Aashiq (13) (18+)

 

One month later. 

 **Dalia’s POV**  

I ended the video call with a deep sigh, my fingers rubbing my sore neck. The conversation had been heavy—helping a young girl now placed under her grandparents’ care after the horrors of her stepfather’s abuse. Her trembling voice still echoed in my ears, and I couldn’t shake off the weight of her pain.  

"Beta, hum aapka shukriya kaise ada karein?" her grandmother had said, eyes brimming with gratitude.  

"Aap bas uska khayal rakhiye, yeh sab bhoolne mein waqt lagega," I had assured her, my heart aching for the little girl who reminded me so much of my own past.  

With a weary exhale, I leaned back, feeling the dull ache in my lower back intensify. 

My one-month pregnancy was already making its presence known—cravings, backaches, sore muscles. I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach, a soft smile tugging at my lips.  

College was still unfinished, but during one of the seminars, I had found an urge—helping children heal from trauma. The NGO I worked with gave me a purpose, a way to channel my own past struggles into something meaningful.  

But Rafiq, my overprotective, possessive HUSBAND, had other plans.  

"Tum sirf kisi aur ke sapne ka hissa nahi banogi, Dalia. Tum apna sapna banao gi," he had declared before handing me the papers of my own NGO—my *nikkah* gift.  

Yes, *nikkah*!  

In just one week after discovering my pregnancy, Rafiq had married me. No delays, no second thoughts. He had simply taken my hand and made me his forever. 

"Intezaar ka waqt khatam, Dalia. Ab tum sirf meri ho," he had whispered that night, his forehead pressed against mine. I had never seen my family happier.  

Now, I was no longer just Dalia. 

I was DALIA RAFIQ ALI ZAVERI. 

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed my mother-in-law entering my office-style home, built right beside the haveli. 

She carried a tray with fruit salad and protein-packed laddoos—her daily routine ever since the pregnancy news broke.  

"Dalia beta," her warm voice pulled me back.  

"Ammi!" I immediately stood up, adjusting the soft dupatta of my Pakistani-style red garara suit, which Rafiq had gifted me with a whole new wardrobe, saying, 

"Tum is rang mein meri jaan lagti ho." 

She set the tray down and cupped my face lovingly, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. 

"Kaisi tabiyat hai?"

"Theek hoon, bas yeh kamar dard... kabhi kabhi bardaasht se bahar ho jata hai," I admitted, taking a bite of the laddoo. 

"Arrey, toh bas zyada mat kaam karo, samjhi? Rafiq bhi toh chahata hai tum araam karo," she chided, her eyes filled with warmth.  

Before leaving, she chuckled and said, "Agar free ho jao toh ek baar haveli aa jaana... Rafiq ne kitchen ko jang ka maidan bana diya hai!"

I couldn’t help but giggle. By now, everyone in the haveli had started seeing a whole new side of Rafiq—the man who had once ruled with authority, now fumbling in the kitchen for his pregnant wife.  

Be it working from home, washing his own clothes, coming home early just to meet me, always consulting my gynecologist, or bringing absolute chaos into the kitchen—Rafiq was doing it all.  

And I? I had never felt more loved.  

This morning, I had casually challenged him to cook pav bhaji for me, and, of course, my shauhar saheb had taken it as a sacred duty. According to him, 

"Meri ek hi begum hai aur phela baccha, dono ka pait bharna mera farz hai."

Not wanting to miss the sight of his cooking disaster, I quickly instructed my assistant to forward my video calls to other college volunteers. 

Then, with a heart full of excitement and a homey feeling in my chest, I made my way to the haveli.

In the garden, Dadajaan was seated on his usual wooden chair, humming along to an old melody playing on his Caravan radio. His aged hands were carefully crocheting tiny socks, no doubt for the baby growing inside me.  

"Dadajaan, yeh kya hai?" I asked playfully, pointing at his work.  

His eyes twinkled as he quickly hid them behind his shawl. 

"Bas bas, yeh tumhari nazar se door rehne do!" he muttered, feigning his usual sternness.  

I giggled, knowing all too well that my grandfather-in-law, who pretended to be as tough as a coconut, was actually the softest when it came to his family. 

I smiled and went away leaving him in his own peaceful world. 

Stepping into the kitchen, I immediately noticed the servants exchanging nervous glances, whispering among themselves as if preparing for battle. 

The moment they saw me, relief flooded their faces, and they quickly made their escape.  

"Tamatar kidhar gaye?"

Rafiq’s deep, irritated voice caught my attention. My eyes landed on my husband—standing in the middle of a battlefield of flour, spices, and half-chopped vegetables. 

His face was covered in aata, and his white T-shirt was smeared with turmeric, chili powder, and what I could only assume was coriander paste.  

