Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar.

The sound of the athan (call to prayer) woke me up. I slowly opened my eyes. A white wall came into my vision. The room was huge. The walls had paintings attached to them. A flat screen TV was plastered onto the wall in front of me. I looked down at the bed. White sheets fell over our tangled legs. That was when I finally looked up at my husband's sleeping face.

His arm fell over my waist. My head rested on his hard chest. His musky scent overwhelmed me. The warmth of his body made me feel sparks all the way to my fingertips. Ibrahim slept peacefully. He looked so young and content in his sleep, so much different from when he was awake.

I brought a hand up to trace his features. The small hairs bristled under my touch. I couldn't believe that I was sharing a bed with a man, not just any man, but my husband. The funny thing was that I didn't feel embarrassed, being near Ibrahim just felt right.

My eyes moved to his toned arms. Even though the white muscle shirt, his biceps bulged through. The faint white scars zigzagged across the tight skin. My fingers trailed down to trace them. The scars seemed like they were cut deep into his pale skin. Images of blood seeping out of his large arms flashed into my mind. I looked back up at his beautiful face.

"Who did this to you?" I whispered into the silence as I stroked his jaw.

Ibrahim's face remained impassive. He lightly breathed through his nose, his lips were slightly parted. My fingers brushed over them, feeling the soft tenderness from beneath. Was he really mine? His messy black hair fell over the fluffy pillows. I wished that Ibrahim could always look this peaceful. He was usually very strict and stern, but I knew there was more to his story than he let on.

Someone cruel and evil gave him those scars. Someone who deeply hated Ibrahim had tortured him. Perhaps, the person who hurt him was also the reason for his parent's death. I really wanted to push him to tell me what happened, but I didn't want to start our marriage off on a bumpy road. I was going to try my best to be a close to perfect wife, even if our marriage had a rough start.

I gently shook him awake. "Wake up," I said softly. "It's time to pray."

He shifted in his sleep, pulling me closer against him.

"Ibrahim," I pressed. "Come on, get up already."

He groaned and nuzzled his face in my neck.

"I never took you to be the cuddly type."

He stayed silent, lifting his face from my neck. His dark brown eyes were hooded, thick lashes covering them from me. He curiously gazed at me. For some reason, I felt like I was naked in front of him. I felt like he could see everything I was thinking about. He was so reserved, yet it made me even more eager to get Ibrahim to open up to me.

"Let's pray," he sighed as he got up.

I watched him walk away from me, wondering if I did something wrong.

* * * *

After we both prayed, Ibrahim went back to bed. He wanted to sleep a little longer before we go back to his house. A feeling of sadness came over me. Home. My home was no longer in my parent's house. It was at Ibrahim's place now. I would now live with him. I was no longer supposed to depend on my parents anymore. They would now depend on me to take care of them.

I removed my gaze from the book I was reading on the couch. Ibrahim laid on the bed, hugging my pillow to his chest. I knew he was awake because his breathing was even. There was no light snores.

"You're curious," he mused with his back turned to me.

I closed my book. "Perhaps."

"Go ahead and enlighten me."

"I prefer not to," I said as I relaxed on the couch.

I heard Ibrahim shuffle on the bed. When I looked up, his eyebrows were furrowed at me, his intense eyes stared right through me. The white blanket fell down to his hips. His shirt had raised up to expose the firm muscles beneath. I exhaled a deep breath. Oh my God.

"You're quite a mystery, Tasneem Uddin."

I snorted, "I could say the same about you."

His eyes narrowed at me. He stood up, letting the silk white sheet fall. It pooled down on the floor right at his feet. His height hovered over me. I felt small. I kept my eyes trained on the floor.

Ibrahim didn't like that.

With slow deliberate steps towards me, I felt my breathing start to waver. The temperature in the room seemed to go up a hundred degrees. I stayed still, hearing his heavy breathing. He felt the tension I was feeling. My grip on my self control was slipping.

"Why do you always get shy in front of me?" he questioned, his voice becoming deeper.

"I don't know," I mumbled as I bit my lip.

In an instant Ibrahim had me pinned to the couch with my hands above my head. I gasped at the impact.

"I told you not to do that," he growled. "How can I control myself when you do that?"

I stared at him, wide eyed.

He buried his face in my neck. "Dear Lord, you're too hot," he rasped.

"Ibrahim-"

My words were lost in my throat as I felt warm lips touch the base of my neck. He moved his lips up higher, leaving a sizzling trail as he went. My breathing was heavy as I tried to hold back the sounds that desperately wanted to escape me. My mind was clouded with Ibrahim and the things he was doing to my body.

I felt his lips move to the corner of my mouth. He let go of my hands, allowing me to grip his shoulders. He lightly brushed his soft lips against my own. My back arched towards him in a silent plea for more. He held my waist as I felt something hard poke me in between my legs.

"Not yet," he whispered. "I will make you forget your name by the time I'm done with you." He pressed his hips against mine, moving a little to cause a slight friction. The small action had my body taut with desire. A soft moan escaped my mouth. "When I'm done with you," he nibbled my earlobe, "I will have you begging for more."

Then he pulled away, leaving me confused and extremely sexually frustrated.