Why do I randomly bold parts? 🤔

_

"No shit, Sherlock," I huffed, squirming beneath him, but it was useless. His body was a cage, a wall of warmth and strength, pinning me down effortlessly.

Zavian let out a deep, rich laugh, the sound vibrating through my skin, through my bones. His face hovered dangerously close, his breath warm against my cheek.

"You're adorable when you try to fight me, Mashal-e-Mehtaab," he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

I narrowed my eyes, willing my heart to stop acting like a fool. "And you're insufferable."

His smirk widened, all mischief and intent. "You love it."

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could form a single word, he shifted—his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear.

I froze.

Traitorous warmth pooled in my stomach, my breath catching in my throat.

"Zavian," I said his name like a warning, but it came out breathless, weak.

His teeth grazed my jaw in response, teasing, testing.

My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "I have university tomorrow."

"So?" He kissed the corner of my mouth, featherlight. "I don't recall asking for a bedtime schedule."

I pushed at his chest, weakly, my hands betraying me by lingering longer than necessary. Damn him.

"You're unbelievable," I muttered, feeling the heat creeping up my neck.

"And you," he murmured, his lips barely brushing mine, "are mine."

I stilled, my breath catching.

His eyes were locked onto mine, dark and full of something that made my heart stutter.

The weight of his words settled between us, thick and inescapable.

Mine.

The word wrapped around me like a whispered promise, a dangerous claim.

I should've said something, should've pushed him away—

But instead, my fingers curled tighter into his shirt.

I was drowning in him.

And the worst part?

I didn't want to be saved.

His gaze burned into mine, a smoldering intensity that made my breath hitch. His fingers traced my jaw, slow, deliberate—like he had all the time in the world to unravel me.

"Zavian..." I breathed, a warning, a plea—I wasn't sure.

His lips tilted into a smirk, one that sent a dangerous heat curling low in my stomach.

"Shh," he murmured, his thumb dragging over my lower lip, his touch igniting something reckless, something forbidden. "Let me enjoy my wife."

Heat flared across my skin.

He leaned in, his breath teasing my lips, his scent—a mix of musk and something uniquely him—wrapping around me, intoxicating.

"You're playing with fire," I whispered, my voice barely steady.

His lips brushed mine, a ghost of a touch, leaving behind a tingling sensation that had my pulse racing.

"And you're melting into it," he countered, his hands slipping down, fingers grazing my waist, my ribs, like he was mapping me, memorizing every inch.

I gasped as he pressed me deeper into the mattress, his weight solid, grounding, but the heat between us—blazing, unbearable.

My fingers fisted into his shirt, my body betraying me as it arched into his.

"Zavian," I tried again, but this time, it was nothing more than a breathless whisper, my resolve slipping, crumbling.

His lips finally claimed mine—slow at first, teasing, coaxing—until my hands slid up his chest, threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

And just like that, the slow burn turned into an unstoppable wildfire.

_

"Let go, Zavian," I groaned, running a hand down my face, but he only tightened his grip, his lips brushing against my temple.

"Five minutes," he murmured, voice husky with sleep. "Just five more, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I exhaled, half-heartedly trying to wiggle free, but his warmth, his scent—the lingering musk and spice from last night—was intoxicating. My body betrayed me as I melted into his embrace, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

"Hmm," I hummed drowsily, closing my eyes again. "University can wait."

Zavian chuckled lowly, his lips pressing against my bare shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

"Don't get used to this," I mumbled, my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles on my back. "Oh, I will."

And just like that, sleep never felt so tempting.

_

"That's definitely not how I braid my hair," I teased, biting back a laugh as Zavian, still half-asleep, fumbled with the strands.

He met my gaze through the mirror, one brow cocked, his dark eyes laced with grogginess and mischief. "It's my style, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep—deep, slow, and utterly sinful.

A shiver ran down my spine at the way his fingers lazily played with my hair, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my neck.

"Your style is a mess," I quipped, though my voice came out softer than intended.

Zavian smirked, his hands sliding down to rest on my shoulders. "Hmm... should I practice more?" His lips brushed my ear, the teasing promise in his tone making my pulse stutter.

I swallowed, gripping the edge of the vanity. "You should practice sleeping instead," I muttered.

His smirk deepened. "Not when I have better things to do."

_

"Not bad," I murmured, tilting my head as I admired my reflection. The braid was a little loose, a little messy—but it had a certain charm.

Zavian stepped out of the shower, fresh and utterly distracting, his damp hair tousled as he ran a hand through it. A cocky grin tugged at his lips. "Told you," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

My eyes flickered to the clock—still an hour left before university.

Before I could say anything, Zavian grabbed his bike keys and twirled them around his finger. His smirk deepened. "Breakfast date. You pick the place."

I beamed, excitement bubbling up. "Okay!"

His gaze softened for a brief moment before he shook his head with a chuckle. "You're too easy to please, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "And you're too smug, Mr. Husband."

