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— Oh, come on, guys! You’re fucking unbearable! — Trevor barked, turning his gaze to the side and slumping in the chair as if he were sitting through yet another boring meeting in his father’s skyscraper, scolding subordinates without even bothering to hide what was visible beneath the thin, transparent fabric barely covering his thighs and hardly concealing the nakedness between his legs.
With a heavy sigh, Shahin took another drag from the hookah and slowly exhaled, as if releasing an invisible, translucent serpent, letting the smoke drift right in Leila’s direction. She had already allowed herself more than she should have, even for a respectable woman—let alone some belly dancer from his harem.
— It would be a shame to lose such beauty… — Shahin finally spoke, dragging out each word as if savoring them, his gaze lingering exactly where that barely-there fabric covered Trevor’s thighs.
— What? What do you mean, lose? — Trevor snapped his head toward him, cursing the sound of his own voice and noticing exactly where Shahin’s eyes had settled. He was staring straight between his legs, a slight smirk on his lips, as if appraising merchandise.
Almost instinctively, Trevor pressed his thighs together, feeling the soft, wide shape of Leila’s hips meet with an unfamiliar tenderness. The thin blue strip of fabric hanging from the hip belt was now wedged between his thighs, pressing against the flat space between his legs. He suddenly realized he had done it entirely on instinct, as if his body already knew how to react—knew what feminine modesty was. Dear God, he had just squeezed his legs together like some frightened girl!
Growing even more irritated, Trevor tried to regain his usual arrogant ease, but sitting with his legs spread apart like before felt… strange. Wrong? What the hell?! He had to force himself to part his thighs even slightly, but the moment he did, he caught Shahin’s gaze—dark, thoughtful, piercing.
Trevor immediately snapped his legs back together and now sat with his back straight, thighs pressed firmly together, and hands placed on his knees—his once-relaxed posture now looking uncomfortably prim, more like that of a well-bred young lady afraid of being judged. Finally, with effort, he pulled his hands away and placed them on the armrests, leaning back into the chair, but his legs remained pressed together. There was a strange, nagging feeling that this was… better. More natural?!
Shahin watched him unhurriedly, as if studying an animal that had suddenly stopped obeying. He took a lazy drag from the hookah, letting the smoke slowly curl from his lips, and smirked.
— You amuse me, Leila. Tonight, you are especially defiant, as if a shaitan is whispering in your ear, making you forget your place. — Shahin exhaled, still lazily letting the smoke drift toward Trevor.
Something clenched inside again, just like before at Shahin’s words, and Trevor took a deep breath, trying to ignore and suppress the sensation. He pressed his thighs together even harder, gritted his teeth, and forced himself to meet the gaze of this smug bastard.
— I. Am. Not. Leila! Open your damn eyes, old man—does this look like Leila’s face to you?! — Trevor leaned forward, shoving his masculine face toward Shahin as proof—and immediately cursed himself for the movement. His breasts, huge, soft, and heavy, jolted and swayed downward, hitting his ribs.
But Shahin only laughed—loudly, hoarsely, and completely genuinely.
— Oh, Leila, Leila… — he finally exhaled, wiping the corners of his eyes. — You make me laugh. And at the same time, you anger me.
He stood up, brushing invisible dust from his expensive robe, and slowly stepped closer. Trevor, despite his protesting mind, instinctively leaned back into the chair, retreating deeper into it—and, almost without realizing it, crossed his arms over his chest.
The warm, soft curves beneath his fingers made something inside him shudder—his hands had moved so naturally, as if he had done this a thousand times before. As if his body already knew how to respond to the kind of danger that could come from men.
— Stop fucking staring at me, you… you… — Trevor finally whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked up at Shahin, who stood before him, silently watching his feeble attempt to regain even a shred of the masculine confidence he had possessed just minutes ago.
Shahin smirked. Not cruelly, not mockingly—no, his smile was slow, lazy, the kind a tiger might give while watching its prey, knowing it was already in its claws.
— Are you sure this is what you want? — Shahin’s voice suddenly turned serious. He tilted his head slightly, looking Trevor directly in the eyes.
Trevor shuddered. No, not his body—her body. It shuddered. As if something foreign had settled inside him, something that reacted in a way he didn’t. He could swear it felt as if his very flesh was screaming, sensing that his fate was being decided at this moment.
His breath hitched as he tried to speak, but the words refused to leave his lips. What the fuck?! He cursed the sudden wave of fear washing over him, struggling to find himself again—to find the version of himself that didn’t fear, didn’t tremble, the one who could fight back against anyone.