Behir 18+

Only You ~

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We still make love like we did that first week. Slowly. Wildly. Joyfully. Some nights, I cry from the pleasure of it. Other nights, from the safety. We're not perfect. We've fought. We've shut down. But the bed always becomes a place where we return to each other.

He still kisses my scars.

I still whisper his name when I come.

And together, we remind each other-again and again-that love isn't about starting over.

It's about choosing again.

And letting your body believe it's safe to feel everything.

Even the fire.

Especially the fire.

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Wedding Night

Bela's Pov

I’ve never worn white before. Not like this.

Not ivory silk hugging my hips. Not jasmine pinned into my hair so delicately it made me feel like a poem. Not bare shoulders kissed by the wind as twilight fell on the garden where I said yes to the only man who ever truly looked at me and saw everything.

The wedding was small. Just a scattering of close friends, soft music, and candlelight flickering like tiny stars. But what I remember most is Mahir’s eyes.

How they never left mine. Not even once.

And now, hours later, I am standing at the door of our honeymoon suite—my heart pounding louder than the click of the key card. I step in, and the room is lit only by warm golden lamps. Petals are scattered on the bed. Music plays faintly in the background, something old and slow and full of yearning.

He comes up behind me.

His hand slips around my waist. Not demanding—just there. Warm. Firm. Reassuring. My body leans back into him without hesitation.

“You smell like forever,” he whispers into my neck.

I close my eyes.

This is not the nervous kind of anticipation. Not like the first time. This is deeper. Hungrier. Like our bodies already know what to do, and our hearts are just trying to keep up.

He turns me around slowly.

---

I look up at him, still in his sherwani, the collar loosened, the top button undone. He looks at me like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. For me.

“You’re staring,” I murmur.

“Because I don’t want to forget this,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You look like every reason I believe in love.”

I reach for his collar and pull him down into a kiss that’s all heat and ache and promise. His hands press into the small of my back, drawing me close, our bodies perfectly aligned. The tension is immediate. Electric. We’ve touched each other a hundred times, but tonight—tonight it feels like the first time again.

He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist with a soft laugh that turns into a gasp as he presses me against the wall, his mouth hungry on my neck. He knows every spot now. Every place that makes me moan without meaning to. Every angle that makes my body melt into his.

My fingers find the buttons on his sherwani and slip them free one by one. I want to unfold him. Unwrap him like the gift that he is. When the fabric falls away, I trace my hands over his chest—his skin warm, his breath shallow, his eyes never leaving mine.