Chapter-64
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(Contains mature content)
I don't know what woke me first-the soft sunlight filtering in through the cream curtains, painting the room in a gentle glow... or the deep, comforting weight that had settled possessively around my waist.
Abhimanyu's arm.
A slow breath escaped my lips, my eyes still blissfully shut, and I felt the subtle shift behind me.
His body, still warm from sleep, spooned against mine, aligning perfectly.
His breath, soft and steady, fanned across the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck. His hold wasn't forceful, not the demanding grip I sometimes knew.
This was lazy, almost languid, yet it held an undeniable sense of belonging, of comfort that seeped into my very bones.
His body heat enveloped me like a second, more intimate blanket, and a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as the memories of the previous night, a tapestry of whispered words and tender touches, began to resurface.
I knew the responsible part of me should probably untangle myself, get up, and start the day.
But the lingering echoes of his voice, the phantom sensation of his hands on my skin, melted away every last bit of willpower I possessed.
Careful not to disturb him, I turned slightly within his embrace. His face was buried in the pillow, a few stray strands of his dark hair falling across his temple.
Even in sleep, that stupidly gorgeous face held a captivating peace, a stark contrast to the delightful torment he had inflicted upon me just hours ago.
Almost instinctively, my fingers reached up, drawn by an invisible thread.
I traced the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the slightly rough texture of his stubble-lined jaw. A familiar warmth bloomed in my chest at the simple touch.
His long lashes fluttered against his cheek, but he remained lost in slumber.
Emboldened, I took the opportunity to let my fingers trail further, up into the thick darkness of his hair.
It felt different in the morning, softer, fluffier, a little wilder, lending him an almost boyish charm that I found inexplicably endearing.
And then... he stirred. A low rumble in his chest, a subtle tightening of his arm around me.
My eyes snapped shut, my hand dropping back to the mattress as if burned. The classic play-dead maneuver.
So mature, Aarushi.
So utterly predictable.
But I should have known better than to underestimate him, even in his sleep.
Seconds later, I felt the slow, deliberate slide of his hand beneath the hem of his oversized shirt that I was wearing.
His warm palm settled on the bare skin of my waist, sending a shiver of awareness through me.
My breath hitched in my throat. He didn't say a word, didn't make any other movement.
Just that lazy, warm sweep of his hand on my stomach, carrying with it that familiar undercurrent of mischief that I knew all too well.
I remained still, every muscle in my body tensed. My face probably looked like a carved statue, save for the shallow, erratic breaths I couldn't quite manage to conceal.
Then-he struck.
His fingers darted to my side, a sudden, unexpected tickle that made me jerk and shriek, a burst of laughter escaping before I could even register the attack.
"Abhi" I squealed, twisting and squirming under his light yet inescapable grip, my laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.
"Caught you, Ms. Oscar-Winning Actress," he mumbled in that annoyingly smug morning voice, thick with sleep and laced with a husky undertone that sent a little thrill down my spine.
Dangerous.
"I was just-stretching," I said quickly, breathless from laughter as I desperately tried to wriggle free.
"You're the worst liar I've ever met," he muttered, tugging me back into the curve of his body. "And the cutest."
"I hate you," I said, feigning annoyance as I tried to push against his chest, but he only tightened his hold, a wide, childlike grin spreading across his face as if he'd discovered a new favorite game.
He rolled me onto my back, his body hovering above mine, his warm breath ghosting across my face as his nose brushed against mine. "Liar. You love me. Especially at night when you were moaning-"
Mortification flooded my cheeks, and I slapped my hand over his mouth. "Stop right there."
His eyes sparkled with amusement, and I could feel the curve of his lips beneath my palm.
God help me, this man.
He gently peeled my hand away, his gaze lingering on my fingers as he kissed each one, slowly, deliberately. "You were saying?" he murmured, his voice a low caress.
"You're a menace," I muttered, my cheeks still burning.
"And you're trouble in my shirt," he smirked, his eyes dropping to the exposed curve of my chest peeking out of the oversized fabric. "Criminally distracting, in fact."
A fresh wave of heat washed over me, and I tried to wriggle away again, but he only lowered himself until his body blanketed mine, his weight a delicious pressure that made my insides melt.
"We... we need to stand up and take a bath," I whispered, the words feeling weak and half-hearted even to my own ears.
"Hmm," he hummed, completely unmoved, his face nuzzling into my hair.
"Work," I reminded him, the word feeling distant and unimportant in this moment. "Don't care." He said.
"You have to go office " I tried again, injecting a bit more firmness into my tone. "Still don't care." He replied smugly.
I shook my head, a genuine grin finally breaking through my feigned annoyance as I stared up at him. "This is a dangerous level of clingy, Mr. Rathore."
