned, but it was softer now, filled with an intense, heated devotion. "Humein isse haseen nazaara aur kya dekhna hoga, jaan? Tum meri ho,aur jo kuch tumhara hai, us par sirf mera haq hai."
He didn't wait. He latched onto her nipple again, but this time, he sucked with a deep, hungry passion.
He drank the sweet, warm milk as it beaded, his tongue swirling to catch every single drop, mixing the natural sweetness of her body with the rich flavor of the mango.
"Ah! Rehman!" Ulfat cried out, her head tossing back against the pillow.
The sensation was incredibly intense, a deep, pulling ache that went straight to her lower abdomen. Her free hand fisted tightly in the bedsheet, twisting the cotton fabric in her grip as she tried to cope with the pleasure building tight in her belly.
While his mouth devoured one breast, his large, calloused hand found the other. He cupped the heavy mound, kneading it with a firm, possessive rhythm.
His thumb and forefinger found the other nipple, pinching it gently, rolling the hard peak between his fingers, playing with it until she was writhing beneath him.
He sucked harder, his cheeks indenting as he drew her deeper into his mouth. He let his teeth graze the sensitive base of her nipple, biting down just enough to send a sharp, thrilling spike of pleasure straight to her core.
"Rehman...ahh!" she cried out, her head spinning, her voice cracking with the sheer overload of sensory pleasure.
He was relentless. He only released his hold when he was temporarily satisfied, his mouth pulling away from her breast with a distinct, wet pop sound.
Both of her breasts were now highly sensitive, flushed a deep pink, and glistening with a mixture of his saliva, mango juice, and her own milk. A small bead of milk began to leak from her other breast, running down the side of her curve.
Rehman’s eyes darkened. "I'm not wasting a single drop of you," he muttered, his voice a deep growl.
Rehman reached over to the bedside table, grabbing another slice of mango. With a slow, deliberate hand, he smeared the golden pulp over her soft belly and around her other breast, coating her skin in the sticky, sweet nectar.
He went back down, his mouth tracing a path of fire across her stomach, licking up the sweet syrup, before latching onto her other breast. He sucked even harder this time, his hand sliding down to her inner thigh, parting her legs slightly.
The intense, rhythmic suction on her breasts, combined with the heavy weight of his body pressing down on her, made Ulfat’s body shiver uncontrollably. She could feel her internal walls clenching, a deep, throbbing ache settling between her thighs as she hovered dangerously close to the edge of an orgasm.
Rehman felt the tense, rhythmic twitching of her thighs and the way her breath hitching in her throat.
He pulled back just an inch, a wicked, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "Itni jaldi, jaan?" he teased, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Abhi toh maine shuru bhi nahi kiya."
Ulfat’s face burned, a deep, fiery red creeping down her neck. The sheer embarrassment of being read so easily made her want to hide her face in his chest.
But as she looked at his smug, handsome face, the lingering shyness in her chest was suddenly replaced by a wild, stubborn spark of defiance.
"Aap bade magroor ho rahe hain," she whispered, her eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous light. "Zra humein bhi toh moka dijiye."
Before Rehman could register her intent, Ulfat gripped his shoulders and used his own momentum to her advantage. With a sudden, surprising burst of strength, she spun him down onto his back, shifting her body until she was sitting astride his waist.
Rehman let out a surprised laugh, his hands immediately coming up to grip her hips, but he didn't try to reclaim his position. He lay back, a lazy, amused smirk on his face as he looked up at his wife. "Achha? Toh ab meri jaan mukabla karengi?"
"Mukabla nahi, Rehman. Hukumat," she whispered.
She leaned down, her long hair draping over his shoulders like a silken curtain, sealing them in their own private world. She began to lick his chest, her tongue tracing the broad muscles, clean of mango now but still smelling of him. She licked over his collarbone, her tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat, making him let out a low, rough gasp.
She moved lower, her lips finding his flat, dark nipples. She teased them with her tongue, before biting down gently, replicating the sweet torment he had just inflicted on her.
Rehman’s smirk vanished. His hips twitched upward against her, his hands tightening on her hips until his knuckles turned white. "Ulfat..."
Ignoring his growl, she slid down his body, her knees settling on either side of his chest, until she was kneeling over his lower half.
She reached down, her soft fingers wrapping around his thick, pulsing erection. He was leaking precum, a clear, shiny drop glistening at the very tip of his dark length.
Ulfat looked down at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark with a fiery confidence. She leaned down, her lips brushing against the sensitive head of his shaft, before she slid her tongue up, licking away the sweet, salty drop of his precum.
Rehman let out a harsh, guttural groan, his head slamming back against the pillow. "Ya Allah..."
She didn't let him finish. She parted her lips and took him into her mouth, sliding her lips down his thick shaft as far as she could go.
The heat of her mouth, combined with the slick wetness of her saliva, was an absolute shock to his system. She sucked on him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her hand wrapping around the base of his shaft to stroke him in sync with her mouth.
Rehman’s hands flew to her hair, his fingers tangling in the thick locks, not to pull her away, but to hold her there. He was losing his mind.
"Ahh... jaan..." he choked out, his hips lifting off the bed instinctively, seeking a deeper friction against her mouth.
Ulfat didn't let up. She sucked harder, her throat constricting around him, her tongue swirling against the sensitive underside of his shaft.
The pleasure was too intense, too sudden. Within minutes, Rehman’s body went completely rigid. He let out a loud, raw shout of surrender, his hips jerking upward as he came, his cum spilling out in thick, hot white spurts, landing directly across her soft, breasts.
Ulfat sat back on her heels, panting lightly, a proud, triumphant smile on her face as she looked at the white cream glistening against her skin.
But her triumph was short-lived.
Rehman, still panting, his chest rising and falling in violent heaves, opened his eyes. The lazy warmth still carrying a dark, ravenous hunger.
With a sudden, explosive movement, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her down, flipping her back onto the mattress in the blink of an eye. He pinned her hands beside her head, his heavy body settling over her once more.
“ Now my turn," he whispered, his eyes locked onto hers.
