Author's Note: This chapter REALLY got away from me, it's over 18K words - which means it could be like 4 chapters but I didn't wanna do that to y'all. I am so glad so many of you liked Part 1 -- hope y'all like part 2 even more. 

Note: If you haven't already guessed, this part is rather heavy on the mature stuff! Read at your own discretion! 

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Yet another meeting had ended with other executives leaving Murtasim and Meerab alone in the conference room to work out their argument. The silence between them was thick and heavy, the storm brewing just beneath the surface – he had been acting odd over the past few weeks, but suddenly, it seemed that things were back to normal.

He stood at one end of the table, his fists clenched, while she stood at the other, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed.

Murtasim, his voice edged with frustration, broke the silence. "Our new app can provide personalized recommendations if we analyze user data more deeply! It's easy, there's nothing to it, they already consented to it!"

Meerab sighed, "They consented to collection for improvement, not personalized recommendations. Analyzing that data without explicit user consent could lead to privacy violations."

Murtasim threw his hands in the air, he had rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt up, to show off his rather nice Panerai watch...and she guessed his rather nice arms. "We'll lose users before they even see the benefits!" He snapped.

"If we don't handle their data ethically, we'll lose them forever!" she snapped back.

"It's a technicality, we have consent! We just push an updated mandatory terms and conditions, the pages you'll write and rewrite a million times but no one will read anyways!" he snapped, leaning over the desk, staring at her.

"A pop-up and reconsenting is needed in the app—with the option to opt out," she hissed, eyes blazing. "Do you even understand the legal ramifications of what you're proposing?"

"If you say the word 'legal' ONE more time, I swear I am going to—!" he trailed off, his voice echoing off the walls. His eyes looked different; she couldn't quite label them as angry anymore. Her eyes went to his parted lips and then flickered down to his neck, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Was he...nervous?

She looked back up at him and shot him a smirk, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Legal," she said, enunciating each syllable slowly and clearly.

He gave her a look but didn't speak. His eyes darkened as he glared at her. His gaze drifted to the conference table, and he let out a long sigh before he oddly sat back down, rolling his chair under the table again.

What was wrong with him? Maybe she had finally broken him.

Murtasim looked away, clearing his throat, as he sat down. "Fine. But if we fall behind because we're too cautious, that's on you."

Meerab stood tall, unwavering. "And if we get sued into oblivion because we didn't respect our users, that's on you."

The room was electric, their heated words hanging in the air like a live wire.

The tension broke when a knock sounded on the door, and in stepped Misha Whatsherlastname—their newest social media associate. She was a tall, busty brunette that had the whole office salivating over her.

"Oh, there you are!" she giggled, the most annoying sound.

She was perfect for him, annoying and ANNOYING.

Misha seemed to always be hanging out around his office or whatever meeting room he was in, hoping he'd step out so she could flirt with him. Meerab was convinced that Murtasim Khan was single-handedly responsible for at least fifty-five percent of the annoying giggling she heard. It was so annoying.

He turned towards Misha, smiling and nodding while Misha stepped in, her thumbs hooked in the purse she had slung on one shoulder, in a way that made her tits thrust out in Murtasim's direction.

Meerab rolled her eyes—she hated these mating displays. She crossed her arms tighter, the sight of Misha's obvious attempt at seduction grating on her nerves more than it should.

"I was wondering if you're going to go grab lunch?" Misha asked, her voice annoyingly sweet.

Meerab rolled her eyes, did she even have to see this? She could practically see the hearts popping out of Misha's eyes.

"A man needs to eat," Murtasim replied, a confused smile on his face.

"Of course, silly," Misha giggled, "but it's already 1pm!"

"I have things to do," he laughed, and Meerab couldn't help but wonder why his laugh sounded so nice. Was that his laugh when he flirted with people? He never laughed around her.

"Oh... right," Misha responded lamely. "Do you ever go out to any of the restaurants down the street?"

"Now and then," he said, shrugging.

Meerab wondered if he was purposely playing hard to get. She knew he would sleep with her too. All the new interns and staff followed him around for a bit, and then he slept with them, and that was that. He moved onto the next one and left them looking at him like wounded puppies.

"Well," Misha's voice shifted tone, smiling seductively and leaning closer to him, "maybe you can show me the good places since I am new?"

Meerab threw up in her mouth a little at the desperation.

"Oh, well, that's... um, maybe some other time. I am pretty busy right now," he said.

Meerab tilted her head, confused. Was he shutting her down? Why? Manwhore Murtasim Khan?!

"Of course, I know, you work so hard," Misha giggled. "Let me know if I can ever help."

Meerab definitely threw up a little in her mouth.

"Sure... see you," Murtasim said and then turned back towards Meerab.

Meerab glared at him, her adrenaline flaring every time he so much as looked at her. It must have been the result of getting into so many arguments with him, some sort of Pavlovian response to his presence. His ridiculously long fingers were running through his hair as Misha left—why were his hands so nice?

"Hi to you too, Misha," Meerab muttered under her breath as the woman left, having completely ignored her.

"A-are you...going out to lunch?" Murtasim asked, falling over his words for some odd reason, what was wrong with him?

She looked up at him, confused. "Yes...I do every day," she said. "Why'd you say no to your desperate little contender?"

"Who? Misha?" he sounded genuinely confused.

She rolled her eyes and nodded.

"She's not a contender," he said, his eyebrows pulling together in what she guessed was genuine puzzlement.

Meerab snorted. "Sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, frowning.

She shrugged. "Just watch your step around the ones in a lower position than you, Khan."

"I am not dating her," he snapped.

"Hmm, I'm sure what you do is not called dating by any books. Just be careful, that's also a legal hazard," she said as she grabbed her tote.

He snapped, "There's nothing going on, really."

"The same thing applies to most of them, Khan, but you do you. Now excuse me, I'd like to have my lunch in peace," she muttered, stepping past him.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then shut it as she stepped out of the meeting room.

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As she walked down the hallway, Meerab's mind buzzed with a mix of confusion and irritation. Why was he acting so differently? Had Murtasim actually turned down Misha? That didn't fit his usual pattern, did it? Why did she care? Was she interested?

She dismissed the thought, shaking her head slightly. It was just... annoying. Yes, that was it. It was annoying to watch Misha fawn over him and to see him smile back. Annoying that his laugh sounded so nice, like he had a secret he wasn't willing to share with her.

"Legal hazard," she muttered under her breath, mocking her own words. Of all the things to say, why did she always default to legal jargon around him? It wasn't like he didn't know she was a lawyer. She just had to hammer it in every chance she got.

Why did he look at her so differently now? His eyes were soft, not angry. It was unsettling. And that sigh—what was that about? It was almost... regretful? No, that couldn't be right.

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Meerab had been working late, her inbox filled with things to review, urgent ones that she needed to finish up.

She must have fallen asleep at her desk at some point because she heard her name being whispered, soft and seductive.

"Meerab." The deep, rich voice seemed to caress her name, tickling her consciousness. Was she dreaming?

"Meerab." She could feel his words, his breath warm and tickling her hair, whispering in her ear.

She hummed softly, inhaling his scent. He smelled good, like cedar and something she couldn't pinpoint.

"Meerab." Her name sounded so nice when he said it like that, as if he was caressing it with his mouth, as if he was running his long fingers over—

"Meerab, wake up." He shook her shoulder gently.

She woke with a start, picking her head off her table, her hair falling around her face in a tangled mess. She pushed it away, blinking and yawning a little. She was still at her desk, the harsh office lights making her eyes water.

Murtasim was standing to the side of her desk, looking down at her with a puzzled expression, his dark eyes intense, and a little...dazed? Or maybe that was just her brain playing tricks on her.

"Hmmm, what are you doing here, Murtasim?" she mumbled, his name rolling off her tongue, her voice all rough and throaty from sleep. She could feel her cheeks flush slightly at how intimate his name sounded coming from her mouth, she had never uttered it aloud before, but it had left her mouth in her sleep-addled state.

Murtasim froze, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he closed them and muttered something under his breath as he shook his head a little. What was wrong with him?

He took a deep breath before he spoke. "Your lights were still on. You fell asleep." His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to their usual heated exchanges.

She yawned as she stretched her back, feeling the stiffness in her muscles from sleeping in such an awkward position. "What time is it?" she asked, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes and failing miserably.

"Uh, 12:30," he said, his voice still carrying that oddly gentle tone, his eyes flickering between her face and down.

"No!" she gasped, sitting up completely, now fully awake. Transit was abysmal after 10 pm, and she knew she was in for a long wait.

"What happened?" he asked, a little panicked, his eyes widening with concern.

"Transit sucks at this time. I can call an Uber, I guess," she said as she started getting up, her mind racing with logistics. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers still clumsy from sleep.

"I'll drive you home," he offered quickly, his voice firm and resolute.

"Don't worry about it, Khan, I get myself home every day," she muttered.

Why was he being nice? This was so out of character.

She glanced up at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides.

He seemed genuinely concerned, which threw her off balance.

"Yeah, I know, but it's late and it looks like it's going to rain. I'll drive you." His voice was rather firm, and she wanted to just nod... it was awfully nice of him.

Meerab sighed, feeling a strange warmth at his insistence.

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes, "I would have killed you a while ago."

"No, they make their case, make themselves seem normal, and strike when you least expect it," she pointed out.

"I am guessing you watch true crime documentaries in your free time. That explains SO much." His voice was teasing. "Maybe I should be afraid of you."

"Maybe." She shrugged as she packed up her things and picked up her tote.

"So creepy," he sighed.

She snickered as he gestured towards the door with an exaggerated, after-you flourish.

The walk to his car was quiet, verging on awkward.

She wasn't used to this silence between them. Usually, they were bickering about something or other. Now, she had no idea what to say to him.

His obnoxiously large Range Rover loomed into view, a testament to his need for flashy things. As they approached, he walked over to the passenger side and opened the door for her, surprising her just a tad. The car was higher than she was used to, so it took her a moment to get in, and she swore he groaned with impatience.

She rolled her eyes as he closed the door behind her and walked over to the driver's side.

