The next morning, Ahmed and Saad woke up at their usual time, the early sun filtering through the curtains. Their eyes instantly went to the middle of the large bed, where Afiya lay sleeping peacefully, nestled between them. Her face was serene, her lips slightly parted, her dark hair fanned across the pillow. The sight of her, so innocent in slumber, sent an immediate, violent rush of heat to their groins. Their minds replayed the night in vivid, brutal detail—her whimpers, her choked screams, the way her body had taken them both, the taste of her, the feel of her tightness. Their cocks hardened painfully against the sheets. They so badly wanted to flip her over and fuck her again, to claim her sleepy, pliant body, but a sliver of something—possessiveness, perhaps a warped care—made them decide to let her rest. She was theirs now; there would be plenty of time.

They freshened up quietly. Ahmed dressed for work, giving his son a meaningful look—a look that said take care of what’s ours—before leaving for his office. Saad stayed back, his assignment clear.