108
Back in the suite, the world outside faded behind thick walls and glass. The evening sky draped itself over Istanbul, painted in orange, bruised violets and dusky pinks. The city lights flickered on like fireflies, far below the hotel balcony, but neither Yalda nor Ioannis paid them any mind.
Like breakfast, dinner sat untouched on the table. A quiet meal, filled with occasional clinks of silverware and long, unspoken glances across the candlelit tablespread.
Only this silence wasn’t awkward, but thrumming, taut, charged with a crackling tension that almost scared Yalda. She wanted him so much. The pull between them was intense and unmistakable.
She toyed with her fork, shifting in her seat, suddenly too aware of how small the table was, how his knee brushed hers under it. He hadn’t said a word about what happened earlier.
But he didn’t need to. What was there to talk about? They were adults and they had fucked again, so what of it?
He was aware that she wasn't eating, and still, he said nothing. His wineglass was half full. He didn’t touch it, he probably wanted his mind clear; not a single detail obscured by alcohol.
She looked up, her gaze colliding with his, and the air thickened even more.
It was there again, that heat. That impossible, roaring pull.
Ioannis didn’t break eye contact as he pushed his chair back slowly, deliberately. “Come here.”
Her breath hitched. She knew what that meant. “What about dinner?”
He shook his head. “I’ve decided I’d rather have you instead.”
She didn’t move right away, unsure, nervous. But when he arched a brow slightly, she obeyed immediately. On instinct. On hunger.
Yalda walked toward him and he pulled her gently by the hand until she was straddling his lap, her knees bracketing his thighs, his palms resting firm on her waist.
Her sweater rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, his gaze flicker from hers to the skin and back to her as his thumbs stroked the spot softly, and she shivered.
“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“I’ve been thinking,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
“I know.” He pressed a kiss just under her jaw. “I can feel it in the way you breathe.”
And then he kissed her. Slowly. Deeply.
It was not rushed, not frantic like the first time. It was searing. Anchoring.
Yalda gasped into his mouth when his hands gripped her hips, guiding her against him, letting her feel how hard he already was. Her breath stuttered as he rocked her slowly forward, once, then again.
“You feel that?” he murmured against her lips. “That’s what you do to me. And you do it so easily."
She nodded, incapable of speech.
He dragged her sweater up and over her head, tossed it aside, and kissed down the curve of her neck, her collarbone, before returning to her mouth like a man starved. Her hands buried in his hair, her body aching for more.
“I want to watch you,” he whispered. “I want to see your face when I’m inside you.”
Then he unbuttoned her jeans quickly before helping her out of them. He adjusted himself beneath her. Her trembling hands worked at his belt, his zipper, and when he was free; thick and ready, she whimpered softly, already anticipating the burn and stretch of him.
“Go slow,” he said, massaging her hips. “Take your time.”
Yalda lowered herself onto him inch by inch, gasping, eyes fluttering shut as her body swallowed him whole. She sat flush against him, her thighs trembling on either side of his, every nerve ending on fire.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek. “Good girl.”
Good girl....
She rocked forward, then back, her hands gripping his shoulders for support. His hands didn’t let go of her hips, they guided her, controlling her pace.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze.
He watched her, not just with lust, but something deeper. Something weighty and quiet and almost reverent.
Every drag of her hips made her moan as her wet walls clenched around him, but it was more than just physical. Everything about it touched her soul, the sounds their bodies made as she rode him slowly, the way her heart pounded, It was emotional.
She was giving him something. And she didn’t even know what.
And then, just like that, her mind betrayed her.
Noulifa’s laugh echoed in her head. The warmth in her eyes. The pictures in the book, her son's crayon drawings. A husband’s easy touch.
A peaceful life. A real life. Unlike the one she was living.
And Yalda couldn’t stop the thought that followed. He could’ve had that too; If he’d stayed married. If things had been different.
Would he have had a child like Noulifa’s? Would he have been happy in a cozy home? Would he have loved Maria like that?
Her rhythm faltered. His hands stilled on her waist.
Ioannis’s brows drew together as he looked at her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, trying to move again.
He held her still. Firm. Unyielding.
“I said—” she tried, her voice desperate, trembling now. She needed to feel something.
“There will be no more,” he said gently, “until you tell me what’s on your mind.”
She blinked, startled, breath still ragged from need. “You’re serious?”
“You’re somewhere else. You’ve been somewhere else since we left Noulifa’s. I won’t take your body if your mind is a million miles away.”
Frustration coiled in her belly. “You think I don’t want this?”
“I know you want this,” he said, cupping her cheek, “but I also know you when you’re spiraling.”
She looked away, shame heating her cheeks. “It’s stupid.”
“Say it anyway.”
She bit her lip, debating.
Then—
“Maria,” she said quietly. “I was thinking about your ex-wife.”
Ioannis froze.
Yalda didn’t dare look at him. The silence between them turned to glass, clear, sharp, and just as dangerous.
“I'm sorry I looked you up, I'm sorry I'm bringing this up,” she continued, voice soft. “You’ve never talked about her. And I’ve n
ever asked. But today, with Noulifa… seeing her family… I just kept thinking…”
She didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