He leaned down, his mouth finding the soft skin of her belly. He bit her, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh near her navel, not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a deep, lasting mark.
"Rehman!" she gasped, her body twitching.
He sucked on the bite mark, his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin, intentionally creating a dark, bluish bruise right beside her navel. He moved up to her neck, his mouth clamping down on the soft slope where her shoulder met her neck. He bit her there too, sucking hard until he was sure a dark purple mark would bloom by tomorrow.
"Yeh sab ko dikhega" she whimpered, her head tossing from side to side.
"Dikhne do," he growled against her skin, his mouth moving down to her cleavage, biting the soft inner curve of her breast, leaving another heavy mark. "Sabko pata chalna chahiye ke tum sirf meri ho."
He slid further down, his hands parting her thighs wide, settling his knees between them. He kissed his way down her inner thighs, his stubble scratching the tender skin, making her shiver and try to close her legs. But Rehman’s grip was like iron, keeping her pinned open. (He didn't shaved in a while for a reason)
He dropped his head between her thighs, his hot breath hitting her sensitive core, making her gasp.
"Ahh” she moaned ,her hands clutching the sheets.
He leaned in and pressed his tongue directly against her swollen, sensitive clit.
The direct, wet friction was an absolute shock. Rehman didn't show any mercy. He licked her in long, slow, upward strokes, before wrapping his lips around her bud and sucking it hard into his mouth.
"Ah! Ya Allah! Rehman!" she screamed, her head spinning, her eyes tightly shut as the pleasure washed over her in violent, overwhelming waves.
Rehman growled between licks, his fingers slipping inside her wet, tight passage, pumping her in a fast, relentless rhythm. His tongue flicking rapidly against her clit, stimulating her to the absolute limit.
Ulfat’s body began to shake. Her internal walls clenched violently around his fingers as she fell over the edge, her second orgasm crashing over her in intense, shuddering waves. She screamed his name, her body vibrating with the release.
Before she could even begin to recover, before the aftershocks of her orgasm could even fade, Rehman pulled his fingers out and licked them with absolute pleasure. He grabbed her slender legs, lifting them up and draping them over his broad shoulders, opening her up to the absolute maximum.
He positioned the thick, heavy head of his shaft at her soaking entrance. He looked down at her, his eyes blazing. "Hum abhi nahi rukne wale, jaan."
With one deep, powerful thrust, Rehman buried his entire length inside her in one smooth stroke.
"AH! REHMAN!" Ulfat screamed, her eyes snapping open, her hands flying to grip his shoulders.
The sheer fullness of him, hitting her while her walls were still clenching from her orgasm, was almost too much to bear. She was incredibly tight, her body wrapping around his thick shaft like a glove.
Rehman let out a long, shuddering groan, his head dropping into the crook of her neck. "Ya Allah...you are so tight...jaan."
He began to move. Because of the angle, with her legs draped over his shoulders, every single thrust of his hips was incredibly deep, hitting her G-spot with a brutal, satisfying accuracy.
The sound of their bodies colliding echoed in the quiet room.
"Ah! Yess…harder" she cried out, her head tossing wildly on the pillow.
Rehman complied, his pace turning fast and furious. He slammed his hips against her, his sweat dripping onto her chest, mixing with the sweet mango and her milk.
The heat in the room was suffocating, but neither of them cared. They were lost in a primal, rhythmic trance, driven entirely by a deep hunger.
"Rehman... I am going….oh God..." Ulfat cried out, her inner walls clenching around him like a vice.
The intense, tight grip of her passage was the final straw for Rehman. He let out a loud, guttural roar, his thrusts turning wild and desperate. He drove himself into her one last time, bottoming out completely, as Ulfat’s body spasmed in her third, shattering orgasm.
Right behind her, Rehman came, his body freezing as he spilled his hot, thick cum deep inside her womb, filling her completely. He let out a long, ragged cry, his head burying in her shoulder as they both rode out the waves of their release.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the heavy, synchronized panting of two spent lovers.
Slowly, Rehman slipped her legs off his shoulders, lowering them gently back onto the bed. He collapsed beside her, his body heavy and completely drained of energy.
He pulled her into his arms, wrapping his heavy embrace around her, pulling her back against his chest.
Ulfat curled into him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand resting on his bare chest. She was covered in a sticky, sweet mixture but she had never felt more content.
Rehman pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple. "I love you, Ulfat," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with an endless devotion.
Ulfat closed her eyes, a soft, beautiful smile gracing her swollen lips. "I love you too, Rehman.”
Slowly, Ulfat shifted against the mattress, the sticky residue of the fruit tightening on her skin as it dried. She let out a soft, breathy sigh, her fingers tracing a lazy line down Rehman’s bare arm. He lay beside her like a felled oak, his chest rising and falling in deep, even respirations, completely spent.
"Rehman," she whispered, her voice a low, raspy purr that carried the weight of their shared exertion.
"Mhmm?" he hummed, his eyes remaining tightly shut, a lazy, thoroughly satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn't move an inch, his heavy arm remaining draped possessively over her waist, anchoring her to his side.
"Uthiye," she chided gently, nudging his shoulder with her elbow. "Look at us. We are a complete mess. The mango is getting sticky, and if we don't wash it off now, it’s going to get difficult for us later."
Rehman opened one heavy-lidded eye, his dark gaze dripping with an arrogant, slow-burning heat. "Toh hone do mess, jaan. Main apni hi biwi ke sath toh is haal mein hain. Kisi aur ka darr toh nahi."
Ulfat rolled her eyes, though a soft blush warmed her cheeks. She pushed his heavy arm off her waist and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air of the room hit her bare skin, making her shiver slightly. Her lower body felt heavy, a dull, throbbing ache radiating from her core — a constant, delicious reminder of how thoroughly he had claimed her. She stood up, her thighs slick, and looked back at him.
"I am going for a shower," she announced, smoothing back a stray lock of damp hair from her forehead. She looked down at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Are you going to lie there like a king or are you going to join me?"
Rehman’s smirk widened instantly. The invitation was all it took to breathe life back into his tired muscles. He didn't need to be asked twice. With a sudden, fluid grace that belied his massive frame, he sat up, his dark eyes locking onto hers with renewed hunger.
