They lounged on her couch, half-nude and relaxed, for longer than Zahir realized. By the time he thought to check his phone, an hour had gone by in comfortable conversation and lighthearted laughter.

“If you keep sitting with these out,” Zahir smoothed his hand over the lush curve of her breast, “we’ll be forced to start round two.”

“Forced, huh?”

He smiled as she stood up, squeezing his shoulder on her way to the kitchen. She came back with a pitcher of water and two glasses. “Water? I also have wine.”

“No. I just want you.” He hooked her at the waist, bringing her down onto his lap. She giggled, rubbing her butt against his groin as she settled into place.

“Is this how we should work from now on?” She glanced back at him, mischief on her face. “We can just merge our offices. I’ll sit on top of you in all meetings.”

He laughed. “That would be my dream come true.”

She poured two glasses of water from her perch on his lap while thoughts about work began skulking through his mind.

“You know…” he said after a moment.

“What?” She turned, handing him a glass.

“What happened tonight…and before…” He sipped at his water, feeling suddenly parched. “I needed it then, and I needed it now.”

“Me too,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m going to keep needing it, too.” He squeezed her left hip with his free hand.

She smirked, looking back at him. “What are you getting at?”

“I don’t want to keep playing this game. This thing between us can’t be ignored.” His heart raced while he spoke, like the mere words uncorked a well he hadn’t been expecting. Heat rushed through him. “But I don’t want to lie or lead you on, either.”

She turned on his lap, her legs hanging over the side of the couch. “Okay.”

“I have…obligations,” he said, his neck heating at the mere reference to his pending marriage. “To my family and to the company. So, I wouldn’t expect you to, you know…” He waved his hand in the air. This was delicate territory, and he wanted to avoid it altogether. “I don’t see this going away. But I also see that it has a natural limit.”

Her face went stony, which sent a pang of fear through him. “Right.”

“Am I making sense?”

She turned to him, a bright smile coming over her face. “Perfect sense. Thank you.”

He paused, trying to feel her out. It was as clear as he could make it—please be with me as long as possible, before I sign my life away to a woman I don’t even know.

“But I can understand too if this might be uncomfortable. I’d be willing to help you achieve whatever arrangement fits best. Moving to a different department, relocation…in the event that you decide you, well, don’t want to continue.”

“Zahir.” She slung her arms around his neck, her face growing stern. “I’m a liberated western woman, remember? You don’t have to worry this much.”

He nodded, taking another gulp of water. He should have known. Besides, it was clear this meant more to him than it did to her, especially since the only people who knew about his upcoming betrothal were his brothers and father. She had no way of knowing that their liaisons were destined to end. No matter how much he wanted to continue seeing her, getting to know her, planting those sweet kisses all over her face…

Layla finished her glass of water and stood, heading for the far corner of the room. She bent to pick something up, exposing the shiny redness of her pussy. Zahir’s jaw clenched when he realized she had his briefs dangling from her fingertips.

“Here’s your underwear…unless you’d prefer to remain nude on my couch for just a little while longer,” she purred, easing down next to him.

He set his glass on the table beside the couch, then tugged her down on top of him by the hips. She laughed, bending her knees to straddle him, her perky breasts nudging him in the face.

“I think I’ll stay here until it’s absolutely necessary for me to leave,” he murmured, placing small kisses along her collarbone. Remnants of his stilted confession to her still rang between his ears, and part of him wished he could confess everything—the betrothal, the sense of helplessness, the fact that the only woman he was truly, deeply interested in was her.

But those doubts were swept away by a maelstrom of kisses and gentle touches, until all that remained was the throbbing echo of Layla, playing like a mantra in his head.

* * *

The next few weeks passed as a blur before Zahir’s eyes. After that night in Layla’s apartment, they fell into a tacit, easy rhythm. One that required almost no thought, just simple, heated glances and the perfectly-timed head nod to indicate “meet me in my office” or “follow me to the boardroom.”

