Chapter 11 - Nora
The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth. The sheets are impossibly soft, even softer than the ones in my room. They carry the scent of spice and cedarwood, distinctly him. I stretch out and feel emptiness. Not just in the space next to me, but a part of me that was already missing him.
My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the golden morning light filtering around the curtains. It takes me a moment to register my surroundings—the expansive bedroom, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking city view, the subtle hum of life beyond these walls.
The memories from last night came rushing back—the pain, the confrontation with Tyson, and then Sayid’s touch. It was more than the way he held me in his arms like I was something precious, but also the way he touched me. It was delicate, thoughtful, and oh so intense, all at the same time. I knew one thing for sure, he was holding back, and I wanted more of him.
His voice, the way he had called me Qamari . His moon. It was as if my heart and soul already knew I belonged with him. I vaguely remember even responding to him as I drifted off to sleep calling him Shamsi. My sun. He has no idea that I took Arabic back in high school. And apparently my brain knew exactly the response I needed.
I sit up slowly, my body sore but held together by careful medical attention and an overwhelming sense of safety. I can’t believe he had me treated so quickly. Well, now that I know that he actually owns this whole place, it isn’t that hard to believe.
I look down towards the foot of the bed, and notice the outfit laid out for me. A soft linen blouse, paired with tailored, light-wash jeans—casual yet refined. And new undergarments. Thoughtful. Considerate. And nothing I have been accustomed to.
I carefully get out of bed and slip into the clothes. I have pain but it is tolerable. Why am I not surprised that this outfit is another perfect fit? I head out to the main room, the scent of coffee and something buttery filled the air.
Sayid is sitting at the dining table. His black shirt has the top couple of buttons left undone, and his sleeves are rolled up. My whole body is suddenly reminded just how attractive he is. His hair is perfectly groomed, and his facial hair neatly trimmed. He looks deep in thought staring down at the laptop in front of him.
“You’re awake,” he says, turning to face me. His eyes are absorbing every inch of me, as if he didn’t get enough of me last night.
“You dressed me before I even got out of bed. Here I am hoping I would get another sponge bath,” I tease with a playful wink as I walk over to him.
His lips start to curve into a playful smile, but then his jaw tightens as his eyes tune into me. “Ya ilahi!” He jumps up and quickly moves in front of me. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, but then reaches out, and pulls me closer to him. “Nora, your body is covered in bruises.” His eyes are a depth of concern I have never felt before.
He cups my cheek tenderly in his hand, and I nuzzle into him. “You saved me, and cared for me. I…”
“Shh, you do not need to thank me for anything. I shouldn’t have let him anywhere near you.” I move closer to him, and rest my head against his chest as he wraps his arms around me. I instantly feel better—safer somehow.
We stay like that for a moment before he leads us back to the table. “Eat first. Then I will remove your bandages and take a closer look.”
I glance down at the spread before us—fresh fruit, warm pastries, rich coffee. My stomach tightens, but it has nothing to do with hunger. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I did.” No hesitation. Just certainty. I pick up my coffee, letting the warmth seep into my hands before I meet his gaze again.
“So, you own this place.” It wasn’t a question. The realization from last night had resurfaced, and I need even more answers now than before.
His expression remained impassive. “I do.” I take a sip of coffee, savoring the taste before responding.
“Why did you keep this to yourself?” He took a moment to respond, his expression unreadable.
“I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me anything if you knew it was more than just a comped room as a wedding gift.”
“It was a whole lot more,” I laugh. He smirks in return. I grab a pastry, and slowly pick at it before putting a small piece in my mouth.
I swallow. “Do you make a habit of saving broken women?” His jaw clenches, just a flicker, but I catch it.
“You are not broken,” he says, his voice quieter, firmer.
I huff a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t think you really know me.”
“I know much more than you think.” My breath hitches. The weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it is so much.
“But why Sayid?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Why me?”
Sayid exhales, slow and deliberate, before scooting his chair close to me. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence alone makes the air shift, charged and consuming.
Then he slowly reaches out, and takes my bandaged hand in his. “Because I saw you fight,” he murmurs. “I saw your fire, your strength. And I saw what he did to you.” His voice darkens at the last part, and something in his expression turned lethal. “And I knew he had done worse.”
He isn’t wrong, but I know he didn’t know the raw details of what I have endured. I suck in a deep breath. “Sayid…”
His fingers graze my chin, tilting my face up just enough for his dark eyes to lock onto mine. His intensity stops any more words from coming out. “Cancel your flight home,” he says, low and commanding.
I blink. “What?”
“I will fly you back myself,” he continues, unwavering. “And in that time, I will make it clear why I did everything, and why I want you to be mine.”
My pulse hums in my throat, and sudden need has me clenching between my legs. His eyes kept mine, I am unable to look away from him. I need answers, I am not going to refuse this opportunity.
I nod my head, giving him the answer we both needed. “Rouhi.” His voice softens just slightly, but the intensity remains. My soul, his soul. Sayid’s expression shifts into something even more intense—complete satisfaction. Deep down I already knew. I wasn’t just his to protect. A part of me already knows I belong to him.
