Calculated Glances (2)
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Pairing: Hamza Ali Mazari x Reader
Note: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. This content is intended for audiences 18+ only.
A/N: Here we go with part two of my Hamza fic- honestly- I just love kind of teasing you guys, so this time we get some delicious tension but not more so you guys will be all excited for pt 3! Hehe, I'm evil, ik
Warnings: HEIGHT DIFFERENCE, heavy tension, suggestive themes, Hamza! being seductive, reader! being head over heels, some spice at the end~
Part 2 of ?
The week following the wedding had been a blur of phantom sensations. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt the ghost of Hamza’s calloused thumb against your jaw. You were hopelessly, recklessly caught in the memory of him—the way he had towered over you, the weight of his gun in your hand, and the terrifyingly beautiful promise that he wasn't done with you.
You were a girl living in a daydream, unaware that the man in your dreams was a nightmare dressed in silk.
It was 3:14 AM.
The house was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that only comes with extreme wealth and thick stone walls.
You were staring at the ceiling, restless and aching with a crush that felt like a fever, when your phone vibrated on the nightstand.
The number was unknown. Your heart did a slow, painful roll in your chest.
"Hello...? kaun hai vahaan..? Hello?....kuchh bolo!" you whispered, your voice thick with sleep and hope- desperate almost.
"...tum jaag rahe ho," a voice rumbled.
It was him. That low, gravelly hum that had haunted your thoughts for seven days.
Just hearing it made your toes curl under your silk sheets. You sat up abruptly, clutching the duvet to your chest as if he could see you through the line.
"Hamza," you breathed, unable to hide the sheer delight in your voice. "How did you get this number?"
"I told you," he said, and you could almost hear the dark smirk in his tone. "I know exactly where to find you. Did you think I was lying?"
"I didn't know if you'd actually call." You sounded breathless, like a schoolgirl, and you hated it—but you couldn't help it.
He sounded so composed, so worldly, while you felt like you were vibrating out of your skin.
"main us nazar ke baare mein soch raha tha jo tumane kamare se baahar jaane se pahale mujhe dee thee," Hamza said. The sound of a lighter flicking echoed on his end, followed by a slow exhale of smoke. "..vah jahaan ab tumhen dar nahin lagata tha. isane mujhe… vichalit rakha hai."
Your face heated up. "main bhee isake baare mein soch raha hoon.. yah sab."
"Is that so?" His voice dropped an octave, becoming a silken caress. "Tell me, jaan. Are you in your bed? Are you alone?"
The bluntness of the question made your heart hammer. "Haan." you whispered.
"Good. Stay there. Don't turn on the lights." There was a brief pause, the tension on the line becoming so thick it was suffocating. "I’m outside. Look out your window."
Your breath hitched. You scrambled out of bed, your bare feet padding across the cold floor to the large bay window that overlooked the moonlit gardens.
You pulled back the heavy curtain just an inch.
Down by the iron gates, partially obscured by the shadow of a massive oak tree, stood a dark SUV. Leaning against the hood was a tall, unmistakable silhouette. Even from this distance, the sheer scale of him—the breadth of his shoulders and the height that made the world around him look small—sent a jolt of adrenaline through you.
He was looking straight up at your window. He raised his phone to his ear again.
"I can see your shadow," he murmured into the line. "You look so small up there. So far away."
"You shouldn't be here," you said, even as you felt yourself wanting to run down the stairs and throw the doors open. "If my father's security sees your car—"
"Your father's security sees what I allow them to see," he interrupted, his voice cold and terrifyingly confident. Then, his tone softened back into that dangerous, seductive velvet. "Put on a coat. Come down to the side gate. The one near the rose bushes."
"Hamza, it's the middle of the night..."
"I know what time it is," he rasped. "And I know you’ve spent every night this week wondering what it would feel like to have me touch you without a room full of people downstairs. Are you coming down to find out, or am I going to have to come up there and get you?"
Your heart felt like a trapped bird, beating frantically against your ribs as his words settled over you. Am I going to have to come up there and get you? The sheer audacity of it—
You didn't answer right away. You couldn't. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, your eyes fixed on his silhouette down in the darkness. He looked so immovable, so certain of your answer.
"Give me five minutes," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of terror and an exhilarating, reckless heat.
The silence of the room rushed back in, but the air felt charged, as if a storm had just broken. You didn't think; you didn't let yourself consider the consequences of what would happen if you were caught. You threw on a long, dark silk robe over your nightgown, the fabric cool against your heated skin, and stepped into a pair of soft slippers.
You moved through the darkened hallways of your home like a ghost. Every creak of the floorboards made your pulse spike, but the image of him—standing by that SUV, waiting just for you—pushed you forward. You slipped out the side servant’s entrance, the cold night air hitting your face and making your nipples harden beneath the thin silk.
The garden was a maze of silver moonlight and deep, ink-black shadows. As you neared the side gate, the scent of damp earth and late-blooming roses filled your senses. And then, you saw him.
