Chapter 18 – Happened Twice

|| 18. PAIZE 1 ♥ ||

Her dad expressing a need to talk to the celebrity Omar Shaan, was only the tip of the iceberg and Mohana knew the sooner she was able to solve this, the better chance everyone had at survival. Hoping that no one had picked her presence in this designer penthouse, she ran through the halls clutching on to the gadget, reaching the grand patio doors her eyes urgent in their search.

Image of the barely clothed woman seeking to meet Omar made her tummy turn in distaste, his earlier comment further charring her writhing heart: no matter how much credit you give yourself, none of that happened between us. Mohana raked a broken breath reminding herself that he was only the man of her dreams, Zaniha had his heart while the Peggys of the world had the right to undo his jeans button.

Taking laps across the length of the pool Omar seemed unaware of the avalanche coming their way, but her heart thudded loudly for reasons completely different. Resting the device on one of the recliners with as much care her jittery hands could manage, Mohana increased her distance from it.

Ignoring the alert goosebumps on her nape, she tried looking everywhere else but at him, while waving her hand in his direction. When her attempt yielded no return, Mohana reluctantly moved closer to the pool to sway the tasseled end of her saree, hoping a brighter color could deviate his attention from the water.

She stole glances of him in between blinks, admiring his strokes and the magnificent physique to whatever appeared above water but after a few unsuccessful tries to catch his attention, Mohana bent besides the turquoise perimeter, courageously dipping her hand to dabble him a signal. Feeling the icy cold, freezing water she shrieked in surprise “Aawww” tumbling down in the pool herself.

Instantly halting his lap trajectory, Omar had her rescued, scooped in his arms to emerge them from the pool, his voice dripping in concern “Mo stór, say something” but Mohana wordlessly shook her head to convey urgent negation

“Hug me” his authoritative words had her throw shy arms around his neck in abandon of the soaked intricate pink-red saree clinging to her delectable curves

Landing under the gush of hot rainfall, her feet touched the marble floor, yet bound in his warmth her arms held onto him just as they had when she had gotten drenched in the icy coldness. Gently stroking the wet golden strands from her face, Omar murmured “Talk to me, m’anam. I thought my mind was playing games. Did the chill get through you?”

Nervously moving against his torso, Mohana tiptoed attempting a whisper in his ear “Noh. My dad. Your connect”

Tugging her further closer, his arm under the curve of her butt bolted her body to his “Your dad’s on the line?”

She managed a nod through the hot water streaming on her golden head, rampant fluttering in the tummy, her breathing shallow, breasts rubbing against his chest, yet the urgency of the matter had Mohana attempt a whisper again “It buzzed. then stopped. then Connect Sood Residence. that’s why. I came”

Turning them around in the glass enclosure Omar spoke aloud “I’ll call you later Mr. Sood, am in the shower with your daught..” jumping in his hold Mohana clasped her palms on his mouth, halting the sentence from finishing

She shook her head frantically, silently urging him to grasp the peril of the situation when realizing her action she instantly withdrew, letting her arms fall to the sides, hands curling into a fist. The feel of his lips on her palms had blazed a storm through her, overriding existence of everything else that may have prevailed

Chuckling, Omar moved them away from the opening, securing her in the steamy enclosure once again “Your dad’s not on the line, or he’d have said something all along when you squealed falling into the pool”

Frowning at her own erroneous mistake, her lips forming a pout, she demanded “Why couldn’t you have said that before?”

“There are a lot of things I could tell you, but it depends when you’d want to listen..” caressing her chiseled jawline, the back of his fingers ran along the column of her neck “..Tell me you’re alright? No shivers?”

Bound in his magnificence, her chest heaved relentlessly finding him appear more closer, butterflies fluttering to his whisper touches, eyes swooping lower to halt at his lips, words becoming a breathless mess yet she nervously filled the silence “Noh. I. no. shiv..ers. First?”

