The Wolf at the Threshold (3)
Taglist; @maraudersbitchesassemble @yalina-rangi @hum-suffer @ramayantika @seongjeholic @maooyinysparkle @dearrosary @feministmenlover @jj293 @houseofbreadpakoda @luuuuuuvshoon @desi-brownie @bonradswiftie @trippitoas27 @professor-cant-fuck @daydreaming-in-moonlight @thatsaneblogger @mylifesalreadyfucked @severusthings @ooopssssu @suvarnarekha @nooriyat
Pairing: Rehman Dakait (unmarried) x Reader
Note: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. This content is intended for audiences 18+ only.
A/N: Well girlies- thats it. The last Chapter of WATT. I loved writing this- I think it's one of my favorite things I've ever written. Thank you guys so much for liking it as well! Worry not, it might be the last Part of this Fic, but I'm not done with Rehman at all. Stay tuned!
Warnings: age gap , heavy tension, suggestive themes, power dynamics, posessiveness, mention of alcohol, unprotected sex, oral (both f and m recieving) rough sex, multiple positions, creampie, mentioning of soft spanks, SMUT.
PART 3 OF 3
The heavy oak door of your bedroom clicked shut, and for the first time in hours, you were alone with the silence.
But it wasn't a peaceful silence; it was a vacuum, rushing with the phantom sensations of the backseat—the ghost of his calloused palms on your thighs, the vibration of his gravelly voice against your ear..
You leaned your back against the wood, your knees finally giving way as you slid down to the floor.
Your breath came in shallow, jagged hitches. You were a mess of silk and secrets. Your heart was drumming a frantic rhythm that felt loud enough to wake the entire house. He was downstairs right now.
He was sitting in a leather chair, perhaps swirling a glass of the same scotch you could still taste on his tongue, speaking to your father with the mask of a loyal friend. The audacity of it—the sheer, dark thrill of the deception—made your head spin.
The room was dark, lit only by the silver spill of the moon through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the silk sheets of your bed.
Your heart was a trapped bird, battering itself against your ribs, still frantic from the ghost of his hands and the lingering, metallic scent of his cologne that seemed to have woven itself into your very pores.
He had told you to wash him off..
The thought felt like a sacrilege, yet the command was an anchor.
You forced yourself to move, your limbs feeling heavy and uncoordinated. Every rustle of your dress sounded like a betrayal in the quiet room. You moved toward the ensuite, flicking on the light and recoiling slightly at the sight of yourself in the mirror.
You didn't look like the girl who had left for the gala. Your hair was a wild halo of tangles from where his fingers had gripped it, your lips were bitten and swollen to a deep, bruised red, and your eyes—they looked dark, hungry, and entirely unrecognizable.
You turned the brass handles of the tub, letting the water roar to life. As the room filled with steam, you began to peel away the layers of the night. The silk gown fell to the floor in a heap of useless luxury. You stepped into the scalding water, a sharp gasp escaping you as the heat hit your sensitized skin.
You began to scrub, just as he had told you to. You washed away the scent of the ballroom, the rain, and the faint, musky trail of his cologne. But as you ran the sponge over your hips, your fingers brushed the faint, blossoming marks his grip had left behind. You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the cold porcelain, and for a moment, you weren't in the bath. You were back in the dark, the car swaying, the world outside a blur as Rehman Dakait dismantled everything you thought you knew about yourself.
Ya Qalbi..
The memory of the endearment made a fresh jolt of heat pool in your stomach. He hadn't said it with love; he had said it with the weight of a king claiming a territory.
Tick. Tick. Tick.. time didn't seem to pass.
When you finally stepped out, wrapped in a thin, translucent robe of white silk, you felt hollowed out and electrified all at once.
You sat on the edge of the bed, the silk of your robe sliding against the silk of the sheets—a friction that made you shiver.
You didn't turn on the lights. You watched the clock again.
Tick tick tick..
Minutes stretched into infinities. Every creak of the old house was a footstep; every sigh of the wind against the glass was his voice calling you Ya Qalbi. You found yourself tracing the marks he’d left on your collarbone in the mirror, your touch light and reverent.
The house was silent now. Your father’s footsteps had long since faded as he retired to his wing. The servants had vanished into the shadows of the lower floors. The world was asleep, but you were wide awake, every nerve ending screaming for the man who had promised to ruin you.
