Book recommendation of the chapter : Always by your side Sevimli_Pasta
We want to feel witnessed in our despair. — Maggie Nelson
Laila ran the silver brush through her hair. Staring at Azmaray from the mirror. His face, missing the giddiness one would have on returning back home. Meeting his eye she passed him a small smile, his lips twitching too. Lifting his body off of the soft bed, Azmaray stalked towards her. Gently prying the brush from her hands he ran it through her tresses. Laila's body jolted—a shot of electricity passing through her spine. She tightened her hands into a fist, her nails digging into her palm. Taking hard breaths Laila closed her eyes. Even the gentlest, most innocent of touches seemed to be triggering her in the most erotic of ways.
Silently coaxing the silken strands, Azmaray wrapped them into a loose three strand braid. Wrapping a black hair tye at the ends. His hands lingered at her shoulder, pressing into her soft skin and dragging up. Leaving a trail of goosebumps as he moved them up to her neck. His head lowering tracing kisses to the shell of her ear. Sucking lightly. Laila felt the apex of her thighs tighten. A warmth filling in between her legs as his hands traced dangerously close to the underside of her bra. The cotton of her shirt, seeming too thin to keep the heat of his hand at bay.
Inhaling sharply, Laila let her body rest against the front of his. Azmaray's hands sneaking into her shirt. His warm hand resting on top of her lightly raised stomach. His tounge sneaked a light touch at her ear. Resting it flat against her soft ear lobe before retracting. Sucking softly, biting into her earlobe gently. Noticing the flush spread across her cheeks and her legs squeeze together lightly, Azmaray sneaked his hand into her trousers. Gently rubbing the skin from above her panties. Laila rubbed her body into the chair, seeking more friction. Just as she felt his hands brush against her painfully hardened bundle of nerves, he retracted his hand.
"Everyone is waiting for us at dinner," he kissed the side of her head.
"Huh—uh—urm—okay!" Laila spoke, her mind still hazy.
Stumbling out of her chair, she leaned into his arms. Stabilising her jello legs, the pain between her legs, completely torturous. She rubbed her inner thighs together, glaring at Azmaray. Her eyes narrowed staring at him with lust and anger—a dangerous combination.
"I promise tonight". He cheekily winked at her.
"Fuck you!" Laila groaned.
"I'm all yours baby," he winked.
Shaking her head at his insane behaviour, Laila fixed the cotton net veil into her neck. Glad that she had changed out of the clothes she was wearing on arrival. Her black heels went well with the gemstone green of her dress. A long sleeved fitted shirt that went until a few inches above her ankle, cigarette trousers. The veil was made with gold block printing and to pull the look together, Laila had paired it with dull bronze jhumkas.
They walked slowly down the stairs. Buying themselves time. She could already feel the waves of hatred that ran through the ground floor of the house. Despite having performed at the homes of many rich men, Laila could not help but sigh at the grandeur of this palace. It's luxurious build was unlike another and she knew its walls weren't tall because of the brick and cement. But because they hid secrets. Deep dark ones that the facade of an ancient ruling family kept under wraps. Her eyes dragged along the neatly carved trims at the ceiling. The faces of creatures that did not exist, all over. The large statues holding their hands up towards the centre of the roof, from where a large crystal chandelier hung—stunning.
Inside the vast dining room, the table was filled with delicacies of all kinds. Traditional sheep meat had been roasted on an open fire for a few hours and now it was finally tender enough to break from the bone. Gravies of mutton and rice, still steaming hot. The pieces of naan were brushed with ghee and dusted with cilantro. Crystal glasses filled with water and alcohol had been served. Now the residents waited for the new couple to arrive. Hooriya passed Arbaaz a nervous glance. Saheefa playing with the edge of the butter knife. Azaan tapped his walking stick against the floor. Time was passing by and the youngest generation was yet to walk in.
The wait did not last long, for soon enough Azmaray and Laila stepped inside. Their calls of greeting falling on dull ears. Hooriya passed half a smile, the tight grip of Arbaaz on her hand forbidding her from getting up. Azmaray lead Laila up to her, introducing the two. His eyes full of bitterness ignored everyone else as he busied himself with pushing out a chair for his wife. Laila fiddled with the cuffs of her sleeves, her back straight like a rod. She had to be perfect, for the sake of the man who had married her.