“First” Omar huskily confirmed, his thumb lightly circling her cheek, sloping to tease the corner of her mouth. His warmth superseding the hot water pelting from the enormous shower above made her heart run wild with unbridled cravings, wanting to feel the velvety tingle she had felt on her palms, to spread all over herself

Standing melded under the steamy rainfall, Omar tilted her face, making Mohana look into his glimmering black eyes, their lips breathing into each other, leaving no room for even a drop of water to escape from between.

Dismissing her enamored desires of getting drenched in his touch, Mohana gripped onto the wet saree forming all the words that she could “Soren! Thunderous! It was his first winter dip too. Feelings and all the moodiness and the immune system. It helps. But am anyways cold. I am a cold person so I don’t do it because I.. I.. don’t have feelings”

Fastening his grip on her, Omar hoarsely enquired “How do you know it was his first?”

Nervously gulping, attempting to catch on her breath, she genuinely rattled more information “I took his interview. For Sophista. Twenty one months ago. He won the Foundational Award. The best hero. the award. Because he is the best hero”

“Sure. I’ll read all about it and refresh my knowledge on the best hero of all times..” Omar gritted before adding “..Slip out of this. We’ll grab a robe”

Taken by surprise her fist lost grip on the saree sash “No. I didn’t mean to disturb your meditating time. Uhm I’ll go and it will dry..” she helplessly looked at the red fabric clinging to her body like a cocoon wrap

“Change. Am closing my eyes” his order made Mohana hastily begin fumbling with the yards of fabric swathing her

Stripping the tasseled end from across the cropped top, she looped the fabric in the crook of her arm attempting to peel the delicate layers sticking to each other. She circled in the shower to figure the wet attire which appeared way more difficult than it did dry, adding to that his overpowering presence didn’t fetch nervous fingers any productive return.

Consciously turning her back to the attractive man, Mohana struggled to ease the saree from the other side when her grip on the tasseled end loosened instead, making her tumble on the silken material “Aw”

Falling backwards, she instinctively reached for Omar when he at once secured her to himself “Alright?”

Clasping onto his forearm for support, she shyly informed “No..” squeaking a whisper “..can I ask for help?”

“When am meditating, I don’t encourage anyone in my home, patio or anywhere around me” he ground out the words making her nervously gulp

She frantically shook her head in refusal then grasping his eyes were closed, she declared her stand “Oh. uh. ya. no. uhm I.. I thought you? because you are the designer?”

“Sure, that can be the only course of action anyways and for that we play fair, you get to close your eyes too” his assurance made her timidness only too glad, urgently approving to see less of his attractive physique, despite her entirety rebelling to the idea her raging shyness won

Standing bound to him, rapidly scrunching her eyes shut, she obediently informed “Yah. Done. Closed”

Her emphatic butterflies traced his hand traversing across the expanse from her cropped top to the saree sitting below the curve of her waist, swarms of them halting at her belly button when his fingers managed the wet pleats, eager to meet his moves with vigorous flutter.

Nails dug into his forearm unable to manage the surge of heat circling through her, yet unsure if she ever wanted this trial to get over. After the skirt clinging to her legs got smoothly eased, Mohana got turned in his arms, her heaving breasts brushing against his torso.

Murmuring “Knot” Omar reached for the bow on the back of her top. The soaked loop took some tackling for the mayhem inside her to only multiply manifold. Overwhelmed with the incessant fluttering in her tummy, heart loudly thumping, a needy desire flooded with force again, aching to feel his lips and not just on her palms this time.

She burnt crimson grasping his touch around the back closure of her lace bra but when his touch disappeared, a jolting disappointment ran through her. Swirled away from the hot pouring rain she got clad into a plush robe. Binning her cravings unwarranted, she shoved away her impulse, consciously easing her grip on his arm. Eyes still closed, taking a cautious step away, she pushed her arms through the towel cape, murmuring a whisper “Open? I’ll go?”