The two of them fucked everywhere. In their offices, on top of the desk, bent over the chair, in the boardroom after work hours, even inside one of the bathrooms in the early morning hours. Zahir ate her out whenever he could, and she’d given him more blowjobs than he could count. The risk of being discovered weighed on him—was more of an anxiety than anything else—but he couldn’t control himself either. He was a man unhinged. Crazed for Layla. Desperate to absorb as much of her as he could while he still had the chance.

He’d never been so buoyant at work. His secretary mentioned something once, that he had a special glow. It was a sex glow or a Layla glow—or both. Either way, it was obvious to the outside world; he felt compelled to squash it but helpless to stop. Was it so wrong to be enjoying this so much?

Besides, he and Layla had reached a new level between them. It was effortless, something sweet and playful that he would have no problem continuing for a long time. Their workday romps weren’t quite enough, but they satisfied him—temporarily, at least. He wanted more of her. Outside of work. In his penthouse, at her apartment, at dinner, maybe even weekend trips.

You want Layla. The thought sizzled through him as he reviewed his emails one Friday, something both obvious but much deeper than simple wanting. Of course he wanted her. He’d wanted her since the day he met her. But this was something else. He wanted her for his own. His mystery bride and upcoming wedding weighed on him like a lead jacket, an oppressive future that sometimes had him waking up at night unable to breathe.

Zahir checked his watch. A few hours left in the day. He’d been considering his weekend plans, trying to find a casual way to insert Layla into them without coming off as overbearing. But at this point, he should go for it. Just ask her to dinner. What was the harm? He could pass it off as a business meeting easily enough…or invent a story about how they’d run into each other unexpectedly on solo excursions out on the town. Either way, he had leverage now to deal with speculation from errant reporters or press hounds. He could easily deflect them to research her status within the company.

Toward the end of the day, his father called. Zahir cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he reviewed some reports. “Father.”

“My son, I have some news for you.” His father’s voice had that unnerving joviality again. Zahir’s stomach shrank to a nut.

“What is it?” He stopped seeing the screen, even though he was staring at it.

“We’ve set a date.” His father’s glee rumbled through the phone. “Set by the bride’s family. Five months from now.”

Zahir blinked, nearly dropping the phone. He caught it as it slid away from his face. “What? That…it seems…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll meet her soon enough.” He could practically see his father waving away his concerns. “She finishes her master’s degree in two months and then will come home to prepare for the wedding. I imagine we’ll have quite a party planned for that time, as well.”

Zahir’s mouth went dry. Two months until he met her. Five months until married. It all seemed so fast…and unpalatable. “Father, are you sure—?”

“What, son?”

“Are you sure this isn’t a little fast?” He blinked rapidly, trying to piece together some sort of logical protest. One that didn’t reek of the fact that he wanted to sidestep the marriage altogether. “I mean, usually there’s at least a year to prepare. I hardly think we can throw an appropriate wedding in so little time.”

His father hummed on the other end of the phone. “Yes, you may be right. It does seem fast. But this is the date the bride’s family has chosen. They have final word in these matters.”

Zahir pinched his eyes shut. There was no way out. “Thank you for the update, Father. Very good news.” His stomach clenched as he said it.

“Indeed, it is!” His father hung up, practically buzzing with happiness. Zahir stared at his computer screen, hesitant to breathe or blink or do anything that might let this reality sink deeper into him than it already was.

Two months to introduction; five months to marriage. It translated in his head to no more Layla. And that stung worse than anything.

Now that there was a date set, he and Layla’s end was in sight. He had to come clean about the marriage, and his future…eventually. Because shouldn’t he also enjoy what little time remained between them? Two more months at least were better than no more months.

But the thought of telling Layla wrung out his insides. On the one hand…she might not care. Might toss her hair and say “oh well” and want to keep fucking up until the last hour before his wedding. Or maybe she’d be angry or even feel betrayed. He’d prefer the latter to the former.

Because there was no way around it: he and Layla had something between them. Even though it was disguised as work fun, there was more there. And if it turned out Zahir was the only one wrapped up in this fantasy…

That was something he was willing to postpone finding out about.