A laugh burst from my lips before I could stop myself.  

Rafiq turned in one swift motion, his grumpy expression softening the moment his eyes met mine.  

"Bhaji se zyada masale toh aapki T-shirt par hain, shauhar saheb," I teased, moving to wash the tomatoes for him.  

He huffed dramatically. 

"Zaida na bolein, begum," he warned, making me giggle even more.  

I would have been afraid of his stern face if I were the old Dalia. The man who once commanded respect with just a glare, whose presence alone made people tremble, would have intimidated me too.  

But not anymore.  

Because now, I knew the real him.  

The man who worked from home just to be near me. The man who rushed home early, excited and obsessed, just to spend an extra hour with me. 

The man who whispered "Tum theek ho?" every time I winced in discomfort, his palm instinctively resting on my baby bump.  

He might be the powerful Rafiq Zaveri for the world, but for me—he was just my Rafiq. My husband. My SHAUHAR. My home.  

Because beneath that stern mask, I had seen the man who adored me beyond measure.

Shaking my head, I picked up the washed tomatoes and extended them toward him. But instead of taking them, Rafiq caught my wrist and, in one swift motion, pulled me against his chest.  

"Mera tamatar," he murmured mischievously before biting my cheek playfully.  

"Rafiq! Aap bhi na!" I squealed, wriggling in his arms as his lips curved into a smile against my skin.  

Ever since my pregnancy, my weight had increased a little—especially my cheeks, which had grown adorably chubby, much to Rafiq’s delight. He never missed a chance to pinch, kiss, or bite them, calling them his 

"gol gappa cheeks."

His palm rested gently on my small baby bump, his touch protective and warm.  

"Koi aur craving?" he asked, his dark eyes scanning my face with genuine concern.  

"Bas pav bhaji," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.  

He smiled, kissing my forehead in return. 

"Ho jayega bas thodi der mein. Koi dard toh nahi ho raha?"

I sighed. 

"Muscles sore ho rahi hain," I admitted, leaning slightly into his embrace.  

His brows furrowed in concern. 

"Main massage kar dunga. Pehle khana khatam kar lein."

We stood there in the warmth of the kitchen, his arms still wrapped around me as we waited for the food to finish cooking. The chaos, the spices, the disaster he had created—it all faded into the background as I melted into his embrace, feeling safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure.  

And before I knew it, I was drifting into sleep against his chest, his lips pressing numerous kiss to my forehead.  

Rafiq fed me with his own hands, his touch lingering on my lips every time he wiped away a stray drop of bhaji with his thumb. 

The meal was yum, but knowing he had made it just for me made it taste better than anything in the world.  

After we finished, he guided me to the bed and sat behind me, his strong hands gently kneading my sore shoulders. The warmth of his palms instantly soothed the tension in my muscles, making me sigh in relief.  

"Yeh kya kar rahe hain, mere... shauhar?"I asked, my voice laced with playful suspicion as I caught the mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.  

His fingers, which had been pressing into my tense shoulders, slowly traveled lower, tracing feather-light patterns along my arms before slipping beneath the loose fabric of my kameez.  

"Tumhare aaram ka khayal rakh raha hoon, begum," he murmured, his voice husky, warm rough hands gliding through my soft skin, sending shivers down my spine.  

Before I could respond, his lips brushed against my neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses that sent warmth pooling in my chest. 

I gasped softly as he pulled me closer, his hands now fully under my kameez, his touch igniting a fire deep within me.  

"Rafiq...," I breathed out, my fingers curling over his wrists, torn between stopping him and melting into his embrace.  

But he didn’t stop.  

His lips found mine, capturing them in a passionate kiss, his intensity making my heart race. The tenderness, the longing, the unspoken emotions—he poured everything into that kiss, as if reminding me once again that 

I was his. Completely. Unquestionably.  

And he was mine. My husband. My AASHIQ. 

"ummmm aaap kya kar rahe hai rafiq?" I moaned as his fingers removed my kameez and then garara salwar. 

"Taking care of begum. Nangi ho jaungi toh ache se massage hogi" his smirked widened and I already knew where this massage was going to end. 

"Leit jaao. Aaram farmao" He pushed me against my back and I chuckled as his hand caressed the swell of my breast. 

"Aap aaram karne de toh na" I teased him and he slapped my wet cunt in warning 

"Bhot shaitan ho rahi hai aap begum" he said and moved away from me leaving me to Cold air. 

He came back with a bottle of coconut oil and poured it all over my boobs at first and moaned in coldness. 

He chuckled and teased me, "such a greedy slut you are babydoll" 

"Raf...iq ummmm" I moaned at the heaviness of his palm massaged my flesh like soft balls. 

