Chapter 14: Caught in the Act
The bathroom’s fluorescent light hummed like a dying insect over Mustafa’s slumped form. Ran’s silhouette filled the doorway, her contempt a physical force in the small, damp space. “You disgust me,” she said, her voice flat, stepping in to snatch his phone from the edge of the sink. Her thumb swiped, the screen illuminating her face with the same explicit photos she’d sent him days before—her own body splayed open for Fahad’s thick, dark cock. “You get off on this?” She shoved the glowing image toward his wet face. “Look at it.” He did, a choked sob catching in his throat as his own hand, still slick, moved faster on his pathetic, twitching shaft. “You want to be him? You could never.” She dropped the phone onto his bare thigh and left, the door gaping open to the indifferent apartment. He came then, a weak, thin spurt over his stomach and the phone screen, his release blurring the image of her ecstasy. The silence after was absolute, broken only by the drip of the faucet into the pool of his shame. He didn’t move for an hour, the dried film tightening on his skin. Later, in the dark bedroom, he felt her slip into bed, the mattress groaning as she turned her back. “He’s taking me to the Pearl Tower tomorrow,” she whispered into the darkness, not a share, but a violation. “He likes to fuck me where the whole city could see.” Mustafa said nothing, his body rigid, smelling the unfamiliar, expensive cederwood soap she now used. Her hand, cold and deliberate, slid under the sheet to grasp him. It remained soft as old fruit in her clutch. “Useless,” she sighed, releasing him and rolling away. He stared at the ceiling until dawn, the ghost of Fahad’s satisfied grin imprinted on the dark.