He hadn't moved. He was still leaning against the car, his arms crossed over his chest, his white shirt glowing faintly in the dark. As you approached the wrought-iron bars of the gate, the true scale of the height difference hit you all over again.
You reached the gate, your fingers gripping the cold metal bars. "I'm here," you panted, looking up, and up, until your eyes finally met his.
Hamza didn't speak at first. He just straightened up, his movements slow and predatory, and walked toward the gate. He stopped so close that the toes of his expensive leather boots nearly touched yours through the bars. He towered over you, his shadow completely enveloping you, making you feel small, fragile, and utterly cherished in the most dangerous way possible.
"Two minutes and forty seconds," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel through the iron bars and into your fingertips. "You're getting faster, jaan."
He reached through the bars, his large, warm hand cupping your jaw just like it had at the wedding. The heat of his palm was a shock against the cold night air. He tilted your head back, forcing you to maintain eye contact, his thumb grazing your lower lip.
"You look even better in the moonlight," he whispered, his eyes dark with a hunger that made your stomach flip. "Less like a secret, and more like a confession."
You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as you let out a shaky breath. "I shouldn't have come down here. This is crazy."
"Is it?" He stepped even closer, pressing his chest against the bars. You could feel the radiating heat of his body. "Or is it the first honest thing you've done all week?"
He let his hand slide down to your throat, his fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, his thumb resting right over your frantic pulse.
The cold iron of the gate pressed against your front, and his body pressed against the other side, the bars a cruel, thin barrier between your desperate heat and his calculated power.
"It’s the only honest thing I’ve done," you admitted, your voice a ragged whisper. You leaned your forehead against the cold metal, looking up at him through your lashes. "I haven't been able to think about anything else. I feel... like I'm losing my mind."
Hamza’s eyes softened, he liked your honesty; he liked how easily you came undone under his touch..
"Good," he rasped, his thumb moving in a slow, hypnotic circle over your pulse point. "I don't want you thinking about anything else. I want to be the only thing that keeps you awake."
He stayed there for a moment, just breathing the same air as you, letting the tension stretch until it felt like a physical weight. Then, he slowly withdrew his hand, the loss of his warmth making you shiver instantly.
"I’m going to take you somewhere," he said, his voice regaining that cool, commanding edge. "Somewhere private. Somewhere we don't have to worry about gates or shadows. But first..."
He reached into the inner pocket of his dark overcoat. Your breath caught, half-expecting the cold weight of the gun again, but instead, he pulled out a small, heavy velvet box. He didn't hand it to you through the bars. He held it just out of reach, forcing you to lean closer, your face pressed against the iron.
"I wanted to give you this," he murmured. He flicked the box open with his thumb. Inside, resting on a bed of black silk, was a necklace—a delicate gold chain with a single, blood-red ruby that looked like a drop of frozen wine.
It was beautiful, expensive, and far too intimate a gift for a stranger to give.
"It’s too much, Hamza. I can’t—"
,,You can Jaan.." he started, humming almost.
"I want everyone who looks at you to know you've been seen by me. And I want you to feel the weight of it against your skin every time I’m not there to touch you myself."
He moved behind the bars, his large hands reaching around your neck to fasten the chain. Because of the gate, he had to lean down, his chest crushing against the iron, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he struggled with the small latch. The scent of his cologne—spicy, masculine, and expensive—enveloped you entirely.
"Turn around," he commanded softly.
You obeyed, your back now to the gate, your head tilted forward. You felt his hot breath on the nape of your neck, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps down your spine. The metal of the necklace was ice-cold as it settled against your collarbone, but his fingers, lingering to adjust the stone, were searing.
Once the clasp was secure, he didn't pull away. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear.
"There," he hissed, the sound sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through you. "Now you belong to the night. Are you ready to go? Or are you still playing the shy little girl?"
The moment you crossed that threshold, the safety of your father’s world vanished. Hamza didn’t say a word; he simply took your hand—his palm swallowed yours entirely—and led you to the idling SUV.
He opened the door for you, his hand hovering over your head to ensure you didn't bump it, a silent gesture of protection that made your heart swell. As he climbed into the driver's seat, the interior of the car felt impossibly small. The scent of him was everywhere.
"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you toyed with the ruby necklace.
"Somewhere quiet," he replied, his eyes focused on the dark road ahead.
The drive to his place was a blurred sequence of streetlights and silence, the kind of silence that felt like a fuse burning toward a crate of dynamite.
Your eyes were fixed on him- on how focused he looked as he took you home. He almost seemed too calm and focused, even as he opend the door for you to step out he seemed collected while your poor heart was racing.
However..
The moment the heavy deadbolt clicked into place behind you, the "gentleman" vanished.
He didn't even turn on the main lights. The only illumination came from the streetlamp outside filtering through the blinds, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Hamza turned, and before you could even take a breath to comment on the room, he moved.
