Calculated Glances (1)
@bitchy-bi-trash, @hum-suffer @seongjeholic @maraudersbitchesassemble @yalina-rangi, @ramayantika @hosh-udaaye, @trippitoas27 @bonradswiftie @maooyinysparkle, @helios1960
Pairing: Hamza Ali Mazari (Jaskirat) x Reader
Note: MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. This content is intended for audiences 18+ only.
Warnings: HEIGHT DIFFERENCE, heavy tension, suggestive themes, stranger danger, teasing, shy! reader, seduction, Hamza being an absolute menace, gunplay, thighriding, talking you through it?! I went a bit crazy here-
Kind of ooc!-Hamza because he has no love interest in this au. (besides reader ofc)
PART 1 of ?
A/N: First of all- thank you all so much for liking the first part of the Rehman fic so much! It means so much to me, and the second part is gonna be released soon! for this one, really I just fantasized about how juicy Hamza is and - yeah. I'm just like you all - feral! Enjoy!
-nazma
"You’re trembling, and we haven’t even touched yet.. It makes me wonder... if I finally reach out and take what I’ve been staring at all night, will you break? Or will you finally be able to look me in the eye, jaan?"
The smell inside the great hall was so intense—cloying with the scent of expensive jasmine, heavy oud, and the underlying metallic tang of the power gathered under one roof.
It was a wedding of alliances, not love, and as the daughter of a man whose signature could move borders, you were more of an ornament than a guest.
You retreated to the edge of the balcony, clutching a glass of sparkling water like a shield. Your heels clicked softly against the marble, a timid sound drowned out by the roar of laughter from the inner hall.
All night you had tried to catch your breath- you needed fresh air- desperately. You were used to huge parties, my- you usually attend festives twice as big as this one but..for some reason- you felt uneasy.
Wherever you stepped in this huge, well decorated and beautiful scenery- you felt like you had to flee- run off- get out of here..
Outside on the balcony- the air was fresh, welcoming you with a chilling hug that made you let out a relieved, relaxed sigh..
Then, the temperature of the air seemed to shift ever so slightly again-
It started as a prickle at the base of your neck. You looked toward the center of the room, past the flower arrangements, and saw Rehman Dakait..
He was familar, very much so, since you had seen him more often than you would have liked to- speaking of buiness with your Father behind closed wooden doors or bringing way to expensive gifts to your Birthdays- gifts not even a real relative would be generous enough for.
He couldn't be the reason why your body screamed for you to run away..no.
As you kept watching him, he was laughing, his hand resting on the shoulder of a man you hadn’t seen before.
The stranger was tall—towering, really—with a frame that seemed to absorb the light around him. He wasn't laughing. While Rehman commanded the room with noise, this man commanded it with silence and his eyes, dark and predatory, weren't on the bride or the groom-
They were fixed directly on you while the slightest hint of a smile displayed on his lips.
You looked away quickly, your heart hammering against your ribs. His gaze felt like a physical hand on your shoulder- for a woman like you, always shielded from intense gazes or inappropriate conversations, it felt like he tried burning holes into your Lehenga with his eyes.
It was him- the reason of your heartbeat increased- the reason why you needed to get outside and take a break from his gaze
When you risked a second glance, he was closer. He hadn't walked; he had drifted, cutting through the crowd like a blade through silk.
He leaned down to whisper something to Rehman, his eyes never leaving yours. Rehman glanced over, gave a knowing, jagged grin, and patted the man’s arm before turning back to a group of men to discuss.. who knows what..
The stranger began to walk toward the balcony-
Every instinct told you to run back to your father, but your feet felt rooted to the stone. As he stepped out of the light of the hall and into the shadows of the terrace, the sheer scale of him became terrifyingly clear..
"The air is cleaner out here," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly hum that vibrated in your chest. "But you look like you’re trying to disappear, jaan."
You gripped your glass tighter, your knuckles turning white. "I just... I don't like crowds."
