Chapter 9
Sakina POV
She held a book in one hand and
a glass of rice-brown whiskey in the other. I was on my phone, watching the
latest animal video updates, doing a fairly good job of pretending not to watch
her as she read in her chair. The standing lamp cast a warm light over her, and
I couldn’t help but steal a glance at her body.
Out of her suit, she looked
surprisingly composed—almost ordinary. Not quite the nutcase I’d thought. Her
body was lean, clean-cut. I wanted to ask what she was reading, but I didn’t
want to pull her out of that world. Highly doubt it was romance. I wouldn’t
call myself a bookworm, but I manage to pick one up about once a month. If
there’s a book and a phone side by side, I’m always reaching for the phone. Every
damn time.
And yet here I was, turning off
my phone, still holding it in front of me in case she suddenly looked up—giving
my eyes a place to land. It would be weird to just tilt my head back and stare
at the ceiling like a weirdo.
My gaze drifted to her hand on
the spine of the book. Was it just me, or were her hands unusually large? Or
was the book just small? I looked at the glass—nope, it’s her hands. Definitely
big.
She took her whiskey neat—no
mixers, no additives. The same hand that held the glass casually flipped pages.
I've been watching her for an hour now.
I didn’t bother asking if I was
going home. The nightgown she laid out for me made it clear I was staying.
Strangely, my parents had called me repeatedly earlier today when I was out
with Omar and our friends, but now? Nothing. No one seemed concerned that I was
spending the night with this so-called lunatic.
Dinner didn’t just fill my
stomach—it opened my eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. How did she sleep
so easily with whoever in the family, like it was nothing? Then I heard it—how
back in the day, there’d been some kind of brainwashing. I didn’t need to hear
that “those were the rules” and “we all worked within them.” That
wasn’t enough.
She glanced at her whiskey and
decided it was time to call it a night—for the reading, at least. There was
still a sip or two left in her glass. She folded the corner of the page and
placed the book on the lamp table. I flinched when her eyes suddenly locked
onto mine. So much for pretending to be absorbed in my phone—mission failed.
My gaze followed her as she
stood, stretching. I nearly yelped, startled by how... formidable she was.
There was no way I could have sex. I couldn’t stomach the idea of her on top of
me. As stunning and magnetic as she was, just the fact that we were related
sent my body spiraling into confusion.
She was hot. Undeniably.
Shirtless, toned, exuding that effortless sensuality. But I couldn’t. I tossed
my phone onto the bedside table and swung my legs over the edge of the bed,
stepping out of my comfort zone. My plan? Lock myself in the bathroom until she
falls asleep, then quietly slip into bed after.
But I made a mistake—I passed
too close to her. Her long arm hooked around my waist, pulling me in with ease.
My feet left the ground. She held me effortlessly in front of her, and I felt a
shiver run down my spine. This woman had strength. Something about her presence
made her feel impossibly tall, and I hated it. I hated the power she carried
like second skin—the kind of power only someone completely unhinged could wield
so casually.
As I stared into her devious
eyes, watching the slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips, I knew exactly
what she intended to do. She took a sip of her whiskey with practiced ease, and
I hated how my eyes drifted to her lips—so moist, so inviting.
Inviting for other girls. Girls
not in this family.
Definitely not me.
Not me.
Never me.
I gently grasped the hand that
belted around my waist.
“H-hey.”
“Open those eyes, my dove. Open
them right up.”
I fluttered them open, light as
moth wings. God, I wish I had wings—to fly out of here. My gaze drifted to her
imposing form. She set the glass down beside my phone.
“I want you to understand
something, my wife.”
“Yes,” I replied, unsure
whether it was agreement or submission.
She tilted my head gently, and
my body trembled at the forced closeness. “Do you remember when I told you I
could be scary?”
“Yes?”
Her eyes sharpened. “Did anyone
touch you today?”
“My body only belongs to you.”
The words came out too easily.
Too fast. No hesitation.
God, what was wrong with me?
Saying that so thoughtlessly—like I meant it. Maybe I was just as twisted as
she was. I knew incest was disgusting. I agreed with that. But my body? My body
didn’t seem to care. It was betraying me—reacting to the shape pressing through
her satin pajama pants.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“Say it, my dove.”
“I belong to you. My body
belongs to you. You can have me however you want... in any hole you want.”
What the helly?
That wasn’t what I meant to
say. Not at all. I’d said way more than I should have. I wanted to scream at
her to back off—wanted to demand that she take me home to my parents right now.
But instead, her fingers
brushed up to my temple, like she was trying to etch something directly into my
brain. It felt like she was branding me from the inside out.
“Please… do whatever you want
to me.”
Shut up.
Shut up.
Brain? Hello? We're supposed to
be saying no. We're supposed to be telling her this is wrong, that she needs to
take us home. This is spiraling.
But all that came out was:
“Please… you can do whatever
you want.”
My chest rose and fell rapidly,
my body a complete mess of panic and desire.
I meant to say she shouldn’t
even be touching me. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t good.
“I’m going to do whatever I
want with you, my dove,” she said softly. “You don’t have to beg—really, you
don’t.”
She leaned down and kissed me
without warning, and to my own horror, I kissed her back—as if I’d been aching
for this. As if I wanted to swap tongues with my cousin.
Disgusting.
But still, my lips moved with
hers, confident and willing, like my body had made a decision I didn’t
authorize. She pulled me farther up the bed and climbed over me, easing my head
onto the pillow. Her breath was ragged, like mine. Her eyes traveled slowly
down my body.
