From contract to ishq - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Four Years Later the late afternoon sun bathed the sprawling lawn of Yaram Shah’s Karachi bungalow in a golden glow, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and jasmine.
Minahil sat on a cushioned swing under the tree, her seven-month pregnant belly round and heavy beneath her flowing kameez.
She watched her three-year-old twin sons, Ayaan and Zayaan, chase each other across the grass, their laughter echoing like music.
Ayaan, the bolder of the two, clutched a bright red cricket ball, while Zayaan, ever the strategist, darted behind a rose bush, plotting an ambush.
“Ayaan, dheere!”
she called, her voice warm but firm. “Zayaan ko girne mat dena!”
Ayaan grinned, his dark curls bouncing, and tossed the ball gently to his brother. Zayaan caught it, squealing, and ran toward her, his tiny feet pattering. “Ammi, dekho! Mein jeet gya!”
Minahil clapped, her heart swelling. “Welldone, meri jaan!”
She pulled him onto her lap, kissing his sweaty forehead.
Ayaan followed, clambering up and nestling against her side. Their warmth, their soft chatter, filled her with a joy so deep it ached.
Four years ago, she’d been drowning in debt and doubt, unsure of her rushed nikaah to Yaram.
Now, her life was a tapestry of love—messy, vibrant, and hers.The gate creaked, and Yaram’s SUV rolled in.
The twins scrambled off her lap, shouting,
“Abbu! Abbu!”
They bolted toward him, their small legs a blur. Yaram stepped out, his suite slightly rumpled from a long day at Shah Enterprises, where he’d taken over as president after his mother’s retirement.
His face lit up as he scooped both boys into his arms, one on each shoulder, their giggles infectious.
“Kaun Hai yeh?” he teased, spinning them gently.
“Yeh toh mere sher hain!”
Minahil rose, her hand resting on her belly, and waddled toward them. Yaram’s eyes found hers, softening with that familiar heat that still made her pulse race.
He set the twins down, who ran back to their game, and closed the distance to her.
“Assalamu Alaikum, jaan” he murmured, kissing her forehead, then her lips, lingering just enough to spark warmth in her core.
“Walaikum Assalam,”
she replied, smiling.
“How was work?".
“Boring without you.”
His hand slid to her belly, caressing the curve.
“Meri beti kesi hai?”
She laughed, covering his hand with hers.
“ Bohat active hai aaj.”
He grinned, kneeling to press his ear to her belly, his hands framing her hips. “ Meri princess, Apni ammi ko zyada tang mat karna!”
The baby kicked, and Yaram’s eyes widened, delighted.
“Dekha? Meri baat sunti hai!”
Minahil swatted his shoulder playfully. “Haan, jaise Ayaan aur Zayaan sunte hain.”
They laughed, the sound mingling with the twins’ chatter.
Yaram pulled her close, his arm around her waist, and they watched their sons play, the cricket ball now forgotten in favor of a mock sword fight with sticks.
Life wasn’t perfect—there were sleepless nights, toddler tantrums, and the occasional argument over Yaram’s overprotectiveness—but it was theirs, built on love that had grown stronger with every shared moment.
Dinner was a lively affair, with Ayaan insisting on feeding himself biryani and smearing it across his face, while Zayaan meticulously separated his peas, declaring them
“yucky.”
Minahil and Yaram exchanged amused glances, their hands brushing under the table.
After baths and bedtime stories—Zayaan demanded a tale about a brave astronaut, while Ayaan wanted a lion king—the twins finally drifted off in their shared room, their soft snores filling the baby monitor.
Minahil stood in the master bedroom, brushing her hair at the vanity, her silk nightdress loose over her pregnant belly.
The door clicked, and Yaram entered, his shirt already unbuttoned, revealing the toned chest that still made her breath catch.
He locked the door, his eyes darkening as they roamed her reflection in the mirror.
“Bache so gaye?”
he asked, voice low, stepping behind her.