"A shame," he murmured, stepping into your personal space. The scent of sandalwood and tobacco enveloped you. He was so close that the heat from his body felt like a fever. He looked down at you, his shadow completely swallowing your smaller frame. "Because a girl like you? You were made to be looked at."
The air between you became impossibly thin as he spoke, his voice dropping into a register so low it felt like a physical vibration against your skin.
You felt your breath hitch, trapped in your lungs, as your back pressed firmly against the cold stone of the balcony railing. There was nowhere left to retreat. He stepped even closer, his large frame acting as a wall that shut out the music, the laughter, and the light of the wedding. In his shadow, the world felt private, dark, and dangerous..
Your head was tilted back at a sharp angle just to maintain eye contact, making you feel painfully small, painfully exposed. You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry. You could see the subtle pulse in his neck and the way his dark eyes tracked the frantic beat of the pulse in your own.
You wanted to look away—to find safety in the floorboards—but the intensity of his gaze was like a hook. A traitorous heat began to spread from your chest down to your fingertips, a direct contradiction to the way your knees felt weak. You weren't just intimidated; you were hyper-aware of every inch of him: the breadth of his shoulders, scent of his unusually long, curly hair, his dark and intense eyes- and the fact that if he moved just two inches closer, your chests would touch any second.
You took a step back, forcing yourself to look away and break eyecontact.
,,I should go back inside..-" was all that you were able to say in this moment, causing him to give you an amused smile.
Hamza didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned down, his face hovering just inches from yours. He didn't touch you—not yet—but he let his hand rest on the railing right next to your waist, his arm a heavy barrier that boxed you in.
"a shame.." he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, smelling of dark coffee and something dangerously masculine. "Is it because you’re afraid of me? Or because you’re afraid of how much you want to..actually stay right here Jaan?"
He let his gaze drop slowly, lingering on your mouth with a heavy, deliberate hunger that made your stomach flip.
"Rehman thinks I’m here for the business," he whispered, his voice a sandpaper caress. "But I haven't heard a word anyone has said since I saw you standing by the door. My mind has been... elsewhere. Occupied by the thought of how quiet you’d be if we weren't in a crowd.."
,,You dont even know my name- what do you-"
The challenge in your voice—small, breathless, but there—seemed to amuse him. It was the first spark of resistance he’d seen all night, and it only made the hunt more interesting.
"I know the way your heart tries to jump out of your chest when I step into your space," he rumbled, his voice dropping into a dangerous, silken register. "I know the way you bite your lip when you think no one is watching. Names are for the people inside that hall, jaan. They care about titles. I care about the way you look like you’re about to shatter if I so much as breathe too hard against your skin.."
The intensity was too much. Your breath hitched, and your gaze broke, sliding from his dark, searching eyes down to the sharp knot of his tie. You couldn't look at him anymore; the raw hunger in his expression made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a sheer cliff. You focused on the gold watch at his wrist, the heavy cufflinks—anything but the man himself.
"Look at me," he commanded. It wasn't a shout; it was a low, velvet pull.
You shook your head slightly, your chin dipping lower. The shyness felt like a physical weight now, heating your cheeks to a deep crimson. You felt his hand move—not to grab you, but to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His touch was searing, his skin calloused and firm. He didn't force your head up; he simply waited, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with agonizing slowness.
"If you're going to remember a man who ruined your night," he whispered, his face so close you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, "at least remember his name."
He waited until you finally, fearfully, flicked your eyes back up to his—a fleeting, wide-eyed contact that lasted only a second before your lashes fluttered shut again.
"Hamza," he finished, your reaction making him smile ever so slightly again.
His hand didn't move- it was still caressing the edge of your jaw- his eyes not loosing focus on your trembling lips for a second.
His thumb continued its slow, torturous path along your jawline, tracing the curve of your bone as if he were memorizing a map. The roughness of his skin against your soft cheek was a contrast that made your toes curl inside your silk heels. You were still trapped between his towering frame and the cold marble, the silence of the terrace amplified by the distant, muffled bass of the wedding music.
