38 ~ Make love to me #2
I tried to remove his hand from my waist but he didn't let me go.
"Chahat." He pulled me closer and now I can feel his breathing near my ears.
I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder.
His expression softened. "I'm sorry love."
This time, there was no teasing in his voice.
Just sincerity.
"I should've come to pick you up. I know you like it when I do."
My anger wavered.
He turned me towards himself caging me between him and the desk.
He took my hand properly and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles and kissed it.
I looked down at our hands.
He was watching me with that quiet affection that always made it difficult to stay angry with him.
Then he leaned closer. "Can I make it up to you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "How?"
He smiled. "You tell me...how do you want me to make it up." He asked caressing my lower lip.
He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead then another to my cheek.
He gently held my face between his hands and kissed my other cheek.
And then he pulled me into his arms.
This time, I didn't resist.
I buried my face against his chest, still pretending to be annoyed while his arms wrapped securely around me.
"Next time," I mumbled against him, "you will come to pick me up yourself."
His hand moved gently over my hair.
"Next time, I'll be waiting outside your college before your last lecture even ends."
I couldn't stop the smile this time. "Good."
Then I remembered what Ishika said and I glared at him again.
He took my college bag from my shoulder and placed it on the sofa before turning back toward me. His hands came up to cup my cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over my skin as his eyes travelled over me.
I was wearing a white shirt knotted loosely at my waist, the fabric pulled tight enough to show the soft curves of my waist, and ripped fitted jeans that clung to my hips and thighs.
I noticed how his eyes were stuck on my exposed waist and the small dark mole he always seemed to notice.
His eyes moved over me slowly, openly. From the messy fall of my hair, down the open collar of the shirt, lingering on the swell of my breasts, then lower to the patch of skin above my jeans, the mole, the way the denim hugged every curve.
Heat flickered in his gaze, dark and hungry, even as he tried to keep his expression controlled.
He was staring at my breast.
"Stop staring..." I muttered, pushing his hands away from my face.
"Why?" he asked, voice low.
His hands didn't stay away for long. One slid around my waist, large and warm, pulling me closer until the hard plane of his chest brushed against mine. His thumb found the mole on my bare waist almost automatically, stroking it once.
I removed his hand, "Because I don't want to talk to you..."
"Why?" He asked again.
"Because you're a liar."
His brows drew together. "Why do you say that Trouble?"
I stared at him for a moment, suddenly feeling bolder than I had expected.
"You said you're falling for me."
His expression changed slightly as he nodded.
I continued, "You said you crave my presence. My touch."
I swallowed, but I didn't look away.
"Then..." I paused, gathering the courage to say what had been circling through my mind. "Then why haven't you made love to me yet?"
He froze completely.
For several seconds, he simply stared at me.
I watched his throat move as he swallowed, and something about his stunned expression made my confidence waver.
For a long second he simply stared at me, the air between us suddenly thick and charged.
He then lifted a hand to my forehead as if checking for fever.
"Tumhari tabiyat toh theek hai na...? Kya khaya hai tumne yahan aane se pehle?" He asked, half serious, half stunned.
(Are you feeling well...? What did you eat before coming here?)
I hit his arm playfully, the sound soft against the hard muscle. "I'm in my senses, Kartik. And I'm serious." My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer by the collar until our faces were only inches apart. "Why haven't you touched me yet? Don't you find me attractive?"
He looked at me as if he couldn't believe I could say something like this.
His eyes immediately softened. "Of course I find you attractive baby."
"Then?"
He exhaled slowly, his hands settling around my waist.
"Because I thought you weren't ready."
I blinked. "What?"
"I thought you wouldn't be comfortable."
His voice was quieter now, stripped of his usual arrogance.
"You've been through enough. This marriage didn't begin the way it should have. I never wanted you to feel like you owed me anything just because you're my wife."
My heart softened. "Kartik..."
"I wanted you to choose me," he continued, looking directly into my eyes. "Not because you were married to me. Not because I wanted you. I wanted you to want me too."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered, "Why wouldn't I be comfortable? You're my husband."
He remained still, almost as though he was afraid that moving too quickly would break the moment.
"You want me to make love to you..." he said quietly, almost in wonder, as if he needed to hear it again to believe it.
The way he looked at me then hungry and tender all at once made my stomach flip.
The office suddenly felt too small, the air too warm. His body was so close I could feel the heat of him through our clothes, the controlled strength in the arm still wrapped around me.
I nodded, "I do."
Something shifted in his expression. Relief, hunger, and a fierce, protective tenderness all tangled together. His hand left my waist only long enough to cup my cheek again, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
Something shifted in his expression.
Not hunger alone but something deeper. Something almost unbearably tender.
His thumb brushed slowly across my cheek. "You have no idea what that does to me."
I gave him a tiny smile. "Maybe I do."
He let out a quiet breath, then rested his forehead against mine.
"I've wanted you," he whispered. "More than I've allowed myself to admit. Every time I've held you, every time you've kissed me, every time you've come close to me... I've had to remind myself that wanting you isn't enough. I needed to know that you were choosing this too."
My fingers tightened slightly around his shirt. "I am."
His eyes closed for a moment.
When they opened again, the intensity in them made my breath catch.
"Then don't ever think I stayed away because I didn't desire you."
His hand slid gently around my waist, drawing me closer until there was barely any space between us.
"I stayed away because I cared enough to wait."
And somehow, that confession felt far more intimate than anything else he could have said.
He looked at me with raw, open desire, the kind that made my stomach tighten and my breath catch.
His mouth found mine in a kiss that started soft almost reverent then deepened the moment my lips parted for him.
When he finally drew back, his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them.
He reached behind me and swept the files off his desk in one rough, impatient motion. Papers fluttered to the floor. Then his hands returned to my waist, large and warm against the bare strip of skin above my jeans.
In the next breath he lifted me easily and set me on the edge of the desk.
He spread my thighs and stepped between my legs without hesitation, the hard planes of his body pressing close. I wrapped my legs around his waist on instinct, pulling him tighter against me, and the solid heat of him settled right where I needed him most.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, more passionate, like the last of his restraints had finally cracked.
To be continued...