Page 25

Fatima rose from her prayers. She had prayed for hours, since her brother's departure three months ago. Her knees had become rough from kneeling, but she had made a vow to God: keep them safe, and she would pray five times as long.

She stood up and bowed down again, rolling her prayer carpet.

She went outside of her tent, and sat near a woman, who was making dinner for the night.

Fatima looked around. There were people bustling around and kids playing.

She had come a long way now and no way back home. However, she never had a home.

——

When Shahbaz learnt about the entire situation, he was ready to kill Bahman. How one man could defeat two men at the same time and also manage to get away under the experienced assassins' and guards' noses No one had been able to locate him till now, and he was on the verge of going insane.

The terror was visible on his men's faces. Many groups were deployed in every direction in search of Oman.

Shahbaz had taken matters into his own hands. Vengeance was boiling inside him. He wanted Oman's blood. He wanted to bring him down to his knees and show the world what kind of pussycat he was the whole time.

Oman had stolen everything from him. Every opportunity, and his beloved one, Humaira.

His one true love.

He didn't know how or why, but he blamed him. From the start, he wanted Humaira, but Oman snatched her away. Every time he saw them together, a burning sensation of envy erupted inside of him. He started getting jealous of his fortune, his luck, his everything.

He will make him pay for his sins. The sin of destroying the life of Humaira That girl was in love with Oman. In return, he had broken her completely.

Because of him, she was dead. Shahbaz intended to give him a torturous death.

No matter how many more days Oman would run, he would follow him till eternity. There will be a fortunate day when he will capture him, and Shahbaz desperately waited for that day.

.

.

.

—

Luckily, Oman came across a merchant who was willing to swap his camel for the powerful horse they have.

The minute Tara saw the new camel, she liked him so much that with her own hands, she fed him the twigs of shrubs.

She even gave him a name, Bassi. Oman found it really cute, but watching her feed the camel ignited his jealousy. He was going nuts—who would be jealous of an animal? But here he was, watching his wife giving attention to just a mere camel.

He was grumpy the whole time. But tara didn't care at all. She was adjusting to his bipolar behaviour.

After two days of travelling, they entered a part of the desert that was much rougher underfoot than Oman had anticipated—not really sand at all, more like hard dried mud covered with rock and dust, and it wasn't flat either.

The past two days have appeared to be really tiring for Oman. The reason was Tara. She was making things difficult for him.

She'd never lose a chance to touch him. Most of the time, Tara would be clung to his neck, and sometimes it was hard for him to ask her not to do that.

But she never listened. It was as if her back somehow belonged somehow in that space against his chest; the ride became so smooth and comfortable for her. Her body and his had somehow grown into one being.

But Oman, on the other hand, was wholly unused to the position in which he now found himself—torn between the desire to quench his thirst and the equally strong desire to make proper love to Tara.

He broke several boundaries between them, but he didn't want to hurt her physically, so he was trying to get his act together.

To divert his mind. He told her about his birthplace, Balyrma.

He became so engrossed and passionate when talking of his beloved city and its people, of their ancient traditions and its sometimes violent history, that they barely noticed the miles being eaten up.

He even made her laugh with wild funny tales.

Thankfully, she listened very attentively. This also allowed him to create a distance between them.

His mind wandered to his past memories. The death of his mother by a bandit forced him to be a soldier so that he could get back at him, which he did. He killed that bandit in the worst way possible, by slitting his throat and waited for the last drop of blood to drain out of his body.

After that, the little boy with a tender heart was dead. Instead, the cold Oman took his place. With time he didn't realise when he became a real monster. His heart was never at peace.

But now his heart was again melting for someone who had been giving him a hard time.

He was horrified by his own base desires for Tara; by the persistence of his erection, which nudged insistently against his belly every time he was near her, he realised that what he wanted to do was finish what they had started two nights before, which would only make things worse.

He was uncertain of her age. He didn't want to commit another sin. Most of all, he didn't want to hurt her tender body.

But he wanted her badly—to sheath himself in the luscious delight of her, to thrust deeper and deeper, until he spent himself inside her, to claim her as his. as his own. as her first.

The sun was still high on their head when they reached an oasis. It was small—a watering place, no more—and not big enough to encourage permanent settlement. Oman was surprised to find they were the only ones there.

"It's beautiful," Tara muttered softly.

Oman smiled, looking down at her.

His camel dropped obediently to its knees, and he dismounted and immediately assisted Tara. He stretched out his arms to help her descend. He lifted her up, and she was as light as a feather. He set her on her feet but reluctantly let her go.