The wait was its own kind of torture—a slow, agonizing stretch of time where your imagination ran wild.
You felt needy, a starving thing wrapped in lace, your body leaning toward the door with every breath you took. You weren't just waiting for a man; you were waiting for the inevitable storm.
Then, through the heavy silence of the hallway, you heard it.
Not a knock. Not a call. Just the faint, rhythmic click of heavy shoes on the hardwood, slow and deliberate, growing louder until they stopped directly outside your door.
Your breath hitched and stayed there. The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
The door didn’t just open; it yielded to him.
Rehman stepped into the room with the quiet, terrifying assurance of a man who owned the shadows he walked through.
He wasn't a giant of a man—he didn't need to be. His power didn't come from bulk, but from the stillness in his frame and the sharp, lethal intelligence behind his eyes.
In the moonlight, he looked like a blade: lean, refined, and devastatingly handsome in a way that only a man who had survived a thousand wars could be..
He didn't close the door immediately. He stood in the frame for a heartbeat, his silhouette cutting a dark notch into the dim light of the hallway. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were corded with tension and history.
He looked at you, sitting there in your thin silk, and the air in the room seemed to vanish.
"You're still awake," he stated. It wasn't a question. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to crawl across the floor toward you.
He finally closed the door, the click of the lock sounding like a gavel in the silence. He didn't rush. A man like Rehman Dakait never rushed; he moved with the steady, rhythmic pace of an apex predator who knew the exit was blocked.
"I told you to wait," he murmured, his footsteps muffled by the heavy rug as he crossed the room. "And yet, seeing you here... I wonder if you truly understood the weight of that command."
He stopped a few feet from the bed, his presence casting a long shadow that draped over your lap.
He didn't touch you yet. He simply stood there, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets, looking down at you with a gaze so heavy and hungry it felt like a physical weight.
He looked older in this light—It made the attraction sharper, a jagged edge of forbidden respect and terrifying need..
"You look like a ghost in that white silk," he said, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "Trembling. Needing. You’ve been sitting here for an hour, imagining what I’m going to do, haven't you?"
He took a step closer, invading the small pocket of space you had left. The scent of him—expensive tobacco, scotch, and that dark, intoxicating musk—filled your senses until your head felt light.
"aap sochate hain ki choonki aap apane kamare mein hain, apane bistar par hain, isalie aapake paas kuchh shakti vaapas aa gaee hai," he continued, leaning down until his face was inches from yours. He reached out, his hand—capable of destruction—cupping your jaw.
His thumb dragged over your lower lip, forcing it to drop.
"But I am the man who walked through your father's front door with a smile while my fingers where still soaked from your juices after i made you cum.. I am the man who decides when this lesson ends. And right now... I’ve barely begun to be disappointed by how little of my patience is left."
He shifted his grip, his fingers sliding into your hair and gently but firmly tilting your head back, exposing the pale line of your throat to the moonlight.
Fuck..
You could feel the heat radiating from him, a sharp contrast to the cool silk against your back. Any other person would have withered under that cold, gangster’s stare, but you felt a reckless flare of defiance—a need to meet his fire with your own.
You didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned into his palm, your lips brushing against his skin like a whispered scream.
"Then lose it," you whispered, your voice a jagged edge of silk and smoke.
You saw the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes narrowed as if he were re-evaluating the girl in front of him.
You tilted your head further back, offering him the vulnerability of your neck, your pulse thrumming visibly against the moonlight.
"I didn't wait in the dark for a 'good man', Rehman," you breathed, the name a forbidden prayer on your tongue. "I didn't wait for patience. I waited for you."
You let your gaze drop to his mouth before rising back to his eyes, challenging the predator who thought he could scare you with his history. You slid your hand up his arm, feeling the hard, whipcord muscle beneath the sleeve of his dress shirt.
"agar tumamen dhairy nahin bacha hai to ise mujh par kharch karo. ve aapake baare mein jo kahaaniyaan sunaate hain, unake samaan kroor banen. kaar mein aapane jo vaada kiya tha, use poora karen.." You took a shallow, needy breath, your chest brushing against the air he occupied. "I don't want your restraint. I want to see exactly what you look like when you finally stop holding back."