He didn't just walk toward you; he surged. His hands found your waist, his large palms spanning nearly the entire width of your torso, and he hoisted you up as if you weighed nothing at all. Your feet left the floor, and you let out a small, startled gasp that was immediately swallowed as he slammed you back against the door you had just entered.
"Hamza—"
"I’ve been sitting in that car for twenty minutes trying not to reach over and tear that robe off you," he rasped, his voice a jagged, low growl that made your toes curl inside your slippers.
He didn't wait for an answer. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right where the ruby necklace rested. The contrast was maddening—the cold, sharp edge of the jewel and the scorching, demanding heat of his mouth. You arched your back, your fingers tangling desperately in his long hair, pulling him closer, wanting the friction, wanting the weight of him to crush the breath out of you.
The height difference was a weapon he used with lethal efficiency. With you pressed against the door, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist to stay upright, bringing your centers together with a jolt of electricity.
You could feel every inch of him—the hard line of his thighs, the coiled tension in his chest, and the undeniable evidence of how much he’d been wanting this.
His hands slid down from your waist to your thighs, his grip bruisingly firm as he hiked your silk skirt up. "Look at me," he commanded, his breath hot against your lips.
You forced your eyes open, your vision swimming. In the dim light, his eyes were pitch black, primal and focused. You weren't the shy daughter of a powerful man anymore; you were a woman unravelling under the touch of a man who looked like he wanted to devour you.
"You're so small," he whispered, his voice thick with a dark, heavy hunger. He shifted his grip, one hand staying on your thigh while the other moved up to cup your throat, not to choke, but to claim. "So small, and yet you’re all I can see. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?"
You couldn't speak; you could only whimper as he finally captured your lips. The kiss was violent, a desperate exchange of air and heat. He tasted like the night—cool and dangerous—but his tongue was a flame, exploring you with a possessiveness that left you dizzy.
He began to walk, his long strides carrying you across the room without ever letting your feet touch the ground. You were a part of him now, a frantic extension of his own body. He hit the edge of a heavy wooden desk, and instead of stopping, he cleared the surface with one sweep of his arm—books and papers scattering onto the floor—and sat you down on the edge of it.
He stepped between your knees, his massive frame towering over you even as you sat. He didn't give you a moment to recover. His hands moved to the tie of your robe, his fingers trembling just enough to show you that for all his experience, you were driving him to the edge of his control.
"I promised you we’d go further," he hissed against your skin, his lips moving down to the valley between your breasts. "I'm going to keep that promise. Every. Single. Word of it."
The sound of the papers hitting the floor was the only warning before the cold wood of the desk met your skin. You felt a wild, soaring heat in your chest, your hands frantic as they tore at the buttons of his shirt. You were tired of the fabric, tired of the barriers. You wanted the raw, unyielding skin of the man who had been haunting your dreams.
"Hamza, please," you whimpered, the plea catching in your throat as your fingers finally found his bare chest.
He let out a low, guttural sound—something between a groan and a growl—as he helped you, shucking the shirt off his broad shoulders with a violent impatience.
Under the dim light, he looked like a statue carved from dark stone, all hard planes and coiled muscle. The sheer size of him, looming over you while you sat perched on the desk, made you feel like you were being consumed by a storm.
His hands were everywhere at once. He pushed the silk robe off your shoulders, pinning your arms back for a second as he looked at you, his chest heaving. His eyes traced the line of your collarbone, the way your breath came in shallow, jagged hitches, and finally settled on the ruby necklace. It glowed like a drop of blood against your skin.
"Beautiful," he rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel. "So beautiful it hurts to look at you."
He leaned in, his mouth devouring yours again, deeper and more desperate than before. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling your body flush against his. The sensation of your soft skin against his hard, hair-dusted chest was a jolt of pure lightning. You felt small in his grip, but for the first time, that smallness felt like power.
You could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your own, a mirror of your own desire.
As the kiss deepened, his hands slid down to your waist, lifting you once more. You let out a soft cry of surprise as he carried you, your legs locked around his hips, through the narrow doorway into the bedroom.
The room was even darker, the air thick with the scent of him and the faint, sweet smell of the night air coming through an open crack in the window. He didn't drop you; he lowered you onto the bed with a deliberate, agonizing slowness, his body following you down until he was hovering over you, his weight a delicious pressure that pinned you to the mattress.
The bed was simple—no silk sheets, no ornate carvings—just heavy cotton and the solid presence of the man you were head over heels for. He looked down at you, his face inches from yours, his long dark hair falling over his forehead.
"You're sure?" he whispered, a rare moment of hesitation flickering in his eyes, a flicker of the man behind the mission. "Once we do this... there’s no going back to the way things were before."
You didn't answer with words. You reached up, your fingers playfully tugging on his beard before pulling his head down to yours.
The moment your lips met, the hesitation vanished, replaced by a raw, overwhelming heat that promised to burn everything else away..
TO BE CONTINUED