The car was nice. It smelled like leather, mint, and his cologne.

She took a moment to appreciate the cleanliness of the interior. Not a speck of dust, no lip gloss in the cup holder, no hairbands lying around. She didn't know why that surprised her. She had figured the kind of girls he slept with would love to leave behind little stakes of claim.

"See? No bodies in the back," he joked as he settled into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"That would be an amateur move, the bodies are obviously buried somewhere," she retorted, folding her arms and looking out the window as he pulled out of the parking garage.

The rain immediately started to patter against the windshield, creating a soothing rhythm that almost made her forget she was sitting next to her biggest workplace nemesis. Almost.

"So, what's the deal with you and true crime?" he asked, glancing over at her with a smirk.

She shrugged. "I like mysteries. And seeing how people's minds work. Plus, it's good to know what to look out for in case someone's trying to kill you."

He laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that sent an unexpected warmth through her. "You're something else, Meerab."

"Thanks," she said dryly, not sure if she should take it as a compliment, she thought he would say something like I am so surprised no has tried to kill you yet with how annoying you are.

The silence settled between them again, but it was a little less awkward this time. She found herself sneaking glances at him, noticing the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the way his profile looked so serious and focused.

Why was he being so nice? It didn't make any sense. Was he just trying to get under her skin in a new way? Or was there something else going on?

"Where do you live?" he asked.

Meerab groaned internally, realizing she had to tell him that and had forgotten while staring at him. "North Beach," she said before giving him the closest intersection. "Do you know where it is, or should I put it in the GPS?" she asked.

"I'll manage," he said as he pulled out of the lot.

She sighed and leaned back into the seat.

He was quiet for a couple of minutes before he asked, "Why don't you drive? It's not like you can't afford a car."

"I don't like to drive," she muttered.

"Why?"

"Bad accident," she said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant. There was a lot more to it, but she didn't want to get into the details.

"I am sorry," he muttered.

"I was eight. I don't remember much," she shrugged, trying to dismiss the topic, wondering why she had even shared that with him. It wasn't just bad. It had been life-altering, she had lost her parents, and she hadn't talked about it with anyone in years.

"Do you work that late often?" he asked, thankfully changing the subject.

"No, I meant to leave by 10 pm, but I must have fallen asleep," she sighed.

"You work too hard."

"Someone has to," she shrugged.

"You need to delegate better, stop helping everyone, take care of yourself first," he muttered, his voice almost tender.

"Yeah, yeah." Why was he being so considerate? It was throwing her off balance. Murtasim, the perpetual thorn in her side, was showing signs of humanity. Who would have thought?

She caught another glance at him. His profile was...nice, the occasional flicker of streetlights casting shadows across his angular face. There was something about him tonight that she couldn't quite pin down.

"Go out once in a while, with friends... with your boyfriend. He must miss you if you're always working," he spoke very fast, the charming ease he usually spoke with missing.

She laughed, "You know how much I work. Where would I fit in a boyfriend? I don't know how you manage the line of female employees after you. Sadly, I am not as talented." Did he really think she had time for a relationship? It was almost laughable. She worked long hours, constantly on edge, and definitely didn't have the energy for dating.

He sighed, looking out the windshield, not responding to her—which was very unlike him. It took him a couple of minutes to speak again.

"You're making me out to be something I am not," he muttered.

"So, you're not leaving a trail of broken hearts?" she teased. "I've seen more than one woman cry in a bathroom over you. Misha, for instance, was distraught just yesterday over you. Did you sleep with her and not call her back?" Meerab couldn't help but feel a wave of annoyance mixed with curiosity as she uttered the words, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach.

He sighed, "I told you, there's nothing going on with her, or with any of those women."

She rolled her eyes, "And the grass is not green."

He turned to look towards her, his expression inscrutable before shaking his head a little and looking forward again. She found herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye again, noticing the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched.

He acted like he was a saint, someone who wasn't sticking his dick—she shook herself out of that thought.

Her eyes drifted to the screen on the dashboard; his phone was connected to it, displaying his Spotify app. She recognized the familiar album cover. "You listen to Punjabi music?" she asked, somewhat shocked.

He nodded as he came to a stop at a red light, looking over at her. "Especially when I work out."

She hummed, surprised. She wouldn't have guessed that.

"Do you?" he asked.

She nodded. "I just pegged you for a hardcore rap junkie," she admitted as she looked over at him. The light from the lamppost cast a nice glow on him, making his jaw look rather sharp and his features pronounced. He was rather handsome.

He laughed, and her heart warmed at the sound. He had a nice laugh. "I do enjoy rap."

"Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole," she said.

"How'd you know?" he asked, sounding confused as he drove forward again.

"You mutter songs under your breath when you have your AirPods on," she said, wondering why she had noticed that.

"That must be annoying," he chuckled again.

Why was he laughing? Were they having a civil conversation?! He had a nice laugh.

"You're self-aware at least," she said as he pressed play on his steering wheel, Shubh's voice ringing out in the car.

"Ooh, he has a concert here this summer," she said, recalling the ads.

"I have an extra ticket if you want to go," he said immediately, surprising her.

"You're not going anymore?" she asked, confused.

"I am."

"The ticket?"

"I have two," he said.

"You bought two tickets?" she asked.

He nodded.

"And you want to sell me the other one?"

"Not sell," he sighed. "Go...with me."

"Ahhh, did your flavor of the month bail on you?" she teased. "Why would you want me to go with you of all people?"

He sighed, "Never mind," he muttered.

She was confused.

Why would he invite her to a concert? And why was the thought of going with him suddenly oddly appealing? She couldn't quite wrap her head around it. Maybe he was just being nice? But when was he ever nice to her?

The rest of the drive was silent, filled only with the upbeat rhythm of Punjabi music. Meerab glanced at him occasionally, noticing the tension in his jaw easing, his fingers tapping along to the beat on the steering wheel. Was this the real Murtasim? The one who liked Punjabi music, laughed easily, and invited her to concerts?

"You can turn on Bay and then Montgomery," Meerab muttered, keeping her eyes on the road ahead.

Murtasim did as she instructed, the streets rather empty.

"Right there, that's me," she said, pointing to the cluster of buildings coming into view.

"Which one is yours?" he asked as he pulled the car to a stop near the curb.

"That one," she said, pointing to the furthest building in the group of five.

"I'll walk you," he said firmly.

She snorted, "I assure you, I can walk just fine. It stopped raining, and it takes like two minutes to get to the door."

"Two minutes in the dark, past midnight, with no one around," he pointed out as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I'll walk you."

"You're so stubborn," she sighed, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door to step out of his car.

She threw her tote over her shoulder and stepped towards the path between the buildings, feeling the cool night air brush against her skin.

"Where are your keys?" he asked, stepping beside her.

"In my bag," she replied, a bit puzzled by his concern.

"You should have them in your hand. Digging through your bag at night and being distracted is how people get followed into buildings," he muttered as he looked around.

"Are you usually so paranoid?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, do you watch true crime documentaries?"

"I don't. You know the homeless population is growing, and a lot of them are on drugs. You can never be too safe," he said as they walked.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help a small smile at his protectiveness, maybe he wasn't all that bad.

"What floor do you live on?" he asked.

"Second," she muttered.

He sighed, "That's rather accessible, do your windows lock?"

She looked over at him, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Honestly, the creepiest thing here is you. Either you're super paranoid or you're plotting on how to kill me in my sleep so you can push along all your projects!"

He rolled his eyes, "You're a woman living alone who arrives home late at night. I just wanted to make sure you're safe and some creep isn't climbing in your window or following you in."

"I can take care of myself just fine, Khan," she said as she reached the door to her building, turning to look up at him. "Thank you, though."

What was with him these days?

He was less than an arm's length away, looking down at her, and it felt too close.

His eyes flickered over her face, and there was a look in his eyes that she didn't understand.

She waited for him to acknowledge her thank you, but he didn't say anything. Not a word. He just stared.

For some reason, her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help but feel flustered at the intensity in his eyes.

And then she watched as his hand moved up, his fingers gently pushing a few strands of her hair that had escaped her ponytail. His knuckles brushed her cheek, sending a shiver running through her as he tucked the hair behind her ear.

Why was he touching her? And why was her heart suddenly so loud? Why were his fingers so warm? Did she like it? She liked it. Why did she like it?

"I—uh—there was something in your hair," he said, his voice much lower than it usually was, sending another shiver through her.

"R-right," she stammered, except it didn't seem like that because his fingers were still on her cheek, lingering, caressing.

He seemed to snap out of it and pulled his hand back. "I—uh, should go," he said, looking a bit flustered.

She nodded, trying to regain her composure. "Right, thank you for the ride...I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she opened the door.

"No problem, see ya," he said, and then the door slammed shut behind her.

She ran over to the stairs, wondering why her heart was flip-flopping in her chest.

"That was so weird," she whispered as she reached her door.

Inside her apartment, Meerab leaned against the door, her heart still racing.

She could still feel the warmth of his fingers on her cheek, the gentle way he had tucked her hair back. Why had that felt so intimate? And why was she reacting like this?

She tossed her bag onto the couch and walked to the kitchen, needing something to do with her hands. She filled a glass of water and took a long sip, trying to calm herself down. But her mind kept replaying the moment, the way his eyes had softened, the way his touch had lingered.

What was going on with him?

With her?

This was Murtasim Khan, the man she argued with on a daily basis, the man who drove her absolutely insane. And yet, tonight, he had been different. Almost tender. Almost... caring. Why?

She groaned, setting the glass down with a thud. She couldn't afford to be distracted by this. By him. She had work to do, a life to manage. But the way he had looked at her, the way his voice had dipped into that low, almost seductive tone—it was messing with her head.

"Why did you have to be so confusing, Murtasim Khan?" she muttered to herself as she headed to her bedroom. She changed into her pajamas, trying to shake off the strange, fluttery feeling in her chest as she brushed her teeth and then washed her face.

She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, but sleep was elusive. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the car ride, to his touch, to the way her name had sounded coming from his lips.

