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He’d kissed her, thinking it might silence the hunger inside him, and instead it had lit him up from the inside out. She hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t pulled away. She leaned into him with that subtle, heartbreaking hunger like she hadn’t been kissed in years. Like he was the only one who saw her. Like sheneededhim to be the only one who saw her.
His hand pressed down hard over his abs, sliding lower, chasing any kind of relief. He groaned when his fingers curled around his cock, hissing through his teeth, his head rolling on the pillow, hips jackknifing uncontrollably against the sheet.
Her voice whispered in his mind again.Nash...
It was his undoing.
He stroked himself, fast and ruthlessly, squeezing tight, trying to chase it away, but all he could see was her. The way she breathed his name. The look in her eyes. That kiss. Her warmth. Her fear. Her trust.
Nash shoved himself upright, groaned low, and crossed the room with the staggered urgency of a man crawling in desperation. He yanked open the drawer.
He needed grounding. Something to hold onto. He reached for the rug, not for prayer, not in this moment. But for the weight of it. The familiarity. His anchor.
The fabric caught against his skin. But the friction of his sensitized, aching head, rubbed too perfectly against his ridged abs, his balls drew up hard, his cock arching as pleasure he couldn’t stop hit him like a riptide and took him right back to her, drowning him in sensations.
Her mouth. Her taste. Her voice whisperingNashin that wrecked little breath full of surrender and need.
He braced one hand against the dresser, head bowed. The other slid down to cup his balls, his fingers squeezing as he groaned. Pain and pleasure warred deep in his gut. He dragged his palm up the thick length of his dick, swirling over the head, smearing precome. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
His body locked tight as a drawn bow. He thrust once into his fist. Then again. Harder. Guttural, uneven sounds tore from his chest.
Ya Allah, forgive me.
His hips bucked, frantic now, every nerve lit up and raw with memory, sending a warning shiver up his spine. Her breathless gasp when she saw his scar.Wallah, ma fi mithlik.Those words ripped through him like fire. Her kiss. That look she gave him, like she was already his.
He stroked faster, harder, everything burning. But right there, on the edge of a blinding, desperate release, he cried out, denied himself again. Aching, his whole body quaked with restraint. He couldn’t do it. Not like this. He wanted the pleasure, but he wantedhermore.
With a ragged cry, he spread it beneath him, fell to his knees, heart hammering, his cock still rock hard, his breath a sharp, broken rasp, hanging on to the last shred of his self-discipline, calling out to that man who had weathered BUD/S, Hell Week, the death of his brothers. He knew who he was, but he was losing the fight.
He bowed low.Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim.In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. His voice fractured mid-verse.Ya Allah… I need Your mercy more than I need this fire to go out.
He pressed his forehead to the mat, fingers curled against the fabric, and the shame, the want, the relentless hunger spilled from his chest in a breathless plea. His dick nestled between his legs throbbing in more pain now than pleasure, and he groaned softly, desperately.
I am not just this ache. I am not just this desire. You are Al-Sabur, the Patient, and I am trying to not to be too much.His body trembled. Not from lust now, but from the weight of what he couldn’t have. Not yet. Maybe not ever.Give me the strength not to take what isn’t mine. Not like this. Not in shadow. Let me be the man she sees. Let me be the man she needs.
Or take the need from him entirely.
But He wouldn’t.
This wasn’t just desire. This wasn’t just lust.
This wasGrace.
She was inside him now, in places no bullet or betrayal had ever reached. She lived in the marrow of him. In the silence where his brothers still called out for justice. In the spaces where his honor used to hold the line and now trembled beneath the weight of her.
She was everything. The answer to every question he didn’t know how to ask.
If he lost her, it would kill him. Not in the body. Not even in the heart. But in the soul.Grace, inti roohi. You are my soul.
Where she burned. Where she branded. Where shebelonged.
He would give up the release. He would give up the motion. He would give up every instinct screaming at him totake?—
So long as she stayed.
So long as shedug.
So long as she was close enough to touch, not just his skin, but his truth.