Chapter 2
IRA
I pressed my head into the pillow, begging for sleep. I even sang myself a lullaby, hoping it would lull me into slumber. But I was drunk and throbbing with a cruel headache.
Suddenly, I shot to my feet and rushed to the bathroom, the bitter sting of bile rising in my throat. I threw up hard, gripping the basin like it might save me. Hopefully, my snake-like relatives hadn’t heard me retching in the middle of the night.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to shake the dizziness, and stepped out of the bathroom only to freeze.
There he was.
Beautiful and haunting, standing silently in front of me like a vision conjured by my fevered mind. The same hazel eyes, now bloodshot, short hair, and a shadow of stubble sharpening the edge of his jawline.
I wanted to grab his face and devour his mouth like it was the last morsel left on Earth. But I didn’t. I crossed my arms, biting down my hunger, glaring at the man I hated with every broken piece of myself.
“Do you like my surprise? I just covered eight hundred and five kilometers to see our new bride.” He had just come straight from Jammu to Rajasthan. Yes, this was Prashant. My fingers trembled.
He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. I had made it clear whatever happened between us was a mistake. A lapse in judgment. Two lonely souls who crashed into each other and forgot how to stop. Nothing more.
It was Aryan who had been my boyfriend for ten years. Prashant was just a distraction. He was a convenient sin, a bed I kept crawling into when I should’ve run. I winced at the thought.
We met six years ago during our officer training, in the same batch, and with the same dreams. But fate had other plans. We were transferred to the same unit, and suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
One night turned into many. Then suddenly he left for a mission.
But he came back a different man. He became cold and detached from the world. His laugh still echoed in crowded rooms, his dimples still charmed the world, but I saw through it. I saw what the militants did to him during those three months. He never spoke about it, but I felt it.
Now, here he was, drunk and dangerous in the soft glow of my room. Still wearing half his uniform—camouflage trousers, black boots, and a thin olive-green T-shirt that clung to his wide chest. I could even see the outline of one perfect nipple.
A rush of warmth bloomed between my thighs. God would never forgive me for getting wet for another man just two days before my wedding.
He stepped up to me.
“Don’t come any closer,” I said, taking a shaky step back.
He said nothing, just smirked and peeled his shirt off, revealing every brutal and beautiful inch of him: the scars, the burns, and the bullet wounds. Marks that would make other women flinch, but not me.
Not an army officer who knew what bravery looked like carved into skin. He was broken, and I wanted to taste every break of him.
“Come here,” he said in a dark, commanding voice that made my knees weak. The voice that wrecked my dreams. Outside, he was all smiles and sarcasm. But behind closed doors, he would break my pride with a single touch.
“I said get out of here,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I forced myself to look away from his naked upper body.
From his very handsome face. If he could, a model agency could hire him in just one snap, but hell, he was an army officer.
That made him look even hotter, sexier, and a heart breaker.
“I said come here,” he commanded, slowly stepping up to me. His eyes never left mine.
“Prashant…” The tremor in my voice betraying everything I was trying to hold back.
But he knew. And damn him, he was still the only man who could set me on fire just by standing still.
My voice died in my throat when Prashant shoved me hard against the wall, his body crashing into mine. He was just tall enough that my face pressed against the heat of his chest, right where his frantic heart beat like a gong. His skin was warm, and rough.
“Say it again,” he rasped, voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll take you rough right here against this wall.” His eyes were wild, furious, and ravenous. “You’re marrying him? Are you happy now?”
“We’ve already talked about this, and I don’t want to repeat it…” I pressed my palm on his firm chest to push him back. “How the hell did you get in here?”
He chuckled darkly. “Are you really asking me that? The man who tricked five armed terrorists and walked out of their den?”
“Prashant, if someone sees us…”
“Answer me first,” he cut in sharply. “Are you happy with him? Do you love him?” I stared into his eyes, my silence louder than anything I could have said. “Do you love him, Ira?” he repeated.
“I love Aryan,” I finally said, forcing the words out as I pushed at his chest. “Now get out of here before somebody catches us in my room.”
“I will,” he murmured, “On one condition.”
My pulse stuttered. “What condition?”
He stepped back just enough to rake his gaze over me from the mess of my hair to the hem of my silk nightgown. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My nipples were taut, puckered, betraying me in front of the one man who had always read my body better than books.
“You already know the answer,” he said with a smirk as his eyes darkened with hunger. “I see it in your eyes, Warrior. You’ve been waiting for me. And you’re going to cheat on him this time also.”
“I’m not cheating on him again, Dimples,” I mocked his nickname. “Not now, please...”
He raised a brow, stepping forward like a predator scenting prey. “You sure, Warrior?”
Before I could answer, his hand shot out, flat against my panties. I shivered as my thighs trembled and my toes curled in anticipation. I grabbed the windowsill to steady my body as he pressed against it further and further until he could feel how warm and ready I was for him.
“Now tell me you haven’t been aching for this,” he growled, massaging me without even taking off my underwear. God, I wanted more of him; I wanted him to rip my panties and take me rough right on my bed.
“Prashant…” I breathed.