"Hamza," you whispered back, the name feeling heavy and foreign on your tongue.
The sound of his name coming from your lips made his eyes darken, a flash of something primitive and satisfied crossing his features. He leaned in even closer, his chest now a mere hair’s breadth from yours. You could feel the solid, rhythmic thud of his heart—steady, unlike your own, which was frantic and shallow.
The height difference felt more pronounced than ever. You felt like a small bird caught in a storm, tucked under the eaves of a massive, dark building. Every time you tried to lift your eyes to his, the sheer heat in his gaze forced them back down to the hollow of his throat.
"You're so small," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden, rough edge. He let his hand slide from your jaw to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling slightly in your hair, holding you in place not with force, but with the sheer magnetism of his touch. "So delicate. I feel like if I squeezed just a little too hard, you’d simply vanish."
He dipped his head, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from the sensitive skin below your ear. You let out a soft, involuntary shiver, your knees threatening to buckle. The scent of him—woodsmoke and pure, masculine heat—was making it impossible to think.
"Look at me," he urged again, his thumb now pressing firmly into the soft skin behind your ear.
You tried. You really did. You flicked your eyes up, catching the sharp, predatory curve of his brow, but the moment your gaze met those dark, bottomless pits of his eyes, you felt a jolt of pure electricity shoot down your spine. You gasped, your head dropping again, your forehead almost resting against the lapel of his blazer. You were shaking now—visible, rhythmic tremors that you couldn't suppress.
Hamza let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated right through you. He didn't let go. Instead, he used his other hand to grip the railing on the other side of you, effectively caging you in his arms without even a full embrace.
"You’re trembling, and we haven’t even touched yet.. It makes me wonder... if I finally reach out and take what I’ve been staring at all night, will you break? Or will you finally be able to look me in the eye, jaan?"
He paused, his breath hot against your skin, waiting for an answer you were too breathless to give.
"I think," he continued, his voice dangerously low, "I'd like to find out which one it is."
Hamza’s gaze broke from yours for a fraction of a second, but the pressure of his hand at the nape of your neck didn't waver. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping the balcony and the glass doors leading back to the gala with the cold, calculated precision of a man checking for witnesses.
The party roared on behind the glass—a sea of gold, silk, and false smiles—but out here, in the shadows he created, none of that mattered. Satisfied that Rehman and your father’s associates were sufficiently distracted by their champagne and politics, he turned back to you.
"Come," he commanded. It wasn't a request.
He didn't grab your hand. Instead, he placed his palm firmly against the small of your back, his touch heavy and possessive, guiding you away from the railing. You should have stayed. You should have turned back toward the light, toward the safety of the crowd and the people who knew your name. But as he began to walk, his long strides forcing you to move quickly to keep up, you found your feet moving in perfect synchronization with his.
It was as if he had cast an invisible tether around you. Every time your arm brushed against the fine wool of his sleeve, a fresh wave of heat rolled through you. You felt like a moth being drawn toward a dark, beautiful flame, fully aware of the danger but unable to turn away.
He led you through a side door, away from the main ballroom and toward a wide, dimly lit staircase. As you climbed, the thumping bass of the music began to muffle, replaced by the rhythmic clack of your heels and the heavy, steady footfalls of the man beside you.
The higher you went, the thinner the air seemed to become. The upstairs corridor was lined with heavy oak doors and lit by flickering sconces that threw long, dancing shadows against the walls. Here, the scent of the wedding flowers was gone, replaced by the scent of old wood and the overwhelming, spicy aroma of Hamza’s cologne.
He stopped in front of a heavy door at the very end of the hall, where the music was nothing more than a faint heartbeat beneath the floorboards.
"Why am I doing this?" you whispered, the question finally breaking through the haze of your shyness. You were looking at his chest, at the way his breathing remained perfectly calm while yours was a jagged mess.
