Forbiddenly Bound To You
Chapter 74: Artwork

Chapter 74: Artwork

*WARNING*

This Chapter contains mature content. Please skip this Chapter and move on to the next if you feel uncomfortable. Rated 18.

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Zamian pulled Mira close, his gaze lingering on the delicate lingerie that hugged her curves, accentuating her beauty. He traced his fingers along the fabric, feeling the warmth radiating from her body.

"SHRAA!"

The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the room as the lingerie fell away, leaving her exposed . Zamian scooped her into his arms, their bodies melding together in a fiery embrace. His hand slid over her bare behind, igniting a spark of shock and excitement in Mira’s wide eyes. With a teasing grin, he delivered a gentle slap, causing a gasp to escape her lips.

As he began to kiss her neck, slowly and deliberately, his lips trailed down to her collarbone, igniting a shiver of pleasure that coursed through her body. His hand moved to her breasts, cupping them with a possessive tenderness, his fingers kneading them softly. Mira’s breath hitched as she surrendered to the sensations overwhelming her senses.

"Ahhhm," she moaned, the sound escaping her lips unbidden.

"Z... Zamian—ahh..." she managed to whisper between kisses, her heart racing as he lavished attention on her. His mouth was a warm, intoxicating presence against her skin, igniting a fire deep within her.

He finally laid her down on the plush bed, a predatory glint in his eyes as he admired her, taking in the way the soft sheets contrasted with her golden skin. She was breathtaking, and he felt an insatiable desire to explore every inch of her. Removing his shirt, he revealed his toned physique, the muscles rippling under the dim light. Mira’s pulse quickened, and her eyes widened with awe.

"Already so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He let his fingers dance over her inner thighs, teasing her with gentle caresses that made her writhe beneath him. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, tangled in an electric connection.

"Oh... Z... Zamian," Mira gasped, her body arching toward him, craving more of his touch.

"Not yet, baby. Not yet," he teased, his fingers pausing just as she felt herself on the edge of ecstasy. He relished the power he held over her, watching as her cheeks flushed with desire and frustration.

Mira’s mind raced, battling the whirlwind of sensations enveloping her. She couldn’t believe how far they had come. Every kiss, every gentle caress felt like an exploration of uncharted territory, pushing her limits in ways she never thought possible. The heat between them was undeniable, a magnetic force that drew them closer.

With a swift motion, Zamian lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss that stole her breath away. It was intoxicating—his taste, his warmth, the way he cradled her face in his hands. The kiss deepened, igniting a fire that spread through her entire being. She responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as they melted into each other.

Mira’s body ached for him, the tension building within her like a coiled spring ready to snap. As their kisses became more urgent, she could feel the weight of the world outside their bubble fade away. This moment was theirs alone, and nothing else mattered.

Mira slowly woke up, groggily blinking her eyes open. Her body ached slightly, especially her inner thigh, a physical reminder of the previous night. However, her mind didn’t linger on the discomfort for long. A smell—a delicious one—drifted toward her nose, pulling her attention away from her body. She blinked again, trying to make sense of it, then sat up in bed, her gaze sweeping across the room.

Her heart skipped a beat. ’Was Zamian in the kitchen?’

The very idea made her feel both curious and anxious. Zamian had never struck her as someone who’d be at ease in a kitchen, and yet, here he was, the clinking of dishes confirming her suspicion. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she hurried out of bed, ignoring the lingering ache. She rushed to the kitchen, her feet padding softly on the cold floor.

As she approached, her eyes widened at the sight before her. Zamian, his tall figure slightly hunched, stood by the stove, busy preparing what appeared to be breakfast. To her utter disbelief, he was doing it perfectly. His movements were fluid and precise, almost as if he’d done this countless times before. Beside him, his phone was propped up, a MeTuber’s voice playing instructions.

"Now, let it sit for fifteen minutes," the voice on the phone instructed.

Mira blinked in astonishment. She had never imagined Zamian in such a domestic scene, and yet, here he was, cooking breakfast as though it were second nature to him. His hair was slightly tousled, giving him a more casual look, though it didn’t take away from his usual striking appearance. In fact, it made him look even more approachable, which was rare for someone as intense as Zamian.