The air in the room seemed to ignite. The charisma he usually wore like a shield was slipping, revealing something much more raw and ancient. He wasn't just your father’s associate anymore; he was a man who had been invited to take everything, and you could see the exact moment he decided to accept.
His grip in your hair tightened—not enough to really hurt, but enough to make you gasp—as he leaned in until his lips were a mere heartbeat from yours.
"You have a very dangerous tongue," he rasped, his voice thick with a hunger he no longer bothered to hide..
"A dangerous tongue,"
he repeated, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost a growl.
His hand shifted from your jaw, his fingers sliding down to wrap around the front of your throat—not to choke, but to possess.
The weight of his palm was heavy, the heat of it searing. He leaned in, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply.
"You want the monster?" he whispered against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of your neck. "You want the man who handles the filth of this city so your father can keep his hands clean? Fine.."
With a sudden, violent grace, he lunged forward, his body slamming yours back into the mattress. The air left your lungs in a sharp umph, but before you could recover, he was over you, his knees pinning your thighs down, his weight a crushing, delicious reality. He looked down at you, his eyes twin abysses of dark intent.
He reached down and, with a single, brutal tug, ripped the silk tie of your robe.
The sound of the fabric snapping was like a starting pistol. He didn't gently peel it back; he shoved the silk aside, baring you to the cold moonlight and his burning gaze.
"Look at you," he hissed, his hand returning to your throat to hold you still, his thumb pressing just firmly enough to make your head light.
"A little princess begging for the wolf to bite. You have no idea of the scandal this is.. If your father walked through that door right now, I’d have to kill him just to keep you. That is the kind of man I am."
He leaned down, his mouth inches from yours, his scent—scotch, tobacco, and raw power—drowning out everything else.
"I'm not going to be gentle. I'm not going to be kind. I’m going to mark you so deeply that even when you’re standing in the sun, you’ll feel my shadow inside your soul. I’m going to make you scream in the one house where you’re supposed to be silent."
He let go of your throat only to catch both of your wrists, pinning them above your head with a single hand. His grip was like iron manacles.
With his free hand, he began to undo his own belt, the metallic click of the buckle sounding sharp and final in the quiet room.
"Now," he whispered, his eyes boring into yours with a terrifying, charismatic heat.
"Show me that dangerous tongue again.. Scream for me, Ya Qalbi. Let’s see if the neighbors can hear just how much you love being ruined."
The sound of the silk tie snapping was the last cord of your old life fraying apart, and instead of fear, a violent, jagged thrill sparked in your chest. You didn't shrink away from the weight of him; you arched into it, your body acting on a primitive instinct that bypassed your brain entirely.
As he pinned your wrists above your head, your chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow gasps. The coldness of the moonlight on your skin only made the furnace of his body feel more lethal.
"Then do it," you begged, your voice breaking with a desperate, unhinged hunger. "Kill the princess. I want the Wolf at the Threshold."
Your pupils were blown so wide they swallowed the color of your iris, reflecting only the dark, sharp silhouette of the man looming over you.
You were intoxicated by the scandal of it, by the sheer, delicious danger of his hand on your throat and his knees forcing yours apart. Every muscle in your body was taut, vibrating with a need so intense it felt like a physical ache in your bones.
You didn't want his mercy. You wanted his mark.
When his belt buckle clicked, the sound sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through your veins. You twisted your wrists in his grip, not trying to escape, but wanting to feel the friction of his skin against yours, wanting to remind him that you weren't a doll—you were a fire he had started, and you were ready to burn the whole house down with him.
His response was a low, animalistic sound that started deep in his chest. He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours with a bruising, desperate hunger that tasted of finality.
He wasn't holding back anymore. The charismatic mask was gone, the associate was gone, and all that was left was the man who had run out of patience.
As his hand slid down from your throat to claim the heat between your thighs, you realized with a dazed, drowning clarity that you hadn't just invited a man into your bed. You had invited a storm, and you never wanted to be dry again..literally ~
As he worked his belt free, he didn't look away from you. His gaze was a constant, heavy pressure, pinning you to the mattress more effectively than his hands ever could.
He stood for a moment at the edge of the bed, stripping away his shirt to reveal a torso that was lean and corded with whipcord muscle, marked here and there by the faint, silvered lines of a life lived in the shadows. He wasn't the hulking brute of your nightmares; he was something much more dangerous—a man who knew exactly where to strike to cause the most pleasure, and the most pain.
