CHAPTER 52
ADITI
The elevator doors haven’t even closed completely when his lips crash onto mine. Today we didn't have many meetings, so Abhimaan decided to take half a day off. And it's the best decision.
He slams his lips again, grounding my thoughts. The kiss is something else. It’s desperate. Hungry. Like he’s been waiting years to do this again. Like he needs me.
And maybe I need him just as much.
His hands thread into my hair; mine grip his shirt tightly.
I feel like I’ll fall apart if I let go.
His mouth is hot and urgent, and the scrape of his stubble against my skin grounds me more than anything else ever could.
I gasp when his teeth tug at my lower lip, and his hand drops to my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.
The ding of the elevator barely registers before we’re stumbling into the hallway.
Laughing between kisses, fumbling for keys, never once breaking contact.
His mouth moves to my jaw, then my neck, and I feel like the floor could disappear beneath me and I wouldn’t care as long as he keeps touching me like this.
I manage to pull the keys out of my bag with shaking hands.
His arms come around me from behind, still kissing, still breathless.
"Door," I murmur between kisses.
"Trying," he chuckles against my neck as I struggle to get the key in.
Finally, the lock gives. The door swings open, and we crash into the apartment like it’s oxygen. Like it's a sanctuary.
He shuts it behind us, and suddenly I’m pressed against the wall. His hands find mine, pinning them gently above my head. His body against mine feels like safety and fire, all at once. Every part of me wants this. Him. Us.
I slide my hands under his shirt, fingers curling at his warm skin, and I try to pull it off.
But his hands stop mine.
I blink up at him. His chest is rising fast, his lips parted, and his pupils blown wide.
"What's wrong?" I ask softly. I'm breathless, flushed. But his expression stops me cold.
He looks away and swallows hard. “I haven’t had sex in a long time, Aditi.”
I nod slowly, grounding myself, registering the fact. “Okay. Do you not want to?”
I want him to be completely comfortable and open with me. “I do,” he says quickly, sitting down on the couch behind him. His voice is tight, careful. “I do, I want to. But... I’m afraid.”
That word. It grips me.
I kneel in front of him, placing my hands gently on his thighs. I want to see his eyes. “Why?” I whisper.
He hesitates. His fingers curl into fists.
I wait. I don’t rush him. I just let him know, with my presence, with my breath, that I’m not going anywhere.
“You remember I told you about the punishment room?” His voice is so low I barely hear it.
My heart pounds.
He still doesn’t meet my eyes. “The sisters there… they used to…” His voice cracks.
“They used to…” He stills. My hand tightens around his.
“You don’t have to share anything, Abhimaan,” I whisper, throat tight.
But he finally looks at me. And there’s something so raw in his gaze that it cuts me clean.
“But I have to,” he says, barely audible. “I have never told anyone this.” He sighs. "It’s embarrassing,"
I smile. “Nothing you do or went through is embarrassing for me,” I assure him.
“They used to rape the boys there.” Everything in me stills as he utters the words. I blink. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. He was—he was just a kid. I feel the gasp escape me before I can stop it. My heart breaks, and the fury inside me is unimaginable.
“But you were… twelve?” I whisper, voice shaking. “You were kids…”
He lets out a broken, bitter laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a child, Aditi.”
Something sharp twists in my chest.
I reach up, gently brushing his cheek. My thumb trembles against his skin. “I hate that you believe that.”
He swallows, and his eyes shine—but not with lust anymore. With fear. With shame. With grief.
He watches me for a moment. “But I am ready,” he says, almost stubbornly. “I just don’t know how to proceed. Like… do I ask? Do I touch? What if I freeze up in the middle of it?”
“You tell me,” I say. “You talk to me. You stop. You breathe. You ask. You always have a choice with me.”
His throat bobs, and I see his jaw twitch like he’s fighting emotion.
“This isn’t a performance,” I continue. “It’s not a test. It’s you and me, together. That’s all.”
He leans forward slowly, cupping my cheek, and whispers, “You’re too good to be true.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just yours.”
There’s silence between us again. But it feels warm. Healing.
When he kisses me next, it’s softer. Slower.
Like a promise being made. And I let it stay that way.
He picks me up and carries me to our bedroom, his lips still on mine.
As he gently puts me on the bed, I have undone most of his buttons.
He takes off his shirt, and I can’t stop staring at his chest; he might be the most manly man I have ever seen.
I don’t waste time as I take off my kurti. He gets on the bed, crawling a bit to me. His eyes are roaming on my bare body as I take off my bra.
He gently presses on my abdomen to push me down on the bed. His eyes are still on mine. “Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” He whispers.
“You will never do anything wrong,” I smile, plopping on the bed to kiss his forehead. “I trust you with my life, Abhimaan,” I smile.
His hands slowly roam over my breast; I suck in a breath.
His eyes are still on me as he sucks on my right breast. My back arches as a moan escapes my mouth.
His other hand squeezes my left one. He pushes himself up against me as he presses his lips on mine.
“Are you okay?” I ask, his mouth still on mine.
