"Remind me to never go to another party for an entire lifetime," said Ibrahim as he closed the door behind us, loosening his tie.

"It was a party in honor of us," I grinned, walking up the stairs with Ibrahim hot on my tail. I had bunched up my dress in my hands and loosened the pins on my hijab.

"Your point?"

I shrugged, "It's a nice feeling."

The entire reception had been sweet. Of course, Ibrahim and I had to pose for pictures for almost everybody because they wanted to post it on their social medias, but our families and friends had made the event worthwhile.

Ibrahim's friends took the microphone and told embarrassing stories about Ibrahim's college life before ending it off in sentimental remarks. I had come to realize that my husband hated feeling emotional. He'd turn away from people just to avoid such circumstances.

"Easy for you to say," he mumbled as he followed me to my room. He took a seat on my bed, flopping right down on it, his hands behind his head. "They just had to hit me with the college stories."

"Ibrahim," I scolded.

"What?"

"It wasn't that bad," I said softly, wiping my makeup off. "I thought the stories were funny."

From my mirror, I could see Ibrahim lift himself up, propping himself on his elbows. "Yes, because everybody loves to hear about me being afraid of small animals," he rolled his eyes. "Get original."

I started laughing, much to Ibrahim's surprise. He curiously eyed me, unsure on how to react to my amusement at his shortcomings.

"Did I say something funny?"

"It's just t-that you act so tough and macho, b-but you're afraid of p-puppies," I wheezed out as I held my midsection to contain the giggles.

He glowered at me. "Puppies are devil spawns covered in fur," he stated, flatly.

I shook my head, amused. Ibrahim was that dark and mysterious man that people wished they knew, but were too afraid to go near. The fact that he was afraid of small critters was enough to make a madman go sane at the scenario. Clearly, Ibrahim's friends decided to share that tiny fact to the world because of how it got underneath his skin. I knew Ibrahim wasn't mad at his friends, probably annoyed, but definitely not angered.

"I think you're just biased," I smiled.

My face was finally bare of any cosmetic, the dim lighting in the room touched the corners of my cheeks, illuminating them in the light. My skin was slightly pink from the rubbing motion of the wipes, which was normal.

Gently placing my hijab pins down on the vanity table, I pulled the soft silky headscarf down, letting the material rest around my neck. I heard Ibrahim's short intake of breath.

I simply ignored him, and let my hair fall from the messy bun I had kept it in, the curls bouncing down my back. The bed creaked, my eyes immediately met Ibrahim's intense gaze through the mirror. He slowly stood up, walking towards me.

His tie was off, the sleeves were pulled back to expose the lean muscles on his arms. His disheveled look was making my knees feel weak and I gripped the vanity table when he stood a couple inches behind me.

His eyes darkened, pinning me to stay still, to let him touch me. Ibrahim's arm went around my waist, pulling me back against his muscular body. His other hand pushed my hair to fall over one shoulder, exposing my neck to him.

I felt his warm lips touch the sensitive skin beneath and I let out a small gasp. The burning sensation at the pit of my stomach was starting to churn and twist in desire.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, huskily.

I felt my cheeks go red at the compliment. "T-Thanks," I stuttered.

"I'm serious," he whispered, dropping feather-like kisses on my neck. I tilted my head back to give him better access. "You're perfect."

He turned me around, allowing me to face him. We were so close, I could feel his breath on my lips as he leaned closer. His gaze never left mine, his breathing heavy. Those smoldering eyes made me catch my breath from the intensity. They were so dark, the darkest brown I had ever seen, almost black in color. I could sense the inner conflict within him.

"W-Why do you hold yourself back?" I stumbled for words as my gaze landed on his kissable lips.

"Why, you ask?" he purred into my ear, making me shiver. "Are you sure you want to know?"

I mutely nodded my head.

He deeply chuckled, grasping my chin in his hands. "You're so innocent," he said. "So pure, so perfect. You're mine," he murmured.

I couldn't take it anymore. I tilted my lips up, and met his. Ibrahim groaned, pushing my body closer to his until our intimate parts were touching, only igniting heat where our bodies touched. He nibbled on my lower lip, causing a soft gasp to escape me.

I tangled my fingers into his soft, black hair as I focused purely on Ibrahim's torturing lips. I was slowly becoming addicted to the taste of him. I wanted more of his tantalizing kisses that left me breathless. It was becoming a bad habit.