"Get a grip, Meerab," she scolded herself. "It was just a ride home. Nothing more."

But even as she closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them.

With a frustrated sigh, she rolled over, pulling the covers tighter around her. She would figure it out tomorrow.

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Meerab tossed and turned in her bed, the thin coverlet tangled around her legs as her mind drifted into a vivid, all-consuming dream.

She was in Murtasim's office, the familiar surroundings bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun. The room felt different, more intimate, more charged. Murtasim was sitting on the comfy Herman Miller cube sofa she envied, the one in her office was not as nice. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, his expensive Brunello Cucinelli slacks off and bunched around his ankles, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his muscular chest. His usual composed demeanor was replaced with something far more primal, far more intense.

She was sitting in his lap, straddling him, her summer dress riding up her thighs, her blazer discarded somewhere on the floor. The straps of her dress had been pulled down, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth was on her, licking and sucking her nipples, his hot breath and the feel of his beard against her skin sending shivers down her spine. Her moans filled the room, mingling with the soft rustle of fabric and the wet sounds of his mouth on her skin.

His hands were on her hips, guiding her movements as she rode him. She looked down, mesmerized by the sight of his forearms flexing with every motion, the tendons and veins standing out against his skin. He felt so big inside her, stretching her in ways that made her toes curl. She ground her hips against him, finding a rhythm that made her head spin, bouncing on his dick as her name rolled off his tongue in a breathless chant.

"Meerab... Meerab..." He gasped, his voice low and gruff.

His long fingers trailed between her legs, finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She threw her head back, lost in the overwhelming ecstasy, her fingers digging into his shoulders for support.

"Murtasimmmmmmmmmmm," she moaned, her voice thick with need.

His hips bucked up to meet her movements, driving him deeper inside her. She could feel the tension building, the sweet, agonizing pressure of an impending climax. His mouth moved from her breasts to her neck, sucking and biting gently, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her shudder.

"You feel so good," he groaned against her skin, his voice rough with desire.

She looked down at him, their eyes locking, and the intensity in his gaze made her heart race even faster. His fingers on her clit moved faster, more insistent, and she knew she was close. Her body tensed, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate.

"Oh fuck, Murtasim," she cried out as the pleasure crashed over her in waves, her body trembling with the force of her orgasm.

He followed her over the edge, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he thrust up into her, his own release ripping through him. They moved together, riding out the aftershocks, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Meerab woke with a start, her heart pounding, her skin flushed. The dream lingered, the vivid sensations and images refusing to fade. She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath, her body still humming with the remnants of the dream's intensity.

"What the hell was that?" she whispered to herself, her mind racing.

She blinked into the darkness, trying to make sense of the vivid images that were still playing out in her mind. Of Murtasim. Not Murtasim, Khan!

She had just had a sex dream about Khan.

"No, no, no, no, no," she muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper in the quiet room.

This couldn't be happening. It made no sense.

Murtasim – not Murtasim, Khan!

Khan was the bane of her existence, the thorn in her side, the man who made her blood boil with irritation... and apparently, with desire now? "Ugh, what the hell, brain?"

She flopped back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, her mind spiraling. Why him? Of all people, why him? There had to be some kind of mistake, some weird psychological hiccup.

He was the last person she saw before she fell asleep, that was it!

And he had confused her, and touched her cheek, that was it! It was nothing more.

She didn't want to sleep with him.

"Do I want to sleep with him?" she wondered aloud, horrified at the thought. "No, absolutely not. This is just... no."

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images from the dream refused to disappear. The feel of his hands on her hips, the way his mouth had moved over her skin, the intensity in his eyes as he whispered her name. Her heart skipped a beat just thinking about it.

"Stop it, Meerab," she scolded herself, opening her eyes and glaring at the ceiling. "You do not find him attractive. He's annoying. He's arrogant. He's... really good-looking, so what if he has a nice laugh and he smells amazing, and—NO!" She slapped a hand over her mouth as if to stop the traitorous thoughts from escaping.

"Get a grip," she muttered, rolling over and burying her face in her pillow. "It was just a dream. A really, really detailed, disturbingly hot dream. But just a dream."

Her thoughts raced on, refusing to let her find any peace. What if this changed everything? What if she couldn't look at him without blushing now? What if he somehow found out?

Did people radiate "I had a sex dream about you" vibes? She couldn't risk it. She would have to avoid him forever. Or at least until her brain decided to stop torturing her.

"Oh God, work is going to be a nightmare," she groaned, imagining the smug look on his face as he inevitably sensed her discomfort. He would never let her live it down, even if he didn't know the reason.

"Maybe I should call in sick," she mused, then immediately dismissed the idea. She couldn't let a stupid dream dictate her actions. She was a professional. She could handle this.

Meerab took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "Okay, just... think of something else. Puppies. Kittens. Tax law. Anything but Murtasim – don't call him that! Khan. Khan. Impersonal. Co-Worker. The bane of my existence. Khan."

But her mind kept circling back, replaying every moment of the dream with embarrassing clarity. She could practically hear his voice, low and husky, whispering her name. "Stop it!" she hissed at herself.

She grabbed her phone and checked the time. 4:17 AM. Great. She had hours left to lay here and obsess over this.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, her mind unable to let go of the dream. Her body was still buzzing with the remnants of arousal, the memory of his hands on her, his mouth, his voice. Why did it have to be him? Of all people, why Mur- Khan?

She shifted uncomfortably, feeling a familiar heat and wetness pooling between her legs. It had been a while since she had felt this turned on, and she knew exactly why. Stupid Khan, with his comment about her boyfriend, had made her think about her non-existent sex life. And now her brain was punishing her with vivid, erotic dreams of the man she loved to hate.

Her hand drifted down to her stomach, her fingers brushing lightly over her skin. She bit her lip, debating with herself. It had been so long since she had allowed herself this kind of release. And it wasn't like she was going to call Murt- Khan and confess her dream.

No, this was something she had to handle herself.

With a sigh, she reached over to her nightstand and opened the drawer. Her fingers found the familiar shape of her LELO Ina Wave, the one with the dildo attachment that went inside her to stimulate her g-spot and the part that fit perfectly over her clit. She hadn't used it in ages, but it felt like the right time to change that – maybe she was just sexually frustrated.

She slid off her sleep shorts.

She turned the toy on, the soft hum filling the quiet room. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the lingering images of Murtasim as she spread her legs and guided the dildo attachment inside her, it slid in easily with how wet she was. The sensation was immediate, the fullness making her gasp softly. She adjusted the base over her clit, the dual stimulation sending jolts of pleasure through her body, prompting her to let out a loud sigh.

She started with a gentle vibration, letting her body adjust to the sensation. The curved arm inside her began to move in a come-hither motion, mimicking the sensation of fingers curling against her G-spot. She let out a low moan, her hips instinctively lifting to meet the movement.

Her mind, however, refused to cooperate. Instead of focusing on abstract fantasies, it kept returning to the dream. She pictured Murtasim's hands on her hips, guiding her movements as she rode him, his mouth on her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples. She imagined the way his forearms flexed as he helped her ride him, the way his name had rolled off her tongue in a breathless chant.

She increased the intensity, the vibrations growing stronger against her clit as the internal arm continued its rhythmic motion. Her breathing became ragged, her gasps louder as the pace picked up. "Murtasim," she whispered, the name slipping out before she could stop herself.

Her mind was filled with images of him, the way he had looked at her in the dream, the way he had felt inside her. She imagined his hands gripping her hips, his fingers trailing between her legs to play with her clit. The thought pushed her closer to the edge, her body trembling with the intensity of it.

She started to move the vibrator faster, the come-hither motion inside her combined with the powerful vibrations against her clit driving her wild. Her moans filled the room, her body arching off the bed as she chased her release. "Oh shit," she gasped, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

Her hands gripped the sheets, her legs spreading wider as she moved up the bed, the pleasure overwhelming her senses. The dual stimulation was too much, her body shaking as the orgasm approached. She could feel the tightness in her core, the tension building to a breaking point.

Her mind conjured the image of his dream dick, the way it had filled her so perfectly, the way he had moaned her name. She could feel the orgasm building, her body tense and ready.

The relentless rhythm continued, the internal arm pressing against her G-spot while the base vibrated against her clit. She was gasping for air, her moans turning into screams as the orgasm hit her like a tidal wave.

"Oh God, Murtasim!" she cried out, her body convulsing with the force of her climax. She could feel the contractions deep inside her, the waves of pleasure rolling through her, leaving her breathless and trembling.

Her legs shook, her hips bucked against the toy, and she rode out the orgasm, her body stilling as the pleasure ebbed away. She lay there, panting, the toy still humming softly inside her. With a shaky hand, she turned it off and gently pulled it out, her body still tingling from the aftershocks.

She lay there, panting, her mind spinning. What had just happened? She had just had the most intense orgasm of her life, thinking about Murtasim Khan. She groaned. This was a disaster.

-------------------------------------------------

Meerab glared at Khan all morning. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning, trying to figure out why he was acting so different and why she had a sex dream about him. Worse yet, she had gotten off to the thought of him fucking her. Every time she looked at him, the dream replayed in her mind, and it made her want to scream.

On her way to work that morning, she had called her best friend, who was convinced that Khan had a crush on her. That idea had been laughable—so laughable, in fact, that she had actually laughed out loud.

Why would Khan like her? He had the whole office of pretty young women falling over themselves for his attention. She was nothing like the women he went after.

And she had been right about him - because Misha, who had been trailing after him all week was now looking at him heartbroken. She had been replaced by Rachel, a cute little blonde from finance who had a million questions for Khan. As she had watched Murtasim – no, Khan - interact with Rachel, she felt a pang of something she couldn't quite identify.

Jealousy? No, that was ridiculous.

She didn't care who he flirted with.

But the way Rachel giggled and batted her eyelashes at him made her stomach twist in a way that was definitely not normal.

She tried to focus on the documents in front of her, but her mind kept drifting back to the night before. The way she had moaned his name, the way her body had reacted to the dream. It was maddening. And the fact that Murtasim was just steps away, looking like a Greek god, didn't help.