“No. Am the designer” claiming huskily, reaching for her waist, Omar pulled her against him

His fingers slipped into the side of her lace panties, easing them to drop to her ankles while fluently snapping the bra free with his other hand he rid her of the strapless lace. Tying a knot to secure her robe, Omar had a stunned Mohana scooped in his arms who was still grasping onto the occurrences, when he whispered “Open now? To see you?”

“Hm” hiding into him, his robe muffled her agreement but a faint sense of familiarity washed over at his words making her head run into a crazy havoc

No matter how many repetitions she ran within herself of Omar Shaan being a superstar celebrity who could only ever exist in her dreams, nothing helped remind her of the past hours spent with the handsome designer or convince a single butterfly in the present. Instead the ruckus he had ensued raged merrily inside her, making her ecstatic heart only think about the pink lace lingerie her dream man had touched.

|| 18. PAIZE 2 ♥ ||

Carrying Mohana through his penthouse, making way inside the walk in closet, Omar halted them along the columns of shelves decked in endless colors. A variety of ensembles neatly coordinated by their shades, lengths, types of fabric, were organized on hangers illuminating under the sprinkling of lights. Slipping Mohana along his frame, letting her feet land on the heated floors, Omar set her wet locks to the side keeping her bound ahead of him “Which color do we want?”

“Pink” Mohana declared automatically, basking in the warmth of his proximity, looking at the rows of luxurious clothes ahead, her heart rampant at the mesmerizing strokes on her neck, a short pink dress embodying the color of her favorite camellia flowers caught instant attention

Unsure if she was indeed living an entire dream snuggled into her fluffy Polo, Mohana turned in his hold to glance at the bronzed torso peeking from the lapels of his bath robe, courageously landing a finger on his chest she whispered a confirmation to herself “Hard”

“I’ll change. Once we get yours decided” hold fastening on her waist, Omar rushed a response which strangely sounded part conviction and part promise but Mohana glowed in ecstatic happiness listening to the velvety rich voice, grasping a reassurance for she was really with him. Looking at the lovely display of outfits, thoughts of her favorite flowers, pink-red saree, matching lace which Omar had undone, her heart joyfully landed on the fine pink dress again.

Motioning for the dress to roll ahead in the wardrobe track, Omar whispered “I like this one too”

Swiveling in its hanger the dress spun around for Mohana to admire the slim shoulder straps, fitted bodice, feathered accent of layers on the flowy skirt, each delicately trimmed with golden threaded work. Appreciating the intricate dress swaying in its entirety, soaking his presence, her palms curled close capturing the reminder of having felt his lips against them as moments of their togetherness gradually started to sink.

Belonging to the man of her dreams, cocooned in his warmth, surrounded by layers of her favorite pink, all seemed like an exceptional fulfillment, barring none of it could hold true beyond her fantasies. On a quivery breath Mohana made a note of getting a vase of her favorite flowers when she reached home, buckling into accepting the fact that had been rampantly knocking: she had outstayed the welcome.

The only reality between Omar Shaan and her could ever be Sophista. He had made it amply clear, for Mohana wouldn’t have been with him if it wasn’t for the missing box of chocolates. Guilt surged through her conscious because despite rigorously dragging Omar through stages of fainting, shivering, loosing senses, stealing brownies and falling into his pool, she still had no answer for the chocolates he wanted.

Humbly turning around in his embrace, she murmured “It’s an amazing dress, exceptionally pretty but I cannot wear it, I’ll g..”

“You can, the drawers will have any matching lace you’d want and if you’re nice to me I’ll help you as your designer” his fingers twirled between her wet locks, smoothing tendrils wrapping them around his fingers

She blinked, absorbing his words. Doused in the delirious world of her own pink fantasies, she had overlooked the very reality that she could not be the only woman to have stepped in this closet.

Heart writhing painfully, Mohana hammered sense into herself that Omar Shaan, the top notch fashion designer, not only had luxurious toothbrushes and dresses for his women but also a variety of lingerie pairings to go with whatever color they chose. His words reverberated through her matter how much credit you give yourself, none of that happened between us..