"Aa you say , my queen," he growled low in his throat, standing up from the bed in all his naked, unabashed glory.
Ulfat turned toward the attached bathroom, a soft giggle escaping her lips as she heard his heavy, deliberate footsteps following close behind her.
The bathroom was a spacious, marble-lined sanctuary, standard for the grand old haveli. Ulfat turned the heavy brass handles of the shower. The sound of rushing water echoed against the tiled walls, creating a private cocoon that completely isolated them from the rest of the world.
Rehman stepped into the stall behind her, his large hands immediately finding her waist. The moment the water cascaded over them, hitting their heads and running down their bodies, a collective sigh escaped their lips. The water began to dissolve the sticky, golden mango pulp smeared across their skin, sending pale yellow streams swirling down the marble drain.
"Sit," Rehman commanded softly, his voice rough but incredibly gentle.
He guided her to the low marble bench built into the side of the shower wall. Ulfat sat down, tilting her head back against the warm tiles, letting the water wash over her face. Rehman reached for the bar of sandalwood soap, rubbing it between his large, calloused palms until a thick, fragrant lather built up.
He knelt before her, his dark eyes fixed on her face with a quiet, intense reverence. He began to wash her, his large hands moving in slow, deliberate strokes across her skin. He started with her shoulders, smoothing the fragrant soap over her collarbones, his thumbs tracing the faint red marks his teeth had left behind just minutes prior.
"Dard ho raha hai?" he murmured, his thumb gently pressing against a particularly dark mark near her cleavage.
"Aapko abhi khayal aa raha hai ?" she whispered, a breathless smile playing on her lips as her eyes closed under the soothing pressure of his hands. "You were like a wild animal out there."
"Because of you," he retorted, his voice thick with a low chuckle.
His hands moved down, spreading the lather over her heavy, full breasts. He was incredibly thorough, his palms kneading the soft mounds with a mixture of tenderness and possessive heat. Ulfat arched her back slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the water and the slippery soap combined to create a highly sensitized friction.
He washed her belly next, his fingers tracing the silver stretch marks with the same absolute devotion he always showed them. He cleaned away the dried white liquid from her previous release, his hands moving lower, parting her thighs gently to wash the sticky wetness from her inner thighs and her swollen, pulsing core. Ulfat gripped his shoulders for balance, her breath hitching as his fingers slipped between her folds, cleaning her with a slow, agonizing thoroughness that made her walls twitch instinctively.
"Rehman" she whimpered, her body softening under his touch.
"Shh. My turn to serve you, jaan," he whispered, leaning up to press a soft, wet kiss to her lips, tasting the clean water on her skin.
Once she was clean, Ulfat stood up, taking the soap from his hands. "Now turn around," she commanded softly.
Rehman smirked but complied, turning his back to her. Ulfat worked up a lather, her smaller hands moving over his broad, muscular back. Her fingers tracing the rigid muscles of his shoulders and the long line of his spine. When he turned back to face her, she washed his chest, running her fingers through the dark, coarse hair, cleaning away the sweet pulp she had smeared there herself.
But as her slippery hands traveled lower, over his flat stomach and toward his groin, she felt his length hardening against her palm once more. The water had rejuvenated him, and the sight of her soapy, glistening body standing right in front of him was an invitation his body could not ignore.
Rehman gripped her wrists, pinning them softly against the wet tile wall behind her. His gaze was dark, heavy, and completely consumed by a fresh wave of desire. "Maine kaha tha na, jaan…kaam abhi pura nahi hua."
Ulfat looked up at him through her wet eyelashes, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her wet thighs clinging to his hips. "Toh phir kis baat ka intezar hai?"
Rehman growled, lifting her effortlessly against the wall. He guided his rigid, thick length back to her swollen, soaking entrance, and with one heavy, wet thrust, he buried himself inside her once again.
The bathroom filled with the rhythmic sound of water slapping against marble, intermingled with the wet, heavy slaps of their bodies colliding and the echoing, breathless moans that bounced off the tiled walls.
Meanwhile, on the ground floor of the grand haveli, the peaceful domestic quiet was abruptly shattered.
The nine-month-old had apparently woken up from his nap, and his usual cheerful disposition had been replaced by a full-blown, tearful tantrum. The crying went on for several minutes, growing louder and more frantic with every passing second.
Uzair sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked toward the kitchen, but Akhlaq Chacha and Fatima Baji were nowhere to be seen, likely busy with errands in the back quarters. He looked up the grand staircase. Where were Bhai and Bhabhi? Why hadn't anyone picked up the baby?
"Faizal..." Uzair muttered, standing up from his chair.
He walked up the stairs, the baby's cries guiding him down the long, carpeted corridor straight toward Rehman and Ulfat’s master bedroom. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar— not fully closed, just resting against the frame.
"Bhabhi?" Uzair called out softly, knocking twice on the wood. "Faizal ro raha hai, main andar—"
Receiving no answer, Uzair pushed the door open , holding the crying baby in his arms and stepped inside.
The moment his boots crossed the threshold, Uzair froze. His brain was completely short-circuited.
The room was in a state of absolute, unmitigated chaos. It looked less like a bedroom and more like a battlefield of sin.
Uzair immediately averted his eyes from the scattered pieces of clothes , his face burning a bright, furious red.
But it was the bed that truly caught his attention. The massive, grand bed stood in complete disarray. The heavy white bedsheet was pulled completely out of place, more than half of it hanging limply off the side of the mattress, trailing onto the floor. And right in the center of the white fabric was a massive, sticky, yellowish smear of pure mango pulp, mixed with other wet, unmentionable stains that made Uzair’s stomach do a slow flip.
Before he could even process the visual trauma, his ears were assaulted by the audio.
From the attached bathroom, the distinct, heavy sound of rushing shower water was fully audible. But beneath the sound of the water came a series of other, completely unmistakable noises.
Uzair stood rooted to the spot, his jaw dropping open. He stared at the bathroom door, then down at the scattered clothes, then at the mango-smeared bedsheet.
