Unsatiated

Unsatiated
She had been awake for the past thirty minutes, but she knew he was there, awake and
working on his laptop. She was waiting for him to leave because only then would she get up.
Again, the reason was the same.
The utter anxiety she would feel around him. Especially while being subjected to his eyes,
which were always so intense and focused on her. As if he had been measuring each and
every action of hers. Specks of lust would be visible in those orbs, which was the most
nerve-wracking thing.
She felt he did not exactly get the chance to unleash himself on her. Because the first chance
he would get, he would strip her and lead her to the bed, taking her in the same way as he
did in the car. And she had been trying her best to avoid giving him that opportunity.
Her senses went on high alert as she felt him closing the lid of his laptop, placing it aside
before getting up from the bed. It only meant that he was going to the restroom to take a
shower and leave for his office. This thought brought her a sense of joy.
Her ears caught the sound of his footsteps receding as he headed toward the washroom. It
made her release her breath shortly, which was struck in her throat. Then she heard the
sound of the restroom door opening and shutting, and only then did she open her eyes and
sigh out.
She could feel the noose around her neck slightly loosening. Her reaction made her wonder
how she would spend the rest of her life with him. She really wanted to stop herself from
reacting this way. All the time, worried, depressed, and anxious about upsetting him. She so
wanted to live and breathe freely.
Smile.
Laugh.
Talk.
But all she had now was apprehension.
What had her life become?
It grieved her.
It often pushed out all those memories that she had locked in the back of her mind with her
parents. She would often miss them, especially her mother. Because practically, there was
no one with whom she could talk about what she had been feeling.
There was Amna, but she thought Shehryaar had not allowed her to contact her.
And now all she had was her husband.
But she somewhere within her knew that she would never easily open up to him about her
heart. Rather, never. Because he was the root of her circumstances. In her heart, there was
this depressed thought that she had buried deep within—that she would never forgive him
for what he did to her. Yet she would never let that thought out.
The whole situation just left her helpless and hopeless, and if death was to come the next
moment, she would accept it with an open heart.
Because there was nothing left to live for in this life. She was just a walking corpse. She was
nothing but forced into a marriage, and there was no way out of this marriage except for
death. So she preferred death to this life. She was tired of being scared. And Shehryaar still
had so much potential in him to make her scared.
Maybe just with a frown.
Maybe just with a mere look of disapproval.
Maybe just with a slightly raised voice.
And her heart had become too weak to endure any such fear. Tremors and shivers had
become a part of her persona. Docility had begun to define her. Fear was the only prime
emotion left in her. Submissiveness had become her nature.
She was nothing but Shehryaar's perfect puppet.
Her heartbeats fumbled as the door opened again, and he entered. Immediately, she closed
her eyes again, pretending to sleep. She lay motionless, pulling off the best of her acts. Her
eyes were closed gently, and to give more substance to her act, she slightly hung her mouth
open. Her ears detected the sound of his footsteps approaching her.
She felt him squatting down in front of her and felt his eyes on her. She was now directly
facing him, but the only barrier between them was her closed eyelids.
His thumb moved and traced the features of her face. Her brows, her eyes, nose, and
reached her lips. As he caressed the pad of his thumb against her lips, she stayed motionless
as he traced his thumb down to her throat, reaching the dip of her neck where her
shoulders met.
"You look pretty, Zaad," he muttered more to himself as he closed in on her.
Her heartbeat spiked.
"More so," he said as his face paralleled with hers, as his hand moved from her throat to the
back of her neck, "when you're pretending to sleep," and as soon as his words left his
mouth, he had his lips over hers, which made her open her eyes as he pulled her up with his
hand at her neck, placed his knee on the bed, and sucked the breath out of her lungs. To
support herself, she placed both her hands on the mattress while her wavy tresses were
sprawled open as he continued to kiss her.
Sheharzaad felt intimidated and more anxious since he was shirtless and his bare chest
made him appear more daunting. Her stomach knotted out of fear as she began to take
deep, heavy breaths. Her mind drowned back in the memories of the night when her
virginity was stolen.
Tears formed in her left eye as tiny sobs accumulated in her throat, but she could not dare
push him back. She suddenly was feeling claustrophobic, anxious, and nostalgic.
Her heart was beating in the same rhythm as it had beaten that night. And when she would
think of pulling him away, instantly her mind would click in the memories of her days in the
cell. Her mental state wasn't in her control. Her steel-like nerves had become so weak that
now she was not able to have an upper hand on her mind.
Once eating her lips to his desire, he stopped before giving a last peck on her lips and
joining his forehead with hers, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Sheharzaad," he uttered, remaining in the same position.