There was his Zaniha and then there were the Peggys of this world, although for Mohana, she had remained short of achieving even that status. She agitatedly breathed, gripping onto the belt of her robe blocking the memory of his lips on her palms ..a cold and sad gold digger that nobody wants..

Lightly pushing on his chest to free herself, Mohana forced a wide smile “Ya. No. I’ll go. I’ll change. I have my clothes in my travel bag. I’ll.. washroom” leaving behind her designer celebrity, she made a dash

Blinking her glassy eyes, she haphazardly sifted through her belongings in the large suitcase. The set of her own pink lace, a color she had only a while ago been set on wearing for the rest of her life got buried to the bottom of her bag. Locking herself in the washroom, Mohana slumped on the floor hiding her face in her palms, words charring her heart are colorless just like these hollow eyes your mother gave you, a cold and sad gold digger that nobody wants, including your own parents..

Crossing her arms, Mohana hugged herself, chanting vehemently “I am colorless. No one wants me. I am cold and sad. I don’t have feelings but I am not a gold digger. I am not. Her words don’t matter. Nothing matters. Only my work matters”

The little black dress skimming above her knees, exceptionally enhanced the curves of the delectable figure, much to the ignorance of the woman adorning it. The short puffed black see-through sleeves, wide square neck and flared skirt sat in exquisite contrast to her silver-blonde hair and ivory skin.

Bravely creaking the washroom door open, Mohana reviewed the occupancy of the room ahead, adamantly running her two point checklist again: pick wet clothes from the patio shower and leave. Certain that Carter would arrange for the porter to rescue her baggage at a later time, all she wanted was to disappear from this reality and have her staff re-order the chocolates she had lost.

Not seeing the bedroom occupied, she inhaled a breath of confidence, and determined to escape his presence altogether, she bravely stepped out. Checking the hallway once over, she scurried on her toes crossing the kitchen and breakfast area, instantly coming to crouch at the roof patio doors to minimize visibility from the pool.

Tracing the way to the expansive outdoor shower, her cheeks blazed glancing at the bits of pink lace strewn along the saree ensemble on the marble floor. All along nagging herself for being such a wanton, Mohana haphazardly folded the long saree fabric bounding within it’s peripherals and her delicates.

On the stern acknowledgement that snooping around someone else’s property could warrant a criminal offense, she hurriedly clutched the bundle of wet clothes to her chest. Dismissing a cold shiver, her moves fastened, yet keeping caution in mind, she reviewed the corridors diligently to map next steps.

Sprinting short distances on her toes, pausing at the corners to ensure her whereabouts while searching for the way out, she halted along each segue but all the fancy doors with their ornate detailing appeared internal, mimicking the same design of the bedroom door, none of them evident of being an exit.

Unsuccessful in her investigation, her eyes rolled in exasperation, enraged at her own incompetency when her glance zoned to a tucked away overlook. Ecstatic at the new discovery Mohana made a spree to find a landing leading to a lower floor but contrary to her expectations there were no steps, instead a posh sloping bridge which could only resemble a slide lay ahead connecting the floors.

She took a hesitant step back to bang into the wall of steel, the barricade of a strong arm slipping across her waist as the masculine voice enquired “You don’t like slides?”

“Um. uh.. I do” her words halted getting pulled down to sit at the head of the sloping surface, heart racing at his presence she leaned back on his chest, ensuring to cling onto him, her fingers tucked on to the belt loop of his denims “But you. I. uhm we can’t play like this. on a slide of all things!”

“Why? I was of the opinion it could be a lot of fun” Omar murmured, setting her silken hair to the side, the back of his fingers brushed along the column of her neck. Her cheeks burned with color, a distinct rush building inside at his touch, more than she agreed to accept

Shifting her legs to climb atop his denim clad ones, she stressed her conviction “Noh. you can’t let me go. and. and I am not going to let you go”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s why we’re trying this together” twirling a golden lock wrapping it along his thick fingers, Omar let them ease on the swirling slide

Mohana hid her face on his chest, the protective shield of wet clothes long forgotten as the rattling conscious nagged her for taking his advantage but the sassy butterflies enjoyed their own flutter. The divide of incessantly wanting to belong with him for a forever despite knowing it would never get fulfilled, Mohana determinedly soaked this moment, relishing the strength of his presence.