At that exact moment, Faizal decided to drift in a nap again.
Uzair slowly looked down at his nephew, then back at the bathroom door, from which another loud, reverberating groan just escaped.
Why the hell am I even living in this house? Uzair thought, a deep, existential dread settling over his soul. Is this my reward for being the responsible, civilized brother? To be subjected to the fruit-laden mating rituals of Chakiwara’s finest?
Without a single word. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him with a sharp, angry click.
As he walked down the long corridor, heading toward the back gardens just to get as far away from the audio-visual nightmare as humanly possible. Uzair walked out into the cool air of the haveli gardens, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He looked down at the innocent baby in his arms, his expression a mixture of profound pity and amusement.
Bichara, Uzair thought, staring into Faizal’s large, oblivious eyes. Tumhein andaza bhi nahi hai. Abhi se tum bade bhai banne wale ho.
He took a deep breath, resolving right then and there that he was going to have a very serious, very uncomfortable conversation with his older brother about the modern invention known as a lock. A lock that should be used. Always.
Back upstairs, the heavy steam in the bathroom slowly began to dissipate as Rehman finally turned off the water.
Both of them stood under the final, cool drips, panting heavily, their skin thoroughly flushed, tingling, and completely clean of any residue. Their second round had been faster, fueled by the slippery heat of the shower, leaving them both completely loose-limbed and utterly exhausted.
Rehman grabbed two large, plush white towels from the rack. He wrapped one carefully around Ulfat’s torso, tucking the edge securely over her breasts, before wrapping the other around his own waist.
They stepped out of the bathroom, the cool air of the bedroom hitting their damp skin.
The moment Ulfat’s eyes fell upon the bed, she froze. She noticed the door was firmly shut, but the memory of how she had left it came rushing back. Then she looked at the mattress.
"Ya Allah, Rehman," she gasped, her hands flying to her face. "Look at the sheet. It's completely ruined."
Rehman chuckled, stepping forward and surveying the damage. "I told you , we did a lot of hard work today."
"Shut up," she chided, her face burning. "Help me change it before anyone sees."
Working together with practiced, domestic efficiency, they stripped the ruined, mango-stained bedsheet from the mattress, rolling it into a tight bundle. Ulfat threw it into the laundry hamper in the corner, secretly praying that Fatima Baji wouldn't look too closely at the stains tomorrow. Rehman pulled a fresh, crisp, dark green sheet from the linen closet, spreading it over the mattress and tucking the corners in with his large hands.
With the bed finally restored to a civilized state, both of them let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. They dropped their towels onto the floor, completely unbothered by their nakedness now, and climbed into the fresh, cool bed.
Rehman pulled the heavy, soft duvet over their bodies, blocking out the rest of the world.
He shifted his massive frame, sliding down until his head rested comfortably against the soft, pillowy fullness of her bare breasts. He let out a long, contented sigh, his entire body relaxing into her softness.
Ulfat smiled, a deep warmth flooding her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers weaving through his damp, dark hair, gently massaging his scalp, cradling him against her heart.
Rehman lay there for a quiet moment, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart. Slowly, his large, calloused hand slid down her body, his palm settling flat against her soft belly. His fingers traced gentle, soothing circles over her skin, his thumb lightly brushing against the silver stretch marks near her navel.
He stayed silent for a long time, his touch slow and deliberate, before he let out a low, gravelly whisper against her skin.
"I love to see you full and heavy with my seed."
Ulfat, who had just closed her eyes, snapped them open instantly. The sheer boldness of his words, whispered with such a raw, primal possessiveness, sent a sudden, electric jolt straight down her spine.
"Kya—" she said, her voice catching in her throat, her heart skipping a beat as she looked down at the back of his head.
Rehman shifted, lifting his head from her breasts to look up at her. His dark eyes were hooded, filled with a sudden, intense seriousness that completely contradicted the lazy environment. A slow, wicked smirk played on his lips.
"... I love to see you full with my seed, Ulfat.”
Ulfat stared at him, her breath hitching. The raw, unfiltered masculinity of his declaration was completely intoxicating.
A slow, matching smirk began to curl the corners of her own lips. She tilted her head, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him up slightly.
"Achha?" she whispered, her voice dripping with a sudden, playful challenge. "Toh phir uske liye mehnat karni padti hai, Rehman Ji. Sirf baatein karne se kaam nahi banta."
Rehman’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, a low, appreciative growl escaping his throat.
"Naieem ko aane mein abhi bhi bohot time hai," she replied smoothly, her eyes locked onto his. "Aur ghar ke baqi log niche hain."
Before Rehman could even respond, Ulfat gripped his shoulders and shifted her weight, rolling him onto his back with a sudden surge of adrenaline. She topped him, straddling his waist in one fluid, dominant motion, her long, damp hair falling around them like a curtain.
Rehman looked up at her, his breath hitching as she guided his rigid, already pulsing length straight back to her swollen, highly sensitized entrance.
She sat down on him slowly, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping her lips as he filled her completely. For a fleeting second, a sharp sting of pain rippled through her core, her body was already tender and swollen from the previous rounds, but within moments, the pain was entirely replaced by a rushing, overwhelming wave of pure, white-hot pleasure.
"Ah... Rehman..." she moaned, her head tossing back as she began to move on him.
Rehman’s hands flew to her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, assisting her rhythm. He lifted his hips to meet every downward stroke, driving himself deeper into her than ever before.
For the next one hour, the grand master bedroom of the haveli became a temple of absolute, unrestrained passion.
The only sound that came from their room was a continuous, echoing symphony of deep, guttural moans from Rehman and high-pitched, breathless screams of surrender from Ulfat. The rhythmic, heavy sound of skin slapping against skin resonated through the quiet air of the upper floor, a steady, relentless cadence that spoke of a man intent on fulfilling his promise.
He turned her over, pulling her legs over his shoulders once more, hitting her G-spot with a brutal, single-minded focus until she was crying his name, her walls clenching around him in a desperate, pleading rhythm. He filled her again and again, his hot, thick cum spilling deep into her womb for the third time that morning, leaving her completely sated, thoroughly claimed, and utterly exhausted.
