Chapter 26 - Nora
The nightmare is finally over. The eternal shadow that has hung over my shoulder has finally dissipated. And the man that sits by my side, has shown me once again that I am worthy of his love and protection. With every gentle touch of his fingers, whispers of promises, and longing gazes, I am slowly healing years of trauma.
Even though the most recent incident with Tyson is still fresh in my mind, and the wounds are still healing on my body, I somehow know deep down that things are actually going to be alright this time. Sayid is more than just my handsome Arabian Knight in sophisticated suits. He is my complete salvation, the one who is healing my soul. My Shamsi.
Recounting the attack to the detectives was only bearable because Sayid held my hand the entire time. I felt tethered to him once again, and I don’t ever want that feeling to go away.
After staying just one more night in the hospital I was ready to be discharged. Word traveled fast, and by the time I left I had many well wishes, cards, and flowers sent to my room from my hospital co-workers. I even got a text from my Mom and Jules, checking up on me, and expressing how much Sayid seemed to care for me based on the conversation they had on the phone.
Once I got over the annoyance that he called my Mother, I realized how thoughtful it was that he informed my family of my condition. His thoughtfulness continued to leave me in awe of him. He is truly the most perfect man, and husband I could have ever imagined.
I am more than ready to leave the hospital when it finally came time. Sayid of course will not let me walk out of here on my own, and insists on pushing me in a wheelchair out to the car, despite my own embarrassment.
The cool hospital air is a stark contrast to the warmth of Sayid’s hands gripping the wheelchair handles. He is quiet, his presence a steady force behind me as he guides me down the hall. My body still feels weak, a dull lingering ache, but my mind is clear. Crystal clear.
We are halfway down the hall when I spot my supervisor, Dr. Patel, coming towards us. Her concerned gaze flickers between Sayid and me, but before she can open her mouth, I speak.
“Consider this my resignation. I’ll put it in writing as soon as I can. But after my medical leave is complete, I do not intend on returning to this hospital.” The words leave my lips effortlessly, and a sudden weight already leaves my body. The stunned look on Dr. Patel’s face mirrors the one I feel radiating from Sayid behind me.
“Nora, you don’t have to resign. You can take as long as—” Dr. Patel starts to say, but I don’t let her finish.
“Thank you for everything, I truly appreciate all that I have learned and accomplished since starting here. But I’ve made my decision, and I am ready for my life to take me in a different direction.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn back towards the exit. I reach up and pat one of Sayid’s hands that I feel tightening on the wheelchair grips. He pushes me forward in complete silence. I know him well enough to recognize his shock, but right now, I am not looking for his approval.
The moment we reach the car, he finally speaks. “Qamari, are you sure?” His voice is gentle, careful, as if he is afraid I might shatter again.
I look up at him as he helps me into the back seat. “Very much so. Let’s go get married.” His entire body goes still, his dark eyes lock onto mine.
“I don’t want to wait another minute,” I continue. “We can get married in the States, in your country, both, somewhere completely different—I don’t care. I just want to be your wife. I want the next chapter of my life to be with you, about you.”
A slow exhale leaves his lips, and then a rare vulnerability passes over his face, something softer than his usual confidence. That glimpse of the boyish grin he had when we were at the carnival together. “Habibti…”
I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “Shamsi, I mean it. I’m done living in the shadows of my past. I want this. I want you.” I practically dive forward, crushing my lips to his. He embraces me, his hand moving to the back of my head, and his lips matching my raw energy.
His jaw clenches as he pulls away, emotions warry in his expression, then he nods once, a silent agreement, a promise. “You are my life. I’ll do anything for you, and that includes giving you anything you want for our wedding. I’ll give you all the options on the way back to the hotel,” he murmurs. “You will have the wedding you deserve.”
As we drive, his hand holds mine as he traces delicate patterns on the back of my hand and up my arm as he speaks. “We can have a private civil ceremony immediately, something legal and binding. Or we can plan a larger wedding. If you want something intimate, I can arrange a private estate with family and close friends. Or if you want the full experience, a royal wedding in my country, steeped in tradition.”
I listen, considering. “What if we did both? A private legal ceremony first. Just us. Then we celebrate with a bigger wedding, completely immersing me in your traditions and culture.”
His grip tightens on my hands, his knuckles flexing as if the thought of me legally bound to him ignites something primal. “Done.” I lean back against the seat, satisfied.
I smirk up at him. “And you better call your personal physician to come meet us at the penthouse.”
His brow arches in curiosity. “Why?”