Hamza didn't answer immediately. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around the brass handle of the door, but he didn't turn it yet. He looked down at you, his eyes hooded and dark, reflecting the dim amber light of the hallway.
"Because you've been bored your entire life," he said, his voice a low, gravelly truth that made your heart ache. "And because you know that tonight, for the first time, someone is looking at you and seeing exactly what's hidden under all that silence."
He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his height making the ceiling feel like it was closing in. "And because I haven't let go of you yet. And you haven't asked me to."
With a slow, deliberate click, he turned the handle and pushed the door open into the darkness of the room beyond.
The door clicked shut behind you, the sound final and heavy, severing the last thread of connection to the world downstairs. Hamza reached out, his fingers brushing the wall until he found the switch.
A soft, warm amber glow flooded the room, revealing a sprawling master suite—expensive furniture, heavy velvet drapes, and a wide, expansive bed that seemed to dominate the space.
The silence here was absolute, save for the frantic sound of your own breathing.
Hamza didn't move toward the bed. He stayed by the door, his towering frame nearly reaching the top of the frame. He watched you with a quiet, hungry curiosity, his hands shoved casually into his pockets, though the tension in his shoulders told a different story.
"You're bolder when there's no one watching," he observed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to bounce off the walls.
You took a small, tentative step further into the room, your fingers tracing the edge of a polished vanity. "Maybe I'm just curious," you whispered, finally finding the courage to look at him for more than a second. Up close, under the steady light, he was even more striking—the sharp angles of his face, framed by this wild looking beard.. the slight scar near his temple, the way his dark hair was perfectly styled despite the wind on the terrace.
"Why me? There were hundreds of women down there. Women who... who know how to talk to men like you."
"Men like me?" He took a slow step forward, and you instinctively backed up until your calves hit the edge of the bed frame.
He didn't stop until he was directly in your space again, forcing you to crane your neck back. "And what kind of man do you think I am?"
"khataranaak ho..." you breathed, the word coming out as a confession. " aur adhiir ho.."
"jab puraskaar iintajaar ke laayak hota hai to maiin bahut dhairy rakhata huuin" he countered. He reached out, his hand hovering near your waist, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating through your Lehenga.
"aur jab se maine us parityakt ghar mein kadam rakha hai, tab se keval aap hii dekhane laayak haiin. tum ek rahasy kii tarah lag rahe ho maiin baakii raat ko ujaagar karana chaahata huuin."
As he shifted closer, his blazer pulled back slightly, and that’s when you saw it..
Tucked into a leather holster against his ribs was the cold, matte-black grip of a handgun. The sight of it sent a jolt of pure, icy fear through your veins. Your breath hitched, and you recoiled, your eyes wide as you stared at the weapon. The reality of who—and what—he was crashed down on you.
"You're... you have a..."
Your voice failed you, your hands trembling as you clutched the silk of your skirts.
Hamza didn't flinch. He didn't try to hide it. Instead, his eyes turned into something darker, more intense. He saw your fear, and instead of backing off, he used it to draw the circle tighter.
"Does it scare you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper. He reached up, slowly unbuttoning his jacket and shucking it off, tossing it onto a nearby chair.
Now, in just his crisp white dress shirt, the holster was fully visible—a stark, violent contrast to the luxury of the room.
"I... I've never been this close to one," you admitted, your voice small.
Hamza took your hand. His grip was firm, his skin searingly hot against your cold fingers. He didn't lead your hand to his face or his chest. Instead, he guided your trembling fingers toward his side.
"Don't be afraid of the metal," he murmured, his breath hot against your forehead as he loomed over you. "It’s just a tool. It only does what I tell it to do."
He stopped your hand just inches from the weapon. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton of his shirt, the solid muscle of his ribs beneath your knuckles.
"Touch it," he commanded softly.
"Hamza, I can't—"
"Touch it," he repeated, his thumb stroking the back of your hand, grounding you. "Feel how cold it is. And then feel how hot I am. Tell me which one you’re really afraid of."