Reclined on the slide, holding Mohana securely, Omar cupped her face making her look up “You like black? more than let’s say pink?”

Hoping to catch a gleam of glitter she stared into his eyes which remained void of any luring speck, when caressing his thumb along her chiseled jaw, Omar murmured a reminder “Hm?”

“Ya. um..” she sincerely explained her stand “..It’s not that. This dress is mine and I think it’s really delicate, I like the subtle silver thread work on it. I can’t wear all of the things that you design because nothing happened and I didn’t take advantage of you like that”

|| 18. PAIZE 3 ♥ ||

“And who is the designer for this delicate black dress of yours?” Omar asked, his fingers traveling the column of her neck making goosebumps on her nape dance, rendering her nearly breathless

Her blaring face blushed further, eyes shyly swooping lower, landing on his lips though getting conscious of the chaos brewing in her tummy she attempted to divert her gaze to his torso, which had been left bereft of any threads yet again. Giving up, Mohana stared instead at the wet bundled saree she held between them “It’s not really a label designer but it’s my team? Salm and his designers”

“How about this, you liked the saree?” tipping her chin Omar had their eyes locked into each other again

The entire tying and untying of the ensemble, had Mohana clutch harder on to the fabric in her hold “Ya. Beyond the whole newness of the object and the technique around it uh.. um and. and. its so pretty! Jojo said it was made from one of the most intricately woven fabrics at Sarrata and it doesn’t need a label, it is designer if you look at it like that because of the art that went into it crafting it”

“I guess, if you say. But perhaps you’d like to rest it here, because it’s leaving your delicate black dress wet” Omar eased the soaking bundle from her fingers

“Oh. I didn’t mean to..” she instinctively touched the wet patch on his chest but the spark of his skin against hers, had her fingers curl “I’ll.. towel? when we’re off this? slide?”

“Nah, it’ll dry. How do you select these dresses that have been designed by Salm and his team?” anchoring her closer, ridding the vortex the wet clothes had left, Omar twirled another golden wave, smoothing it between his fingers

Overriding thoughts of wanting a touch of his lips, Mohana rushed the explanation “Jojo? Jojo coordinates it with the design room. Our team is really talented, they are always creating wonderful samples for our issues and if there’s something we want, we request them, like those vel.. uh I wore a dress recently which Jojo had requested our team to design”

“The blue velvet dress with pink flowers that you had worn the night of our interview?” Mohana gave him a shy nod, completely awed by his exceptional memory of her, just like the night had left an imprint for herself

“So you have never considered wearing anything that could be precisely designed by me?” hearing his enquiry, Mohana accepted the oddity of her frivolous expectations. It wasn’t her that Omar Shaan had remembered, it had been the dress, its color, material and embroidery, because outfits and their details were his ace game

“No, I like my own selection and I can’t..” abruptly halting she looked at the bundle of wet clothes besides them which appeared stationary “..uhm we came down? the slide?”

“Been a while, slides are usually fast” his nonchalant response made her shuffle in his hold

Attempting to straighten from being all over him, Mohana shyly gripped onto his jeans pocket for support “Yes. ya. but why are we uh like here?”

“Because we were busy talking about your dresses, designer and how you don’t wear anything designed by me” pulling her to stand, Omar scooped her in his arms

“No. but. we can’t do this” the feeling of his muscular arm under her thighs had Mohana shift in his embrace, nearly giving up on managing her butterflies magnetized to his touch altogether

Making way from the swiveling slide, Omar settled them against plump cushions on a large swing bed “I think it is a yes, because that’s what we have been waiting to discuss, but then you prioritized mapping the penthouse layout”

“Noh. I was. I had to leave and I didn’t want to disturb you because I had interrupted you before at the pool and so. I was trying to find the door myself” she glanced at the huge swing hung by chunky ropes, decked with numerous pillows and a plush pink throw gracing one corner