She could feel her cheeks heating up again, and she quickly ducked her head, pretending to be engrossed in her work. But her mind wouldn't let go. Why did she have to dream about him? Why couldn't it have been anyone else?

And why did she have to like it so much? The dream had felt so real, so intense. She could still feel his hands on her hips, his breath against her skin. She shivered, trying to shake off the sensation.

"What did he do now?" Belinda asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Who?" Meerab asked, looking at her.

"Khan. You've been glaring at him all morning," she said.

"Nothing," Meerab shrugged.

Belinda leaned back in her seat, a skeptical look on her face. "You're letting go of an opportunity to badmouth him?" she grinned.

"No, I just don't have the energy right now," Meerab admitted. She had barely gotten any sleep between her dream, getting off to the thought of him, and then spiraling over it.

Belinda grinned.

"Why are you smiling?" Meerab asked, feeling a little paranoid.

"You know the office has a betting pool, right? It's equally divided right now. Half of them think you'll kill each other, and the other half is sure it's sexual tension and you'll end up fucking. A smaller pool of that thinks you'll be hitched within the year," Belinda shared.

Meerab's eyes widened. The people in her office were clearly smarter than she was. If they only knew she had climaxed hours earlier, screaming Murtasim's name – Murtasim, no, Khan who currently looked absolutely delicious in a snug polo t-shirt that made his arms look ridiculously defined.

"Clearly you don't have enough work to do," Meerab rolled her eyes, trying to throw Belinda off.

"My money is on the fucking," Belinda teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Say bye to your money then, because it's not happening!" Meerab muttered.

In reality, at least. She couldn't guarantee her dreams wouldn't betray her.

"Oh, but it is," Belinda insisted, her grin widening. "He has gotten under your skin."

"He has not," Meerab defended, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Hmm, you do notice that you glare at any woman who shows even the slightest interest in him, Meerab?"

"Ha! I am appalled by how dumb they are, that's why!" Meerab shot back, crossing her arms.

"Right," Belinda said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"He's slept with half the office!" Meerab hissed, her frustration boiling over.

Belinda arched an eyebrow. "And what's your source on that?"

"A new chick follows him around, they fuck, he ignores them, they cry about it. It's an obvious cycle," Meerab said, her voice laced with irritation.

Belinda looked at her and sighed, shaking her head slowly. "Oh Meerab, Meerab, Meerab."

"Oh Belinda, Belinda, Belinda," Meerab repeated, her voice mimicking Belinda's.

Belinda just grinned. "Maybe I should put my money towards married in a year."

Meerab scoffed. "Hell would freeze over before I marry Murtasim Khan."

"We'll see," Belinda grinned, looking like the cat that got the cream.

Meerab turned back to her computer, trying to focus on the report in front of her. But Belinda's words kept echoing in her head. Married in a year? Was everyone in the office completely delusional?

------------------------------------------

Meerab sat in the meeting room, trying to focus on the presentation. Murtasim was at the front, explaining the latest project updates with his usual confidence and charisma. But her mind was betraying her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't concentrate on a single word he was saying.

Her eyes drifted over him, taking in his sharp features and the well-groomed beard that framed his strong jawline. His lips moved with precision as he spoke, and she found herself mesmerized by the way they formed each word. His voice was rich and smooth, a deep baritone that sent shivers down her spine. Why did his voice have to be so nice?

She trailed her gaze down to his neck, noting how it looked so strong and inviting. The slight shadow of stubble on his neck made her want to reach out and touch it. She imagined how it would feel under her fingertips, rough yet tantalizingly soft.

Her eyes moved to his shoulders, broad and solid under the snug fit of his beige polo. The fabric clung to his muscular chest, accentuating every defined line and contour. His biceps bulged slightly as he gestured, the veins on his forearms prominent and pulsing with each movement. She couldn't help but admire how built he was. Every inch of him screamed strength and power.

Why was she noticing this?

Meerab shook her head, trying to clear the inappropriate thoughts, but her mind flashed her an image of the two of them together. In her vision, she was straddling his lap, her hands trailing down his sculpted chest, feeling the muscles as she rode him. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hand shaking slightly as she reached for her water bottle. She drank half of it in one go, hoping the cool liquid would douse the heat rising within her.

But when she opened her eyes, they went straight back to him. His tiny waist, accentuated by the fitted shirt, made her wonder what he was hiding underneath. Her mind, traitorous as ever, painted a vivid picture of her running her hands over his six-pack, feeling the hard muscles flex beneath her touch.

"No, stop it," she screamed internally. But her eyes betrayed her again, drifting down to his crotch. How big was his dick actually? She quickly looked away, her cheeks burning. What was wrong with her?

Her gaze landed on his hands again. Those hands that seemed so strong, so capable. His fingers were long and thick, and she couldn't help but imagine what they would feel like inside her, moving in and out, bringing her to the edge. The thought made her squirm in her seat, her mind spinning with possibilities.

"Meerab, are you feeling okay?" someone asked, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She looked up, blinking rapidly, trying to compose herself. "I'm... I'm feeling a bit sick," she lied, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears. "Excuse me," she said, standing up abruptly and making her way to the door.

As she walked out of the room, she made a mental note: she should bring extra panties if she was going to act like this and soak through them at work. The thought made her groan internally. This was a disaster.

She reached the restroom and splashed cold water on her face, trying to calm her racing heart. "Get a grip, Meerab," she whispered to herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror. But the image of Murtasim, standing there with his powerful presence, his deep voice resonating in her ears, and the way his lips moved as he spoke, was etched into her mind.

As she dried her face with a paper towel, she couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes had been on her, even though she knew it was all in her head. She took a deep breath and straightened her clothes, determined to get through the rest of the day without making a complete fool of herself.

But as she stepped back into the meeting room, her resolve wavered. Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes met hers. He cocked his head to the side, observing her closely.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the intensity of his gaze making her feel like he could see right through her. To her surprise, he mouthed, "Are you okay?" Concern etched on his face.

Meerab could only nod, her mind flashing back to the previous night. To the man who had driven her home and insisted on walking her to her door, making sure she was safe. It was a different side of him, one she wasn't used to seeing. Her chest tightened at the memory, and she quickly looked away, trying to regain her composure.

She took her seat, avoiding his gaze as much as possible, but she could still feel his eyes on her. It was as if he was silently checking up on her, making sure she was truly okay. Her heart raced at the thought, a mix of confusion and something else she couldn't quite place.

----------------------------------------------

Meerab sat at her desk, trying desperately to focus on the work in front of her. The meeting had left her flustered, and she needed to get a grip. She couldn't afford to let her mind wander, especially not with deadlines looming. She took a deep breath, willing herself to concentrate, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Murtasim.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the words on the screen made no sense. Her mind replayed the moment he mouthed, "Are you okay?" and the concern in his eyes. She shook her head, trying to banish the memory, but it was futile. She couldn't escape the way he made her feel, the confusion, the unexpected warmth.

A knock on the door made her jump, and before she could respond, it opened. Her eyes widened in shock as Murtasim walked in, carrying two cups in his hands—an iced coffee and a steaming hot cup. Her heart skipped a beat as he approached her desk.

"Drink something," was all he said, placing the cups on her desk with a gentle thud.

She stared at him, speechless, as he turned and walked out of her office without another word, closing the door softly behind him. It took her a moment to process what had just happened. She looked at the cups, her heart about melting when she smelled the peppermint tea—black, just the way she liked it when she was feeling sick. The iced coffee was creamy, not black like he preferred.

With trembling hands, she picked up the iced coffee and took a sip. It was exactly how she liked it—sweet, creamy, and with a hint of vanilla. Her heart raced at the meaning of this. How did he know? Did he watch her closely enough to notice her preferences? Why would he do that?

She set the coffee down, her mind spinning. The gesture was so out of character for him, so thoughtful. She took a deep breath and picked up the peppermint tea, savoring the familiar scent before taking a sip. The warmth spread through her, soothing her frazzled nerves.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind. Murtasim Khan, the man who drove her crazy, who she argued with endlessly, had just brought her tea and coffee, perfectly tailored to her tastes. It was such a simple act, but it felt incredibly intimate.

Her heart pounded as she replayed the moment in her mind. His expression had been unreadable, but there was a gentleness in his eyes that she couldn't ignore.

She tried to push the thoughts away and focus on her work, but it was impossible. The gesture had shaken her, making her question everything she thought she knew about him. She took another sip of the peppermint tea, letting the warmth calm her racing heart.

Why did he have to be so confusing? One moment he was infuriating, the next he was considerate and kind. She glanced at the cups on her desk, her heart fluttering.

-----------------------------------------

Meerab lay on her couch, eyes closed, trying to relax and will her migraine away. The throbbing pain in her head was relentless, and she had known she needed a day off to deal with it and, if she was honest with herself, to sort through the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions Murtasim had stirred up in her. She had never called in sick before, always priding herself on her work ethic, but today she had.

The sudden beep of the intercom startled her, and she groaned softly. Who could be bothering her now? She got up, padding over to the intercom, and pressed the button.

"Yes?" she said, her voice strained from the headache.

"Miss Ahmed, it's Stan. There's a package here for you," came her building manager's voice from the other end, he was sweet old man who had too much time on his hand since he retired.

Meerab frowned. "A package? I didn't order anything."

"Well, it's here. Someone dropped it off for you," Stan replied.

Curious and slightly annoyed, she made her way down to the lobby. Stan was waiting for her with a brown paper bag from Amal's Deli. She recognized the logo immediately—Amal's had the best chicken noodle soup in the city.

"Stan, are you sure this is for me?" she asked, confused.

Stan nodded. "A man dropped it off for you. Didn't leave a name, but he drove a black Range Rover."

Her heart plummeted to the floor.

Murtasim?

He drove all the way from work to Amal's, got her soup and food, and dropped it off at her place? Why would he do that? Why didn't he stay?

Stan grinned, clearly enjoying her confusion. "He looked like he wanted to bring it himself but chickened out. Handsome, that one."

Meerab nodded absently, her mind racing. "Yeah, he is."