"Maja aa raha hai na begum" he whispered bear my ear kissing it. 

"Yesss yesss a lot" I said and my thighs rubbed against each other waiting for his hand to be there. 

"I think tumhari chut ko bhi massage ki jarurat hai" he said and poured oil on my pussy folds as well and I was looking a wet sex doll at his mercy. 

"Sooo wet. Randi ki tarah bheeg gayi ho tum" he said and I felt his fingers leaving my pussy earning whimper from me. 

"Patience babydoll. Ab tum randi ki tarah geeli ho toh mujhse randi ki tarah chud bhi jaao" he said spanking my boobs and removed his trouser. 

"Mere boobs ummmm" I murmured caressing sensitive nipples. 

"Dard ho raha hai babydoll. Laao mai chus leta hu" he said and sucked my boobs like it was milking. 

"Ummmm ahhhhh" I kept on pulling his hair as he gave his full attention to sucking. 

"My beautiful slut." He pinched the nipple and I screamed but he soothed it his warm sucking. 

"My sexy begum" he repeated the action and I was becoming a mess. 

"Massage my dick now. Fir issi lund se ahhhh chudna hai tumhe" he said while I poured oil on his veiny big cock and massaged it. 

He kissed me and grunt every now and then. 

"Chut fad dega mera lund Baby tumhari ahhhh itne ache se massage kar rahi ho tum ohhh ahhhh behchod" he groaned highly and leaked pre cum on top mushroom of his cock. 

"Ab nahi ruka jata babydoll. Chudne ke taiyar ho jaao" he pushed on bed and spread my legs and placing his hard cock at entrance, he gave a force of thrust. 

"Ahhhhhhh rafiqqqqq" I shook while holding his shoulders

"Ahhhhjhh begummmmmm ohhhhh behchod ahhhhh itni tight ho rakhi ho ahhhhhh puri geeli ho fir bhi ahhhhh ahhhh" he groaned while increasing his thrusts. 

"Ahhhh begummm ahhhh mera lund daba rahi ho! Tumhari chut  ka bhosda bana dega mera lund ahhhh!!" He held my waist, not putting weight on it to protect it, and fucked me with impatient thrusts. 

"Ahhh meri randi begum mera mota danda apne andar ahhh ahhhh lekar kaisa lag raha hai ahhhh bhenchod! " He gritted when I clenched around his cock. 

My whole body was shaking with powerful mad thrusts and I felt so full of his big veiny cock. 

"Ahhhh bhot aaachaaa ahhhh ahhh meraaaa ahhhhh aaa rha rsh hai rafiqqqq" I moaned and he pinched my nipples instead of stopping and gave more thrusts. 

"Jor se karne par kya hota hai pata hai begum ahhhhh" He kept on fucking me and teasing my cum. Instead of answering I cummed around his cock. 

I was gasping, my body shuddering beneath his strong one, and he leaned down to share soft kisses with me.

"Begum pregnant ho jati hai aur apne shauhar ki kutiya ban ke chudti hai" He said with madness in his eyes and kissed me with his tongue diving deeo down my mouth. 

I shrieked when he put my leg on his shoulder and clasped our hands and thrusts deeper in the position. 

"Ohhh ahhh begum itni jaldi nikal diya paani ahhhh aaj bhi" he groaned amd teased md while I was gasping for air. 

"Tumahre yeh chuche itne bade ho gaye mere chusne se ahhhhh ab mere bache aur mai bhi dudh nikalenge inse ahhhh ahhh" he spanked my boobs and they jiggled from impact. He pinched my nipples and I felt my legs shaking again 

"Ahhhh begum ummmmm firse jhad ne wali ho tum ahhhh ahhhh nikal doh ras apna abhhh apne shauhar ke loye ahhhh!!!" he chuckled darkly and pinched my nipples ever more. Without any wait, I shuddered creaming around him pach pach sounds of oily bodies of us. 

He kissed my lips and turned my body on bed fucking me from behind with his hands marking my ass red. 

"Mai tha...k gay..i hu ahh...hhh slow down" I said huffing for air and he grunted. 

"Thoda sa aur karne doh ahhhh bhot soft feel ho rahi hai tumhari chut ahhhh" he grunted and moved my small ass to put his in and then pull out.

He kept on fucking me softy at first then increased his speed. 

"Ahhhh ahhhhh rafiqqqq ahhhh dheeme ohhhh ahhhh bhot andar jaaa rha hai ahhhhha hhhh" my eyes rolled back while he gave full thrusts hitting deep inside me. 