“Haan, dono out hain.”
She set the brush down, her pulse quickening as his hands settled on her hips.
He pressed himself against her back, his lips grazing her neck.
“Toh ab mera time hai.”
She turned in his arms, her hands sliding up his chest.
“Aur mera bhi.”
His mouth claimed hers, hungry yet tender, his tongue teasing hers in a slow dance.
He lifted her carefully, mindful of her belly, and carried her to the bed, laying her on the soft sheets.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, peeling her nightdress up and off, his fingers tracing her curves—fuller now with pregnancy.
Her skin flushed under his gaze, desire pooling low.
“Aap bhi kuch kam nahi ho.”
She tugged his kurta off, her nails grazing his abs, earning a low groan.
He kissed her deeply, his hands roaming—cupping her swollen breasts, teasing her sensitive nipples until she gasped. “Yaram, dheere,”
she whispered, half-laughing, half-moaning.
“Ok, jaan.”
His voice was a growl, but his touch softened, worshipping her. He trailed kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, lingering at her breasts, sucking gently until she arched beneath him.
His hand slid lower, parting her thighs, finding her already wet.
"My Minahil, always ready for me." She moaned as his fingers circled her clit, slow and deliberate, building heat with every stroke.
“Aap… mujhe pagal kar dete hain,” she panted, her hands gripping his shoulders.
“Good. Kyunki tum ne mujhe kab se pagal kiya hua hai.”
He slipped a finger inside her, curling it against her walls, his thumb still teasing her clit. Her hips bucked, pleasure spiraling, and she came with a soft cry, her body trembling against the sheets.
Yaram’s cock throbbed, straining against his shalwar.
He shed it quickly, positioning himself between her legs, careful to keep his weight off her belly.
“Theek hai?”
he asked, eyes searching hers.
“Haan, bas… abhi.”
She pulled him closer, needing him.
He entered her slowly, her tightness drawing a groan from deep in his chest. “Allah, tum… perfect ho.”
He moved with measured thrusts, each one deeper, their bodies finding a rhythm honed by years of love. Minahil’s nails dug into his back, her moans filling the room as pleasure built again.
“Yaram, tez,”
she urged, her voice breathless.
He obliged, his pace quickening, his cock hitting that spot that made her see stars. “Tum meri ho,”
he growled, possessive and tender.
“Hamesha.”
Her second orgasm hit, her body clenching around him, pulling him over the edge.
He spilled inside her with a shuddering groan, collapsing carefully beside her, their breaths mingling.
He pulled her close, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
"I love you jaan."
“And I love you.”
She nestled against him, her hand on her belly, feeling their baby stir.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, and Minahil woke to the sound of Ayaan and Zayaan giggling in the hallway.
Yaram was already up, wrestling playfully with the twins on the living room rug when she joined them, her hair mussed and her kameez slightly wrinkled.
“Ammi!”
Zayaan ran to her, hugging her legs. “Abbu kehte hain hum park ja rahe hain!”
Ayaan tugged her hand.
“Aur ice cream bhi khaen ge!”
Yaram stood, grinning, and pulled her into a side embrace.
“Kya kehti ho, meri jaan? Family day?”
She smiled, her heart full.
“Haan, perfect hai.”
As they piled into the SUV, the twins chattering about swings and slides, Minahil leaned her head on Yaram’s shoulder, his hand resting on her thigh. Four years ago, she’d been a stranger to him, bound by a deal.
Now, they are a family—chaotic, loving, and complete. With another child on the way, their future stretched ahead, bright and boundless, rooted in a love that had defied all odds.
"Aapko kya lagta hai, humari beti kaisi hogi?”
she asked, her voice soft.
Yaram squeezed her hand, his eyes warm.
“Jaise tum— meri puri duniya.”
She laughed, and as the SUV rolled toward the park, their twins’ laughter filling the air, Minahil knew this was her forever—messy, beautiful, and theirs.