Your heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you finally let your fingertips graze the cold, textured grip. It was freezing, a heavy weight that represented everything dangerous about the world he lived in.
But as your hand rested there, so close to his heart, the fear began to morph into something else—a dizzying, high-stakes adrenaline that made your head light.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the pulse point at your neck. "There," he hissed, his voice thick with approval. "See? You’re not breaking. You’re waking up."
His hand stayed over yours, guiding your fingers to wrap fully around the cold grip. With a click that sounded like a gunshot in the silent room, he disarmed the holster. The weight of the weapon was shocking in your small palm—heavy, dense, and unapologetically lethal.
But he didn’t pull away. He took your wrist, his fingers like a scorched iron cuff, and moved your hand—and the gun—upwards until it was pressed flat against the center of his chest, right over his heart.
"Hold it there," he rasped.
The cold metal was now sandwiched between your palm and the thundering heat of his body. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, you could feel the violent, steady beat of his heart. It was fast—just as fast as yours. The realization hit you like a wave; this man, this giant who seemed so composed, was just as affected by the proximity as you were.
"You’re holding my life in your hand now," he murmured, stepping into the final inch of space between you. Your breasts brushed against his chest, the gun the only thing separating your heart from his..
Something shifted inside you.
Slowly, deliberately, you tilted your head back. For the first time, you didn't just glance at him; you met his dark, predatory eyes with a steady gaze of your own.
The air in the room seemed to ignite. Up close, his eyes weren't just dark—they were an obsidian storm, reflecting nothing but your own wide-eyed reflection. You saw the hunger there, the absolute focus, and the flicker of genuine surprise that you were finally staring back.
"I’m not afraid of the metal, Hamza," you whispered, your voice steadier than it had been all night. You pressed the gun harder into his chest, feeling the muscle beneath it jump in response. "And I’m not afraid of the man holding it."
A low, guttural sound escaped his throat—half-growl, half-chuckle.
His hand left your wrist and moved to your waist, his large fingers splaying across the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The height difference meant your face was perfectly aligned with his throat, but you didn't hide. You kept your chin up, your eyes locked onto his, refusing to be the first to blink.
"There she is," he breathed, his voice a rough, prideful velvet. "I knew you were hiding in there. All that silence, just waiting for the right hand to break it."
He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his gaze dropping to your lips and then snapping back to your eyes-
He didn't take his eyes off yours as his hand slid over yours, his large fingers prying the weapon from your grip with a slow, deliberate grace. The weight vanished from your hand, but the tension only doubled.
With a swift, fluid motion, he didn't put the gun away. Instead, he brought the cool, flat side of the barrel up, resting it against the top of your chest, just above the neckline of your dress. The contrast was electric—the biting chill of the steel against your overheated skin.
"My turn," he hummed, the sound vibrating through the metal and into your bones.
Before you could gasp, he placed his other hand on your hip and firmly spun you around. Your back hit his chest, your smaller frame completely eclipsed by his height and breadth.
He pressed you back against him, his arm wrapping around you like a band of iron, while the hand holding the gun stayed resting against your collarbone, marking you.
He dipped his head, his face disappearing into the crook of your neck. "You've been so brave," he whispered against your skin, his lips grazing the sensitive cord of your throat.
He began to kiss a slow, searing path from your ear down to your shoulder. Each press of his lips was heavy and purposeful, marking you as his own while the cool metal of the gun acted as a constant, grounding reminder of the danger you were dancing with.
You arched your neck, your eyes fluttering shut as a low moan caught in your throat. You felt small, protected, and utterly possessed all at once.
"Hamza..." you breathed, your hands reaching back to grip his forearms, feeling the hard, coiled muscle beneath his sleeves.
"I've got you," he rasped.
He turned you again, this time with a frantic sort of hunger. He put the gun aside for now-
His hands came up to frame your face, his thumbs wiping the flush on your cheeks. He looked at you with an intensity that made your knees turn to water, his shadow looming over you in the amber light.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, and you did. You met his gaze, wide-eyed and wanting.
