Chapter 10 - Sayid
Tyson walks away, his steps unhurried, and his arrogance thickens the air. The need to chase him down and rip him apart is almost unbearable. My attention quickly returns to Nora as she exhales shakily.
“Thank you.” Her voice comes out in a tremble, barely enough to hear. She looks down as silent tears begin to cascade down her face.
I tenderly wipe the first set of tears away with my thumb. “He will never touch you again.” I begin to assess the damage he inflicted. Her skin is flushed, a torn dress strap hangs limply down her arm, and her whole body is trembling—whether from fear, pain, or anger, I can’t yet tell.
My gaze lowers to her collarbone, where a faint redness is blooming. I reach out, barely even brushing one fingertip ever so lightly, and she flinches, pulling back as she sharply inhales betraying the pain she’s trying to hide.
"Ya Rouhi..." The Arabic slipping out before I can stop it, my soul. "He hurt you!"
She shakes her head quickly, her stubbornness rising even now. “I’m fine,” she murmurs, cradling her wrist in her other hand, not able to look at me.
“No you're not fine. I shouldn't have let you out of my site for even a second. I'm so sorry he did this to you.” A storm brews in my chest as I log every consequence I plan to inflict onto Tyson.
“Come with me, you need to be looked at.” I hold out my hand for her, but she moves to walk the other way. Back towards the reception.
“I promised Liam I wouldn’t miss…” Her mumble trails off as her balance falters. The sheer weight of the moment presses down on her, and I catch her before she falls. I curl my arm around her waist and hold her up against me.
“Sayid,” she sighs with a fleeting look into my eyes before she collapses further against me. I effortlessly scoop her up, and carefully cradle her against my chest .
"Habibti," I whisper, the endearment slipping past my lips before I can stop it. My love. Her breath stutters against my chest. I tighten my hold, reassuring her. “I’ve got you Nora.” I follow the shortest route possible to my private elevator.
Once we are safely inside, I press my forehead to hers for the briefest of moments, inhaling her unsteady breath, and admiring her pale skin dusted with freckles. She is mine to protect. And I will make sure Tyson never lays a hand on her again. “Qamari,” I whisper to her, as I take all of her in. My moon.
The elevator doors slide open to my penthouse, and I carry her inside. The lights adjust to our presence, illuminating the expanse of the suite, and I settle her onto the plush couch. I immediately pull out my phone from my jacket pocket, one call is all it takes. “Come now,” I instruct.
I cover her with a blanket from the back of the couch and head to the kitchen to get her a glass of water and some ice. She shifts slightly, her brow furrowing. “Sayid…” she starts, her voice hoarse.
“Shh, you are safe Habibti.” I kneel before her, pressing the ice pack gently to her collarbone. She winces but doesn’t protest. She looks up into my eyes, my gaze locking onto hers.
“Drink,” I urge, helping her sit up enough to take a sip of water. Her fingers are on mine as we hold the cool glass together. As angry as I am that she is hurt, I don't want this moment of connection between us to end.
Minutes later, my personal physician arrives, working quickly to assess her injuries. A fractured collarbone, and a sprained wrist. Nothing life-threatening, but enough to enrage me all over again.
When the doctor finishes and takes his leave, I make sure she doesn’t move. “You are staying here,” I tell her.
She blinks up at me, surprise flickering in her gaze. “I can go back—”
“No.” The word is a command, firm but gentle. She swallows hard, torn between resistance and exhaustion. I hold her hand in mine, and lightly press my lips to her bandaged wrist.
I stand and move toward the en-suite bathroom, reach into the tub, and turn on the faucet. Warm water fills the oversized tub, steam curling into the air. I return to Nora as the tub fills with sudsy water.
Nora looks up at me with an unreadable expression “What are you doing?”
“Running you a bath.” I turn to go grab the robe hanging in the ensuite.
“Sayid, you don’t have to—”
“I will do whatever you need.” I turn back to her, my eyes holding hers. “And right now, you need this.”
She doesn’t protest any further. I help her up and keep my arm around her lower back as we walk to the tub. I guide her to the bathroom door, so she can relieve herself.
“If you need any help lowering into the tub, just call for me, and I promise I'll avert my eyes.”
A few moments pass by and I hear the sound of her entering the water. “Um Sayid, uh, I don't think I should get my dressings wet.”
“Sit far enough in to relax your body, but leave your wrist and collarbone out above the water.” I hear her exhale slowly, relaxing into the warmth of the water. I peek around the corner just enough to make sure she is not exposed before entering.
“Let me take care of you Nora.” I approach her and I hold up a soft loofah sponge, dipping it into the water before wringing it out.
“I…” She can't finish her thought. Our eyes are fixed on each other. Her light and fiery holding my dark and cool. I lather some soap onto the loofah, and pause, waiting for her. She gives me a shy silent nod, but doesn't look away. Permission.
I reach for her arm first, the one with the wrapped wrist. Gently, I run the sponge over her forearm, slow, deliberate strokes up to her shoulder, watching the way her skin reacts to even this minimal touch. Her breathing hitches, barely perceptible, but I caught it.
