Raqs-e-junoon (18+)

Sat, 16 May 2026 07:10:59 +0000

She had been burning for days. Her body ached with a hunger so vicious it clawed at her insides.
The last time Uzair had touched her, really touched her, they’d been seconds away from him burying himself balls deep inside her when some urgent shadow from his world ripped him away. Since then he’d vanished into smoke and silence, leaving her alone with the throbbing, relentless need between her thighs. Sexual starvation had turned her mind feral.
Zaid, his right-hand man, finally let slip the one piece of mercy she craved: Uzair would be home tonight.
She’d been pacing their bedroom like a starved lioness since before midnight, silk nightgown clinging to sweat-damp skin, hair wild, bare feet wearing grooves into the marble. Every tick of the clock felt like a lash against her nerves.
She needed him. Needed his hands bruising her hips, his mouth devouring her throat, his cock stretching her until the world dissolved.
The door finally creaked open and Yusra froze mid-step, breath snagging.
Uzair stood framed in the doorway, head to toe soaked in fresh blood. Crimson streaked his sharp jaw, matted his black shirt to every carved muscle, dripped from his knuckles onto the floor. He looked like violence given human shape. Lethal. Beautiful. Ruined.
Her mouth went dry. Her pulse slammed between her legs.
She should have been horrified. She wasn’t.
Heat exploded low in her belly, sharp and obscene. Her nipples tightened painfully against the silk. Her core clenched so hard she nearly moaned aloud. The sight of him like this dangerous, untamed, painted in someone else’s death lit her up worse than any gentle caress ever had. She wanted to lick the blood from his throat. She wanted to ride him until neither of them could breathe.
Uzair’s eyes locked on her. He saw her stillness, the blank mask she wore, and mistook it for fury. For disgust. His jaw clenched; he thought she hated him for coming home like this.
He was wrong.
Yusra stalked toward him, eyes glittering, hips swaying with predatory grace. She didn’t stop until their bodies were inches apart, the coppery scent of blood mixing with his familiar dark musk. She snatched the gun from the back of his waistband in one fluid motion.
Uzair braced himself, waiting for the explosion, the screaming, the accusations, the end of whatever fragile thread still tied them together.
Instead she pressed the barrel under his chin, tilting his face down to hers. Her voice came out low, trembling with raw need.
“If you walk out again today to kill someone or do your illegal shit without fucking me senseless…..remember this.” Her lips brushed his as she finished, “I will shove this gun up your ass and pull the trigger myself.”

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