"And awfully sweet too," Stan added with a knowing smile.

She nodded again, her heart pounding. "Yeah, he is."

She took the bag from Stan and made her way back to her apartment, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Why had Murtasim gone out of his way to do this? She opened the bag as she placed it on her coffee table, her heart beating faster as she pulled out a container of chicken noodle soup and a veggie wrap—exactly what she would have ordered if she wasn't feeling well.

She sat down on the couch, staring at the food. This was beyond thoughtful. This was... caring. She couldn't understand why he would do this. Was it out of guilt for something? Did he know she was unwell and wanted to help?

But why?

She took a sip of the soup, the warmth spreading through her, soothing her aching head and heart. She couldn't help but smile.

Why didn't he stay? The question gnawed at her. Maybe he didn't want to intrude, or maybe he thought she wouldn't appreciate the gesture. But she did. More than she could put into words.

Or maybe someone else had asked him to send her soup and he didn't want to take the credit? Maybe Belinda?

She picked up her phone as it beeped, her heart racing, expecting it to be Murtasim.

But it was Belinda.

Feel better soon, babe! Xoxo.

Had Belinda sent the food? The text was vague, but the timing was suspicious.

But why would Murtasim agree to drive all the way to her condo to drop it off for her?

Did she ask Belinda?

She shook her head. If she asked Belinda, she would get too curious about who had sent the soup and go digging. And knowing Belinda, she would find out.

Did she ask Murtasim?

She shook her head. If she asked Murtasim and he'd done someone else a favour, it would be awkward. He clearly didn't want her to know he was involved, that's why he didn't linger or text her to let her know.

But she should still text him a thank you?

She groaned. Would that be weird?

"Whatever!" She screamed, throwing her phone aside and picking up the veggie wrap, taking a bite of it.

If it was Murtasim then he was confusing. One moment, he was infuriating, and the next, he was incredibly considerate. She couldn't make sense of it. Why would he do this and then not tell her if he did it?

---------------------------------------

Meerab felt like she was losing her mind. Ever since she'd called in sick and Murtasim had mysteriously delivered that soup and wrap, everything had felt off. She hadn't mentioned it to him, hadn't thanked him yet. She had fallen asleep after eating, and then it felt like it was too late to text, and now the longer she delayed saying anything to him, the more awkward it felt. It had been days already.

She was terrified of making a fool of herself. Why did he have to complicate things like this?

She sat in the meeting room, her eyes darting to Murtasim every few seconds. He kept staring at her, an awkward tension settling between them. His gaze wasn't hostile or challenging, it was... soft, amused even. It made no sense. As she spoke, he just gazed at her like she was the most amusing thing in the world.

He didn't even fight her on her suggestions.

Meerab narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a mix of confusion and irritation.

This wasn't normal.

He always argued with her, always had a counterpoint. But today, when she told him he needed to change his timeline for a launch, he agreed immediately without a single word of protest. She had a whole spiel prepared, ready to tear his plan apart, but it remained at the tip of her tongue, unused and pointless.

He was up to something. She just knew it. Something sneaky, something underhanded. He'd strike when she least expected it. She glared at him, but he only responded with a faint smile, making her even more suspicious.

Even more confusing, he was staying late almost every day, leaving after she did. She had even seen his car at lights a couple of times. It felt like he was following her, but whenever she turned to confront him, he was gone.

She missed their fights. As much as she hated to admit it, arguing with him was the one thing at work that was kind of interesting. Yelling at him for being too ambitious, having someone challenge her—it was invigorating. Otherwise, her job was just reading and writing, and as much as she loved it, it lacked the fiery excitement that their arguments provided.

But now, things were weird.

She was having sex dreams about him – more than one – and her heart raced whenever he was near. She also couldn't shake the feeling that he was up to something. She needed to go back to what they were before. She needed to not feel this strange pull towards him, this confusing mix of annoyance and attraction.

Meerab watched as the office emptied on Friday evening. Everyone tried to leave early on Fridays, the bathrooms were always full of people doing touch ups or changing for a night out with colleagues or friends. She sat at her desk, feeling rather annoyed. The quiet was nice, but her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts she couldn't control.

Earlier, she had overheard Rachel in the bathroom.

Rachel had been painting her lips a red that looked amazing on her, telling her friend that she was asking Murtasim out and had worn her lucky panties. Meerab might have broken the little lever attached to the paper towel dispenser. It was just brittle plastic, that's why it had broken, at least that's what she told herself.

Rachel had long left, but Murtasim's office light was still on. That asshole was making her wait. Not that she cared. He could do whatever he wanted. He could go fuck Rachel with his probably huge dick. Not that she cared, not at all. She had no interest in him or his dick—none at all.

She watched as he walked out of his office, wearing more casual clothing today—a pair of black slacks with a maroon polo sweater. His hair was a riotous mess, not gelled back, she had heard all the young women swooning today. Clearly, God had favorites, and he was one of them. He was on his phone as he walked by her office, but he didn't have his bag with him. Was he not leaving yet? She looked at the clock in her office; it was already past 8 p.m.

He disappeared towards the bathroom instead. She sighed. "What are you doing, Meerab? Go home," she whispered to herself as she stared at her screen.

A little (1) appeared in her mailbox—the one she had just gone through and answered all emails for. She groaned when she read the sender's name: Khan, Murtasim. He had cc'd Stuart too. She expected him to be arguing about how she was being too risk-averse, but to her utter surprise, it was the exact opposite.

He had said that taking what Meerab said into account, it would be wise to move the project timeline by two months to ensure we have time to receive the necessary approvals. What was he up to?

Her eyes flicked up towards the hallway, catching a blur of maroon walking by again. He was going back to his office. This was beyond strange. Murtasim agreeing with her without a fight? It had to be a trick. He was always up to something.

Her heart pounded as she reread his email, trying to find any hidden meaning or sarcasm. But there was none. It was straightforward and... respectful?

Meerab found herself getting up, anger pushing her down the well-worn path to Murtasim's office. The door was open, and he was sitting in his chair, scribbling something on a notepad.

"What the fuck is your problem, Khan?!" she shouted as she burst through the door.

He visibly jumped, leaning back in his chair, his eyes wide with surprise. "Why are you yelling?" he asked, his voice calm despite her outburst.

"That email!" she said, stepping inside his office, which smelled of his cologne. The scent was annoyingly pleasant. "What the fuck was that?"

"I am confused," he said, his brow furrowing.

"You know what I am talking about!" she snapped. "That email you just sent!"

He looked genuinely puzzled as he sighed. "The one where I agreed with what you said?"

"Yes, that one! What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you agree with me?!" She yelled, her frustration boiling over.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, his perfect little head—why did he have to look so adorably confused? Like a little puppy she wanted to smother with kisses.

"Yes! But it makes no sense—you didn't even try to fight. You haven't fought me on anything all week—what is wrong with you?!" She yelled, not knowing where the words were coming from.

"So...you want to fight?" he asked, his tone mild.

"Yes! It's what we do, we fight—we don't do...this, whatever this is!" She screamed, her emotions swirling in a confusing mix.

"I see, and why do you want me to fight with you, Meerab?" He grinned, leaning back in his chair, looking infuriatingly smug.

So she'd stop having sex dreams about him and thinking of fucking him—she would NOT be one of the girls he slept with and left behind.

"Stop smiling at me like that!" She snapped, Belinda's words about him getting under her skin echoing in her mind.

"Why? Does it do something to you?" he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I—no! I don't know! Stop whatever it is that you're trying to do, you're driving me insane!" She yelled, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

He hummed, getting up easily, stepping towards her. "I drive you insane?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Like you haven't been trying to drive me mad this whole time," she snapped, feeling her heart race as he closed the distance between them.

He was so close now, she could see the flecks of light brown in his dark brown eyes, the curve of his lips that seemed to always hold a secret. "Meerab, why does it bother you so much?" he asked, his voice low and soothing, like he was talking to a spooked animal.

"Because you're up to something! You're always up to something," she accused, trying to hold on to her anger, but finding it slipping away under his intense gaze.

"What if I told you I wasn't up to anything?" he asked, his hand reaching out, almost touching her arm, but stopping just short of touching her lavender blouse.

"I wouldn't believe you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, and for a moment, she thought she saw something there, something vulnerable. "Meerab, maybe I'm just trying to be...nice."

She blinked, taken aback. Nice? Murtasim? The man who thrived on their arguments? "Nice?" she repeated, her tone incredulous.

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, nice. I can be nice, you know...like dropping off soup and food when someone is sick."

She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but found none. It only made her more confused. "It was you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He nodded.

"Why?" She muttered.

"Answer my question first, Meerab. Do I drive you insane?" Murtasim's voice was low and insistent.

Why was he stepping closer? Why was he invading her personal space? Her face flushed, her stomach fluttering wildly. What was he doing? Had he drugged her?

She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

He sighed, frustration evident. "You drive me insane, Meerab."

"We all know that you hate me," she muttered, the vulnerability clear in her voice despite her not meaning to show it.

He groaned, exasperated. "For someone who skipped multiple grades and is a classified genius, you sure can be very dumb."

She glared up at him, her temper flaring. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"The last thing I feel for you is hate," he said firmly.

What? She must have looked confused because he sighed deeply.

"I don't hate you," he said.

"Then?" she asked, her heart beating much too fast.

"You've been driving me absolutely mad since we met, but you've been driving me positively insane over the last few weeks and I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

What? She felt like her brain was short-circuiting.

"Oh," was all that left her mouth.

Was he having sex dreams about her too? Shit.

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other. He was much too close, his presence overwhelming.

The air between them crackled with tension, the kind that made her skin tingle and her heart race. She could see every detail of his face, from the intensity in his dark eyes to the slight slightly too long beard that added a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect features. His breath was warm against her lips, mingling with hers in the tiny space between them.

His hands shot out then, holding her face with a gentleness that belied the fire in his eyes. His fingers were warm and strong, cradling her cheeks as if she were something precious. For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze, and then suddenly his mouth was on hers.

Murtasim Khan was kissing her.