"Then report me," he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose against mine, his eyes half-closed with contentment.
I rolled my eyes, a blush still warming my cheeks. "Let me go, you sloth."
"Never," he said sleepily, his arms tightening around me. "I'm in a post-love haze. Let me live."
"You've literally never been this clingy." I said. He nuzzled closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You've literally never looked this kissable."
I pushed gently at his chest , all smiling like a fool . "Stop. I need to get up and take a bath."
"Later,"he mumbled, his voice muffled against my shoulder, his grip unwavering.
"No, now. You go to the gym. I'll shower." That finally seemed to register.
He lifted his head, squinting at me as if trying to decipher a complex equation. "Hmm."
"What 'hmm'?" I asked, a sense of foreboding creeping in.
He looked like he was genuinely considering something profound, his brow furrowed in mock seriousness.
Then, very casually, he said, "I'll skip the gym today." I blinked, genuinely surprised. "What? No--"
"Yeah, well, today I have better plans" he said, his voice suddenly laced with that familiar mischievous glint.
"Abhi....."I warned, a playful yet firm tone in my voice.
"Let's shower together," he grinned, pushing himself up halfway, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Absolutely not," I said quickly, already scrambling to push myself off the bed, a mental image of the time slipping away flashing in my mind.
"I know with you...I'll be in there for hours and I'll be late and it's your fault-"
Before I could finish my perfectly reasonable argument, he stood up and swooped me up in his arms with effortless ease, as if I weighed no more than a feather.
"Abhi" I shrieked, instinctively gripping his broad shoulders. "Put me down"
He simply smirked down at me, that infuriatingly handsome tilt of his lips that should have been illegal before ten in the morning. "You tempted the devil, Mrs. Rathore. Now deal with the consequences."
I wriggled in his arms, a part of me still protesting the blatant kidnapping, but the larger part melting into the familiar warmth and strength of his embrace.
My heartbeat thudded against his chest, a frantic rhythm that felt strangely, wonderfully right. "This is not the morning routine I signed up for"
"This is the premium husband subscription. Full-service package. Comes with romantic wake-ups, unsolicited kidnappings, and complimentary kisses. Terms and conditions apply, may lead to significant delays in scheduled activities." He replied.
I tried, and failed miserably, to suppress a laugh.
Raising an eyebrow, I feigned a stern tone. "You're delegating responsibilities"
He smirked again, that dangerous, knowing tilt of his lips that always spelled trouble, delicious trouble. "For you. Always."
That simple, confident statement had the uncanny ability to silence my protests every single time.
It was the kind of warmth that made everything clearer, brighter, more alive.
I hooked my arms around his neck, pretending to pout, my fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape. "You're not playing fair, Mr. Rathore."
He started walking us towards the bathroom, his steps slow, unhurried, as if time itself had decided to take a leisurely stroll.
"Darling," he murmured, his breath warm against my temple," I never promised to."
I don't know how it always ends up like this. I try to escape, to play the responsible wife, muttering something about breakfast or the ticking clock or the impending doom of being late-but he never truly listens when that sinful glint lights up his eyes and his voice turns honey-thick with desire.
The bathroom door swung open with a light thud as he nudged it with his knee, still carrying me as if I were weightless.
The air in the bathroom was thick with the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood and warm steam, a subtle reminder of our late-night shower.
"Put me down," I mumbled, the heat of his skin radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt that I was still wearing, a stark contrast to the cool morning air.
My thighs brushed against the cold, smooth marble of the counter as he finally set me down, my feet barely touching the ground.
He positioned me there as if I were a cherished possession, a delicate toy he could move and place exactly where he desired.
He leaned in, his palms flat against the cool marble on either side of me, effectively caging me in his warm embrace.
"You look edible when you try to act annoyed," he murmured, his gaze tracing the slight furrow in my brow.
I rolled my eyes, a small, involuntary smile tugging at my lips despite my feigned exasperation. "You look desperate."
He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest, a deep, resonant rumble that sent a pleasant shiver through me as he dipped his head, kissing my shoulder slowly, reverently, as if he were tasting the first rays of sunlight.
Here begins his dangerous game of seduction. I know what he's up to, yet I still find myself falling for it.
"Only for you," he whispered against my skin, and I felt that familiar flutter in my stomach, that undeniable pull that he always seemed to effortlessly evoke.
Damn him and his charming words.
His fingers traced the top button of his shirt that I was wearing, his eyes locked on mine, a silent conversation passing between us. But he didn't move to undo it yet.
No, that would have been far too merciful.
Instead, he leaned closer, dragging his lips up the sensitive curve of my throat, his breath hot and intoxicating.