"Have Asghar and Anbar forgotten their manners? Where are they?" Azaan's hawk eyes zeroed in on Saheefa.
"Th—they must be on their way". She replied.
He nodded silently, gripping the stem of the wine glass. Swirling the smooth, refined 1963 red wine. Raising the glass, everyone else following suit—except for Laila, who gripped the glass of cold water in hand.
"Ap ko alag sai invite aai ga?" [Will you get a separate invite?] He narrowed his eyes.
"I don't drink". Laila confidently replied.
She kept her shoulders back, pushing her perfect form out. Her eyes boring holes into Azaan's face.
"A prostitute doesn't drink? That's fancy," Saheefa laughed, bitterly.
Laila rolled her eyes, ignoring the jibe her mother-in-law had taken at her expense. These people could act like saints but nothing would hide the fact that all of them were cold blooded reptiles. Snakes who should have been slithering the grounds of this expansive estate—and not owning it.
"I think we should begin. Asghar just texted me, he and Anbar are going to the riverside for dinner," Saheefa cleared her throat.
Azaan nodded, glad that his grandchildren were getting along fine. They were now his only hope to keep the legacy of his family alive.
"Anbar and Asghar?" Azmaray questioned, surprised.
"They are now married," Hooriya replied.
"You mean the collateral. Someone had to pay just because I didn't agree with him". He replied.
Laila placed her hand on his. It had been an action she committed without much thought. To her, the intricacies of a loving relationship were unknown. Yes, she had her mother and sister — but there had never been a lover. All of this was new to her. And she was stunned to see her hand reach out for his, like it had a brain of it's own. Azmaray looked down at her and she saw his lips twitch into a small smile, before his face regained the sheen of ice. All expressions dissolving and a singular nod in his grandfather's direction before he served Laila dinner.
———
Anbar dressed into a deep turquoise shirt that fit her like a glove and ended below her kneecaps. Pairing it with gold raw silk trousers and aquamarine khusas, she twirled infront Asghar inside their room. Her fiery hair spilling in the air like a hungry fire searches for more things to burn. Her bright moss green eyes stared at him with expectation. Waiting for him to praise how she looked, praise her. Asghar fixed the collar of his shirt and stared at her. His eyes spilling with darkness, lust swirling in them. An adoration bubbling inside of him—a feeling of pride at the thought of being married to her.
"Well?" Anbar patted her shirt.
Asghar broken out of his thoughts, awkwardly smiled.
"You look sex— stunning. You look stunning," he stumbled over his words.
He had to keep this fact in mind that Anbar was his wife. He needed to give her the respect that she deserved. He sheepishly grinned as Anbar lazily walked towards him. Wrapping her hands around his arm, she dragged him out. She was sure that by now dinner would have begun. And by the loud sounds of rain outside, she knew the riverside dinner would be cancelled. The light inside her eyes dimmed. She had loved Azmaray far longer than she had loved her own self. She had no idea how she would see him with another woman, while she belonged to someone else.
Wordlessly, she let Asghar lead them into the dinning room. Everyone looking up from their plates and staring at them with deep shock.
"You didn't leave yet?" Their grandfather was the first one to regain his senses.
"It's raining cats and dogs, so it wouldn't be safe," Anbar replied.
Ignoring Asghar's stare. She knew he was a dominant man, but she also knew she had to make it clear that her place was beside him and not behind him.
"Well sit. We just began," Saheefa spoke.
The woman began fussing over the two. All the while Azmaray attended to his wife. Trying to lessen the hurt of not being welcomed in with open arms. Laila saw the victorious glint inside Anbar's eye. She was delusional, Laila had spent her life with women wanting to top the other. A spoilt princess was no match for her.
