The elevator dinged, and Usama stepped out onto the plush carpet of the hotel’s penthouse floor, his pulse hammering in his throat. The Al Faisaliah Hotel in Riyadh was a fortress of luxury, all gleaming glass and polished marble, but it might as well have been a battlefield. He adjusted the collar of his tailored shirt, trying to shake off the nerves clawing at his gut. A long history with Kiran—his Mami, Rukhsana, as she was to the family—loomed over him like a storm cloud. Years of petty spats, cutting remarks, and something far more dangerous beneath it all had led to this moment. He wasn’t sure if he was walking into a truce or an ambush.
He swiped the keycard and pushed open the door to the suite. The room was a vision of decadence: a sprawling king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering Riyadh skyline, and a bathroom visible through a half-open door, all marble sinks and a glass-enclosed shower that screamed temptation. But none of it held a candle to the woman lounging on the bed like a queen on her throne.
Kiran. Forty years old, curvaceous in a way that could stop traffic, and utterly unapologetic about it. Her silky robe, a deep emerald green, clung to her like a second skin, the fabric slipping just enough to hint at the smooth expanse of her thigh. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her sharp, kohl-lined eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped inside. A smirk played on her full lips, as if she’d been waiting to pounce.
“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” she drawled, her voice a low purr laced with mockery. She shifted, letting the robe slip a fraction more as she crossed one leg over the other. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out, Usama. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve run from me.”
Usama swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, but he forced a grin as he dropped his bag by the door. “Run from you? Mami, I’ve been dodging your bullets since I was a teenager. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
Her laugh was sharp, a blade wrapped in velvet. “Barely. You’ve got the look of a man who’s already half-defeated. What’s wrong? Scared I’ll bite?”
“Only if I’m lucky,” he shot back, his voice steadier now as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. He couldn’t help but let his gaze flicker over her—those curves, that confidence. She was a force of nature, and he’d spent years pretending he wasn’t caught in her storm. “But let’s not pretend this is a friendly reunion. We’ve got a decade of grudges to unpack before we get to the fun stuff.”
Kiran arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her smirk widening as she swung her legs off the bed and stood, the robe slipping just enough to reveal the lace of something black and daring beneath. She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with deliberate intent, stopping just close enough that he could smell the jasmine in her perfume. “Oh, darling, I’ve got a laundry list of grievances with you. Remember that time you called me overbearing at Eid dinner? In front of the whole family? I’ve been itching to slap that smug look off your face ever since.”
Usama chuckled, though his heart was racing. She was close—too close—and the heat radiating from her was making it hard to think. “And I’ve been waiting for you to admit you loved the attention. You’ve always been the queen of drama, Kiran. Every argument was just another stage for you to shine.”
Her eyes narrowed, but there was a glint of amusement in them as she tilted her head, studying him like a predator sizing up prey. “Careful, boy. Keep talking like that, and I’ll have you on your knees apologizing before the night’s over.” She reached out, her fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, her touch light but electric. “Or maybe that’s exactly what you want.”
He caught her wrist before she could pull away, his grip firm but not rough, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Don’t play games with me, Mami. You’ve been throwing daggers with those eyes since I walked in. If you’ve got something to say, say it. Or better yet, show me.”
For a moment, the air between them crackled, charged with years of unspoken tension. Then Kiran laughed again, pulling her wrist free with a flick of her hand as if his hold meant nothing. “Oh, Usama, you’re still so easy to rile up. I don’t have to show you anything… yet. You’ll beg for it before I’m done with you.”
She turned on her heel, the robe swishing around her legs as she walked toward the center of the room, her movements slow and taunting. Usama’s eyes followed her, unable to look away as she paused by the window, the city lights casting a golden glow over her silhouette. Then, with a deliberate glance over her shoulder, she reached for the tie of her robe. The silk slid off her shoulders, inch by agonizing inch, revealing the black lace lingerie underneath—straps crisscrossing her back, the fabric hugging every curve like it was painted on.
Usama’s breath hitched, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You’re a cruel woman, Kiran,” he managed, his voice rough. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
She turned her head just enough to flash him a wicked smile. “Of course I do. And you love every second of it. But let’s get one thing straight—I’m in charge here. You want more? You’ll have to earn it.” Her fingers trailed along the edge of the robe before letting it fall completely, pooling at her feet. She stood there for a moment, unashamed, her body a masterpiece of confidence and control, before stepping toward the bathroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Usama called after her, his voice a mix of frustration and raw desire.
Kiran paused at the doorway, one hand on the frame, her smirk pure mischief. “To freshen up, darling. I suggest you cool off while I’m gone. You look like you’re about to combust.” She gave him a final, lingering look—those eyes promising everything and nothing—before disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
Usama exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the closed door. His body ached with a need he hadn’t felt in years, every word and glance from her stoking a fire he couldn’t extinguish. Whatever game Kiran was playing, he was already in too deep. And damn it, he couldn’t wait to see what came next.
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