"You're really going to leave me standing in the shower alone? After waking me up with your soft, sleepy voice and then looking this sinfully hot in my shirt?" He asked.
A shiver traced its way down my spine. "You're imagining things," I mumbled, my voice betraying the lie.
He hummed, a low, knowing sound. "Am I?"
His hands slid down my bare thighs, fingers warm and steady, where the hem of his shirt hung far too high for decency. The fabric barely covered me, and he knew it.
"My bad," he murmured against my skin, his voice a lazy drawl, amusement curling through every syllable.
I should've stopped him. I should have reminded him we were already running late.
But those thoughts, those fragile fragments of reason, slipped through my mind like water through my fingers the second his hand shifted-his palm pressing against the inside of my thigh, fingers splayed, stroking lightly.
My breath hitched. My skin prickled with anticipation.
Then came his thumb, slow and purposeful, pressing softly at my core-just enough to part my legs an inch more. It was almost nothing. Almost.
But it was everything.
His lips hovered near my neck again, teasing me without touching, brushing warmth against my skin with maddening restraint.
The way he exhaled there, right where I was most sensitive-it was criminal. And he knew it.
It was worse than being kissed. So much worse. Because the tension, the waiting, the not-quite-there of it all-it made my pulse trip over itself, made heat coil tight and low inside me.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, every muscle in my body straining to stay still when all I wanted was to collapse into him.
Then-finally-he kissed me.
Right on the neck.
A soft, open-mouthed press just below my ear, followed by another on the curve of my shoulder. He trailed down to my collarbone, tongue flicking lightly against the dip there, and I shivered.
And all the while, his thumb was still at my core-circling slowly. Never fully pressing.
Just teasing. Caressing. Waiting.
When he did push down, the pressure was so exquisitely measured it made my hips jerk forward with a startled gasp. My thighs trembled, my breath shattered.
But he didn't continue.
He stilled.
I whimpered.
Then he started again-soft, slow, infuriating strokes that built heat but gave no relief.
I could feel myself aching, my skin too tight, my thoughts fogged with nothing but him.
Every nerve was strung high, and every brush of his thumb across my core was a spark tossed into kindling.
And just when it started to build again, my legs spreading wider, my body arching into his touch-
He pulled away.
I let out a broken, breathless moan. My body swayed forward involuntarily, chasing the heat, the pressure, the promise.
But he was already dropping lower.
His lips found the inside of my thigh-hot, wet, possessive. I gasped, fists tightening in the hem of the shirt.
Then he moved in, his mouth brushing over the center of me-one fleeting kiss that scorched like fire.
A moment of pure, devastating bliss.
And then-nothing.
He drew back. Completely.
My mouth parted in shock, air dragging in as if I'd been plunged into cold water.
My body throbbed with emptiness, my skin buzzing from the aftermath of touch.
He stood up slowly, far too slowly, and walked away with maddening calm. Like none of it had happened.
"Wha-" The sound caught in my throat. My voice was wrecked with need. "What are you doing?"
My head was spinning. We'd been so close, the air heavy with heat and hunger-and now this?
His body gleamed in the low light, every muscle shifting beneath golden skin as he moved.
The shower hissed to life, steam curling around him, swallowing him inch by inch like a dream fading into fog.
He said nothing just smirked . Just reached for his waistband, sliding his boxers down his hips and stepping out of them like a person with all the time in the world.
My eyes-traitorous, hungry-slid down of their own accord. And there he was. Hard. Glorious. Proof that he was just as undone as I was.
I didn't mean to stare . Not really. But I did.
He caught me. Of course, he did.
That grin deepened, wicked and satisfied. "Eyes up, sweetheart," he said, voice like velvet over gravel. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the rising steam, "And get in."
I blinked, momentarily stunned. "Excuse me?"
"I'm not repeating myself," he said, his voice dropping to something darker, something that slipped under my skin and wrapped itself around my spine like a velvet chain. "Come here, baby."
I hated the way my thighs clenched in immediate response.
Hated that he knew exactly what that tone did to me, the way it bypassed all logic and went straight to the core of my desire.
But more than anything... I hated that I wanted, desperately, to obey him.
I slid off the counter slowly, my knees still shaky from the potent combination of sleepiness and the way he'd just kissed me.
The buttons of his shirt were already half undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.
With a sigh of surrender, I let the shirt fall to the cool tile floor, and stepped into the warm embrace of the steam, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, my breath caught somewhere between desire and a lingering sense of defiance.
When I finally shrugged off the last of the fabric and let it pool at my feet, I saw the way his jaw tightened, a flicker of something intense in his eyes.
Good.
The water hit my skin the moment I stepped fully into the shower, warm and relaxing, but it was nothing compared to the fire that burned in his gaze as he watched me.