“Relax Qamari.” A small smile pulls at her perfectly freckled lips as I continue. Her soft creamy white skin is flushed from the heat of the water. Knowing she is bare beneath the water, wrapped in warmth, trusting me enough to allow this act to take place—leaves me completely powerless. And I couldn’t be any happier.
I work in silence, dragging the loofah along her shoulder, careful near the bruised skin of her collarbone. The water beads down her skin in rivulets. “You’re trembling.”
She exhales, a shaky breath that makes my grip tighten slightly on the sponge. “It’s certainly not from the water.” My jaw clenches. She didn’t have to say it, didn’t have to acknowledge the thick, palpable tension hanging between us like an unspoken confession.
I shift lower, kneeling beside the tub, pressing the loofah lower, gliding it over her collarbone, the dip of her sternum, just above the swell of her chest. “If this is too much, tell me and I will stop.”
“No,” She whispers and I halt, resting the sponge on her chest between her breasts. Her hand that is under the water moves on mine. “No, not too much, you don’t have to stop.” Her eyes scorch mine as she responds. Then she tilts her head back and closes her eyes again.
My fingers curl around the edge of the bath. I slowly and gently skim the sponge over each breast, circling a bit more than necessary before moving across her stomach. “I will never touch you until you want it as much as I do.” The promise burns in my throat. Because I am not him. Because you will give yourself to me freely when you are ready.
Never touching her with my hand, just the loofah, my own body still betrays me as I move even lower now. Heat coiling low, sharp restraint threading through every movement. I move down her thigh. Her lashes flutter, lips parting slightly, and I know— she feels it too.
I move further down her leg, all the way to her foot, then over to the other foot. Slowly working back up her leg, all the way up her thigh and to her hip.
“Sayid…” Her voice is soft, unguarded.
My fingers tighten on the edge of the tub. Her eyes meet mine, searching, something raw and vulnerable stirs in their depths. Then she nods. Just once. The need in my chest turns almost unbearable.
I drag the sponge from her hip, to the center of her core. Every stroke is a claim, a silent vow. As I move the sponge lower between her legs, she arches up into me, her thighs skim the back of my fingers, and my arousal presses against the side of the tub.
I can’t bear the thought of losing control with her right now, not after everything. I set the loofah aside, and reach for a towel. “Do you want me to help you up?”
“I uh, I think I can manage.” This time she responds, dropping her eyes away from my heated gaze. I leave so she can get out and dry off without my temptation of looking at her, and much more.
“All done.” She calls to me, and when I return she has the satin robe wrapped around her. This time I didn't ask. I move to her, and bend to scoop her up into my arms. She lets out a soft giggle as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. She doesn’t protest in the slightest as I carry her over to my bed.
“Do you want one of my shirts to sleep in?” Setting her down on the edge of the bed, I wait for her response.
“Yes please.” I turn to go fetch one from the dresser drawers. I grab out a solid black t-shirt, and hand it to her. Then I turn so my back is to her while she slips off the robe, and pulls on my shirt. My body heats with anticipation.
“All done.” I turn back around and the site of her in my shirt causes my chest to tighten. The shirt comes just down far enough to rest at her thighs. Covering just barely enough. I swallow deeply, I can’t help but take in her raw beauty. She is just as breathtaking in a simple shirt as she was in the extravagant gown.
“Do you need anything else?” Her eyes search mine. I am not sure what she is thinking, or wanting at this moment. But I would give her anything she asks for.
“Will you stay here with me?” My heart swells so much I could practically choke on it. She wanted me. I would have gladly slept on the couch to make sure she was comfortable, but she is requesting I stay with her.
“Of course. Give me just one moment.” She nods and moves to crawl into bed. I quickly head to the bathroom and try to breeze through my nightly routine. I am not sure if she would be comfortable with me sleeping shirtless, so I keep on my undershirt, and boxer briefs.
She is barely awake as I settle beside her. She immediately moves against me. I tuck my arm around her as she nuzzles into my chest. My hand finds her waist, anchoring her to me. She exhales softly, her body melting against mine . Mine.
I take a risk, and press my lips to the top of her head. “Qamari,” I whisper ever so softly. I feel her inhale sharply, then she presses her body even further against mine.
“Shamsi,” she whispers so quietly I’m not actually sure if she says it or if I am already dreaming. Her sun? Her breathing evens out, and I can tell she is drifting off to sleep. Now I have questions for her, but those will have to wait. First I must take action on something else.
After a few more moments of enjoying her proximity, I carefully slip out of bed. I shrug on my robe, and step out onto the balcony. The city stretches out beneath me, glowing in the darkness.
My phone is in my hand before I realize it, and I dial the number without hesitation. A gruff voice answers on the other end, in Arabic.
“It’s time,” I say coldly. “I want everything on Tyson. Every indiscretion, every debt, every dark corner he’s tried to hide in. I need it in my hands within the next 48 hours.”
A pause. Then, “Understood.” I hang up, gripping the phone tightly. I glance back towards the bed. Nora is still asleep, her small form curled into my pillows. Tyson will never lay another hand on her ever again. And by the time I am done with him, he will have nothing left.