Nadia stepped out of the shower, her skin glistening with water droplets, and wrapped herself in a towel. The bathroom mirror fogged up as she turned off the water, obscuring her reflection. She wiped the condensation with her hand, revealing her tired eyes and the dark circles that had become permanent fixtures underneath. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her neck and shoulders. She let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the past few weeks of job hunting. The steam in the room was thick, and the scent of her mint shampoo lingered in the air.

After toweling off, she pulled on her favorite pair of pajamas—fluffy and covered in cartoon sheep that seemed to mock her lack of rest. She tied her hair back into a messy bun, letting the ends stick to the nape of her neck. The house was quiet, her parents had gone away for the weekend to attend a family wedding in Glasgow, leaving her to her solitude. The stairs creaked gently as she descended, the sound echoing in the stillness.

Nadia padded into the living room, the floor cool under her bare feet, and curled up on the couch. The faux fur throw her sister, Shazia (referred to as Baji, term of endearment for an older sister), had given her last Christmas was a comforting cocoon. With a sleepy yawn, she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The Netflix menu blazed to life, a sea of colorful tiles promising escape into countless worlds. Her eyes scanned the titles, looking for something to dull the ache of her reality—a rom-com, a thriller, maybe a cooking show to make her feel less of a failure.

Her thumb hovered over the 'play' button when a sudden knock at the door startled her. She sat up, heart racing. Who could it be at this hour? She glanced at the clock. It was only eight, but it felt much later in the quiet emptiness of the house. The knock came again, more insistent this time. Wrapping the throw around her shoulders, she tiptoed to the door and peered through the peephole. It was Imran, her Baji's husband, his light brown eyes peering back at her through the fisheye lens.

Nadia took a deep breath and composed herself before unlocking the door. She swung it open and greeted him with a soft "Salaam," trying to ignore the way his gaze swept over her slightly damp, disheveled appearance. His athletic frame filled the doorway, his shoulders tense. The tension in the air was palpable, a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they usually shared. Imran rarely visited without Baji.

"Hi Imran, what's up?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

"Hi, Nadia. I'm so sorry to bother you like this, but our shower's bust," he replied, his eyes avoiding hers. "Is it okay if I use yours?"

Nadia felt a flicker of annoyance at the inconvenience but quickly smothered it. "Of course," she said, stepping aside to let him in. She watched as he strode past, his gym bag slung over one shoulder.

"Where's Baji?" she couldn't help but ask as she closed the door.

Imran shifted his weight, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps. "She's at the wedding too, obviously. She didn't want to miss it," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "But I had to stay back for an important work call. Don’t you remember?" he asked with a slight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Nadia nodded, trying to recall the conversation. Her mind had been preoccupied with her job search. "Right, I remember now. Of course." She gestured towards the stairs. "I’ll show you to the bathroom and get you a fresh towel."

As they climbed the stairs, Imran’s hand brushed against her arm, the brief touch sending a jolt through her. She quickly pulled away, her cheeks flushing. It was nothing, she told herself. Just an accident. But his gaze lingered for a second too long, making her heart stumble.

In the hallway, she pointed to the bathroom door. "Here you go," she said, handing him the towel. "Take your time."

Nadia retreated to her room, her thoughts racing. Imran had never been this close to her before—not in a way that made her feel self-conscious. She tried to push the unsettling feeling aside, telling herself she was being silly. He was her sister's husband, after all. She picked up her phone, scrolling through job listings to distract herself, but her mind kept wandering back to the way he looked at her.

The sound of the shower running was a constant reminder of his presence. Suddenly, it dawned on her: she'd given him a small hand towel by mistake. The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks, and she couldn't help but feel a strange mix of embarrassment and anxiety. What would he think? She bit her lip, contemplating whether she should correct the mistake.

Mustering her courage, Nadia picked up a fresh, fluffy bath towel from the linen closet. She took a deep breath and approached the bathroom door, her hand hovering over the wood. She knocked softly, the sound echoing faintly through the walls. "Imran, I accidentally gave you the wrong towel," she called out, her voice a whisper. "Here's a bigger one."

"Thanks, Nadia," came his muffled response from behind the frosted glass. The water was still running, the sound of the shower a rhythmic backdrop to their awkward interaction. She pushed the door open gently, the warm, steamy air enveloping her. She stepped in, her eyes quickly scanning for his clothes—his neatly folded pile of clothes were on the floor, the room smelling faintly of his musky cologne.