His tongue invaded my mouth, dominating it with his nature. His hands went lower. I felt the slight friction in between my legs, a soft moan escaping my mouth. I had little time to react because the door downstairs clicked open. Voices laughed as footsteps rumbled against the floor.

Oh no.

I felt my lips freeze against his, but Ibrahim didn't notice, so I pushed him back. My action caught him by surprise.

"Why did you do that for?"

"Listen," I told him softly, pointing at the door. "I think Bashir is home."

He rolled his eyes, gathering me back into his arms. "I don't care. Let's just continue where we left off," he smirked.

"Ibrahim! He could walk in on us!" I hissed as I pushed at his broad chest.

Sure, enough, Bashir was yelling our names from downstairs, followed by deep chuckles from around. I faintly heard a feminine voice that was laughing along with them. Amira, I recognized. That must mean that Damon is here too.

"Ibrahim! Get your lazy ass down here!" yelled Damon.

Ibrahim's smile fell as he glared at the door. "Fucking cockblockers," he mumbled under his breath.

My jaw dropped at the crude words that left his mouth. "Ibrahim!" I scolded.

"You never heard curse words before?" he questioned.

"What- no I mean- Ibrahim, shut up! That is not the point."

"I'm pretty sure you're aware of those words, Tasneem. Especially since one of those words describes what I wanted to do with you," he said, lowly.

My cheeks heated up.

"Do I get you hot and bothered, Tasneem?" he whispered. One arm was around my waist while the other arm trapped me against my vanity table. "Do I?" he repeated in a deeper voice.

"For the love of God, Ibrahim, get your asshat self down here before I come up there!" shouted Damon.

Ibrahim exhaled an exaggerated sigh, letting me go. I finally released the breath I was holding in, willing myself to calm down my racing heart. Ibrahim had that effect on me. Just a few words he said was enough for my mind to go reeling with thoughts that made me go red. He was just so mysterious that it lured me in even more. I was caught in his web, I was his prey.

"I'm going to head downstairs. You know, I have to tame the beast since his wife forgot to put a leash on him," Ibrahim stated, dryly.

"Okay, I'll just get my hijab."

Ibrahim nodded before walking towards my door, twisting the knob gently, and disappearing behind the doors. I could hear his footsteps begin to fade as he got farther from the door. I raised my fingers to my lips, gently tracing the swollen skin. He was a great kisser, I thought.

* * * *

"You're a real pain in the ass, Ibrahim," said Damon.

"You act like I care," Ibrahim replied, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Damon scoffed, "Man, I thought we had a connection."

"You thought wrong."

"This is why we can't have nice things, Ibrahim."

"I already have nice things," he countered, a smug look painting across his features as he sipped the hot liquid.

Damon turned to me with an exaggerated frown. "Your husband is horrible," he commented.

Amira, his wife, slapped his shoulder. "You're just as bad," she grinned.

"Want some ice for that burn, Damon?" asked Bashir, jokingly.

I laughed, along with Amira and Bashir as a grim look appeared across Damon's face. His green eyes narrowed at Ibrahim, who simply shrugged. Ibrahim eyed our laughter before cracking his own smile.

I never realized how beautiful Ibrahim looked when he smiled. His smile could light up a whole room; he looked so carefree and relaxed at the moment, that I wished we could stay like that forever. If only we could take pictures with our eyes because this was the perfect image. There were no nightmares, no fears, no judgments; it was just us in our purest form.

"Damn, I'm getting attacked by my wife and best friend. At this point, I'm going to need a doctor to check on my burns," grumbled Damon, leaning against the counter.

"I doubt that a doctor could help you at this point," mumbled Ibrahim.

Amira and I exchanged glances with one another, knowing what was to come. This should be good, I thought. Those two were polar opposites in personalities. Damon was a popular guy in high school; he was loved by all and desired by girls. Ibrahim was different. He went through the unspeakable, which left him scarred and bruised.

He never recovered.

Ibrahim hid himself away from everyone, allowing his darkness to consume him. He let no one past his walls, he chose to be isolated. In a way, Ibrahim was selfless, a quality most men didn't have. He wanted to protect others from the horrors that he witnessed no matter how much pain it brought to him. It was a pain that I wanted to cure.