He leaned down, bridging the final gap with agonizing slowness, giving you every second to run. But you didn't. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't a gentle brush; it was an invitation to a storm.
The kiss was deep and demanding, a collision of his raw power and your burgeoning desire. He guided you through it, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you opened for him, a soft whimper escaping you.
He tasted of dark honey and salt, his hands sliding down to your waist to hoist you up, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes just to keep the contact.
He was teaching you how to want him, his movements slow and rhythmic, pulling you into his pace until the rest of the world—the wedding, your father, the danger—ceased to exist the only thing that existed right now was him- and this feeling deep inside you. Arousal.
While the kiss had you basically on cloud nine already, Hamza moved towards the bet, sitting down on it- not breaking the kiss while his hands traveled lower to your hips, grabbing them firmly.
As you finally pulled back- out of breath and with cheeks matching the red curtains in the bedroom- he slowly eyed you.
You could swear you've seen him think for a second- just ever so faintly- as you watched your breath.
,,..Take this off for me.."
His voice interupted your own thoughts in a demanding, low voice that surprised you.
,,Take it off..? what- do you mean-"
Before you could finish your sentence, he had to gun back in his right hand, tilting the weapon toward the Skirt of your Lehenga.
,,Its only gonna be in the way..meri jaan"
He smirked at you, his head tilting lightly as he watched your shocked reaction. The fact that he had brought you so far- it made him confident he could make you do anything for him.....good.
His free hand lightly grazed over the fabric of his pants, slowly patting his thigh while his eyes never left your face.
You realised with a soft gasp- he wanted you to..take off your clothes and sit on his thigh..
A rush of pure shock and excitement jolted though your body- the thought alone- it was enough to make your knees weak.
You gave into those primal feelings- too curious- no..way too turned on to not do as he demanded.
With a gracefully move of your hands and some light tugging, the skirt of your lehenga hit the floor- fabric so heavy it made a soft thud sound as it dropped to the floor.
You must have your damn mind..showing yourself like this- to a total stranger! But..
It was too late.. was it not? there was no way you could escape him now anymore..and you didn't even want to anyway.
A growl escaped his lips, a low and dangerous sound.
He moved the gun, patting his thigh with it as he watched you move towards him- then stopped you.
,,These too.." he breathed, looking up to you as he lightly pushed the cold metal of the weapon under the rim of your underwear, lightly playing with it before letting it snap back against your skin.
,,I want to feel your pussy pressed right against my thigh.."
Your breath got stuck in your throat- no man ever dared to speak this way to you..and my- was it impactful.
You slowly pulled off your underwear, dropping it on the floor stepping out of it as you approached him further.
He looked more than pleased- he looked like he wanted to eat you up- reaching his free hand to gently pull you in, making you sit down on his thigh.
He gasped out- feeling his muscles tighten as he pressed you onto him, then gun still in his other hand and slowly trailing down from your stomach to your pussy.
,,Beautiful.." he breathed out, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath brush against your face again ,,and so wet already.."
The gun dropped from his fingers finally- it had served its purpose- as his big warm hands wrapped around your hips, guiding them slowly, making you grind against his thigh.
,,Hamza- ahh-" you moaned out softly, letting him take control over your body and mind. It felt dangerously good- your pussy grinding down on his thigh, his muscle lightly twitching at the impact- your clit jumped- your breath hitched.
,,Good..keep grinding like that meri jaan.. fuck yourself on my thigh.."
He encouraged you, his voice deep and growly- but yet- soft- like he wanted to reassure you its okay.
He showed you just how to move- how to push your hips forward and grind down on his lap patiently, holding you save in place.
You moved your hips forwards, grinding against him with another moan. ,,Yes- like this- nice and slow.." he groaned, his fingers gently tugging into your skin.
His pants got stained quickly from your juices, a dark wet spot that got bigger with each thrust of your hips- what a wonderful way to ruin a new pair of pants..
,,Go a bit faster now..dont be shy.. Ive got you.."