Her cheeks burned as she placed the towel on the rail, averting her gaze from the shower. The sound of the water was almost deafening in the small space. "I'm not done yet," Imran called out, his voice echoing off the tiles. "You can just leave it there."

Nadia's eyes snapped to the shower curtain as it swayed slightly. For a split second, she saw something she hadn't intended to. A glimpse of his long, thick penis, standing proudly against his muscular thigh. She gasped and spun around, her heart racing. She hadn't meant to peek, but the image was now burned into her mind.

"I'll just wait outside," she managed to say, her voice a little shakier than she would have liked. She stepped out of the bathroom and leaned against the cool wall, taking deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. What had just happened? This was her sister's husband, a man she had known for years. Yet, in that brief moment, she had seen him in a way she never had before—as a man, not just as family.

Nadia headed downstairs, the need for distance suddenly overwhelming. She settled into the couch again, pulling the throw tighter around her. The TV flickered, but she couldn't focus on the screen. Her mind replayed the image of Imran in the shower, the water cascading over his taut, muscular body. She couldn't deny the attraction she felt—it was raw and unexpected.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the shower being turned off. The sudden silence was deafening. She held her breath, her ears straining to catch any noise that would indicate he was wrapping up. She could almost feel the tension in the air thicken as the seconds ticked by. Then, the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back echoed through the house.

After what felt like an eternity, Imran appeared at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a fitted T-shirt that clung to his toned body, outlining his broad chest and biceps. His hair was still slightly damp, curling slightly at the edges. The sight of him made Nadia's stomach flip. She forced a smile, hoping her face didn’t betray the tumult of emotions raging within.

"Thanks for the towel," Imran said casually, as if their previous encounter hadn’t just turned her world upside down. He descended the stairs, each step bringing him closer to her. She couldn’t help but notice the way his legs muscles flexed with every movement.

"No problem," she replied, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. "Would you like something to eat or drink?" she offered, eager to fill the space between them with the mundane.

"I'll have a brew with milk and one sugar, please," Imran said, his eyes meeting hers briefly before dropping to the floor. The tension between them was palpable, a heavy blanket that seemed to weigh down the very air.

Nadia nodded and retreated to the kitchen, the cold tiles offering some relief to the heat in her cheeks. She focused on the task at hand, the routine motions of filling the kettle and grabbing mugs helping to ground her. As the water heated, she listened to the sound of his footsteps growing fainter as he moved towards the living room. The clink of a teaspoon against porcelain was the only noise in the house.

When the tea was ready, she carried the steaming mugs on a tray, her heart racing with every step she took back to the living room. Imran was seated on the couch, scrolling through his phone, the TV still on mute. He looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable. She set the tray down on the coffee table with a clatter that seemed overly loud in the quiet space.

"So how's life after university?" Imran asked, his voice low and slightly gruff. He took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving hers.

Nadia sat opposite him, tucking her legs under the couch cushion. "It's okay," she said, her voice small. "Just job hunting. You know how it is." She offered a weak smile, hoping to deflect the conversation away from her current struggles.

Imran nodded, his eyes scanning her. "It's tough out there. But you're smart, you'll find something." His gaze was intense, and she felt it like a caress, sending a shiver down her spine.

Nadia took a sip of her tea, the heat momentarily distracting her from the butterflies in her stomach. They talked about the wedding, the latest football scores, and their parents' overzealous love for Bollywood movies—anything to keep the conversation light. But the air was charged with something unspoken. It was like a current running just beneath the surface, threatening to electrify every word.

Imran's question caught her off-guard. His eyes locked on hers with a sudden intensity that made her heart race. "Did you like what you saw?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. The room was so silent she could hear the blood pulsing in her ears. She felt the heat spreading from her cheeks down to her neck, staining her with an embarrassment she couldn't hide.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, looking away. "I didn't mean to—it was an accident."

Imran leaned back into the couch, setting his mug aside. "Don't worry about it, Nadia," he said, his tone softer. "It's not like I've never been seen naked before." His attempt at humor was tinged with something else—desire? Curiosity?

Nadia's eyes snapped back to him, her thoughts racing. Was he flirting with her? No, she had to be reading into it. He was her sister's husband, after all. But his gaze was unwavering, and she felt a thrill of excitement mixed with fear.