“Before we do anything else, I need to look at your wounds. Come, let me take off the bandages.” He stands and reaches his hand out to me. I take his hand, and he leads me over to the couch. He does not drop the hold on my hand as we sit down.
His fingers are gentle as he unravels the bandage on my wrist, but the second the bruises are exposed, I feel him go still. Dark blooms of violet and blue spread out from my wrist. His sharp inhale is barely audible, but the shift in the air is unmistakable.
His curse in Arabic is so strained under his breath, I can’t fully make it out. But by the low and dangerous tone in his voice, he is furious.
I flinch, instinctively trying to pull away, but he carefully catches my wrist again—softer this time. And then, before I can react, he lifts it to his lips. I suck in a breath as he kisses the inside of my wrist, right over the bruises, slow and deliberate.
Heat rushes to my face, my entire body suddenly too warm, too aware. He turns my hand over and continues until every bit of bruising is covered in his gentle kisses. I have to clench my thighs together, the growing need getting more intense.
He slowly moves his hands to the bandage on my collarbone. I know this is going to be worse. With intense precision, he carefully pulls away the dressing. Immediately his eyes darken, and my suspicions are confirmed.
He hisses another curse under his breath. With a brief look deep into my eyes, he ever so softly grazes his lips near my collarbone. Then as he did to my wrist, he continues to follow the path of my bruising. He pauses for a moment, as if debating on whether to continue, he’s deep in thought.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and continues on—his kiss is harder this time. He is now at the crook of my neck. No bruising here, no pain—only pleasure. I want more of him, all of him. He cradles my back and kisses up my neck to my jaw. Peppering kisses all the way up towards my ear, and before I realize it, I let a soft moan escape my lips.
“Sayid…” My voice is barely a whisper as my body starts to tremble. He stills, pulling away from me, just enough to cup my face in his hands. His eyes search mine as if he is looking for an unanswered question.
He traces his thumb over my bottom lip. “Qamari”, he murmurs as he strokes my face. “Such beautiful freckles.” I turn my face into the palm of his hand, and kiss him in return.
He closes his eyes, and inhales sharply. Then his eyes quickly flash open with a new intense curiosity. “You called me Shamsi last night when you were falling asleep. Do you know what that means?”
I nod my head in reply. Even half asleep, I knew exactly what I was implying when I said it last night. “How do you know that word?” He keeps his hand on my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
I hesitate, still in a daze from the way he kissed me, and is still touching me. “Well Mr. Hassan, looks like there is something you don’t know about me afterall.” I smirk my contentment at him. “I took Arabic in high school,” I admit.
His brows lift slightly, intrigued. “Did you? Why? That is not a common language offered in this country.”
“Since you didn’t know that about me, did you already know that I am fluent in another language as well?” His brows arch even higher, giving away everything. I have finally bested him at something. I try to hide my giddiness, but I can’t help the playful smile spreading across my lips.
“My Mother is from Spain, and my Grandmother would come and stay with us during the summers when I was younger. So I grew up speaking both English and Spanish. I eventually learned to speak better than my Dad, and could comprehend spoken words fluently by middle school.”
Sayid’s face is completely unreadable as I continue. “When I got to high school I was given a language test to prove that I was already bilingual. When I passed, they gave me the two years of language credits required for graduation. They told me that if I were to take a different language, I would be able to apply those credits to college.”
“During my sophomore year of high school we were presented with the opportunity to be a foreign exchange student, and there was special reduced pricing if we chose to go to Egypt. I was obsessed with movies like ‘Prince of Egypt’ and ‘Aladdin’ when I was younger, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity.”
“Well, my parents thought otherwise, refusing to let me go because they were afraid something bad would happen to me.”
Sayid smirks slightly, tilting his head as if to say—probably. “I wouldn’t let the idea of learning Arabic go, so I found a program, and took two years of it. Definitely not fluent in the slightest, but I remember a lot of words and phrases.”
His mouth tugs into a slight smile. “You remembered the most important word.” A blush creeps up my neck.
His fingers trail up, skimming along my jaw before ghosting over my lips again. My breath hitches.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. “I want to feel you, to taste you, to claim you in every way imaginable.” A tremor runs through me as I imagine every way he could claim me as his. And I want him to.
“But not yet,” he adds, his tone softer now. My stomach twists, a mix of anticipation and frustration. “I will wait,” he says as his thumb grazes the corner of my lips, “until you are ready. Until you are completely mine.”
I don’t breathe, I can’t. Part of me desperately wants to tell him I am already his, and more than ready for him to take me. He leans in, and for a second, I think he might just kiss me anyway. Instead, he presses a final, lingering kiss to my temple. And the slightly more logical part of me knows that I still need more answers.
"Rouhi…" His voice is velvet and steel. Even without more definitive answers, he feels so right. I understand the word soul. And I can already feel him in my soul. Even though he doesn't kiss me, I know. I am undeniably his.