He climbed back over you, the weight of his bare chest against yours making you let out a high, broken moan. The friction of skin on skin was electric, a sudden, blinding heat that made your vision swim.
"You like that, don't you?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a vulgar, gritty hum against your ear. His hand slid down, his palm flat against your stomach before his fingers dived lower, disappearing beneath the silk that remained. "You like knowing that a man like me is ruining a girl like you."
He didn't use the gentle touch of a lover. His fingers were demanding, mapping your slick pussy with a rough, possessive authority that made your hips jerk off the bed.
You gasped, your head thrashing against the pillow, your nails clawing at his shoulders as he began to rub his lean fingers over your clit in slow circles
"Look at you," he hissed, his mouth hovering just over yours so he could drink in your cries. "So loud. So needy. Where is that quiet, polite little girl now? Gone. Replaced by a little heat-drenched thing that can't get enough of my hands.."
He leaned down, his teeth grazing your shoulder, biting just hard enough to leave a mark that would be purple by morning. He began to whisper things into your skin—words that were dark, vulgar, and stripped of any pretense. He told you exactly what he was going to do to you, exactly how he was going to use you, and exactly how much he enjoyed the way you were falling apart beneath him.
"You're soaking for me," he groaned, his movements becoming faster, more relentless. "And I haven't even given you the best part yet. You’re going to take every inch of me, and you’re going to do it quietly, do you understand? I want to hear you choke on your own breath trying to stay silent while I fuck you."
Fuck..
You were drowning in him. Every touch was an indecency; every word was a brand. You reached for him, your legs tangling with his, pulling him closer as the tension in your body coiled into a tight, screaming knot. You weren't just a secret anymore; you were his masterpiece, a portrait of ruin painted in the dark..
,,but first.." he tilted his head, a bit of a smirk playing on his lips. ,,youll be a good girl..and ill show you a different way to use that dangerous tongue of yours.."
The threat was barely out of his mouth before he moved. His hands gripped the edges of your silk robe and, with a brutal, steady force, he ripped the remaining fabric away. The sound of tearing silk filled the room, leaving you completely exposed to the silver moonlight and his ravenous, dark gaze. You didn't even have time to shiver before he was off the bed, standing tall and looming at the edge of the mattress.
"Sit up," he commanded.
It wasn't a request; it was an ultimatum. You moved on instinct, your body feeling heavy and electrified as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. You were trembling, your skin flushed, looking up at him from the center of the bed like a sacrificial offering.
Rehman stood there, his chest heaving, his hands going to the button of his trousers. He didn't finish the job. Instead, he stepped closer until he was standing right between your knees, his shadow swallowing you whole.
"Take them off," he rasped, his eyes boring into yours, stripping away the last of your dignity with a single look. "Undo them. Use those hands you were so eager to touch me with at the gala."
Your fingers were shaking so violently you could barely find the metal of his belt, but he didn't help you.
He just watched, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he forced you to work for it. When you finally managed to loosen his trousers, the fabric sliding down his lean, scarred hips, the air in the room seemed to ignite.
He reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair again, not with the intent to kiss you, but to guide you. He didn't need to say another word; the weight of his hand and the dark, vulgar promise in his eyes told you exactly what the next part of the lesson was.
You pulled down his boxers next, your fingers trembling a bit and a soft, mildly startled gasp escaped your lips as his Cock twitched right infront of your face.
The cool night air against your bare skin felt like a shock, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him. You were on your knees now, the silk sheets bunched beneath you, looking up at the man who had systematically dismantled every boundary you owned.
Rehman’s hand remained anchored in your hair, his grip firm and possessive. He didn't look like a gentleman anymore. He looked like the king of the gutter, a man who thrived in the dirt and the dark. His chest was heaving, the silver hair on his chest catching the moonlight as he looked down at you with a terrifying, heavy-lidded hunger.
"Don't just stare at it," he rasped, his voice dropping into a vulgar, gritty growl that made your stomach do a slow, dizzying flip. "You’ve been imagining this since the study. You’ve been wondering what a man like me tastes like. Now you get to find out.."