Later that afternoon, the haveli had finally returned to its usual, quiet routine.
Uzair was sitting in the dining hall, a cup of black tea in his hand, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. His eyes were completely hollow, the expression of a man who had seen the edge of the universe and found it entirely too sticky.
Ulfat had come downstairs an hour prior, looking glowing, completely refreshed, and wearing a fresh, pristine linen dress. She had casually mentioned to Fatima Baji that little Faizal had somehow managed to drag a mango onto the bed , completely ruining the bedsheet, and that it would need a very thorough wash tomorrow.
Fatima Baji had simply nodded, entirely unsuspecting.
Uzair had just taken a sip of his tea, nearly choking on the liquid, but he had kept his mouth firmly shut. He looked out the window toward the garden, where Rehman was currently walking with Naieem, looking entirely innocent, like a respectable family man who hadn't spent the entire morning behaving like a primal force of nature.
Uzair ‘s left eye twitching slightly as he stared into his teacup. Haan, bilkul. Aur main toh is haveli ka sabse bada bewakoof hoon.
He set his cup down with a slow, deliberate click. He had already made up his mind.
He was going to contact the nearest space agency. He was going to buy a one-way ticket to Mars. He was going to build a small, isolated cabin on the red planet, thousands of miles away from layari, away from grand havelis, and most importantly, entirely away from any domestic drama.
He looked at the bowl of fresh mangoes sitting in the center of the dining table— golden, ripe, and beautiful.
Uzair shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. He pushed the bowl as far away from himself as the table allowed.
Main apni puri zindagi mein... kabhi aam nahi khaunga, Uzair vowed silently to himself, his expression one of grim, absolute finality.
From the courtyard, the sound of Rehman’s booming, cheerful laughter drifted into the dining hall, sounding completely carefree. Uzair closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair, silently counting the days until his departure from Earth.
(Let me know if you want to get added or removed from the tag list)
Inspired by @sparksfromhell baba's recent rehman jomidar au.
I am working on October Birds promise babies <3
All dialogues are in Bengali but they are all translated tho I doubt any non bengali will read this lmfao so I have only tagged the Bengali girlies ik on here, tags taken from the same recent posts
SMUT SO MINORS SHOOO
Masterlist
Jomidar AU
The sweltering heat of Kolkata summers has always made Ulfat's skin crawl, and tonight is no exception. Lying on her side, facing the open windows while clad in a thin nightgown, she can feel the sweat roll down the small of her back. Oh, why had Rehman not planned for the Darjeeling trip for now and not two weeks later? She will die in this heat, she thinks, she will definitely perish.
Rehman lies down beside her, dressed in a loose white cotton vest and drawstring pyjamas. She glances at him, and a thin sheen of sweat covers his defined arms, making the hair look darker as it sticks to his fair skin. She can see the faint outline of his muscles under his thin clothing, and she gulps, looking away. No, it is simply too hot tonight to engage in anything.
"Shona," Rehman murmurs, breaking the silence that had fallen over them alongside the humidity as he runs a hand over the dip of her waist before his palm rests on her hip, his chest to her back.
"ভীষণ গরম লাগছে গো, হাত দেবে না আমায়," she grumbles, swatting his hand away. It's too hot tonight, don't touch me.
Rehman tutts, inching closer. He knows his shonapakhi is not above physical violence, but he takes the chance anyway; he would take the bet even if the chances of getting some love were in low decimals. "আমি তো শুধু আদর করে দিচ্ছি, বাবা," he insists, his hand going to now stroke her slightly damp back. I am just being affectionate, dear.
"তোমার আদর কি আমি ভালো করেই বুঝি, বাবা," she mutters, inching away. "সরো তো সরো, এই গরমে এর মাঝেও তোমার এসব বন্ধ হয় না." She moves even further away. It is a queen sized bed, incredible amount of space to play chase in. I understand the intentions of your affection very well, dear. Move, even in this heat you can't stop.
"আমার লক্ষী মা গো, এমন করে না, একটু আদর করে দাও না," Rehman pouts, slightly tugging at her slim shoulder. My darling, don't be like this, put a little love on me.
"ইস সরো তো," she groans, getting off the bed and standing in front of him. Ugh, get away. "অনেক পেরেশান করছো আমায়." You are bothering me a lot.
"নিজের বর এর সঙ্গে এরকম করতে নেই, শোনা," Rehman chastises lovingly, sitting up and reaching for her longingly yet again. Don't be like this with your husband, my love.
"এই তুমি কি বাংলা বুঝো না বা কিছু? বললাম না দূরে সরতে?" she complains, taking a step backwards. Don't you understand Bengali? Didn't I tell you to stay away?
Rehman gets off the bed languidly, each step akin to a predator stalking its prey- confident, purposeful. "ওমাগো নিজের এতো সুন্দর বউ কে এখন ছুঁতেও পারবো না? কি দোষ করেছি গো আমি?" he whines playfully, his hands finding her waist as he pulls her flush against him, and she lets out an audible gasp of "oof!". Oh my, I can't even touch my beautiful wife now? What crime have I committed to deserve this?
"Rehman," she grumbles, looking up at him with an adorably annoyed expression which does nothing to calm the fire burning in his veins; if anything, it adds fuel to it. "সত্যি ভীষণ গরম, অসহ্য লাগছে." She tries pushing him off her to no avail; he is too strong. I swear, it's unbearably hot.
"আর আমার যে গরম লাগছে সেটার কি?" he pouts before leaning in to kiss the spot on her neck which always makes her shiver. And what about the heat burning inside me?
"জল খায়, পাখা আছে বাতাস করে দাও আমায়," Ulfat grumbles, but her body gives her away as it leans into his touch. Damn him. Drink water and fan me.
"আচ্ছা? আমি বাতাস করে দেবো তোমায় এখন?" he laughs teasingly and she nods petulantly. "চলো, পাখি, ছাদ এ গিয়ে বসি," he smiles, taking her hand. Oh really? I need to fan you now? Let's go up on the roof, come on.