Imran set his mug down with a gentle clink and stood up, his movements fluid and predatory. He walked towards her, the space between them shrinking with each step. She could see the water droplets that still clung to his hair, the way his T-shirt clung to his broad chest. The air grew thick with anticipation, and she found herself unable to look away.

He stopped right in front of her, bending slightly so their faces were almost level. "You know, Nadia," he whispered, "you've always been so sweet and innocent." His breath was warm against her face, sending a shiver down her spine. "But I've caught you looking at me before."

Nadia's eyes widened, her pulse hammering in her ears. "What are you talking about?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Imran reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek. "You can't tell me you've never wondered what it would be like." His thumb traced the outline of her bottom lip, sending a bolt of electricity through her body. "To be with a man who could give you what you need."

Nadia's breath hitched, and she felt the heat pool between her legs. She knew she should pull away, but his touch was intoxicating. She was torn between her loyalty to her sister and the desire that was unfurling in her belly. "Imran," she breathed, her voice shaky. "Baji... we can't."

But Imran wasn't listening. He leaned in closer, his hand sliding around the back of her neck, pulling her towards him. His lips met hers in a soft, tentative kiss that sent sparks flying through her body. She tasted mint and a hint of something male, something that was definitely not Baji. It was wrong, but it felt so right. Her body responded of its own accord, her hand reaching up to rest on his firm chest.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue probing her mouth, and she realized with a start that she was kissing him back. Her hands began to explore his chest, the firm muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer.

Nadia's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—guilt, excitement, and fear all fighting for dominance. But the heat of his body and the passion in his touch won out. She felt a desperate need for more, a yearning she had never experienced before. She found herself leaning into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, the friction igniting a fire within her.

Imran's hand slipped from her neck to her lower back, and with surprising strength, he stood up and lifted her off the couch. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as their kiss grew more urgent. He carried her to the hallway, their kiss never breaking, the world around them a haze of lust. The walls of the house seemed to close in, the only reality being the two of them and the magnetic pull that drew them closer together.

Her heart thundered in her chest as they reached her bedroom door. He kicked it open, the wood hitting the wall with a thud that echoed through the house. The room was dimly lit, the glow from the streetlight outside casting a soft light through the curtains. The smell of her jasmine candle filled the air, a stark contrast to the musky scent of his skin. He laid her down on her bed, the softness of the mattress enveloping her.

Nadia's thoughts were a jumble of "shouldn'ts" and "what ifs," but she couldn't bring herself to stop. The heat of his body on top of hers was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. His kisses grew more demanding, his teeth grazing her bottom lip before he pulled back to look at her.

"I've wanted this for so long, Nadia," Imran murmured, his voice hoarse with desire. His eyes searched hers, looking for permission, for reassurance. Her heart raced, but she couldn’t find the words to protest. Instead, she bit her lip and nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

With a groan, Imran reached up to tug at the strings of her pajama top, exposing her bare chest. The cool air of the room hit her skin, making her nipples tighten with anticipation. His gaze lingered on them before he leaned down to take one into his mouth. The sensation was exquisite, and she arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips. His tongue flicked and teased, sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

He kissed his way down her torso, his hands sliding over her hips to grip the waistband of her pajama bottoms. She felt his breath hot against her skin as he moved lower, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses that made her shiver. He paused at her navel, his tongue swirling around the sensitive spot before continuing down. The anticipation was unbearable, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

With a swift tug, Imran pulled off her pajama bottoms, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. He took a step back to appreciate the view, his eyes roaming over her naked form with an intensity that made her cheeks burn. Then, with a smoldering look, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted chest and abs. The sight of him bare-chested was almost too much to handle, and she felt a pulse of desire between her legs.

He climbed back onto the bed, his skin hot against hers, and kissed her again, his hands skimming over her curves. His fingers traced the edge of her panties, teasing her sensitive flesh. She gasped into his mouth as he slid them off, the fabric catching on her ankles before falling to the floor. The cool air caressed her now-bare skin, sending goosebumps racing across her body.

Imran kissed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His fingers found her wetness, and she moaned as he began to stroke her gently. She felt her body respond, arching into his touch, eager for more. His thumb circled her clit as he slid a finger inside her, and she tightened around him, her muscles clenching. He kissed her collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before moving to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. The sensation was overwhelming, and she felt herself getting closer to the edge.

Her hands roamed his body, exploring every inch of him as if she was memorising him. Her nails scraped lightly against his back, leaving faint trails of desire. Imran's kisses...