Zavian laughed, reaching out to flick my braid. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

_

"Um... a coffee and... maybe chocolate waffles," I said, scanning the menu one last time before handing it back to the waiter.

Zavian smirked from across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair. "Sweet tooth, huh?"

I shot him a look. "You just noticed?"

He chuckled, shaking his head before turning to the waiter. "Black coffee. No sugar."

I wrinkled my nose. "That's so boring."

"That's called mature," he teased, leaning forward slightly, his dark eyes flickering with amusement.

I leaned in too, mirroring his posture. "That's called bitter and lifeless."

Zavian's lips twitched. "Says the one drowning her waffles in chocolate syrup."

The waiter returned with our drinks, setting them down carefully. I picked up my coffee, blowing on it before taking a sip.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked, tapping his fingers against his cup.

I shrugged. "Survive university. Meet the girls. Give them the wedding treat I still owe them."

Zavian smirked. "And what about after that?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Why? Do you have another surprise up your sleeve?"

He took a slow sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. "Maybe."

I raised a brow, leaning back against my chair. "What?"

Zavian set his cup down with an infuriating smirk. "You'll see."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "You do realize that vague answers make me even more impatient, right?"

He chuckled, reaching across the table to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The warmth of his fingers lingered, sending a shiver down my spine. "Patience, Mashal-e-Mehtaab," he murmured, his voice like silk.

I narrowed my eyes. "Zavian, if this is another one of your tricks—"

"Tricks?" He feigned innocence, resting his chin on his hand. "I just enjoy keeping my wife on her toes."

I scoffed, picking up my fork and stabbing my waffle a little too aggressively, the waiter raised a brow but left. "Keep it up, and you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."

Zavian laughed, low and deep, leaning closer. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, eyes glinting. "We both know that won't happen."

I hated how right he was.

"Eat your waffles," he ordered smoothly. "You'll need the energy."

I stilled. "For what?"

He just smirked. "You'll find out soon enough."

_

After university, I finally met up with Aisha, Yuki, Isabella, and Sophia at our favorite restaurant, the one where our laughter practically echoed off the walls every time we gathered.

As soon as I walked in, Aisha smirked, her eyes flickering to the delicate chain around my neck. "Well, well, Mrs. Zavian finally decided to show up. I see married life is treating you very well."

I rolled my eyes, sliding into the booth beside Yuki. "Oh, please. I was on time—you guys were just early."

Sophia raised a brow. "We had to be. You owe us a wedding treat, remember?"

"Ah, right." I grinned, waving at the waiter. "Order whatever you want. It's on me."

Yuki gasped dramatically. "You mean it? Anything?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Within reason, Yuki. I don't want my wallet crying."

Isabella giggled, resting her chin on her hand. "Speaking of crying, tell us—how's Zavian the Terrible treating you? Still bossy? Still unbearable?"

Aisha snickered. "Or did he finally melt into a doting husband?"

I scoffed. "Melt? Please. He's still as insufferable as ever."

Yuki wiggled her brows. "But you love it."

I picked up a napkin and threw it at her, making the table erupt in laughter.

Sophia leaned in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, how long before we hear about little Zavian juniors running around?"

I choked on my drink. "Sophia!"

She shrugged. "What? I'm just curious!"

Aisha smirked. "Give them a year. Maybe two."

Yuki gasped. "No, I say six months. She's already glowing."

I groaned, hiding my face as they cackled. "Remind me why I agreed to meet you guys?"

Isabella smirked. "Because you love us, and because we're about to grill you for every detail of your married life."

I sighed, knowing there was no escape. "Fine. But if I'm sharing, I'm ordering dessert twice, from your money."

"Deal." They chorused, giggling as the teasing continued well into the evening.

_

By the end of my treat—our dinner—all of them knew about my munh dikhai, the late-night rides, the fancy dinners... just not the more personal details, of course. I blushed, especially when last night flashed in my mind, and Aisha caught on instantly.

"Oh-ho, look at that blush!" Aisha teased, nudging my shoulder. "Something you're not telling us, Mrs. Zavian?"

I cleared my throat, picking up my drink to hide my face. "Nothing you need to know."

Sophia smirked. "Which means there is something."

"Spill," Yuki demanded, leaning forward with a mischievous grin.

I shook my head. "Nope, not happening."

Isabella sighed dramatically. "Fine, be mysterious. But at least tell us—what's next? Any more secret surprises from Mr. Husband?"

I bit my lip, debating whether to tell them about the key Zavian had given me. Just as I opened my mouth, my phone buzzed on the table.

Zavian: Ready, sweetheart? I'm outside.

I smiled, my heart doing that stupid little flip again.

"Speak of the devil," Sophia muttered, glancing at my phone. "He's here, isn't he?"

I stood, grabbing my bag. "Gotta go, ladies. See you tomorrow!"

Aisha sighed dramatically. "New bride privilege. Ugh."

I only laughed, making my way outside—where Zavian, leaning casually against his bike, met my gaze with a smirk that promised trouble.