He reached out immediately, his wet hands finding my waist, pulling me flush against his slick body. His grip was firm, possessive, as if he needed to reassure himself that I was real, that I was here.
"You drive me insane," he muttered, his lips pressing a hot kiss behind my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
"You started it" I whispered back, my voice husky with arousal, gasping as his hand slid down my back to cup my ass, pulling me even closer against his hard length.
He smiled against my shoulder, his lips trailing a wet path of kisses along the sensitive curve of my neck.
My nails dug into his back, my grip tightening as his mouth moved lower, his kisses becoming more fervent, more reverent, worshipping every inch of skin he touched.
He wasn't rushing. That's what shattered the last remnants of my resistance.
That quiet, lingering patience in his touch made every kiss feel like the first, every caress a deliberate act of devotion.
Every touch felt earned, as if he was still discovering me, still marveling at the feel of my skin, the curve of my body.
It was like he was building something between us, brick by sensual brick, again and again, as if he would never tire of being amazed by me.
"I should be mad at you," I murmured, my voice shaky as I buried my face in his chest, the warm water cascading down my back, mingling with the heat radiating from his skin.
"For making you feel too good?" he teased, his fingers gently cupping my
tilting it up so he could look into my eyes.
"For knowing how to... disarm me," I whispered, my gaze searching his.
His expression softened, the playful glint replaced by a raw tenderness.
"I don't want to disarm you, baby" he said quietly, his thumb stroking my cheek. "I want you wild. I want you soft. I want you when you're strong and when you're weak and when you roll your eyes at me and when you cry into my chest. I want all of it. All of you."
My breath caught in my throat, his words a potent elixir that both thrilled and humbled me.
All my protests, all my attempts at being responsible, dissolved into the pure, unadulterated pleasure of being held by him.
The warmth of the shower intensified, each droplet a sensual caress against my slick skin as Abhimanyu continued his slow, deliberate seduction.
His lips brushed against my collarbone, a lingering, feather-light touch that sent a delicious shiver dancing down my spine.
His hands charted a deliberate course down my body. His touch, though feather-light, held a firm possessiveness that made me tremble with anticipation.
He traced the delicate curve of my ribs, the subtle indentation of my waist, the flare of my hips.
Each touch was a silent question, a sensual exploration that I answered with a soft gasp, a subtle arch of my back, a silent invitation for more.
When his fingers dipped lower, brushing against the sensitive juncture of my thighs, a low moan escaped my lips, a sound that was both a plea and a surrender.
He paused, his eyes locking with mine, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Enjoying this, sweetheart? But... weren't we getting terribly late?"His voice was a low rumble, a vibration against my skin that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry with a desperate longing. "I will kill you, Abhimanyu Rathore, if you stop in between," I managed, my voice barely a whisper, thick with burgeoning desire.
A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that only intensified the ache between my legs.
His fingers continued their tantalizing descent, teasing the sensitive skin of my core from last night , each stroke sending jolts of pure sensation through me.
I instinctively parted my legs further, a silent, undeniable invitation.
He accepted the unspoken offering, his touch growing bolder, more intimate.
"Tell me if it's too much," he breathed, his gaze never leaving mine, his eyes dark with a primal hunger that mirrored the desperate yearning in my own.
"It's... not," I gasped, my fingers tightening in his wet hair, clinging to him as if he were my only anchor. "Don't stop. Please."
He didn't. His fingers moved with a practiced rhythm, a slow, steady strokes that was building a delicious, unbearable ache deep within me.
My hips began to lift instinctively, seeking more of his touch, my body already anticipating the deeper connection I craved.
Just as the tension coiled impossibly tight, threatening to snap, he paused. A frustrated cry escaped my lips, a sound of pure longing.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice thick with raw desire, his eyes burning into mine.
My eyes fluttered open, a haze of pure sensation clouding my vision.
"Protection," I managed, the word barely a whisper, a last vestige of rational thought in the face of overwhelming desire.
He looked deep into my eyes, his expression unwavering, filled with a fierce tenderness. "Don't worry, I'll pull out."
A wave of trust, overriding the last vestiges of hesitation. I nodded, my fingers tightening their grip in his wet hair, a silent agreement, a complete surrender.
He lifted me effortlessly, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, my body molding perfectly against his hard length, a primal recognition, a perfect fit.
The moment he entered me, a sharp intake of breath escaped both our lips.
It was raw, primal, a joining that felt both forbidden and utterly inevitable, a claiming that resonated deep within my soul.
A moan tore from my throat, the sensation a potent mix of intense pleasure and a surprising pang of something akin to fierce tenderness.
It was a vulnerability laid bare, a connection that transcended mere physical sensation.