On the terrace, they lie on the shitol pati together on their backs, hands barely touching. The sky is clear, lit up with a thousand stars, it seems. A cool breeze blows over them, drying the sweat off their skin. She turns to look at his side profile, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones, the hook of his nose, the contrast of his soft lips and puppy brown eyes, the fluff of his soft hair.
"চেয়ে চেয়ে কি দেখছো গো, শোনা?" Rehman hums, still looking up at the sky. What are you staring at, my love?
"দেখছি," she shrugs, still staring at him unabashedly. Just looking.
"ও শুধু দেখছো? কিছু লাগবে না?" he asks playfully, stroking the lines of her hand. Oh, you're just looking? Don't you need anything?
And she says nothing, then fully turns around to face him before kissing him on the lips. Being on the terrace at night always gets her red in the face, hot and heavy under the stars with her husband.
They make out for a few minutes, hands roaming each other's bodies shamelessly. He breaks away from the kiss, looking at her, his pupils blown out. He sits up and takes off his vest, revealing the expanse of his lithe and toned chest, covered in a layer of hair. Ulfat loves that hair, loves running her long fingernails through it.
"যদি কেউ উপরে এসে?" she asks, a bit hesitant as usual. What if someone comes up here? The matriarch of the house, she must have some form of decency, even if her husband is shamelessness incarnate.
"এ মাঝ রাতে কে আসবে? সব গুলো ঘুমিয়ে পড়েছে," Rehman assures her, stoking her soft hair, and she nods. Who will come up here at midnight? Everyone is asleep. He climbs on top of her, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then a peck on her lips before his lips travel down to the column of her throat, alternating between kissing and sucking marks on her milky, unblemished skin.
They do not hear the door open, lost in the ocean of pleasure between them, the waves of Ulfat's moans take up all their thinking; also, one of the servants had oiled the terrace door hinges last week. The traumatised gasp gets their attention, though.
"ছি! দাদা! এসব কি গো? ছাদ এ?" Uzair, Rehman's younger brother, sputters, covers his eyes, and starts pacing towards the door. He sees Ulfat as his mother more than anything. They had gotten married when Uzair was very young, and she had practically raised him. Rehman and Uzair's own mother had passed away years ago. Ew! What is all this on the roof?
"এই হতচ্ছাড়া! তুই ঘুমাস নি কেন?" Rehman barks, looking up from Ulfat for a moment. You idiot! Why aren't you asleep? Ulfat is mortified as she always is. The man who is practically her first son has caught them making out under the stars. This has happened before and will happen again, but it does nothing to quell the embarrassment she feels every time.
"আমি কি জানতাম আপনি আমার বৌদি এর সঙ্গে এসব করছেন? তাও ছাদে?" Uzair shouts from near the door, scandalised and traumatised for the week. How was I supposed to know you were doing whatever this is with my sister-in-law? That too on the roof?
"আমার বউ, আমার বাড়ি, যেখানে ইচ্ছে সেখানে ভালোবাসবো, তোর কি?" Rehman shouts back. "দরজা তা বন্ধ কর যাবার আগে!" he adds and who is Uzair to refuse? He does not wish this hell upon anyone. My wife, my house, I will love her wherever I want, what is it to you? Close the door behind you!
"আমি গঙ্গা ডুবি দেব! আর পারছি না যে বাড়ি তে!" Uzair shouts from behind the door before they hear his retreating steps on the stone staircase. I will drown myself in the Ganges! I can't live in this house anymore!
"ডুবে যাক ছাগল," Rehman mutters, his forehead against Ulfat's, who laughs a little. Let that fool drown.
"কাল ওর জন্যে ইলিশ ভাপা করতে হবে," Ulfat chuckles, speaking after her momentary silence around Uzair. I'll have to make hilsha fish for him tomorrow.
"তুমি ওর নেকামি বাড়িয়ে দিচ্ছ এত আদর করে," Rehman grumbles and Ulfat smiles, shaking her head. You spoil him too much
"ছোট বাচ্চা তো," Ulfat chides and Rehman lets out a humourless laugh. He's a child.
"ষাঁড় এর মতো বড়ো হয়ে গিয়েছে আর তুমি বাচ্চা বাচ্চা করো," he complains. He's as big as an ox now and you still baby him. She kisses him quiet, her hand stroking his back. And he forgets it all. Her uncanny ability to make everyone in the house happy is undoubtedly one of her best qualities.
He takes off her nightgown, immediately squeezing the swell of her hip. His pyjamas come off next, leaving them both bare before each other as he lays her back down on the mat, climbing on top of her.
"Ah," she moans softly, exposing her throat for him to nip at again, and he does, relishing in the slightly salty and sweet taste of her beautiful skin.
"অনেক ভালোবাসি গো তোমায়, প্রিয়তমা," he whispers, trailing his kisses down her body, over the dip of her breasts and the slight valley of her ribs. I love you so much, my darling.
He reaches her waist and begins to suck and bite, shallow breaths leave Ulfat's lips as he does. Bright red love bites bloom in a line across her waist, joining at her belly button, the most beautiful kamarbandh he has ever given her, he thinks as he lifts himself on his arms to admire his work.
"কাল দেখবে, কি সুন্দর হয়েছে," he smiles, his fingers tracing the small bruises. You'll see tomorrow how beautiful it is. Ulfat blushes, looking away. "বলেছি না? কোনো সময় অন্য দিকে ফেরাবে না? এতো মিষ্টি মুখ তা লুকাতে নেই." he chides lovingly, reaching to turn her crimson face back to him. Didn't I tell you to never turn your face away from me? Never hide such a beautiful face away from me.
"তুমিও না ইস্সী," she giggles, looking at him fondly. Stop it.
"আমার লক্ষিটি," he smiles, stroking her cheek before leaning down to kiss her. My sweetheart.
"অধরের কাণে যেন অধরের ভাষা। দোঁহার হৃদয় যেন দোঁহে পান করে।" he whispers, settling between her inviting and open thighs. Lips' language to lips' ears. Two drinking each other's heart, it seems. The Kiss by Rabindranath Tagore, she thinks, amused.