You reached out, your fingers trembling as you touched his cock- a soft, broken gasp escaping your lips again. The reality of him was overwhelming—hot, hard, and pulsing with a life of its own.
"That's it," he hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair, tilting your face up to his.
"Now open that pretty mouth for me.. I want to feel every bit of that dangerous tongue. I want you to take me until you’re choking on it, until you can’t think of anything but the way I’m filling you up.."
As you leaned forward, your heart hammering against your ribs, he began to talk to you in a way no one ever had. He used words that should have made you flinch—dirty, low, and stripped of any pretense. He told you exactly how he wanted you to move, exactly how he wanted you to use your lips and your tongue, guiding you with a rough, relentless hand.
"Good girl," he groaned, a low, animalistic sound that vibrated through your skull as you obeyed.
You opend your mouth, inviting him in by softly brushing your lips against his shaft, leaving a kiss, then lightly ran your tongue over his length before he grabbed your head to hold it in place- a while escaping you as he made you close your lips around him.
"Take it all. I want you to remember this every time you look at your father. I want you to remember the taste of me while you're sitting at dinner, pretending to be a saint."
The power dynamic had shifted entirely. You were a servant to his pleasure, a vessel for his darker instincts, and yet, you had never felt more alive.
Every time you gagged softly his grip only grew firmer, his voice more demanding. He was breaking you, just as he promised, peeling away the layers of your upbringing until there was nothing left but this raw, carnal need.
"Keep going," he commanded, his breath coming in jagged, rhythmic bursts. "Don't you dare stop. I want to see you ruined by the time I'm done. I want you to be a mess of my making."
You moved your head, your senses drowning in the scent of him and the illicit thrill of your own surrender.
It felt good- it made you feel empowered even now that you were so submissive to him.
You sucked, twirled your tongue around the tip of his cock while your eyed were fixed into his, one of your hands wrapped around his shaft while the other held onto his thigh firmly.
The silence of the room was long gone, replaced by the wet, rhythmic sounds of you sucking his cock and the jagged friction of Rehman’s breathing.
His head fell back, his throat corded and tense as a low, guttural moan escaped him—a sound of pure, unadulterated release that he couldn't choke back.
His fingers, buried deep in your hair, weren't just guiding you now; they were clinging to you, his knuckles white with the effort of not pushing you too far, too fast-
" Ya Qalbi," he hissed, his voice breaking into a rough, gravelly rasp. "You’re so good at this. So greedy. So perfect for me.."
He looked down at you, his eyes glazed with a dark, liquid heat that made your pulse spike.
The sight of you—kneeling before him, your face flushed and your eyes wide with a desperate, adoring hunger—was clearly doing more to ruin him than any bullet ever could.
"That’s it... right there," he groaned, his hips hitching forward instinctively. "Use your teeth, just a little.. yes..You’re going to be the death of me, Ya Qalbi."
The praise was like fuel. You sucked harder, your own moans muffled as you tried to take every inch of him, wanting to hear that animalistic sound tear from his throat again. You wanted to be the one to finally break the man who broke everyone else.
But just as the tension in his body reached a vibrating, explosive peak, his hands suddenly tightened, and he pulled you back with a sharp, forceful tug.
"Stop," he commanded, his voice thick and strained.
You blinked up at him, dazed and breathless, a strand of hair clinging to your damp cheek. Your heart was thundering, your body screaming for the conclusion you were both so close to reaching.
"Stop," he repeated, lower this time, as he stepped back just an inch, his chest heaving as he fought for air.
He looked down at you, his expression a volatile mix of pride and agonizing restraint. "I don’t want to finish like this.."
He reached down, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip, wiping away the evidence of your work with a look that was terrifyingly possessive.
"That was just a little warm up.." he whispered, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the bed.
"I’ve spent three days imagining you under me, screaming my name into the pillows. I’m not letting you off that easily. I want to feel you shake when I’m inside you. I want to feel the exact moment your spirit breaks once i fuck my cum inside you.."
He didn't give you a choice. He reached down, grabbing your waist and hauling you back up onto the mattress in one fluid, powerful motion.
"Now," he growled, hovering over you as he moved to finally bridge the distance. "Lets prepare you..Ya Helwa.."
"Ya Helwa,"
he breathed, the A endearment sounding like a dark, holy vow in his gravelly voice.
