| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| The Gala of Black Silks |

Meri Jaan. Meri Jaan. Meri Jaan

Meri Jaan

Meri Jaan

Meri Jaan...

There was something quite delicious about eye-locks. It could almost be described as passionate as lovemaking. The way it gripped your from inside out and had the power to make your throat dry and your legs weak. How it wasn't like they described it in books and movies; it was almost an extreme sport. To clash with someone's eyes and then to hold that gaze and keep the untethered, intangible chokehold was intense. It had your heart thudding wildly, your eyelids fluttering with the urge to weaken and look away and your skin tingling with awareness.

Meerab's wafer-thin organza blouse wafted in the light breeze, the neckline already with two buttons open, deepening. Her black, silk corset peeked out from the open buttons, covering her appropriately but low enough to delectably hint at the creamy cleavage it protected. And yet Murtasim's eyes hadn't shifted from her eyes since Meerab had lifted hers and looked at him. His hand gripping the heater's frame above her head and his body leaning into hers, he looked down at her upturned face, into the eyes he could now easily get lost in.

Having her this close was like heaven and hell served side by side on a platter. His mind remembered every inch of the five foot five inch frame in front of him. He'd run his hands and lips over its entirety enough in those few stolen hours to remember the curves forever. His fingers tingled with the memory; his entire body insanely attuned to her. So whilst the thrill of having her pressed up against his body was almost enough to make his mouth water, the restraint required to not do anything further was what was confusing his body. His lips and hands couldn't seem to understand why they couldn't be allowed to do whatever they wanted to her, and only the clenching of his jaw and hand gripped around the heater seemed to keep those urges in check.

And so only his eyes did what his body wanted to do; take in his fill of her. She looked back, stunned and with a conflicting storm in her eyes, like she wanted to hide but was too proud to do so because she was Meerab, and so she looked head on. Her eyelids would flinch the tiniest bit every few seconds, like she resisting the urge close her eyes or look down. They danced the sensual dance of the eye lock, unwilling to step back or step down until the first move was made.

Murtasim's eyes dipped to her lips for just a heartbeat before shooting back up, and it was followed by the soft ripple of the skin on his throat as he gulped, before a hint of his tongue slipped out and licked his own.

It had the effect of a wave washing over Meerab. She felt herself gulp as her own lips parted subconsciously. Her mind was trying hard to keep up with the signals from its rational part and also her body. It was too sudden. She needed to think of the right things to say, the right words to portray the jumbled up mess inside her. But he was right here, inches away and his eyes, his body and his demeanor all demanded words she knew she wasn't capable of right now.

It was his right of course, to have an explanation, some closure, just like it was hers. You didn't just spend the night in each other's arms and then go back to playing hide and seek, gaze edition during the breakfast buffet. On top of being taken aback, Meerab was caught unawares by just how much he was affecting her right now. She was having a hard time breathing in rhythm, let alone think clearly.

He seemed to be watching, but that was it. He didn't speak or move, and caged there in his arms with the sand blowing around them was doing things to Meerab she was having a hard time explaining. The pressure and intensity of the waiting game got heavier by the second, until a strong gust of wind blew and had Meerab blink and finally look down.