The kiss was electric. His lips were soft yet insistent, moving against hers with hunger. His taste was intoxicating, a heady mix of mint and something uniquely him, making her head spin.

Why was he kissing her? She let out a little moan against his lips. His lips were so nice, why?

They moved against hers both slowly and with so much passion that she felt like she was being swallowed whole. Fuck, he was good at this.

His lips felt better than dream Murtasim's.

She should have pulled away and asked him what he was up to, but there was a brain-body disconnect. Her arms were wrapping around his shoulders, and she was kissing him back.

He moaned against her mouth as she did, stepping closer and pressing the entire length of his tall, built body against hers. His fingers slid into her hair, pulling her closer.

His thumbs caressed her cheeks as his kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping across her lower lip before slipping inside her mouth. She let out a soft moan, parting her lips wider to give him more access. Her body responded to him with a need she hadn't realized she had, pressing closer until there was no space left between them.

She let out a little gasp, and Murtasim's tongue touched hers. She moaned, and he let out a groan against her lips.

His tongue was long too, like his fingers, doing wicked things to her, his body pressed up against all the right parts of her. One of his hands trailed down to her waist, pulling her in and up onto her toes, closer to him.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against hers with an urgency that made her head spin. His hand on her waist slid lower, fingers brushing against the small of her back, sending shivers down her spine. She arched into him, pressing her body closer, craving more of his touch.

His other hand still cupped her face, thumb caressing her cheek as his tongue explored her mouth. She felt a wave of heat wash over her, her core tightening with desire. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails grazing his skin through the fabric of his sweater.

Murtasim kissed so well. His lips were soft but insistent, intoxicating. She could feel the slight roughness of his beard brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. His hands were firm yet gentle, holding her as if she were something precious.

Her mind spun as she gasped, breaking off the kiss.

He didn't stop, letting his lips trail down her neck, nipping and licking the sensitive skin.

She groaned as he bit softly into her flesh, nuzzling her with his beard.

This wasn't a dream. She was in Murtasim's office, making out with him, and he was kissing and licking her neck like he had been waiting to do it for years.

What the fuck?

Was this what he did with all the other women who followed him around?

Was this the Murtasim Khan special?!

"Wait," she gasped, turning her head to the side, her mind struggling to catch up with her body.

His tongue was in the process of drawing a line up to her earlobe as she brought her hands to his shoulders and pushed gently. He didn't let her go, but he stopped, his lips hovering right next to her ear, his breath warm and tantalizing.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending another shiver through her.

"We can't do this," she managed to say, her voice wavering.

"Why not?" His mouth was still next to her ear, his lips brushing it as he spoke, making it hard to think straight.

His other hand gently caressed her scalp, his fingers tangling in her hair. His body was pressed up against hers, warm and solid, making it even harder to focus.

Why couldn't they do this again?!

"I don't do hook-ups," she said, because she was either all in or all out.

She couldn't sleep with him and then go back to pretending that nothing had happened. She refused to cry over him in bathrooms like the other women.

"Good," he said, his voice firm, "Neither do I."

"Don't lie to me like I am stupid," she said, pushing him away a little, trying to regain some semblance of control.

He groaned in frustration. "I am not."

"What about all the women?" she asked, searching his eyes for the truth.

"What women?" He groaned, his chocolate brown eyes dark with desire, but with a hint of confusion in them.

"The ones that are always following you around and then crying in the bathroom after you sleep with them and ignore them."

He scowled, his expression darkening. "Is that what they say?" he asked, his tone incredulous.

"I mean, it's not hard to figure out. They hit on you, you sleep with them, then you completely ignore them, and they cry in the bathrooms," she said, her voice edged with bitterness.

"Fuck, no wonder," he sighed, and then he was cupping her face with both of his hands. His hands were warm, and his touch sent a shiver down her spine. "I know they're coming onto me, I am not dumb, but I am not interested. They always show up, follow me around, ask questions about work, and it's not like I can tell them to get lost..."

"So?" she asked, confusion clouding her features.

"When they push too much, I gently let them know I am not interested, and then obviously they stop following me around and are hurt by it," he told her, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"Oh," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He sighed deeply, his breath warm against her skin. "That's all you're going to say?"

"None of them?" she asked, surprised. Had she been wrong this whole time?

He nodded. "None of them."

"Misha?" she probed, still skeptical.

"I told her to keep things professional after you left for lunch that day," he said, his tone firm.

"Oh." She was even more confused now. "Rachel?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Told her I was not interested in her just hours ago, actually," he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

So, he wasn't looking forward to seeing her lucky panties.

"I see," she said, feeling like a fool for her assumptions.

"You really thought I had been sleeping with all of them?" he groaned, his frustration evident.

"I mean, it was right there," she muttered.

Had she been reading into it all wrong? Her mind flashed to Belinda's shocked expression when she had shared her deductions. Was she the idiot?

"There's only one woman I am interested in, have been for some time now, actually," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

And then he was leaning forward, kissing her again. His lips were voracious, consuming hers with a hunger that made her knees weak. His kiss was intense, demanding, and she found herself melting into it, her hands gripping his shoulders for support.

Why was he so good at kissing? Her mind was already a mess, and the kissing didn't help because her body had different plans than she did.

"You're supposed to ask me a question," he whispered against her lips, pecking them again, each kiss sending jolts of electricity through her body.

"How long?" she whispered, her voice trembling as his lips trailed down to her neck again, kissing and licking, sucking at her sensitive skin.

She gasped, her body arching towards him.

"Remember when we fought upstairs, in the meeting room outside Stuart's office?" he asked, his breath hot against her neck.

She nodded, trying to focus despite the way he was making her feel. "You were so fucking annoying," she managed to say.

He nipped at her neck, and she let out a moan.

He pulled away slightly, looking right at her. "I wanted to rip that fucking dress off of you and fuck you on the table," he confessed, his voice raw with desire.

She whimpered, her body reacting to his words. She didn't understand how his words could make her feel so much. Her body flushed with heat, and she felt her panties growing damp with arousal.

Her hands were suddenly around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as their lips met again. This time, she kissed him with all the frustration and longing that had been building up inside her for so long. It was much better than her dreams—infinitely better.

Murtasim responded with equal urgency, his lips moving hungrily against hers. His hands slid lower and lower down her back, over the curve of her ass to the back of her thighs, pulling her closer to him with each passing second. She could feel the heat of his body, the strength of his grip, and it made her pulse race.

He moved, bringing her with him until she was pressed against his desk and he was pressed against her—all of him—including his rock-hard dick. She moaned against his mouth, the sound escaping her involuntarily as she reached back and planted her hands on his desk, pulling herself up until she was sitting on it.

He made a low, primal growling sound in the back of his throat and pushed forward to stand between her knees. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs, sliding down until he pulled her closer with one swift tug. She gasped as she felt his erection pressing exactly against where she wanted him, the throbbing between her legs becoming almost unbearable. He was big.

She kissed him back with everything she had, her hands exploring the contours of his back, the hard muscles shifting under her touch. His scent filled her senses—musky, masculine, intoxicating.

She got it now.

The adrenaline rush every time she saw him, the arguing, the hating... it wasn't hate, it was lust. Pure, unadulterated lust.

Belinda was right. Belinda was always right.

She wanted him—it was a raw, primal need that she couldn't ignore any longer.

And this maddening, irritating man said he wanted her too.

His mouth left hers, trailing hot, wet kisses down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, making her shiver. "Meerab," he murmured against her throat, his voice thick with desire. "You drive me crazy."

Her response was a soft moan, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter. She could feel the dampness between her thighs, the ache unbearable. His lips returned to hers, and the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about this?" he murmured against her mouth, his voice a low, sexy rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

She suddenly didn't want him to shut up, ever. Every word he spoke seemed to heighten her desire, making her want him more.

He rocked his hips at the same time, and she gasped a little, the delicious friction making her head spin. "Thought about what?" she managed to ask, her voice breathless.

"You on my desk just like this..." he trailed off as she rocked her hips against his.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, the sound sending a thrill through her. "Murtasim..." she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

"Fuck, I almost kissed you the first time you called me Murtasim," he confessed, his hands gripping her hips and rocking again. The hardness of him pressed against her, the seam of her trousers rubbing her in all the right ways. Her head fell back, a moan escaping her lips.

"When?" she moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"That night you fell asleep in your office," he muttered, attacking her neck again with his lips. His mouth was hot and insistent, making her gasp and writhe against him.

One of his hands left her hip and slid up her ribcage until he was cupping her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple. Was she going to do this? At work? In his office? Where anyone could find them? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

He seemed to notice her hesitance. "Do you want me to stop?" he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and tantalizing.

"We probably should," she said, but her actions did not match her words. She was cupping his face and pulling him closer to kiss her.

"We should," he agreed between kisses. Then he drew her bottom lip between his teeth and his long fingers closed over her clothed nipple, pinching lightly.

"Fuck," she moaned against his mouth—it felt so good, too good.

"Meerab," he groaned, rocking against her. His body was so hard, so strong, and she could feel every inch of him pressing against her.

Fuck it, she was not going to regret this moment. "Fuck me," she whispered, the words escaping her before she could second-guess them. She needed this, needed him.

He groaned out a "Fuck" as he pulled away. Suddenly, he was pulling her shirt over her head, and she was reaching for the hem of his maroon sweater, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere.

He worked out more than she thought he did. His body was so toned—she couldn't look away. He was so sexy. His chest was broad and sculpted, his arms thick with muscle, his biceps bulging as he moved. His waist was narrow, his abs a perfect set of defined ridges that led down to a trail of sparse hair disappearing into his slacks.

She ran her hands over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle under her fingers. His skin was warm, smooth, and he shivered at her touch. His eyes were dark with desire, his lips parted as he breathed heavily. She could feel the heat radiating from him, could see the raw need in his gaze.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss. His hands roamed over her body, exploring, caressing, driving her wild with desire. She arched into him, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

His hands were playing with her tits, kneading, rubbing, pinching through her bra with a single-minded focus. The sensation sent electric jolts through her, and she arched into his touch as he moved closer and kissed her hard, their bare stomachs pressing against each other, skin to skin.