“Because he’ll be able to get my IUD out much faster than waiting for an OB appointment.” Sayid curses under his breath, then laughs—a deep, guttural sound that is pure amusement and joy. He cups my face, brushing his thumb over my lips. “You truly want everything, don’t you?”
I smile against his touch. “With you, Mr. Hassan? Yes.” But even as the laughter fades, a storm builds inside me. The weight of everything that has happened, everything I’d lost, curls around my chest. My vision blurs, and before I can stop it, a sob rips free from my throat.
Sayid’s expression instantly shifts, his hands framing my face with urgency. “Habibti, what’s wrong?” I shake my head, gripping his wrists as I try to steady my breathing. I don’t want to share the dark thoughts that have swarmed my head, but I know better. He will not let me battle this alone.
“What if… what if my body is ruined?” My voice cracks. “What if I can’t give you an heir? Maybe you shouldn’t marry me.” It all comes pouring out before I even register what I am saying.
His entire body turns rigid, his gaze darkens with something more than just possession. “Don’t you ever say that again.” His voice comes out harsh, but it snaps me out of it.
I swallow, my lower lip trembling. “Sayid, I—”
He cuts me off, pressing his forehead against mine. “I don’t want an heir. I want you.” His voice is raw, full of desperation. “Qamari, if you decide you don’t want children, if you never carry a single one of my bloodline, it will not change the fact that you are my life. My heart. My reason. I told you that I would give up my title for you, I don’t need an heir. I am going to choose you no matter what happens.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, and he catches them with his thumbs. “But what if I can’t—”
“I will never leave you.” His words are absolute, his tone like an unbreakable vow. “There is nothing in this world that would make me let you go. And nothing in this world that will ever stop me from being with you. Do you understand me?”
I nod, my body still trembling as he pulls me into his arms.
He holds onto me so tightly I can barely breathe, but it is exactly what I need. Safety. Certainty. Him. And for the first time in days, I finally feel like I am not lost.
∞∞∞
I took a couple of days to really rest and process everything that happened. He had touched me with his hands and mouth, but that was ntohing compared to what he used to do. Tyson has always been twisted in the ways he would control and punish me. But actually thinking about killing me, and choosing it as his best option—I didn’t know exactly how to respond to that.
He clearly had a mental breakdown. His narcissistic impulses had gone out of control. It was as if he couldn’t deal with living in the same world as me if he couldn’t control me. But the deepest truth I realized is that I would have let him kill me if it meant that he wouldn’t harm Sayid.
Sayid is the most wonderful man I have ever known. His love is fierce, his touch can be oh so tender and thoughtful, putting all of my desires above his own. He will sacrifice anything to make sure I am taken care of. And he has been nothing but devoted to taking care of me since leaving the hospital.
He makes sure I am eating, and staying hydrated. He stays by my side and comforts me, but also gives me space when I need to process things alone. He even brought me little gifts. Nothing lavish, but things that tell me he knows exactly who I am and what I need to help me heal. My favorite being the anatomical coloring book of course.
I don’t know how long I am supposed to take to get over what happened. How long is a healthy time frame for healing from something like this? I feel like I have processed it enough, I want to move on. I have healed from what Tyson did in the past, the years of torment, and all I want to do is pack this trauma up right with it and move on. With Sayid.
Every moment he is by my side I am healing. Every touch, every second he holds me in his arms, and every tender hesitant kiss smoothes the hurt inside my soul. I am his, he has all of me, and I am ready to move on. I need to feel more than just hesitant touches. To fully feel whole again, I need him to consume me—take me fully. I need to feel the impact of our full connection tethering us together.
I hear the water from the shower, and practically jump off the couch. I am done sitting, and I’m joining him, whether he thinks I am ready or not. He stands in the shower, hands braced against the wall he is facing. Water from multiple shower heads hitting directly onto his toned back and shoulders. I can see the tension in his muscles, the weight of the last few days pressing into him.
He hasn't touched me since before the hospital. At least, not in the way I crave. His hands have been gentle, protective, but distant. I am not sure if he is holding back because he is afraid of hurting me, or pushing me away. Or perhaps he is punishing himself for what happened to me.
I’m certainly not afraid of him. Afraid of losing him? Yes. Afraid that he’ll eventually want more than what I can give him? Maybe. But afraid of how rough and consuming his possessive love can be? Absolutely not!
I slip out of my robe, stepping into the shower behind him, pressing my bare skin against his damp, heated body. He sucks in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t turn around.
“Shamsi.” My voice is soft, but firm. The weight of everything is already melting as I press my bare body against his.