Dinner progressed in silence. Everyone too engrossed in their own thoughts. Plotting and planning to make things go their way, to attain control after it had all seemed to go downhill. Anbar served herself some curd, offering Asghar some too. Who politely refused, eating like a rogue. While his plate was clean, Anbar was not in particular a fan of the way he used his hands to scoop up the rice to his mouth. Yet again, Azmaray proved to be better out of the two. The princely manner with which he scooped the rice into his mouth, not a single grain falling. And then there was Asghar, whose rough beard had rice grains stuck and he seemed to have no care.
"So Laila what is your educational qualification?" Saheefa began.
"I never took interest in formal education miss". Laila politely informed.
Saheefa was Azmaray's mother but still a stranger to her. She was not going to let the woman win. A part of her itched to let her cover of Rani take over, but these were soft women, and Laila knew she alone was enough to battle them.
"You do seem to have had a fascination for arts though—erotic art in particular," Arbaaz chimed.
Laila gripped the spoon tightly. Taking a deep breath and reminding herself to keep calm. They wanted a reaction out of her and she would never give them the satisfaction.
"Please dad. This woman only talks bodies. Ask her her body count, not interest in art," Anbar rolled her eyes.
Azaan in the background, silently enjoyed the jibes they were taking at Laila.
"I assure you my body count is lesser than your husbands. Infact I could hook you up with his favourite call girl, you ought to ask her how he likes his women in bed!" Laila slammed her hand on the table, storming out of the room.
mature content
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Laila changed into a white cotton dress and slipped inside the bed. The sage green comforter wrapped around her body securely. She shut her eyes tight, ignoring the sudden burn inside her body. Remembering the words Azmaray had uttered a few hours ago. She wanted no needed him. His manly embrace and warm cologne to wrap her around itself. To make her forget. She stirred around until Azmaray joined her in bed. Her hands immediately latching onto him.
She was autopilot. Her senses all closed off as she lay down and placed her lips on his. The two kissing fervently, their harsh breaths smacking each other's faces. Laila wrapped her hands in his hair, whilst Azmaray dragged them down her spine, resting them on her plump behind. Squeezing gently—a moan falling out of her lips. She rubbed her core against his, glad that there was no undergarments to remove, Laila fiddled with the drawstrings of Azmaray's sweat shorts. Licking down his toned chest, she sucked the skin above his v-line. His hardened member throbbing as she dragged her hand inside the waistband.
"You, today is about you". Azmaray groaned.
Flipping her over, Azmaray raised her hands above her head, kicking his shorts off. He raised her dress and lowered his hands. His mouth following and kissing her inner thighs. Leaving behind purple bruises in it's wake. His fingers moving in on her wet core. Laila twisted in agony, raising her hips to meet his fingers. The knot inside her stomach begging to be untied. Her skin became hot and sweat dripped from her forehead. The beaded droplets traveling down her cleavage. Her hardened nipples raising the thin material of her night suit.
His tounge flicked one of her erect nipples from above the cloth, while his fingers fondled with her folds. One of his fingers dipped inside, Laila's muscles tightening and her heart racing. But tonight, she wanted more. She wanted to forget everything.
"Azmaray I swear if you're not in me in the next five seconds," she groaned.
"That desperate?" He teased.
"Do what you're asked to or I'll finish it myself," her eyes turned steely, Rani had taken over.
Flipping Azmaray onto the bed with all her might, she rotated her hips above his abdomen. Whimpers leaving her mouth at the friction. She pumped his length and guided him inside of her. Sighing as his length stretched her, the feeling gratifying. Like a helpless man lured into a sirens trap, Azmaray had no choice but to let her do as she pleased. Her taking herself on him, clothed. The moonlight that spilled onto her body made her look like an art from the mid centuries. His hand dragging down to their point of union. A flick and a rub was all she needed to feel free. Laila was on cloud nine. Soaring through the open skies. Colours filling her vision, her toes curling in ecstasy. Her form slumped on Azmaray's. The duo too tired to move.
mature content over
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I'm sorry if the smut is all over the place. I wrote this 2 days after AQT&SG was taken down. And I'm just second guessing. I don't want this to go too. I will cry otherwise. Everyone say 'Ameen' that GES won't be reported.
Anyways
I love writing Anbar and Asghar I must say.
Azmaray and Laila are legends.
Will Laila's lack of emotional attachment cause trouble?
Thoughts & Comments