His fingers raced up her ribcage to her back, deftly unclasping her bra. She didn't want to think about why he was so good at that—his hands on the bare skin of her breasts wiped those thoughts away instantly.

He cupped and squeezed her breasts, pulled and pinched, groaning, "Fuck, your tits are perfect."

She hummed in response, her breath hitching as pleasure coursed through her at the way he pinched and flicked them. "I've thought about this too, those fucking tight dresses you wear kill me," he muttered, starting to kiss along her neck, down her collarbone, and to her tits.

He kissed, licked, and sucked—one breast, then the other, over and over again. His fingers pulled and pinched, creating waves of pleasure that left her in a daze.

She cried out, her back arching.

She swore she was in heaven, especially with their hips still rocking and pressing against each other. He was rock hard and huge, and she wanted him inside her, the throbbing need becoming unbearable.

"Murtasim," she moaned, her hands fisting in his hair. "Do you have a condom?" she whispered as he thrust against her, both of them gasping from the friction.

"I think I do," he whispered against her chest, pausing to take her nipple between his lips to suck. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"Condom," she reminded him, her voice urgent.

He fished in the back pocket of his pants, pulling out his wallet and digging through it, finally pulling out a condom packet.

She glared at him. "Seems like you're always ready."

"I was wishing you'd let me fuck you," he said, a wicked grin on his lips.

She rolled her eyes, but the thrill of his words made her pulse race.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," he said softly, a hint of concern in his eyes.

She looked at him, searching his face. "What's going to happen after this? After I let you fuck me on your desk?" she asked, loving the way his eyes closed and he groaned, muttering a "fuck" under his breath.

"It's a little backwards, but I am going to take you to dinner, and then I am going to fuck you again in my bed rather than just jacking off to the thought of you," he said, his voice rough with desire.

She moaned, the idea of him pleasuring himself to thoughts of her making her wetter. "You did that?" she asked breathlessly.

"Almost every night for the past two months," he confessed.

"Oh god, and on Monday? Are you going to pretend this didn't happen?" she asked, her voice a mixture of worry and desire.

"I am not an idiot, Meerab," he said, his voice husky. "We do this, and I am yours until you get tired of me... and I hope you never do. I'll even buy tickets to Shubh's concert if you'll go with me," he muttered, his lips brushing against hers.

Fuck, that was kind of romantic.

"Didn't you already have tickets?" she muttered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"I lied. I was trying to ask you out, I have been trying. I was going to buy them if you said yes," he admitted, his honesty making her giggle.

"Murtasim," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes locked on hers, filled with unspoken promises.

"Fuck me."

He groaned, his hands digging into her hips before he kissed her again, the kiss hungry and demanding. He fumbled with the buttons on her trousers. "Wear dresses more often," he muttered against her lips.

"You can't tell me what to wear until you've been inside me at least a hundred times," she snapped, her voice dripping with sass.

He groaned against her lips, biting her lower lip gently. "You're going to kill me, so damn sexy," he murmured.

She smiled against his lips as she lifted her hips, letting him slide her trousers down. Her hands went to his slacks, unbuttoning them and pushing them down along with his boxers. Her hands immediately found his dick, and she whimpered at the size of him. He was huge—she would be limping after being stretched with that.

Murtasim picked up the condom, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and sliding the condom onto his tip. She helped him roll it down, her fingers trembling with anticipation.

He pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, running his fingers along her slick folds. "Fuck, you're wet," he groaned, his voice thick with lust.

Of course, she was. This was the hottest thing to have happened to her, and he had said filthy words to her. She loved words.

She gasped as he slid two of his ridiculously long fingers inside her – like she had thought about more times that she could count now.

They felt so good, so long, so thick, so talented as they moved inside her, scissoring to prepare her for him. Each thrust of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through her.

"This is better than anything I could imagine," he groaned, his eyes locked onto hers.

She could only whimper as he sped up his movements, his fingers plunging deeper, curling just right.

"And I thought of this," he continued, his voice thick with desire. "Of how fucking gorgeous you would be naked and writhing for me, how tight and warm this pussy would feel around my cock, every day for the past two months. I wasn't even this bad as a teenager." He curled his fingers inside her and sped up, hitting that perfect spot that made her see stars.

"Murtasimmmm," she groaned, her voice a desperate plea for more.

"Fuck, say that again." He muttered.

"Murtasimmmm," she moaned as he sped up his fingers.

He groaned, "I thought of fucking you on this desk, bending you over every flat surface in this office, pushing those dresses you love over your hips and just fucking you until all you could scream was my name," he whispered, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing it in tight, perfect circles, his words made heat rush between her legs.

Her mouth opened in a gasp as she held his gaze, her body trembling with need. "I need you inside me," she whispered, her voice trembling with urgency.

He groaned, pulling his fingers out of her and grabbing his cock. He pressed against her, running his cock up and down her slit, teasing her before sliding into her slowly. She gasped as he filled her, stretching her in the most delicious way.

"Fuck, Meerab," he let out on a long, shuddering exhale as he pushed inside her, his eyes closing for a moment in sheer pleasure.

She felt so stretched, so full. It felt so good that she could only grasp his shoulders as she sat on his desk, her nails digging into his skin. He felt incredible inside her, every inch of him pressing against every part of her that craved him.

"Murtasim," she moaned, her voice breaking.

He seemed to love that because he groaned deeply, then he was fucking her on his desk. His hands gripped her bare hips, holding her steady as he thrust into her, over and over again. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, pushing more of him into her each time, setting up a wild, relentless pace.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs hooking over his hips, pulling him even closer. "You feel so good, Meerab," he moaned into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

She could only gasp in response, her mind overwhelmed by the sensation of him inside her, the heat and friction driving her insane. He sped up, one of his hands slipping between their bodies to find her clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. "I've thought about this too much to last right now, so I need you to cum for me, right now, and then I swear I'll spend the whole weekend making you cum for me over and over again," he whispered, his eyes boring into hers, filled with raw desire.

She gasped his name again, the sound of it driving him even wilder. The mouth on him would be the death of her, in ways she had never thought about. "Be a good girl and cum for me, Meerab," he whispered as he thrust into her harder, his fingers working her clit with precision.

"Fuck," she gasped. It seemed like her body listened to him because her body arched, heat running through her to between her legs, and then her pussy was clenching and fluttering around him. She came in a flash of heat, gasping, "Murtasimmmmmm."

He let out a string of expletives, a loud groan as he thrust a couple more times, pushing in deep as he too finished, his mouth open on a gasp, his covered cock twitching inside her as he gasped her name in her ear.

His office smelled like sex. Like them.

It sounded like sex. Like the two of them gasping for air—like him pressing kisses into her skin.

It felt like something more. With his hands cupping her face and kissing her, so gently—reverently almost.

Her heart fluttered in that happy non-sex way that gave her butterflies. Why was this man giving her butterflies after an orgasm?

"Okay?" he asked, rubbing his fingers across her cheek. It was that look again, that look in his eyes when he had dropped her off—worry.

She nodded.

"Let's clean up, and then let me take you out to dinner," he whispered.

She nodded.

As she tried to put her clothes back on, he kept trying to help, but it was mostly groping and she whacked his hands away. His grin was infuriatingly charming.

The air between them was thick. She could still feel the echo of his touch on her skin, the warmth of his body pressed against hers. As she struggled to pull her shirt over her head, she caught him watching her, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she muttered, her voice still breathy from their recent encounter.

"Very much," he replied, his eyes darkening with desire. "I can't seem to keep my hands off you."

He reached out, fingers grazing her bare waist as she shivered under his touch. She swatted his hand away playfully, but the heat in his gaze made her pulse quicken.

"Stop that," she said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. "I can't help it," he murmured, stepping closer and pulling her back against his chest.

She leaned back into him, discarding her shirt again, feeling the hardness of his chest against her back. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, sending another wave of heat through her.

"We should get dressed," she whispered, though her body was betraying her words, arching into his touch.

"Yes, we should," he agreed, but his hands were saying otherwise, roaming over her body, tracing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist.

He turned her around, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. She melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss was different this time, slower, more deliberate, each movement of his lips and tongue making her dizzy with want.

"Dinner," she managed to gasp out between kisses, though she was losing her resolve with every passing second.

"Mmm, dinner can wait," he murmured against her lips. His hands slid down to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of his desk again. "I want more of you first."

Before she could respond, he dropped to his knees by his desk, his hands spreading her legs apart. She gasped, feeling the cool air against her exposed skin.

"Murtasim," she muttered, staring down at him – was he going to eat her out too? He was hot, smart, rich, had the perfect body, a huge dick, a mouth that made her blood run hot, and he was obsessed with pleasuring her? She wasn't going to survive this.

He looked up at her, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "I've thought about this too," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

And then he was leaning in, his mouth finding her center with unerring accuracy. She let out a strangled moan as his tongue flicked against her clit, her hands immediately flying to his hair, tangling in the dark strands and pulling him closer.

He chuckled against her, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. "Is this what you're going to be thinking about when we argue from now on?" he asked, his breath hot against her sensitive skin, his tongue flicking her clit between words. "Suffocating me to death between these sexy legs of yours," he murmured, and she gasped out a "Fuck" in response.

She whimpered, unable to form coherent words as his tongue continued its relentless assault. He licked and lapped along the length of her slit, before flicking and sucking on her clit, over and over again, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her in place as she writhed beneath him.

He chuckled again as she bucked her hips, the sound reverberating through her, making her moan louder. He sucked on her clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"For the past few weeks, every time we've fought, I've wanted to stick my cock into that mouth," he said, pulling away just enough to speak, his voice rough with desire.

She moaned so loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of his office. Why did she think that was hot? Why did everything he said make her want him more? Why did she want his dick in her mouth right then?

He didn't give her time to ponder. He dove back in, his mouth working her over with a skill that left her breathless. His tongue slid inside her, fucking her slowly as his nose brushed against her clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her.