"গৃহ ছেড়ে নিরুদ্দেশ দুটী ভালবাসা, তীর্থযাত্রা করিয়াছে অধর-সঙ্গমে!" she smiles before gasping when he pushes inside gently, his lips milimetres from hers. Two roving loves who have left home, pilgrims to the confluence of lips.
"দুইটি তরঙ্গ উঠি প্রেমের নিয়মে, ভাঙ্গিয়া মিলিয়া যায় দুইটী অধরে।" he murmurs, slowly thrusting in and out of her. Two waves rise by the law of love, to break and die on two sets of lips.
"ব্যাকুল বাসনা দুটী চাহে পরষ্পরে, দেহের সীমায় আসি দুজনের দেখা!" she whines softly bucking her hips against his. Two wild desires craving each other, meet at last at the body's limits.
"প্রেম লিখিতেছে গান কোমল আখরে, অধরতে থরে থরে চুম্বনের লেখা।" he says in a raspy, desperate voice, his thrusts getting faster. Love's writing a song in dainty letters, layers of kiss-calligraphy on lips.
"দুখানি অধর হ’তে কুসুম চয়ন, মালিকা গাঁথিবে বুঝি ফিরে গিয়ে ঘরে?" she breathes out shakily, trembling as she nears her release, and he is close too; he can feel the knot in his lower belly getting tighter, and he starts pistoning his hips faster. Harder. Plucking flowers from two sets of lips, perhaps to thread them into a chain later.
"Ah!" she gasps, feeling the head of his cock hit the right spot inside her as it tips her over the edge. He kisses her at the very moment, finding his own release as their moans drown in each other's lips, slow thrusts in and out to ride out their highs.
"দুটি অধরের এই মধুর মিলন, দুইটি হাসির রাঙা বাসর শয়ন॥" she says in a trembling voice between shaky breaths, entirely spent, a satisfied smile on her face. This sweet union of lips is the red marriage-bed of a pair of smiles.
Rehman laughs, entirely amused and enamoured. His gorgeous, educated, smart wife. His priyotoma. "সব হারাতে রাজি আছি, শুধু তোমায় নিয়ে জেদ করবো," he smiles, getting up to put his clothes on and she does the same. I am willing to lose everything but you.
"আমাকে হারানোর ভয় কেন? আমার সব পথ গিয়ে মেশে তোমার ধরে এ এসে," she smiles, lying back down with him, her head on his chest. Why are you scared of losing me? Any path I take will inevitably lead back to you.
He smiles, pulling her closer. He loves her beyond explanation, and he is aware that she loves him right back with a matched sort of intensity. The mother of his children and his now-grown brother. He does not know how he would have raised Uzair without Ulfat. No, scratch that, he does not know how he would have lived without her. She makes life worth living and he does not care how whipped it makes him sound at all.
Monohor (oneshot in the same AU)
DW I wont tag the ones not in my usual tag list in all my works lmao just this one
Disclaimer: Obviously I do not condone terrorism and neither am I romanticising the real Rehman Dakait. Just writing about my pookies Rehmat played by Akshaye Khanna and Saumya Tandon. In my AU when I write about them, Rehman is just a mob boss and a politician, dark romance core.
Rehman Baloch x Ulfat Jahan ONESHOT
SMUT SO MINORS STAY AWAY
I am working on the next chapter of October Birds dw dw will update really soon, I've just been itching to write this ever since I got the idea lmao
Based on this post.
Masterlist
The first rays of the rising sun pierce the baby-blue voile curtains, filling the master bedroom of the Baloch Haveli with soft light. Ulfat stirs awake, reaching around for her husband, but her hands grasp at air around the king-sized bed. She slowly sits up, already feeling a mild irritation at not finding her husband in bed. She sits up and then places a pillow behind her to lean back against, arms crossed in front of her. The faint noise of the shower running can be heard from the washroom, and she stares at the teak door as if it personally offends her. How dare Rehman leave her alone in bed on the morning of Eid-ul-Fitr? The audacity is almost frightening, she thinks. Ramzan has meant slowed intimacy for them; they cannot do anything while fasting, too tired and full from iftar to do anything afterwards. Even when she was on her period and was excused from fasting, he was still fasting like the man of God he is. She has been craving him, had been expecting him to wake her up this morning with his face between her thighs.
The holy month of Ramzan has been nothing short of torture for both of them. She has had to excuse herself from the most mundane situations because, at one point, the sheer longing for each other had begun to burn so wild in their veins that Rehman shaving his throat or Ulfat fixing her dupatta over her head was enough to send the other into a barely concealed spiral. The last week of Ramzan had been especially brutal for Ulfat. Watching Rehman play football in the courtyard with Faizal and Naieem, scoring a goal past Uzair, had been torture; she almost drew blood from her palm with how tight her fist had been, nails digging into soft skin.
But they tried to keep it together, good heavens, they tried. For the sake of their children and poor Uzair, they had traumatised him enough in their early days of marriage. Uzair had walked in on them enough times to know to knock before entering any room where Rehman and Ulfat might be together and alone. Does he wish he could use bleach and a toothbrush to scrub every fold and crevice of his brain to wash away every memory he has of his elder brother and sister-in-law in positions which could give the Kamasutra a run for its money? Yes. Absolutely and wholeheartedly yes.
Rehman walks out of the washroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his lithe waist, his chest hair sticking to his fair skin. Ulfat's eyes follow the trail of hair down his stomach, the towel adding to her growing irritation and want.
"Uth gayi, meri jaan?" Rehman smiles, looking at her as she nods slowly. You're up, my love? His damp hair falls over his forehead, droplets of water travelling down the hook of his nose, his lips and down his neck, over the tantalising swell of his prominent Adam's apple. Oh, she is going to devour her husband; this is her final straw. "Eid Mubarak, meri chaand."
"Haan haan Eid Mubarak," she says dismissively as he rakes his fingers through his damp hair to push them away from his face. The veins on his hand join the tributaries of deeper veins on his forearms before melting into the large sea of one vein on each bicep, which are almost too much for her.