"My beautiful, sweet girl. You have no idea how well you’ve done."
The praise hit you harder than any command. It flooded your system with a dizzying, addictive warmth, making your head light and your body feel like it was melting into the silk beneath you.
You looked up at him through your lashes, your lips parted and swollen, your gaze heavy with a worshipful, frantic need. You were a mess of his making, and the pride in his eyes only made you want to disappear into him entirely.
He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his scent now inextricably mixed with the salt of your skin.
You gave into him completely, your limbs heavy and fluid as you slumped back against the pillows. You were his—utterly, dangerously his.
Rehman parted your legs, getting on his knees infront of the bed andmoved with a slow, agonizing precision. He didn't rush,he wanted to savor the dismantling of your composure.
He began to use his hands, drawing circles over your pulsing clit, and his mouth to tease- licking over you slowly, hisbtongue pressed flat against your sensitive skin.
He was thorough, his touches alternating between the rough, calloused pressure of a man who worked with iron and the startlingly soft, ghost-like grazes that made your nerves scream..
"Look at how you react to me," he murmured against your by now swollen, jumping clit, his breath hot and damp. "So responsive. So sensitive. Every time I touch you, you jump like a live wire.."
You let out a long, high moan, your fingers tangling in the sheets until the fabric threatened to tear.
The tension in the room was so thick it felt like a physical weight, a suffocating, golden haze of desire. You were lost in the rhythm of his hands, in the low, vulgar praises he whispered into your pussy and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his dark world that mattered.
He was preparing you, just as he said. He was building the fire until it was a roaring, uncontrollable thing, pushing you to a peak and then skillfully pulling you back, over and over, until you were sobbing his name, your heels digging into the mattress as you pleaded for the release he was so cruelly withholding. Close- so close- it made tears shot into your eyes.
,,Please!-" you begged, but he only nibbled on your clit- causing you to sob again in a mix of twisted pleasure and greed.
"Not yet," he hissed, his eyes catching the moon as he looked up from between your knees, his face a mask of predatory focus. "I want you so desperate that you forget there’s a world outside this door. I want you to feel every single second of what it means to belong to Rehman Dakait."
And you felt it- oh how you did-
The air was thick, tasting of salt and expensive tobacco, and you were drowning in it. You couldn't even form words anymore; you could only offer him those high, needy whimpers that told him exactly how well his "preparation" was working.
The praise, the heat, and the sheer weight of his presence had reduced you to something primal. Every time his voice rumbled that low, melodic "Ya helwa," a fresh wave of tremors rolled through your core. You were a symphony of soft, broken gasps and arched tension, your fingers blindly reaching for him, clutching at his shoulders, his hair, the solid muscle of his arms—anything to anchor yourself as he systematically unraveled your sanity.
Then, just as the world began to blur into white heat, he pulled back.
The sudden absence of his mouth and hands felt like a cold shock. You let out a frustrated, whining sound, your eyes fluttering open to find him watching you with a terrifying, dark clarity. He looked like a god of ruin—sweat-dampened, focused, and entirely in control.
He licked his lips clean, a low chuckle escaping him as he savored the taste of you on his tongue.
,,This is addictive..I suppose both of our tongues are dangerous..Ya Qalbi~"
He hummed, a chuckle echoing through the room as he patted your inner thigh, then gave it a light, playful spank.
,,Good girl..so good for me."
He leaned over you, his forearms bracing on either side of your head, pinning you into the mattress. His shadow swallowed you, but as he looked down, the harsh, predatory edge in his eyes softened into something deeper—something that looked dangerously like devotion for a moment.
He didn't just see a prize or a secret; he looked at you as if you were the only solid thing in his world of shifting shadows.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered, his voice losing its jagged rasp and turning into a low, comforting hum that vibrated through your very bones. He reached up, his thumb tenderly brushing a tear of pure overstimulation from your cheek.
Then, he positioned his cock against your enterance, grinding against your folds- up and down..slowly.
You let out a long, shaky exhale, your hands sliding from his shoulders-
"That's it," he soothed, but the fleeting moment of tenderness vanished as quickly as a ghost.
As he felt you yield, saw how ready you are- realised that you can take it- the raw, possessive hunger that defined him surged back to the surface, twice as potent as before.
