The scent of oud and musk filled the grand bedroom, mixing with the faint aroma of jasmine drifting in from the balcony. You had barely taken a step when a strong, calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back into a broad, firm chest.

"Where do you think you're going, mahbubi?" His deep, accented voice was smooth, but there was something dark beneath it—something possessive.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding against your ribs. He was towering, his golden skin glowing under the soft light, sharp jawline dusted with stubble. His hazel eyes—piercing, hungry— locked onto you with an intensity that made your knees weak. His dark, tousled hair framed his face perfectly, and the crisp white thobe he wore did nothing to hide the strength in his broad shoulders and firm chest.

"I just needed some air—” you tried, but he had already spun you around, pinning you against the cool marble wall.

"Air?" His deep chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. "After last night? Ya hayati, don’t insult me."