“Of course, because we can’t talk, we can’t meet, we can’t see each other..” she timidly nodded in agreement of her own words which Omar echoed “..but we can shower together..” her palms instinctively landed on his mouth

Courageously inhaling a breath glancing at her hands, Mohana haphazardly pulled them away declaring “That. wasn’t. that. we did. we cannot. it was uh an accident! because I fell in your winter swimming pool”

“In that saree that needed help to..” her palms landed on his lips again wanting to block his words but her vehemently pounding heart seemed to relish his touch

“Noh. That wasn’t what it was. because its. its..” she gulped, pulling her hands away from his lips, nervous of the sparks his touch invigorated through her “..its a designer piece. and it is difficult and I didn’t want to ruin my dress and anyways it was once in a lifetime happen chance sort of because its not like that its ever happening again”

“It happened twice..” her cheeks blared with heat at his claim, fighting the want to touch his lips again she clasped her fists tighter “..I’d consider myself an expert by this time for removing that piece of clothing”

Questions from his exposé interview flashed before her eyes: does Omar Shaan ever rip his own creation from the women before making love; after a night of passion does Omar Shaan enjoy dressing his women. Searing in fumes she recalled his flirty response: ..depends on the designs, the mood and the company I am in..

Throttling the agitation she felt at the memory, masking the pain wrenching her heart, Mohana gave him a sugary smile “Of course, expert. I’d say you’re even acing the expert level when you have a palace of outfits and delectable lace in every shade for those women that you rip clothes off and then make them wear your designer dresses the next morning..” she forced her smile wider then on a frown enquired instead “..What if this falls with my weight?”

Omar raised his eyebrows at that concern. The petite, slim women in his arms didn’t seem to be making light of the situation as she curiously glanced at the ropes and roof trusses from which the swing was supported. Giving her a mischievous smile he spun a cushion on the floor, followed by another “We’ve mitigated the risk, we should be good now”

“There’s a difference between a sack of flour and a fluffy pillow” incredulously looking at him, Mohana shifted on his lap instinctively getting bound to him, ensuring she was protectively contained in his boundary

Wrapping his arm around her, Omar tugged her closer “Given the enlightenment in weight bearing can you kindly shine some light on my query as well, for being such an expert, when you have so many women interested in what I’ve designed, how come you never decided to wear anything from me?”

Pushing back on his chest slightly, lost in her own concern of the swing, Mohana crossed her legs securely like a pretzel on his lap and busily eyeing the cord knots on the corners of the bed, she offhandedly informed “I can’t afford your label”

Diverting her from inspecting the swing, cupping her face Omar made her look at him “You tried to think of getting something designed by me? And you figured you couldn’t afford it, as the editor-in-chief for Sophista and the heiress to Rauchos?”

“It didn’t cross my mind to look at your collections because I know for a fact, I won’t wear anything you ever design. But I have been overall informed not everyone can afford your label just as easily and am anyways saving my salary. Contrary to what you or anyone else thinks of me, I won’t ask my parents for a designer dress just because I’ve lost my marbles” she ran an entire explanation wanting to get back to the gigantic swing that had her anxious for survival but his fingers wrapping around her nape resisted any other distraction besides his own

“A fact? that you won’t wear anything that I ever design?” his words swiveled like a dagger piercing through her heart

Her lower lip quivered at the excruciating divide of reality, but courageously holding her chin high Mohana established “Of course. I am not like your fans, like those Peggys of the world who want to open your jeans buttons and want autographs on their shirtless bodies, throwing themselves at you for all the luxurious stuff you design. In case you have forgotten I only dream about Soren Rick. Everyone thinks he is one of the most handsome man to ever exist, who may or may not own your designer label but if anything I’d rather be his fan because I only watch his movies, I only like his jackets and I only want hi..”

“Not another word about that scripted jerk” Omar growled a warning tugging her so close for Mohana gulped nervously

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