The comfort in his eyes didn't just fade—it sharpened into a dark, focused intent that made your breath hitch in your throat.
He didn't wait for you to settle. His grip on your thigh tightened, his fingers bruising the skin as he hooked your leg, tilting your pelvis up to press your pussy against his hard cock even more, his grinding becoming faster-
Then, without another word, he pushed forward—not with the slow patience of a lover, but with the sudden, breathtaking force of a man reclaiming his.
The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken cry that was half-shock and half-ecstasy. The sheer, blunt reality of him, his cock inside you-was a thunderclap in the quiet room.
It was rough, it was deep, and it was utterly uncompromising. You felt the world tilt, your head falling back as your spine arched off the mattress, your fingers digging frantically into the muscle of his upper arms.
His cock twitched inside you- it filled you up- inch by inch, making you forget everything else around you.
,,Fuck..-" you heard him curse under his breath, your eyes meeting his shortly before he grabbed your face, lightly squeezing your cheeks as he watched your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.
,,Youre tight..Ya Qalbi..clenching for me like you never wanna let go.." He groaned, his grip firm- his voice dangerously addictive.
,,Fuck- Rehman-" you cried his name, but in pleasure- your eyes burning into his as if you were challenging him.
fuck me- break me, finally stop talking and take me-
That's what he could read in your eyes- and he could never say no to that...to you.
He started to roll his hips against yours, easily fucking his length in and out steadily for now, his fingers sliding from your cheeks to your jawline to tilt your head up- forcing you to look at him while taking it.
,,Haa- Haan- fuck-" your moans were music to him, every gasp and each cry was worship, each word from your lips no matter how vulgar sounded like prayer to him..
His hips snapped against yours by now- wet loud slapping sounds mixed with the sounds of his groans and your moans filling the air as he kept you pressed down tightly.
,,No little boy that your Father considers for you could ever fuck you like this Ya Helwa~'
He hissed, gripping your hip firmly to pull your hips back against his deep, fast thrusts- causing you to cry out loudly again-
,,Like that- none of them could male you cry like this.." his hand gave you a light spank before he groaned deeply, grabbing you suddenly and pushing you onto your side, causing you to cling onto one of his arms with a loud moan
,,Haan-! Just you could- oh my- fuuck-!" You submitted, your nails clinging into his skin as he started pounding into you relentlessly- his thrusts were precise- merciless- driving you insane with a hunger you had never experienced before.
Your Pussy clenched- desperately begging for more while your clit jumped at each time his skin slapped against yours hard enough to make a loud clap sound.
,,Rehman! Oh god- fuck! Please!-"
Fuck..
His voice broke lightly at hearing you say his name so needily, his head tilting forward before he nuzzled his face into your neck, pressing you down more and more forcing you to turn over more until you layed flat on your stomach while his lips bruised over your skin, from your throat..down your neck to your shoulders.
,,You drive me insane..Ya Qalbi.." his voice was sharp like a blade..so deep it send shivers through your entire body.
He lightly shifted his weight off you, but held your upper body pressed into the sheets with one hand. With the other- he reached around you, pulling up your Ass against him without pulling out of you- positioning you again for him to break.
,,Im going to mark you from within..im going to fill you up and taint your body so much nobody could ever deny mu claim on you- not these boys, not your father, not even you yourself."
He hissed, pushing his throbbing cock upwards against your spot so hard it made you scream in pleasure.
Your body and mind was a mess..
He reached up, his hand tangling brutally in your hair to pull your head back, forcing you to look at him as your climax began to build up making you drench the sheets under you.
"Look at you," he hissed, his voice a jagged, low-timbered rasp. "Taking every fucking inch of me.. You’re shaking, Ya Helwa. You're taking me so well.." he groaned,
His pace became frantic, a relentless, punishing rhythm that made your vision white out at the edges. He leaned down, his mouth inches from yours, his breath hot and smelling of the alcohol he’d shared with your father.
"Tell me," he growled, a vulgar command as he fucked his cock even deeper, hitting that one spot that sent sparks through your nerves. "Tell me whose you are before I ruin you for everyone else. Say it."
"Yours!" you sobbed, the word breaking into a high, keening moan as the first waves of release crashed over you. "I'm yours, Rehman! Oh my god- Rehman! REHMAN!"