He leaned in more, resting his forhead against yours- the air between you two way to thin to breathe properly..but you didn't need air right now anyway..just him.
,,haan..ahh~" you leaned right into him, your nose brushing against his as you moved your hips faster, gliding up and down his thighs more needy- your hips rolling against him like you're in a trance.
faster.. again he guided you, moving his leg lightly which made you moan out loudly.
With each movement you teased yourself- your clit was fully stimulated, pressed and rubbed against his thigh- while him shifting his leg or simply flexing his muscle made her jump and pulse even more.
His hands around your hips slowly slipped to your ass, lightly squeezing before the grip got firmer and he started to move you, harder, pushing you down against him to make it even more intense for you..
he loved having you pushed against his body, enjoying your moans against his face- how you now desperately held onto the back of his head- your small fingers grabbing onto his long, luscious hair.
,,Thats it, just like that..make yourself cum on me.." he groaned, his lips crashing against yours again in an hungry, demanding kiss.
You moaned against his lips, biting them in a playful way while you felt self control slipping away- so good- the sensation, the air around you that felt like it's on fire, it brought tears to your eyes as you got close
By now you were bouncing on his leg- chasing the feeling that made you forget everything- the wedding- the fact you shouldn't even have talked to this man- a stranger, that so very easily captured you and melted you in his hands like ice..
You pulled away from the kiss as your orgasm shaked you through your core- it was a raw and overwhelming storm of feelings taking over your body and mind- Hamza flexed his muscle against your pussy- forcing the filthiest sounds out of your pretty mouth.
,,Oh fuck- yes fuck-!" You threw your head back, gasping and moaning while lightly circling your hips against his thigh still- unable to stop yet, riding out your orgasm fully.
,,Fuck look at you...that's exactly the girl I've seen all day...hiding behind this shy facade.." he groaned, closing the space you created by leaning your head back with crashing his lips against the skin of your throat, kissing over it feverishly while your fingers played with his long curls.
Your breath slowly calmed down, and you were finally able to face him again, gulping softly.
The eyecontact was intense, so many unsaid things screamed through them as you looked at each other for what felt like an eternity- and a smile formed on your lips as your hand traveled from his head to his face, lightly ans playfully tugging and his beard before caressing his face.
,,You did so well Jaan.."
His voice praised you, low...but softer than before- almost affectionate.
He gave you a smile, gently tugging some of your by now wild hair behind your ear, then pressed a kiss against your lips
,,Get dressed..the wedding is over soon. But don't worry..I know exactly where to find you..just leave your window open."
He smirked at you- an expression that you liked very much by now..
,,Are you going to kidnap me?" - "would you like that?" You had to chuckle. You would like it for sure.
,,Go on," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly caress. "Go back to your father’s side. Play the shy, dutiful daughter for just a little longer."
The cool silk of your skirt felt like a foreign skin as you smoothed it down, your fingers still tingling from the weight of his hands..
You paused at the door, your hand on the brass handle. For the first time all night, you didn't look down. You looked back at him, your lips swollen and your eyes bright with a fire you hadn't known you possessed.
"And when will I see you again, Hamza?"
"I told you," he said, leaning back a bit. ,,zi know where to find you..i won't let you wait long for me meri jaan.."
reassured and with a smile you slipped out of the room.
As you walked back down the long corridor, the muffled music from downstairs began to swell, but it didn't feel oppressive anymore. You felt electrified.
Your heart was still racing, not from fear, but from the delicious, illicit thrill of what had just transpired.
You smoothed your hair, tucked your chin, and re-entered the ballroom—appearing to the world as the same shy girl, while inside, you were screaming with the excitement of a woman who had finally been seen.
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing the room in amber-lit silence.
The moment the latch engaged, the warmth vanished from Hamza’s expression. The smirk that had seemed so genuine, so heated, didn't just fade—it died..slowly but surely.
So far so good.. his calculated glances worked..the first step was done..
TO BE CONTINUED.
