Gunnah e Shab

22. Hate • نفرت

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.