The sound of his name on your lips was the final trigger. He let out a low, animalistic snarl, his hips locking against yours with a bruising, final force.
,,Ahhh! Fuck- ah- nhh!-" your voice was breaking, sweet as honey as your eyes got unfocused.
"You’re so tight..fuck-" he groaned, his eyes blowing wide as he finally lost his grip on the edge. "I'm going to fill you so deep you'll miss the fucking shape of my cock..I'm going to leave you so full of me you won't be able to walk straight.."
He didn't pull back. He stayed buried deep inside you, his entire body trembling with the force of his own release as he spent himself within you. Hot-thick cum filled you up- causing you to shake still- making your own Orgasm only more intense.
He was marking your insides, it was a primal possessive act that proved once more what kind of Monster Rehman really was.- A beast that had you utterly obsessed, that had corrupted your body, your mind- your soul. And you fucking loved that beast.
He collapsed against you, his chest heaving, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to yours. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sound of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again in the dark.
The room fell into a heavy, weighted silence, broken only by the synchronized, ragged sounds of your breathing. The storm had passed, leaving the air thick with the scent of salt, musk, and the undeniable reality of what had just transpired. Rehman didn't move immediately. He remained draped over you, his heart hammering against your ribs like a drumbeat of war.
,,Rehman.." you hummed his name, affectionately- lovingly- a breathless whisper that made him smile a bit.
He began to shift, his movements slow and agonizingly tender now that the fire had been sated. He rolled onto his side, bringing you with him, his arms winding around your waist to keep you anchored to his heat. He began to pepper your face with soft, reverent kisses—your forehead, your eyelids, the bridge of your nose—each one a silent apology for the roughness of the night and a vow for the future.
"Ya helwa," he whispered, his voice a low, honeyed vibration against your skin. "My beautiful.. you took all of it. You took every bit of me.."
He gently nudged you onto your back, the silk sheets cool against your heated skin. He sat up slightly, the moonlight carving the lean, hard lines of his torso into silver and shadow.
With a slow, steady pull, he retreated from you, the physical loss of him making you let out a small, involuntary whimper of protest.
But he didn't leave. He reached down, his large, calloused hand flat against your stomach, feeling the tremor that still lived there.
He began to rub slow, soothing circles over your skin, his touch possessive yet protective. He watched the way your body reacted to him—the way you were flushed and wrecked, your hair a dark halo across the pillows.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
You forced your heavy eyelids open. He was looking down at you with an intensity that was almost frightening—a look of absolute, unyielding ownership.
"Tonight wasn't just a lesson, and it wasn't just a mistake or a thing for just one night.." he said, his voice dropping into that deep, charismatic tone that made the world feel small. "I am going to take you home. Not to this house, not to your father's cage. To my home. As my bride."
The word bride hung in the air like a lightning bolt. You felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your spine, a mix of terror and a wild, soaring hope. ,,Rehman- but- my Father-"
"Your father..." he started, chuckling almost a bit.
"Your father is a businessman," Rehman said, his eyes darkening. "And he is about to realize he has lost his most valuable asset. He cannot deny what has happened in this room. He cannot look at you tomorrow and not see my mark on your throat. He cannot look at me and not see the man who has already claimed what he thought he could sell to someone else."
He leaned down, his hand sliding up from your stomach to cup your face, his thumb dragging across your swollen lower lip.
"I don't care who I have to go through," he hissed, the gangster returning to his eyes for a fleeting, lethal second. "I don't care what bridges I have to burn or whose blood has to paint the streets. You are mine. I have tasted you, I have filled you, and I am not a man who lets go of what belongs to him."
He leaned in, kissing the corner of your mouth with a terrifying sweetness.
"I am going to take care of everything. You will go to sleep now, and when you wake, the world will have changed. You won't be a daughter waiting for a suitor anymore. You will be the woman of Rehman Dakait. And Allah help the man who tries to stand between us."
Your reaction was a sob that got caught in your throat—a release of all the fear and longing you had carried for years. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair at his nape, pulling him down for one last, desperate kiss. You weren't afraid of the war he was promising; you were only afraid of the silence that would have followed if he hadn't.
You gave yourself to the promise, your body finally relaxing into the mattress as he pulled you against his chest, pressing a kiss against your forhead, holding you as if you were the only treasure he had ever truly won..
THE END.