But he didn’t let me finish. His mouth crashed into mine hungry, and devouring. His hand was still rubbing me wild while his mouth teased me hot. He was a damn good kisser; I could taste the alcohol he had consumed, and I was damn sure he could taste wine on my tongue.
This should be stopped before I spread my legs again for this man.
I pushed at his chest, but he caught my wrists, yanked them behind my back, and kissed me harder and rougher, like punishing me for disobeying him.
He always punished me for disobeying him.
I was sure his hand must be feeling the pulsing between my thighs.
I tried to resist. I really did. But the way he kissed me. .. it wasn’t fair. It never was.
My body deceived me again. I kissed him back like I had been dying without oxygen and he was the only air I craved.
We stumbled onto my bed, clawing, grinding, kissing like we wanted to hurt and heal each other all at once.
His lips were everywhere, a burning trail from my mouth down my jaw, along the curve of my neck, to the hollow of my throat.
My hands were tangled in his short hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.
Every touch, every press of his body against mine, sent electric shocks through me, making me arch into him.
“I love him, Prashant,” I breathed out between kisses, locking eyes with him, desperate to convince myself. “I loved him then, and I’ll always love Aryan. Just a few hours ago, I had a really good time with him.”
His hand wrapped around my throat, not tight, just enough to make me feel owned as he pulled me up against his stone-hard chest like I belonged there. In his arms.
“I just wanted to see again how loyal you really were,” he sneered in my face. “Turns out, you’re nothing but a selfish, cold woman. You used me when Aryan wasn’t around. And now he’s back, suddenly you’re the blushing bride-to-be? Want his babies, his name, his ring?”
“He offered it to me first, Prashant. Ten years ago,” I retorted, my voice tight with a mix of defiance and rising panic. His words stung, each one a barb finding its mark. “And you? You offered nothing but a few stolen nights and a cold shoulder.”
His grip on my jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, his eyes flashing.
“A few stolen nights?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “Is that what they were to you, Ira? Just a way to pass the time until your ‘true love’ comes back?”
I refused to look away, even as the truth of his accusation sunk into me. He was right. In a way, I had used him. Used his warmth, his presence, to fill the emptiness left by Aryan’s absence. But it wasn’t that easy. It was never like this with Prashant.
“You left, Prashant!” I replied, my voice cracking. “You came back like a stranger! You think I didn’t see it? You think I didn’t feel the walls you built around yourself? How could I stay and watch you lose yourself?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “So you ran to him. To the safe option. The one who wouldn’t challenge you, wouldn’t demand anything but your comfort.”
“He loves me!” I cried, the words bursting from my throat. “He never stops loving me! And I love him too! You were… you were a distraction, Prashant. A beautiful, dangerous distraction.”
His eyes glinted, reflecting the raw pain and anger swirling inside him. “A distraction?” he snarled, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm.
He shoved me back onto the bed, hovering over me, his hands resting on either side of my head.
“Is that it, Ira? Just a distraction?”
His gaze fell to my lips, then down, to the rise and fall of my chest beneath the thin silk. The tremors in my body were undeniable, a clear betrayal of the cold words he had just spoken to me.
“You want to talk about distractions?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.
“Let’s see if your body agrees with your words, Warrior. Let’s see if Aryan’s name will be on your lips when I’m buried deep inside you.”
He moved forward with a sudden, brutal shift that left no room for protest. His weight pressed me into the mattress, the scent of his whiskey skin and my skin something uniquely intoxicating and terrifying, like the Pacific.
His lips descended, not softly, but with hurting intensity, demanding a response that my treacherous body was already eager to give.
I shut my eyes, a silent scream caught in my throat. I hated him. I hated him for coming, for breaking the fragile peace I’d built, for making me question everything, for making me feel this insidious pull, even two days before my wedding to another man.
But as his hand found its way under my nightgown, tracing a path of fire up my thigh, my resolve crumbled. The desire, the raw, undeniable hunger he ignited in me was a terrifying beast. And as his lips moved from my mouth to my neck, his teeth gently nipping, a broken whimper escaped me.
He knew. He always knew. And for that, I hated him more than anything.
My eyes snapped open, and I blinked into the darkness of my room.
The air was cool, the only sound was the soft hum of the AC unit.
My heart was still hammering, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sat up, clutching the silk nightgown that was twisted around me.
My skin was damp with sweat, and a shiver ran through me.
It was a dream. Just a dream. The bitter taste of bile was gone, replaced by the lingering phantom heat of his touch.
My mind raced, replaying every vivid detail of Prashant's angry hazel eyes, the brutal beauty of his scarred chest, the possessive claim of his mouth.
It felt so real, too real, for mere fantasy.
I touched my lips, still tingling from the imagined pressure of his kiss.
A sigh escaped me, a mix of relief and a strange, unsettling disappointment.
Prashant wasn't here. There was no confrontation, no illicit encounter, no dangerous game of desire just two days before my wedding.
It was all a product of my conflicted mind, a manifestation of the turmoil churning beneath my carefully constructed composure.
But even as I tried to dismiss it, a sense of unease settled deep in my stomach. Dreams, they said, were windows to the subconscious. And what my subconscious had just shown me was a raw, undeniable truth I had tried so hard to bury.
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