He smiles, “Yes, darling.” His fingers find the hem of my leggings. “Can I take this off?”
“Please,” I almost whine, and he chuckles.
He is swift in taking it off; I undo his pants and take them off, leaving him just in boxers. He takes off my panty, and I shudder under his gaze. He’s looking at me like he’s memorizing this moment.
Not my body—me. My breath, my skin, my warmth. Like he’s still surprised I’m real.
His fingers trail slowly up my thigh, not rushed or uncertain now, but reverent. I feel every inch of it—the weight of his touch, the permission he’s giving himself to want, to take. His eyes search mine constantly, as if every next move needs to be checked, confirmed, and welcomed.
It is.
All of it is.
He leans down again, kissing me—slow, lingering, and full of questions he doesn't yet know how to ask. I answer them in the way I touch his jaw, the way I pull him closer, and the way I whisper his name like it’s a prayer.
He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against mine. “This feels like too much,” he says, breathless. “Like I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
I smile through the ache in my chest. “You don’t have to earn love, Abhimaan.”
He blinks at me, and I realize no one’s ever told him that before.
“I’m scared,” he whispers again, quieter this time.
“I know,” I say. My hand cups the side of his face. “But you’re not alone in it.”
I look at him once to make sure he is okay with me taking off his boxers, and he nods slowly. His dick throbs as I slowly stroke it. His head falls back, and a groan slips from his mouth, and it satisfies me, knowing I am the reason.
“Gosh, Aditi, you are going to kill me,” he mutters. His groan rumbles through his chest like a sound pulled from somewhere deep—primal and surprised, like he didn’t know he was capable of feeling this much.
I keep my touch light and gentle. Not for his sake—though of course I’m always thinking of him—but because I want to savor this. I want him to savor this. Every second of being wanted, seen, and safe.
His eyes flutter open, finding mine again. There’s a vulnerability in them that tightens my chest. But there’s heat too. Trust. Wonder.
He cups my face, pulling me up gently until our foreheads touch again.
“Aditi,” he murmurs like a confession. Like a vow.
I kiss him before he can say anything else—because I already know. I already feel it. In the way his hands tremble but don’t retreat. In the way he holds me like I’m the only solid thing he’s ever known.
He rubs his dick against my folds, and I suck in a breath. All I can remember is the ‘It won’t fit—it will’ trope from romance books, looking at his size.
When he finally slides into me, I shriek, and he stops. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I reply, “Are you fine?” He hums.
“You are so perfect, darling,” he rasps.
“I know,” I moan as he moves. “You are doing so well, Abhimaan.”
I need him. I need him to touch me; I need him everywhere.
This man has a power over me; he can undo me just by his look, and having him inside me is a different feeling.
I hook a leg around his waist, tugging him closer.
He grips my thigh, holding me in place. My hips roll as I grind against him while I suck at his neck; he moans quietly.
He thrusts in me impatiently. His wand finds my ass as he squeezes it firmly, lifting me up. I yelp, “Is this okay?” He stops in his tracks.
“Shut up and continue, please,” I complain, disappointed at the halt.
“I belong to you, darling,” he whispers in my ears as his hand slips between us and he circles my clit; my eyes flutter closed at the pleasure I feel.
“Abhimaan,” I scream as his rhythm increases. His cock pulsates inside me as I feel my own release. He still holds me in his arms as we tumble together as we cum together. Our breaths are reckless, and I don’t know what to say because this man who trusted me with himself has left me breathless.
His chest heaves against mine, damp with sweat, but it's the look in his eyes that holds me still—stunned and undone.
We’re quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that says more than words could. My head rests on his shoulder, his arms still wrapped around me like I’m something precious he’s afraid to let go of.
“Are you okay?” I murmur softly against his collarbone.
He nods, but his fingers brush my hair back, tucking it behind my ear with more reverence than I thought possible. “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he whispers. “Not just the...physical part. I mean this. Us.”
I press a kiss to his jaw. “It’s real.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes flickering down to where our hands are tangled on his chest.
“I keep waiting for the moment you realize I’m too much to carry,” he admits quietly. “That I’m too broken to love like this.”
My heart clenches at the vulnerability in his voice.
“You’re not something I have to carry, Abhimaan. You’re someone I want to walk beside.”
He exhales shakily and cups my cheek again, like he still needs to convince himself I’m really here. “No one ever stayed long enough to say that.”
“Well,” I say, threading my fingers through his hair, “you’re stuck with me now.”
A small, disbelieving smile touches his lips. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
He shifts, just slightly, pulling me closer until our legs tangle and my head rests over his heart. It’s beating steady, calm. But I can feel the emotion underneath it—the trembling kind, the beginning of trust.
“I don’t know what kind of man I’m supposed to be,” he says, almost to himself. “But if I get to wake up beside you, I think I’ll be okay.”
My eyes sting, but I don’t let the tears fall. I just hold him tighter. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
His arms tighten around me, his lips pressing to my forehead in a whisper of a kiss.
“I think,” he murmurs, “for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to run.”
And in that moment—skin to skin, heart to heart—it’s not just a confession.
It’s home.