“Qamari, you should be resting.” His voice is thick, and I can feel his restraint.
I run my hands up his back, feeling the way his muscles flex under my touch. “I don’t want to rest. I want you.” I slowly start to massage his shoulders and upper back.
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. I move my hands around him, feeling his chest, coming to rest above his heart. My heart. I can feel the war he is battling within. “After everything—”
I don’t let him finish. I press a kiss between his shoulder blades, then another, trailing them down his spine. “You didn’t hurt me. He did.” I slide around him, meeting his gaze, my hands flattening against his chest. So much tension. “But you make me feel safe. You make me feel wanted.”
His jaw tightens, his eyes dark with emotion. “I don’t want to rush you.”
I lift onto my toes, brushing my lips against his. “You’re not. I need you, Sayid. I need to show you that I am not going to break from your touch. Your touch makes me whole.”
Something inside him melts. He exhales roughly, hands coming up to frame my face, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. “Then, let me take care of you.”
I nod, nuzzling into his touch, surrendering completely. His hands trail down my body, gliding over my curves, mapping me with reverence. He spins me around, facing the wall, and he reaches for the shampoo. He delicately massages my scalp as he washes my hair.
Then he does the same with the conditioner. Slowly working it through all of my hair. When he is finished rinsing my hair, he lathers the body wash in his hands and begins working the suds over my entire body, gently messaging. And after rinsing all the soap away, he pulls me back against him, his chest flush with my back.
His fingers teasing along my inner thighs as he kisses down the back of my neck. a shudder wracks through me, my body arching into his touch, my breath coming in soft gasps as he slowly, deliberately, works to unravel me.
His touch is claiming, his fingers coaxing pleasure from me in steady, aching strokes. My head falls back against his shoulder as he starts delicate circles around my clit. He pushes one finger slowly into me, my hands reach up around his neck, needing something to anchor myself as I spiral higher, needier.
“Sayid—” My voice is barely a whisper, more like a hiss trembling with desperation. He inserts another finger, stretching me further. The heel of his hand stroking my clit as he moves his fingers in deep. And just as I am on the precipice, he hooks his fingers, pulling them just right, just enough to hit that spot. My orgasm rips through me, and I cry out for him as I shatter against him.
I brace myself against the wall with one hand. His strong hands gripping me as he holds my trembling body up. Water cascades around us, washing away all my brokenness, and leaving me with just him. I turn back around to face him, and look up into his dark, possessive gaze, seeing everything. Love. Devotion. And I know—I will never want, or need, anything else. Only me.
He gently pulls me over with him to the built in stone bench. He sits, and I straddle him. “Only if you are ready, Habibti. You do not need to take me until—” I cut him off, positioning myself over the tip of his hard cock. Then I lower myself slowly, taking him into me.
He lets out a low moan, filled with his approval. “Your turn to use me, Hayati.” And that is exactly what I want to do. I lower, deepening his position inside of me. Stilling when he is finally all the way in. I feel so complete, so full. Perfectly whole again.
I grip my hands firmly on his shoulders and begin to move up and down. Hearing him moan my name gets me going even faster. His hands are firmly on my hips. His eyes are locked onto mine. “Good, Nora. Fuck my cock. Take exactly what you need from me.”
My climax is almost in reach, and I can feel him tensing low chasing his own release as well. “I need your seed in me, Sayid.” He emits another claiming growl, and starts thrusting his hips up into me, matching my pace even harder.
Not only is this the first time we have been intimate since before the hospital, but this is the first time since I got my IUD out. He didn’t want me to feel rushed into having his doctor come by, but I knew it was more than time. Taking his seed in me is the next step of growing our future and family together.
“Yes Habibti, I will give you anything you desire." I know exactly what I desired from him.
"Breed me, Shamsi. Give me your seed, claim me as yours." I whimper as I beg him, and start to shatter around him. He leans my body back, his hands firm on my hips, as he watches as his wide cock is consumed by my small frame with every thrust. He is pumping me back and forth now as my world explodes around us.
His eyes consumed with a primal need as he watches watches each thrust into me. With a final growl, and a deep thrust, he is joining my release. “That's it Nora, take my seed deep inside of you.” he cries out, pulling me back up towards him, pressing his head against mine as he fills me deep.
Then his lips are on mine, not just kissing me, but praising me, thanking me. I feel the need to thank him for saving me, for healing me. He whispers to me as he kisses my forehead. Another prayer in Arabic. I can barely hear him over the water, but I make out the important parts. He is thanking God for not taking me away from him, and is praying that I will be able to safely carry his baby. His words are precious.