Just as she was processing the surreal sight, her gaze traveled to his neck. Her breath caught in her throat. The marks...The faint scratches on his skin were unmistakable, and realization dawned on her.

"Good morning," Zamian greeted, his voice surprisingly bright, a stark contrast to his usual calm or stoic demeanor.

Mira’s cheeks flushed immediately, her embarrassment evident. "Y-Your n-neck..." she stammered, unable to tear her eyes away from the marks she’d left on him the previous night. Did I really do that?

Zamian noticed her gaze and smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You made them. Quite the artwork," he teased, his voice carrying a playful edge.

Mira’s blush deepened, and she quickly shifted her gaze to the floor, her hands fidgeting nervously. What had gotten into her last night? The memories came flooding back in vivid flashes—her hands clawing at his neck, the way she had lost control, the way her inhibitions had vanished in the heat of the moment. She could hardly believe it.

"G-Good morning," she mumbled awkwardly, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she had scratched him, leaving visible marks on his flawless skin.

Zamian’s gaze softened, his smirk fading into a gentle smile. "There’s no need to feel shy, Mira," he reassured her, his tone laced with understanding. "I rather enjoyed it."

Her eyes darted to him, shocked by his casual confession. He enjoyed it? She didn’t know what to make of that, but her cheeks flared up even more at the thought.

Just then, the MeTuber’s voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "Now, remove the pan and turn off the gas."

Zamian, seemingly unfazed by the tension between them, turned back to the stove, following the instructions with ease. He moved with a sense of grace that didn’t belong in the kitchen. His hands, strong yet gentle, handled the meal with a surprising level of care.

As Mira watched him, a thought struck her: he looked like the perfect husband in that moment—calm, caring, and somehow incredibly skilled in the kitchen. It was a side of him she had never seen before, a side that made her heart flutter in an unexpected way.

Once the food was ready, they sat down to eat. Zamian handed her a bowl of soup, his expression soft yet unreadable.

"Have this. It will help ease the pain," he said with a gentle smile.

Mira’s eyes widened as she accepted the bowl, her cheeks flushing a deep pink at his thoughtfulness. She hadn’t expected him to be so considerate. It was almost disarming.

"Th-Thank you," she whispered, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze.

They ate in relative silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound filling the room. Despite the quiet, Mira’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—embarrassment, confusion, and a budding warmth she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. She couldn’t shake the memory of last night, the way Zamian had held her, the way he had looked at her...the way she had let herself go in his arms. It was overwhelming.

After breakfast, Zamian stood and began clearing the table. Mira, still caught in her thoughts, followed suit, helping him with the dishes. The silence between them felt comfortable, but Mira’s heart raced with every subtle glance they exchanged. She wasn’t used to this—this easy intimacy between them.

As they finished cleaning up, Mira turned to head toward the bathroom, eager for a moment to herself. But before she could leave, Zamian’s voice stopped her.

"Do you want to freshen up?" he asked, his voice softer than before, concern lacing his words.

Mira paused, nodding slightly. Her body still felt tender from the night before, and the idea of a warm bath sounded appealing.

"Does it still hurt?" Zamian’s voice came again, filled with a tenderness she hadn’t expected.

She hesitated before answering, her cheeks flushing once more. "N-No... just a little," she admitted, her gaze shifting to the side, avoiding his eyes.

Zamian’s lips curled into a small smile, his tone taking on a teasing edge once more. "Once we do it constantly, it won’t hurt anymore."

Mira’s eyes widened in shock.’Constantly?’ Did he really just say that? Her mind raced, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again. What was he even implying? The shamelessness in his casual statement left her speechless.

"I don’t mind doing it all day," he added nonchalantly, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Mira’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. She was too stunned to respond. ’All day?’ Was he serious? Did he really think that was something she could handle—physically or emotionally?

"It’s fine," she finally muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. All she wanted was for the conversation to end. The tension was too much to bear, and she desperately needed a break from his teasing.

Zamian, noticing her discomfort, softened his tone.

"If you’re still feeling hurt, I can help... I can bathe you,"