WebNovels

Chapter 12 - Chapter 11

The house felt like it was holding its breath. My pulse echoed in the stillness. He entered the room first, shoulders taut, his jaw clenched, not sparing me even a glance.

My chest tightened. Why wouldn't he look at me?

The room was dressed in romance—rose petals scattered across the sheets, golden lights glowing softly, the faint scent of jasmine clinging to the air. He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his face unreadable until his eyes finally lifted and locked on me.

"Close the door," he said, his voice low, steady.

The command rippled through me, equal parts thrill and fear. I turned the key, the click of the lock echoing like a drumbeat inside my chest.

When I faced him again, he was holding a hanger. Draped on it was a short black dress—tiny, sinful, daring.

I froze, heat rushing to my face. "I… I can't wear that. I'm not—"

He stood, and my words died. His quiet dominance pressed into me as surely as his body did when he leaned in. His chin brushed my shoulder, his breath hot against my ear.

"Wear it. Just once," he whispered, velvet wrapped in steel. "For me."

A shiver rolled through me, my skin tingling under his nearness. Before I could refuse, his fingers slid into the folds of my saree, untucking them one by one. The silk fell away, piece by piece, as his lips found my neck, kissing slow, searing trails down my skin. Each kiss branded me, making my knees tremble until I could hardly stand.

By the time the saree slipped to the floor, I was left in only blouse and skirt, my breath shallow, my chest rising and falling too fast.

He pulled back, his gaze softening. "Please. For my sake."

The plea undid me. I snatched the dress and fled into the bathroom, my back pressed against the door, lungs struggling to draw air.

The mirror reflected someone I barely recognized—myself, but bolder, exposed. The dress clung like fire, neckline plunging dangerously, hem skimming high against my thighs. My pulse raced as I opened the door.

Breathe, Amrita. It's just him. Just your husband

He was waiting—shirtless, his chest rising with every breath, golden light glinting off his skin. His eyes met mine, and a slow, proud smirk curved his lips.

"Beautiful," he murmured. Not the dress. Me.

My steps faltered, but he extended his hand. When I placed mine in his, his grip was warm, strong. In one swift pull, he spun me onto the bed. I gasped, the sound lost as his mouth captured mine.

The kiss was fire—urgent, hungry, hot enough to consume me. His tongue slid against mine, demanding, teasing, pulling a moan from me I didn't recognize as my own. His hand gripped my waist, dragging me closer until I felt the solid heat of him pressed into me.

His palm slid up, closing over my breast. His thumb circled, teasing, until a broken gasp escaped my lips.

I clawed into his hair, desperate, breathless. He kissed me like I was his last breath, his last salvation.

When he tore away, his lips trailed fire down my jaw, down my throat, sucking, nipping until my body arched against his.

"Why are you so damn beautiful?" he growled, voice rough, frustrated.

"Vaishank…" My voice cracked with need.

His hand slid under the hem of my dress, brushing up my thigh, pushing the fabric higher. I gasped, my body arching into his touch, every nerve sparking.

"You're mine, Amrita. Always mine." His whisper was a vow, his breath ragged against my skin.

"Yes… yours," I breathed, gripping his shoulders, surrendering completely.

His smirk curved against my neck before his lips worshipped lower—slow, reverent, teasing every inch until I trembled and cried his name. When his eyes lifted again, dark and blazing, I drowned in them.

He kissed me hard, swallowing my moans, while his hands roamed everywhere—sliding higher, claiming, unraveling me piece by piece. The world narrowed to his touch, his breath, the heat of his body pressing me into the sheets.

And when his body finally entered mine in one overwhelming thrust, I shattered. Pain, pleasure, heat—all tangled until I could only cling to him, nails digging into his back, gasping his name over and over.

He moved slowly at first, savoring the way my body shook around him. Then faster. Harder. His control slipping, his need crashing into mine. Every thrust stole my breath, every kiss broke me further apart, until there was nothing but the rhythm of us—wild, desperate, whole.

"Mine," he whispered again, desperate, broken.

"Yes—yours," I moaned, barely able to breathe, barely able to think.

The world blurred, spun, and when I broke in his arms, he followed—groaning into my neck, collapsing against me, his heart hammering against my chest.

For a long moment, there was only silence. Our ragged breaths. The heat of his body on mine. The soft kiss he pressed to my temple, tender and grounding.

And in that silence, I knew this night wasn't about surrender.

It was about belonging. Him to me. Me to him. Completely.

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