| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| The Flower of Paradise |

Musical inspiration I:
https://twitter.com/DanniiHi/status/1765505026250748360?t=PV6fM7K4R6iOab7ZzPlzLw&s=19

Something was different. Meerab shifted a little, her legs stretching underneath the lightweight duvet until resistance was felt in the form of another pair of legs. Her smooth, bare ones slid down longer, trouser clad limbs as she shuffled deeper into the cocoon of a warm, hard upper body. A moan fell out of her lips as her body found the perfect position; comfy, cosy and most of all radiating a feeling of utmost safety. Her back and hips lined perfectly with his chest and lower abdomen, her smaller frame fit right into his larger, bulkier one.

And it was like bliss.

Until her mind was awake enough to sift between sleep and awareness, and the very much awake part of her brain decided that it wanted to see the face attached to the body. And so with a little more discreet shifting to not wake him up, a hard task since she'd realised he was a light sleeper, she turned her body in the solid circle of his heavy arms until they were nose to nose. Her eyes fluttering lazily as she swayed between sleep and alertness, she realised the feeling that something was different was because something was different. They weren't on land.

The intimate cabin in the belly of the yacht was as lavish as a seven-star hotel room, but you still couldn't take away the feeling of not being on solid ground even though the yacht was stationary. Her nose suddenly flaring gently at his scent hitting her head on, Meerab's eyes finally opened, unable to deny herself the gratification. And gratifying it was.

This was rare; her watching him sleep. In the little time they'd spent actually sleeping during their time together, it had become clear that as to whom the morning person was; at the gym or at the office at five or six, and it was most definitely not her. He didn't go to the office so early when she stayed over, but he did leave to go to the gym whilst she slept, and more often than not, she would wake up to a freshly showered and dressed Murtasim on the phone on one business call or another.

In the times when they'd both woken together, they'd never made it out of bed in time. Ever. It was like they were physically incapable of being awake in a bed at the same time and it not leading to them to an exercise much, much different than the one Murtasim did at the gym. But other than that one time during the night when she'd woken up and had a chance to look at him, Meerab had never actually seen Murtasim sleep. And what a shame that was, because he was beautiful. As she blinked owlishly and her vision cleared, her blinks slowed until they were sporadic lazy movements and Meerab felt her gaze travel from his eyes to his jaw, then back up to his mussed hairline and then back to his closed eyes.

Not a word used for a man and one which she wouldn't say put loud ever, but somehow the way he looked right now befitted the word; beautiful. So he hadn't actually been born with those severe, serious features which seemed so intimidating when he looked at you the full Murtasim Khan force. Though still regally solemn, his features were symmetrical and too beautiful to be associated with the primal man he was when awake. His straight, gently sloping nose, his pink lips-actually the pretty kind of pink which it took most a lipstick to achieve, his even shaped brows which framed deep eyes currently covered and in their place leaving smooth lids edged with thick, dark lashes. And setting it all in place was his moustache; dark, shaped in a way which made his entire face seem infinitely more times attractive than it already was and made his lips seem like a tempting plain under its shade. His stubble, his hair, the way his stubble growth spread down to his throat and then became more and more sparse, it was all the pieces of a puzzle which came together to exhibit something beautiful. There was no other word for it.

As she blinked slowly and breathed in the distinct smell she had awoken to many times now, the smell of his perfume, his own scent and then the slight notes of the remnants of their love making on his skin, Meerab felt herself be seized by the peculiarity of the moment. She liked looking at him. He was attractive to her and so much so that she could happily stare at him for hours if she didn't stop herself from indulging into that sort of madness.