She was close, so close. Her hips bucked against his face, her hands gripping his hair tighter, pulling him closer as she chased her release. His fingers joined in, sliding inside her, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that made her see stars as his tongue flickered her clit.

She was screaming now, his name a litany on her lips, the pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo. Her body arched off the desk, her muscles tensing as she came hard against his mouth, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her trembling.

He didn't stop. He lapped at her, his tongue and fingers working together to prolong her pleasure, to wring every last drop from her until she was a boneless, gasping mess.

"Fuck, Murtasim," she moaned, her voice shaky, her body quivering with aftershocks.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his lips and beards glistening with her arousal. "I could do this all night," he said, his voice rough and low, sending another shiver down her spine.

She could only whimper in response, her body too spent to form words – she wanted this all night, maybe even every night because her brain was oddly...quiet for once. He pressed a final kiss to her clit, then stood up, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his lips.

"Dinner?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Meerab was still trying to catch her breath, her body tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. But then she noticed something. Pressed against her thigh, Murtasim's cock was hard again. She bit her lip, her thoughts racing, wondering what had possessed her body because she wanted him inside her again.

"Do you have another condom?" she asked, her voice breathy and filled with anticipation.

Murtasim's eyes darkened, and he let out a low groan. "Fuck, Meerab, you're going to be the death of me," he said, nodding.

Her legs were wobbly as she stepped off the desk, and he snickered.

She glared at him playfully. "Shut up and sit on that couch," she commanded, her voice firmer than she felt.

His eyes widened with surprise, but he complied, moving to the cubed couch. As his naked ass hit the fabric, Meerab's breath caught in her throat. Murtasim's body was on full display for her—broad shoulders tapering down to a chiseled chest, his muscles defined and glistening with a sheen of sweat. His abs were sculpted, each ridge pronounced, leading down to the trail of hair that disappeared into the base of his thick, hard dick. It sprang up against his stomach, throbbing and begging for attention.

Meerab's eyes roamed over him, taking in every inch of his form. His powerful thighs were slightly spread, giving her a tantalizing view of his impressive length. The veins on his dick stood out, pulsing with need, and her mouth went dry at the sight. She was sure she would die on that dick one day—die from the sheer pleasure of having him inside her, filling her completely. His eyes, dark with desire, watched her every move, his lips parted slightly as he breathed heavily. She knew she had never seen anything as erotic as Murtasim Khan sitting on a sofa naked and ready for her.

Meerab grabbed his wallet and pulled out another condom. Murtasim watched her intently, his eyes following her every move, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He groaned as she walked over, her eyes locked on his. She opened the condom wrapper with deliberate care, rolling it onto his cock, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin latex.

"Fuck, I am the luckiest man in the world," he murmured, his voice filled with awe and lust.

"You are," she agreed, her voice teasing as she straddled him, positioning herself over his cock. She could feel the tip pressing against her entrance, and she slowly sank down onto him, a gasp escaping her lips as he filled her completely.

She let out a mewl, despite having had him just moments before, she still felt so stretched.

Murtasim's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he groaned. "Fuck, Meerab," he gasped, his eyes squeezing shut with pleasure.

She started moving her hips, her arms resting back on his knees, giving him the perfect view of her body as she rode him. Her hair brushed against his legs, and she could feel his eyes on her, taking in every detail.

"I didn't even dream of this," he muttered, his hands sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts as she moved.

Meerab opened her eyes, grinning down at him, loving the way he looked, so hot and bothered. "The first dream I had about you, I was doing this," she said, her voice breathy with arousal.

His cock twitched inside her, and he groaned loudly. "Fuckkkk, you had a dream about this?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder and lust.

She nodded, rocking her hips harder. "Dreams," she corrected, her movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

Murtasim's hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding her movements, his eyes locked on hers. "Tell me about them," he demanded, his voice rough and breathless.

She leaned forward, her hands resting on his shoulders, her lips brushing against his ear. "I dreamed of you fucking me like this, of you taking me on your desk, of your dick deep inside me, making me scream your name," she whispered, her words sending shivers down his spine.

"Fuck, Meerab," he groaned, his hands sliding down to her ass, pulling her closer as he thrust up into her. "You're going to kill me."

She grinned, rocking her hips harder, faster, feeling the pleasure build inside her again. "Not before you make me cum again," she teased, her voice breathless.

Murtasim groaned, hooking his strong arms under her knees and lifting her up as he stood. She gasped, arms wrapping around his shoulders as she realized he was holding her like she was a doll. She had only read about this but he lifted her with ease off his cock just a little and then down, helping her bounce on his cock, supporting all of her weight.

Fuck, she was going to donate all her wealth to whatever gym he went to.

"Are you going to cum like this?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

She mewled, nodding, "Fuck, you're so hot," she gasped.

He chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. "Tell me, all those meetings where you turned red, were you thinking about being fucked, Miss Ahmed?"

She groaned, nodding again, unable to form words as the pleasure built inside her.

He groaned in response, lifting her higher and slamming her back down on his cock. She screamed his name, so loud that anyone still in the office would hear her.

"I love it when you scream my name," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

He pushed her against the wall by the sofa, putting one of her legs down but keeping the other hooked over his arm for leverage. He fucked her into the wall, her tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts.

"You can't even imagine the ways I've thought of fucking you," he said, his voice rough.

She gasped, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "I bet I have imagined more," she managed to say between gasps.

"Fuck, Meerab, don't say shit like that to me," he groaned, his cock twitching inside her.

She laughed, but it turned into a gasp as he slammed inside her harder, driving her closer and closer to the edge. The friction, the heat, the way his cock filled her so perfectly—it was all too much. She felt her orgasm building, tightening inside her, and she screamed his name again, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Cum for me, Meerab," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

And she did. Her body tightened, her vision went white, and she came hard, clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over her – like they never had before. He thrust into her a few more times before following her over the edge, groaning her name as he came, filling the condom inside her.

They stayed like that for a moment, both breathing heavily, their bodies pressed together, slick with sweat. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling as they came down from their high.

"You're incredible," he whispered, kissing her as he gently placed her other leg down.

She smiled against his lips, her heart pounding in her chest, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the physical pleasure they had just shared.

Murtasim kissed her wildly, his lips trailing over her face, pecking her everywhere, especially her nose. Meerab laughed at the affection he was showing, her heart swelling with warmth – she wasn't used to this, she hadn't expected it from him. She wasn't the type of sleep around, but on the rare occasion she had slept with someone, she had always just felt used...but she didn't right then, and that surprised her.

She looked up at him, smiling, feeling an unfamiliar but welcome joy.

"Let's get dinner. I'm all out of condoms and energy for now," he said, his voice full of humor and tenderness.

She made a tsk tsk sound, teasing him, "Tired already?"

He cupped her face, his thumb rubbing over her lips, sending shivers down her spine. "I recover quickly. It's that tight little pussy of yours I'm worried about," he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

She whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "Your mouth can say good things too," she muttered, her voice breathy.

He laughed, a sound that vibrated through her, making her smile even more. "I thought you hated my mouth," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I think I like it very much now," she replied, her heart racing.

Murtasim hummed, "Hmm, tell me everything you like about me over dinner." He pecked her lips lightly before helping her get dressed. She felt a strange warmth at his gesture, something deeper than just physical attraction. As she stepped into the bathroom to clean up, he waited outside, her tote slung over his shoulder.

When she emerged, freshened up, he guided her to his car, refusing to hand her tote back to her. He even opened the door for her, a small but significant gesture that made her heart flutter. The drive was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional stolen glance and soft smiles – she didn't understand why she was so shy and giddy after they fucked like animals, but she was.

He pulled up to a cozy sushi restaurant, her absolute favorite food. She couldn't help but ask remembering the coffee and then the chicken soup and wrap, "How come you know what I like?"

He grinned, leaning back slightly. "The more I realized I liked you, the more I realized I had been paying so much attention to you that I just knew a lot more than I thought I did."

She couldn't suppress her grin. "Like me that much, huh?"

Rolling his eyes playfully, he said, "Shut up and get that cute ass out of my car so I can watch you limp to the door."

She whacked his arm, a laugh escaping her lips. His laugh joined hers, and it was even cuter than she remembered. She marveled at how much could change in such a short span of time, her heart brimming with unexpected happiness.

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A few months later...

Murtasim didn't quite know why he had decided having his brother speak at his engagement party to make a toast was a good idea. Shahmeer was grinning from ear to ear, saying, "I knew my brother was down bad when he was placing orders for chicken soup and driving across the city to deliver it to Meerab's house—which he told me all about after getting drunk, about how he had sat outside muttering, 'What am I even doing?' to himself."

Murtasim groaned, looking over at Meerab, who was giggling. She wore a silver gown that made her look ethereal, and he swore he fell in love with her all over again when she stepped out in it, he didn't understand how someone could be so beautiful – inside and out. Her laughter was infectious, making his heart swell with happiness.

Shahmeer continued, "While he was drunk, he also told me he wanted to kiss her cute little nose." Murtasim did that a whole lot now. "Wanted to raise a puppy with her." Their golden retriever, Bella, was the cutest. "And all of this sappy shit that only a man in love can say." Murtasim was glad he hadn't laid it all out.

Shahmeer laughed, "So he's been down bad for a long time. So, I don't think anyone was surprised by their whirlwind romance. They were dating not long after, going on trips together, fighting all the time, going to random Punjabi artist concerts, thinking of moving in together, and getting engaged—all within months. And imagine, these two thought they hated each other at first sight."

Belinda let out a hoot from the audience.

Shahmeer laughed, "So if hate at first sight leads to all of this, may all of you fall in hate!" He raised his glass as everyone else did.

Murtasim grinned, looking over at Meerab, who was smiling back at him with all the love in the world. "I love you, Ahmed, soon to be Khan."

"I love you too, Khan. I will not change my last name," she grinned, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"We'll see about that," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, he was sure she'd give in, he could be very persuasive after all.

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Author's Note: Tadaaaaaa! I hope y'all liked it. Lemme know what you think, what was your favourite part?! Part 3 of this story was added in July.