Chapter 111 : A woman shouldn't eat ice cream like that....

"Slow down, Ibrahim!" Ava pleaded, "Why are you driving so… so roughly?"

But Ibrahim was Ibrahim. His remained u moved, "Don't doubt on my driving skills, Ava...There's another option, you know. I can park this car right here, and… just fuck you here in inside the car. Hmm? Will it be good?"

The threat, thinly veiled and raw, sent a fresh wave of panic coursing through her. "No, no, no. The guesthouse…. the guesthouse will be good."

"Hmmm… good girl," Ibrahim murmured. 

The rest of the journey was a silent, nerve-wracking blur. Ibrahim covered the 60-minute drive in just 15 minutes. And finally they arrived at his luxurious guest house, the two-story blue-and-white house that seemed to loom over them.

The guard, recognizing Ibrahim's car, rushed to open the gate. And the car went inside. There was enough space to park three or four cars comfortably. The engine coughed its final breath, the silence that followed pressing down on Ava like a physical weight. Ibrahim stepped out of the car and waited, expecting Ava to follow suit, but her body remained rooted to the seat. 

A minute ticked by, then another. Ibrahim, his jaw clenched tight, shook his head in a silent dismissal of her resistance. He strode towards her side and swung open the door. 

"Ava," Ibrahim murmured, "step out."

This time too, Ava was paralyzed by fear.

Ibrahim, his patience wearing thin, released a frustrated sigh. "Will you step out, or shall I carry you?"

With a shuddering breath, she stepped out of the car, her legs shaky. Ibrahim shut the door and stood before her, "So, Baby Girl. Where do you want to do it? Rooftop? Swimming pool? Bedroom? Or perhaps...the very room where I first tasted your lips?"

Ava swallowed hard, "Ibrahim. Please, give me some time. This… this is a big decision for me."

"Hmmmm.... Very well," Ibrahim conceded, "Ten minutes. But remember, my beautiful Ava, I expect your answer to be 'yes.' Don't change your mind."

Ava managed a shaky nod. Yes, she needed time, time to gather her shattered thoughts. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to breathe, to gather her courage, to face the storm that was about to engulf her.

Ibrahim turned and strode towards the house. Ava followed him like a lamb to the slaughter. Inside, the air hung heavy with a chilling silence, the absence of life eerily evident.

Ibrahim went straight to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of water and a cone of strawberry ice cream.

Although the guesthouse was unoccupied most of the time, the diligent servant always made sure to keep the fridge fully stocked, anticipating Ibrahim's sudden visits. The sight of the familiar treat brought a flicker of normalcy to the swirling chaos within her. And ofcourse, Ibrahim knew how to make Ava calm.

"You need this," he extended the ice cream towards her, and Ava reached out and took it. The smooth, cold surface felt oddly comforting against her clammy fingers.

He led her towards a room. As she entered, a wave of memories washed over her. This was the same room where her first kiss had been stolen. But as she looked around, she noticed details she had missed before. 

The room, though painted in dark shades of blue, held an unexpected calmness. The lights, soft and diffused, bathed the space in a gentle glow, highlighting the plush furniture and the paintings adorning the walls. A plush king-sized bed dominated the center, draped in white sheets. The comforter, a deep indigo to match the walls, beckoned with promises of comfort. Even the throw pillows, adorned with intricate silver threads, gleamed with a subtle elegance. 

Ava sank onto a nearby chair, clutching the ice cream close. On the other hand, Ibrahim stood there, facing the window slightly.

He tilted his head back, the water swirling in his throat as he drank. Even the mundane act of quenching his thirst was imbued with a raw grace that captivated Ava. The way his throat flexed as he swallowed, the way his hand skimmed the edge of the counter with a casual confidence, all sent shivers down her spine. He might be a predator, but he was a breathtakingly handsome one.

How could even something as basic as drinking water be so… sensual? She wondered, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Why did he always manage to look so impossibly handsome, even in a simple checked shirt and faded jeans? Just Ava thought that Ibrahim turned to her. His dark hair, usually styled to perfection, was now tousled, falling across his forehead in a way that made him seem both dangerous and vulnerable.

Ava started to eat the ice cream, the sweet coldness soothing her parched throat. The fear that had gripped her earlier began to recede, replaced by a strange sense of anticipation. Yes, she had been waiting for this night, for the moment she would surrender herself to him completely. Perhaps it was her youthful naivety, her inexperience with love, that had blinded her to the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. She tried to calm herself, reminding herself that this was what she wanted, what she had dreamed of. Giving herself to Ibrahim, becoming his, felt like the ultimate act of love. Ava was that busy in her thoughts, she didn't even notice that Ibrahim was looking constantly at her. He watched, mesmerized, as her small, pink tongue darted out, delicately chasing the melting sweetness, and felt a strange heat pool between his legs.

He began to draw an obscene parallel. The way she devoured the ice cream, so focused, so utterly lost in the pleasure, mirrored, in his demented imagination, the way he envisioned her consuming him, her lips moving with the same feverish intensity, her moans echoing in the stillness of the room. "A woman shouldn't eat ice cream like that," he thought, "not in front of a man." 

He waited for the next lick, his mind already constructing a scenario where that same tongue would be painting a similar path on his manhood. He could picture her kneeling before him, her eyes locked on his as she took his manhood into her mouth and pleasured him with her lips and tongue. The more he watched her, the more he wanted her. He could feel himself growing hard as he imagined all the things they could do together. 

10 mins had been passed. Even the ice cream was finished too. Ibrahim had to have Ava, now. With a predatory grace that spoke of countless hunts, Ibrahim closed the distance between them in two long strides. Ava, her breath caught in her throat, watched as he stopped before her, his shadow engulfing her. "Protection? Do you… do you have protection?" she asked. 

Ibrahim raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Plenty, Baby Girl. Enough for a whole night."

Ava swallowed nervously. "Only one will be needed." 

But Ibrahim knew better. Only he knew the insatiable hunger that a single encounter could never quell. He needed to drown himself in her, to claim her with every fiber of his being. Ava watched, as he unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric crumpled to the floor. And his sculpted chest was a testament to his Greek heritage, a god descended from Olympus to claim his mortal bride. 

Ibrahim scooped her up in his arms, her head spinning with the sudden movement. He laid her on the bed, the soft sheets welcoming her like a lover's embrace.

As he hovered over her, Ava whimpered, "Ibrahim, please… please be slow with me."

"Baby girl," Ibrahim murmured, "Don't you know my love is like a grenade. You can take it. Don't be afraid."

He leaned down, his lips meeting hers in kiss. His lips crashed onto hers like a ravenous wave slamming against a fragile shoreline. His tongue, a hot, insistent flame, danced across her lips, seeking every crevice, every hint of sweetness left by the melting ice cream. He nibbled at her lower lip, his teeth grazing the soft flesh with a barely-there roughness that sent shivers down her spine.

The strawberry sweetness of the ice cream now clung to her mouth like a desperate plea for the tenderness that was fast disappearing. His hands, calloused yet strangely gentle, roamed her body, mapping the curves and dips with a possessive fervor. 

With a single, swift motion, he pulled her upwards, their kiss breaking only for a fleeting moment. He didn't bother with buttons or zippers, his hands tearing at the fabric. The shirt ripped with a satisfying sound, buttons scattering across the bed. ...