"Ahhhhh tumhari chut hi choti babydoll ahhhhh mera lund pura gusa raha hu mai ahhhh madarchod ahhhh ahhh daba doh pura lund mera babydoll ahhh ahh yesss" he used my nickname as he moaned while putting his whole cock inside me. 

In few thrusts and hair pulling by him, I cummed again around his cock. 

"Ahhhh ahhh babydoll ahhhhhhhh fuckkkk mera aane wala hai ahhhhh" he groaned loudly beating his cock in tight girth of my pussy

"Bhar dunga tumhari chut firse apne ras se ahhhhh" he grunted while my body jumped from thunderous impact of his cock. The skin slaps and oil gave the perfect lubrication to us, creating loud erotic sounds 

"Sirf meri babydoll. Meri begum. Ahhhhhh meri aashiqui ahhhhhh fucckkkkkkk take my cummmm babbyyyydolll ahhhh" with each possessive sentence he marked my cunt with his cock length, making me remember his obsession for me. And lust for me. 

"Pura gusa lo apne andar tak ahhhhh ek boond bhi bahar na aaye!!!" He unloaded his cock and pour his hot cum in my hole. 

"Ahhhh ahhhh jeeee ahhh" my eyes rolled back as my body accepted his load of cum and I cummed on his cock he pushed his cum deep place in my cunt. 

He put me down on bed and with his cock still inside me, we both heaved sighs. 

He had gained a habit of having his cock in me for hours after fucking me with all his strength. He made sure, his cum and cock both were warm around my core. 

Earning soft kisses on my forehead, I slowly opened my eyes, and there they were—his dark, smoldering eyes locked on me.  

Those same eyes, the ones that had shielded me, fought for me, and held me steady through every storm, now brimmed with tenderness.  

His voice, deep and warm, broke the silence. 

“Tumhe pata hai, jab tum soti ho na… lagta hai jaise duniya mein sirf sukoon baaki hai.”  

The way he said it, like it was a secret meant just for me, made my heart skip a beat. 

But I could see something else behind his words—raw emotions.   

And then, he said it. “I love you, Dalia,” his voice barely above a whisper, as if it carried the weight of the world.  

In that moment, every sound around me disappeared. No birds, no wind, no footsteps. 

Just his voice, raw and honest, echoing in my heart.  

“Main tumse itna pyaar karta hoon ki shabdon mein bayan karna mushkil hai,” he said, his expression pained yet desperate, as if confessing was both a relief and a burden.  

Before he could close the distance, before he could quiet my racing thoughts with his kiss, I spoke the truth he needed to hear. 

“Main bhi aapse pyaar karti hoon,” I said, my voice trembling under the weight of my own emotions.  

The world could throw its darkest challenges at me—whether the abuse of the unknown, the coldest of realities, or the fiercest of storms—I would face them all, as long as he stood beside me.  

Rafiq didn’t hold back after that. His lips captured mine in a passionate kiss, his hands framing my face as though he was afraid I might slip away. 

Between kisses, he kept repeating, “Main tumse pyaar karta hoon,” each time with more conviction than the last.  

His love was overwhelming, all-encompassing, as he trailed kisses along my face, my neck, and my hands. 

I matched him, my whispered confessions mingling with his, “Main bhi aapse pyaar karti hoon, Rafiq.”  

Then he reached to my belly, his hands gently cradling my growing belly. It was his daily ritual, one I’d grown to cherish. 

He kissed the curve softly before speaking to our baby, his voice full of warmth and playfulness.  

“Baby, tumhari ammi toh meri duniya hai, lekin tum meri duniya ka naya chaand ho. Jaldi aa jao, hum tumhara intezaar kar rahe hain.”  

As he rambled on about his dreams for our child, my stomach let out a loud growl. 

My cheeks flushed, and Rafiq’s laughter filled the room.  

“Haha! Lagta hai tum dono bhookhe ho!” he teased, his smile lighting up his face.  

“Kya khaana hai meri babydoll?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face.  

“Macaroni,” I muttered, my voice soft.  

He grinned. “Macaroni toh banegi, lekin pehle tumhe ek acchi si shower massage milege,” he said, sweeping me into his arms.  

The sound of my laughter echoed as he carried me to the bathroom. In the shower, his touch was gentle, his every move careful, as if I were made of glass. His love and care made me feel like the most precious thing in the world.  

And ofcourse he would not lose the chance to pound in me, ever. So, another tired and erotic session followed in shower, making more hungry for food. 

Later, dressed and refreshed, I sat on the kitchen counter, watching him cook. The servants hovered in the background, their eyes wide with both awe and a little fear. But I ignored them. To the world, Rafiq might be harsh, commanding, and intimidating, but to me, he was my savior. My protector. My giver of joy and love.

He was my Happily Ever After. 

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