“You’re the only woman I want.”
There are so many women who
want you, Hassan.
Why me? Why family?
You’re sick.
But what I said was:
“I want you too.”
Maybe it was fear. Maybe I
believed that if I didn’t say what she wanted to hear, she’d hurt me. So, I
played the role. I gave her the lines.
Her darkened gaze met mine as
she slowly pushed my nightgown upward. She lowered her face to the bare skin of
my stomach, her nose brushing against it—and my body jerked in response.
Oh, Allah.
My hands froze where they
gripped the bunched-up fabric. I stared at the ceiling like it might explain
something—anything. Her lips touched my stomach, following her nose. There was
no rhythm to it. She kissed and brushed her way down until she reached my
navel. Then she paused. I thought she was finished.
But she reached for her
whiskey.
She took a long sip—yet I never
saw her swallow.
Then came the gasp, torn from
my throat, when I felt the warm burn of the whiskey poured directly into the
shallow dip of my navel. She trailed it downward, following the line with her
tongue, slow and savoring, until she reached the edge of my lower abdomen. Her
mouth closed on the fabric of my satin panties.
God, they were soaked—and for
the wrong person.
I stared up at the ceiling
again, like it might hold some kind of answer.
How did I end up here?
Oh, right.
I begged for it.
She was softly puckering her
lips on my skin, and I honestly couldn't bring myself to watch. She finally
reached my navel, where the liquor was still pouring out and she was licking
the circumference of my navel.
"Stop trembling." Her
bassy voice demanded.
"I'm sorry." I
squeezed my stomach, to stop myself from tumbling. Her tongue dived right in
and lapped the burning whiskey from my navel.
"Whiskey tastes sweeter on
your skin, my dove."
"Th-thanks?"
"It wasn't a
compliment." She whispered, her breath felt hotter and I know that whiskey
mixed with the remnant of my skin gave her breath that kick. She eased up, and
I caught onto her stare. She captured my gaze, as she gently took my panties off.
She slowly lurched down, till
her face, eyes disappeared and only the head of her hair was in view.
"Oh my God!" I cried
out, when I felt her tongue just at the upper top of my pussy. Just what was
she doing? Trying to prove how much my body likes what's being done.
Her tongue swept the hair on my
pussy, and I feel slightly insecure. "Don't. It's hairy."
"It's beautiful... it's
the only carpet I want to eat." She said, and then her tongue began to
sweep a trail.
I yelped when she swung my legs
up in the air, I was practically staring face to face with them. I flinched,
when her tongue penetrated right in my wet land. Upon seeing just how perfect
her tongue fit—which it shouldn't have. She strikes in and out. Her mouth made
a deep gruntled sound that vibrated on my ass.
I got to witness my toes
curling in the air, before my vision doubled and tears were pushed in them.
This wasn't fair. She was proving just how she, my cousin, made my body feel so
good.
She was working against all
odds in my head. This wasn't supposed to work her way. I was supposed to be
tense, shutting my legs, begging her please don't touch me.
"Please go faster..."
I covered my mouth.
She growled, between my raised
legs, I got to see those eyes, those lips white with my cream. I was milking
hard for her, weren't. My body did this. Really, in my head I was trapped. I
really didn't want this. I swear. I don't want this.
"Enough talking..."
To my surprise I aggressively slammed her head back down to feast on me. I
watched how her head moved. I couldn't calculate the patterns in which her
tongue angled, but God I was enjoying this.
"Yes... don't stop
pleasing me." Just for me to later find it disgusting and very much
regretful.
She has her fingers on so
gently messaging each thigh, but I watched in antsy, as her fingers went as far
as the sole of my feet. I squirmed when she used her teeth and pulled at my
hair, like a goat pulling at grass. She slightly looked up, her tongue out
showing bits of my hair. Her tongue disappeared, and I watched as she
swallowed. "If I could swallow all of you I would."
Nut job!
Nut job!
Swallow all of me?
Nut job thinking.
She focused now solely on my
clit. I was always curious what my clit was for. I know it brings sexual
pleasure, but I didn't know it would bring a pleasure so high, that it made my
legs drop right in her back. I didn't know it could make my waistline twirled
like the legs of a ballerina.
She didn't ease up and it was
getting too much, but I was still taking because I want to know where the
intensity could take me...would it take me right where we started. It was like
wanting to find out what was behind the ice wall of Antarctica. Would there be
another civilization roaming around? Is that's what her fucking torture on my
clit would bring me—behind an ice wall of u known.
Our eyes met. Her with an evil intent. I
heard her speak on my clit.
"Cum."
"What?"
She held her fingers up, her teeth just
barely brushed my clit, I was screaming, squirming on her face and tears
spilling like I was at a funeral—only different were tears of disgusting,
sickening pleasure—it was brought to me in the most twisted of ways.
"Help!" I screamed, feeling my
body shaking and her twisting face coming face to face with me. She plunked her
fingers in my pussy, and I felt that sensitivity, climbing higher. I asked for
her help. Not to kill me further. What was I doing, like Hassan, don't help
them make things worse, as they stared at you with that glossy glint of
nefariousness.
"Help..." I whimpered, as the
uncontrollably shaking showed no signs of ceasing. This woman was watching me
crash down and she wasn't offering any layer of protection for the fall about
to come. As her fingers twisted in me like a key in a door lock, she found
something again and I held onto her, trying to stop crashing down.
She only offers up a peck on my lips.
"No one can make you feel like this..."
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