She sweetly smiled at him and looked around the Oasis. The beautiful sight made her grin from ear to ear.

The trees she had seen were palms, growing high in clusters by the pool. The pool was a circle of vibrant blue set into the sand. The beautiful sight she never saw before

After burning in the sun for almost three days, she looked forward to stepping into that lake and swimming until she would relax every fibre of her body.

"I'll set up our tent and If you'd like, you can take a bath till then" Oman said, looking at her with a smirk. He could see the fascination in her eyes.

"Aren't you coming with me?" She said while seizing his hand.

Is she asking me to get naked with her? He gulped.

He pulled his hand back and looked in another direction. He refrained from staring at her, as her cute smiling face wasn't helping at all.

"No, just make sure to clean yourself up properly."

"Huh, you think I don't bathe properly?"

"Of course. All I've seen you do is take a bath with your clothes on. Tell me if I got it wrong," he said, as if he were mocking her.

She looked down at the ground, feeling insulted. She didn't know Oman was disgusted with her because of this.

Did he really find me odd?

Looking at her, trying so hard not to cry, urged him to take her in his arms and soothe away the hurt he had caused.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," he exclaimed.

Looking at her now, Oman felt

a faint twinge of guilt.

She nodded, still looking down, and headed in the direction of the lake. Underfoot, the sand of the oasis was much softer than the rough track they had followed.

Oman seemed distracted, a heavy frown drawing his dark brows together under his ghutra, making him seem both more intimidating and older.

She was sitting on the rock, supporting her chin with her hands, and was looking at him as he cut the shrubs with his large knife.

With sleeves rolled up, she watched his tanned arms. He was so strong and handsome. Her eyes were glued on him. As he was the most entertaining sight for her.

Sweat and dust were obscuring his vision, he was dimly aware of the figure sitting on the rock.

He had told her to prepare tea. But his minx wasn't interested in doing any work. He was doing all the work, whether it was hunting or making their meal.

"Go make tea for both of us," he said, arms folded across his impressive chest. His voice was low, but the note of command in it was perfectly apparent.

didn't want to work in the heat.

While shading her eyes with her hand, she came beside him, peering anxiously at him.

"I don't want to," she said, cooing.

There was no doubt she was being a brat.

"So you want me to do all the work. I'm also a human being, not some kind of Jinny. At least make tea for me. I am so tired, Tara," he said, wrapping his hand around her slender neck.

She looked at him with puppy eyes. In return he glared at her. It was enough for her to obey unhesitatingly. She walked away but there was a certain feminine sway as she walked.

There's no doubt that she was just distracting him. He needed to clear his mind. Her thoughts were already driving him insane.

The black coffee was bubbling appetisingly on the embers of the fire when she saw him going inside the tent.

After a while, she entered the tent carrying the tea, and she saw something quite astonishing.

He was lying stretched out on the rug, sleeping face down. He was covering almost more than half of the space inside the tent.

She sat beside his body. She wanted to look. No, more than look—to devour him with her eyes.

The bunched muscles of his shoulders were strong. Then her eyes travelled to the spine, then down to his buttocks. She wondered how it would feel to touch. She wanted to poke the soft pillow of his bum.

But would he let her? Of course not.

She didn't want him to catch her in the act. But he had an composed expression on his face. He was tired, so there was no doubt he would wake up any time soon.

Her fingers were itching to poke his cushion ass.

Needing no further encouragement, she extended her hand inch by inch towards his lower back. She has gone officially mental.

She pocked her finger in and was amused by the softness.

Oman was aware of her playful act and was growing more intrigued by the second. He was unable to deny the fact that his Tara was touching his ass. Was she really that fond of his butt. He thought.

His eyes were closed and he was enjoying every slight touch on his bum. But then his eyes opened in surprise when she squeezed his cheek. He stirred, which made her stop what she was doing.

Was he awake the whole time?

She was about to run but he grabbed her elbow. "You are such a mischievous wife. Aren't you darling?"

She tried to avoid his searing gaze, which was causing her pulse to jump.

The delicate, creamy white of her neck was showing the imprint of his touch.

He had the most bizarre urge to push her caftan aside and press his fingers there. His eyes dropped down, and he could see the very twin thrusts of her breasts, rising and falling with her breath.

His gaze lingered on her breasts like he wanted to grab her plump breast in his hands. Heat was snaking through her veins. She was caught in a bubble.

"Were you really touching my butt?"

"N....No" she shook her head.