"Mood kharab hai?" he asks, walking towards her. Are you in a bad mood?
"Eid ki namaz kis waqt hai?" she asks dryly. When is the Eid namaz going to be held?
"7 baje," he smiles, standing a few steps away from her. "Ek ghanta baki hai." At seven o'clock, still an hour left.
"Kyu bey Baloch? Itni jaldi jag agye?" she grumbles, looking at him with an offended expression, and he laughs heartily as he nods. "Hans maat!" she snaps. You woke up this early? Don't laugh!
"Meri jaan humne kuch galat kiya kya?" he asks with a genuine smile. Did I do something wrong? The Sher-E-Baloch cannot help but smile around his darling, his Ulfat, whose name literally meant love.
"Sardar Abdur Rehman Baloch," she says dryly, eyeing him up and down with nothing but lust swirling in those now dark greys. "Itni jaldi jag sakte hain nahane ke liye?" You can wake up this early to just shower?
"Eid hai," he smiles, knowing exactly where this is going. It is Eid. And does she think he did not plan this? He knows how much it turns her on to see him wet from a shower or the rain. He has intentionally left enough time to shower again after he has taken care of her.
"Aur apne begum ka kya?" she asks, irritated now. And what about your wife?
"Meri begum ki koi khwaish hai? Shikayyat shayad?" he smiles, and she hooks her finger, beckoning him closer. Does my wife have any demands? Maybe complaints?
He takes the command like a good husband because that is all he is in front of her. He is not the feared mob boss of Lyari, not the revered politician either. No, he is just Ulfat Jahan's dutiful and loving husband, which he believes to be his highest calling. He has lost count of how many times he thanks Allah for her, perhaps a little more grateful for her than he is for their children. Tears stream down his face as he bows down on the prayer mat during most fajr prayers at dawn. Lord, take everything from me if you have to, but never part me from my Ulfat.
"Kya chahiye meri jaan ko?" he smiles, standing right in front of her, and she pulls him onto the bed, kissing him. What does my love want? Enough talking already. They're short on time. He does not hesitate to kiss her back. Feverishly. Feverently.
"Don't you want me?" she mutters against his lips, only parting to take off his soft white cotton kurta that she had worn to bed the night before, revealing her body to the man who worships every inch of it reverently. She had worn nothing underneath, shaved her entire body the night before to prepare for him.
He reaches for her waist, large calloused hands wrap around milky soft skin, squeezing gently. "Koi aur nazron mein jajta hi nahi, meri jaan," he whispers, his mouth finding her breast with practised ease. Nobody else quite catches my gaze.
"Tab tumne mujhe acchi tarhah se kyun nahi jagaya?" she says in a shaky breath, arching her back, her knees on each side of his hips as she straddles him, her hands reaching down to remove the towel, the only fabric separating the two of them. Then why didn't you wake me up nicely?
"Jab aap soti ho, itni khoobsurat lagti ho, main aapko jaga nahi sakta," he murmurs, taking her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand reaches up to massage her other breast. You look so pretty when you sleep. How could I wake you up? She moans, her head thrown back a little as her hips grind against his; he can feel her arousal on his hardening cock.
"You know I have been looking forward to this, all month," she whines, her hands stroking his damp hair as he continues his ministrations.
"And I aim to please, jaaneman," he says against her skin, laying her down and climbing on top of her in one swift motion. No time to waste. Forty-five minutes on the clock. He has to leave five minutes before the azan, the call to prayer. And he has to shower again after this.
He pushes inside her, gently enough, her hands on his back, nails finally digging into the skin they have yearned to dig into for so long as she lets out a satisfied moan, letting her legs wrap around his waist.
"Theek ho?" he murmurs against her neck before sucking a love bite onto her skin. Are you alright? She barely nods, unable to speak, lost in the endless sea of pleasure of having her husband.
He thrusts in and out of her at a moderate pace until she speaks. "Harder," she grits out, looking into his eyes with a fierce and all-consuming sort of intensity. "Fuck me like you mean it." And who is he to say no to her? He pounds into her hard and fast, his hips pistoning like a man on a mission, one hand beside her head to balance himself and another squeezing at her breast. Gosh, he loves her breasts; if he could, he would spend the rest of his life with his face buried between them.
"You are so fucking beautiful," he says in a rough, shaky voice, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, his hips not giving away any time soon. She kisses him back, nails running down his back. "Kiski jaan ho bolen," he mutters, biting her lower lip. Whose love are you? Tell me.
"Aapki. Puri ki puri aapki hoon, sab kuch," she breathes out, her words slurring and punctuated by thrusts. Yours. All yours, everything is yours.
"Are you close?" he whispers, feeling her clench around him, and she lets out a strangled noise low in her throat. He takes that as his sign and reaches down to rub at her clit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
"Rehman!" she cries out, cumming with a squeeze of her breast, shaking as he keeps going, reaching his high only moments later, releasing inside her with a grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he collapses on top of her.
"Ishq aur mohabbat dono hi karte hai aapse," he murmurs, kissing her cheek as she rubs his back. I love you more than words can describe. Still twenty minutes left. He can get some cuddles before showering again to clean himself for the Eid namaz.
"Eidi kab denge?" she whispers with a smug smile. When am I getting my Eid gift? He chuckles, amused as he sits up slowly and reaches for the nightstand, grabbing a box from the drawer and giving it to her. She opens it and finds pearl drop earrings, real gold makes up the body, of course, he does not do fake metals. "I love it," she smiles, kissing his cheek.
"Yeh kya hai? Aap bole toh chaand la denge," he smiles, pulling her into his arms. This is nothing, I'll bring you the moon, just ask. She laughs, snuggling closer. It had all been for the best, eloping to marry this handsome and loving man. She is always so quick to judge women who are obsessed with their husbands, but she has good reason. Her husband is not just some man; he is the Rehman Baloch.
Soon, he will have to get up and shower again, take their sons and Uzair to the masjid, and fulfil his duties as the man of the Baloch Haveli. And he will do it all with a smile because this home is theirs. It is Rehman and Ulfat's home, their little haven, and he will do anything to make sure it all stays that way.
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