Chapter 13
IRA
I peeled open my eyes to see Prashant sitting in a chair near my bed, squeezing a cotton cloth in a bowl of water. He was about to place it on my forehead but froze when he saw me staring at him.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to sit up, but he gently pushed me back.
"What happened to me?"
"You passed out," he said matter-of-factly, placing the cold cloth on my forehead and dabbing it gently.
I glanced at the window as the moon light was slipping through the curtain.
"You've been here the whole time?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes," he replied.
"Now pretending to be a good boss?" I rolled my eyes and brushed his hand away. "I'm fine now. You can leave."
"I know you're not," he said coolly, picking up the cloth again, dipping it in the water, wringing it out, and placing it back on my head.
"Stop doing this!" I hissed, yanking the cloth off and tossing it aside. "If you'd just approved my leave, I wouldn't have ended up like this. But I guess this is what you wanted, isn't it? To hurt me."
"Very much," he smirked and God, I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.
"Well, now that you're satisfied, you can go," I snapped, turning away from him.
"I'm not satisfied yet, Warrior," he said, his voice teasing. "I just wanted to crack that pride you carry around like armor. Turns out, you're not as strong as you pretend to be, are you?"
"Shut up and get out of here!" I snapped and looked myself down under cover. I stiffened. "Who changed my clothes?"
He didn't even blink. "Who do you think?"
My blood ran cold. "How dare you?" I grabbed the front of his shirt, jerking him closer, our faces inches apart. "How could you do that?"
"With my hands," he murmured, eyes drifting to my lips with a smirk that made my skin crawl and burn all at once.
I shoved him away roughly, clenching my jaw. "Get out of my house!"
"Is that how you speak to your superior?"
"I'm not on duty, which means you're not my superior right now. So get out, Prashant. Please... just go."
"You're not okay," he said, his tone shifting to softer. "And you have no one to look after you."
"Are you serious right now? What do you think people will say if they see you walking out of my quarter in the morning? You want rumors? Because that's how rumors start. So leave. Before someone sees us together under the same roof."
"No," he said firmly. "I'm not leaving. And you don't want me to go. Do you?"
"You've lost your mind!" I hissed, pressing my head into the pillow, willing the pain and him to disappear.
"Yes," he whispered. "Maybe I have."
I forced myself upright, dragging my sore body toward the bathroom. My back screamed in protest and I groaned, clutching the wall. Prashant tried to help, but I slapped his hand away and slammed the door shut behind me.
I sat in the tub for a long time, curling into myself, my knees pressed to my chest. The porcelain was cold beneath me, but not colder than the ache swelling in my heart. My eyes stung, but I held the tears in, biting the inside of my cheek.
I hated that he saw me like this. Weak. Vulnerable.
I hated how he looked at me not with pity, not with hate, but something far scarier I was not ready to accept.
One time he made me feel like his world swirled around me and another time he treated me like I was the most inconvenient mistake he had ever made.
I didn't know what Prashant wanted from me, but I didn't want anything to do with him.
He was my superior, and I was his subordinate, I just wanted our relationship to remain strictly professional.
Eventually, I stepped out, wrapping a towel around myself and padding back to the room. He was still there.
Of course he was.
I ignored him, sat in the bed, and reached for a painkiller. But before I could pop it in my mouth, his hand shot out and stopped me.
"You've been taking too many of these pills lately," Prashant said, plucking the medicine from my fist and tossing it away.
"My back is killing me," I said. But part of me wanted to say: My heart too but I stayed quiet.
"Let me help with your back pain," Prashant said, slowly taking off his shirt.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, watching him as a grin played on his lips.
"Lie on your stomach," he ordered.
"Prashant..."
"Lie down."
I wanted to fight but I was too exhausted and too weak for this shit. I laid on my stomach, bare-backed, a towel draped from my waist down. My arms were folded under my cheek, my eyes closed, my heart pounded harder under my chest.
Prashant walked into my kitchen and returned with a bowl of cooking warm oil. He knelt beside me on the mattress, his skin warm from the room, shirtless. I could hear the faint sound of him warming oil between his palms, a soft, slick sound that comforted my ears.
Then his lips were by my ear, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me if I go too hard," he murmured. I wanted to snap him. He had been harsh to me all this time.
He began at my neck, his thumbs moving gently, exploring the sides of my spine without pressing, just feeling.
Slow circles bloomed under his fingers as he worked his way down, pausing often, his touch was gentle and sensual.
Every now and then, a shiver would ripple through me, my skin twitching beneath his hands.
The more he touched the more I wanted him.
When he reached the place where my neck met my shoulders, he lingered longer than he should have. Oh, that spot. His thumbs dipped into the slope of muscle there, and a deep, forgotten stress seemed to simply melt away.
I exhaled, a long biting into my lower lip not to moan at his massage. His palm was rough yet tempting at the same time. I clenched my thighs when his warm skin of his chest brushed against my skin.
"That good?" he asked, his voice thick with desire that mirrored my thoughts.
"Mm-hmm," I breathed, barely a sound.
I imagined his smile as he continued, tracing along the edge of my shoulder blade with such care, never pressing on the bone, always alongside it.
One hand worked its magic while the other steadied my lower back, his thumb skimming just below my ribs.
This wasn't the rhythm of a healer, but the touch of a man learning me, understanding the language of my body, and wanting to take me.
He moved to the base of my skull, rubbing gently with his thumbs in slow, pulsing motions that sent tiny waves of pleasure through me. He leaned in again, his breath tickling the strands of hair at my temple. I could feel hard ridges of his chest. God, I wanted to feel more of his body.
"You always carry too much up here," he whispered sexily.
"Then help me forget," I whispered back, the words weighted with longing and needs.
His hands obeyed. Sliding down my shoulders with the flat of his palms, he applied firmer, steadier pressure now.
Long strokes melted over my back, gliding along the curves of my muscles.
His hands were so warm, so hot. With every pass, the distance between us shrank not physically, but in every way that truly mattered, as if my very soul was being drawn closer to his.
He worked on the muscles beside my spine, pressing deeper with the heels of his palms, then sweeping up and down in a rhythm that felt almost like a dance. When he reached my lower back, he paused, and I almost protested the sudden stillness.
"Still okay?" he asked, his voice soft and teasing.
I tilted my face toward him, my lips parted, my eyes still closed.
"Don't stop," I murmured, the words a plea.
And he didn't. He removed the towel as his fingers drifted to the back of my thigh, gliding up the muscle with gentle strokes, his thumbs teasing the tendons.
A shiver ran through me, a delightful tremor.
He worked along the curve of my glutes, careful, deliberate, then back to my spine in one smooth, continuous line, a seamless flow of touch.
I could feel his rough hand on my most sensitive spot.
I bit into my lower lip not to make sound and gave him a satisfaction.
The oil had left my body slick and yielding beneath his touch. He leaned over, and I felt the length of his forearm now, dragging slowly from my shoulder to my hip, pressing just enough to draw a soft, involuntary sound from my throat.
His knuckles followed next, rolling firm and slow along my lower back, sending little shivers, delicious and exhilarating, up my spine.
Then he returned to long, full-body strokes, his palms sweeping from the base of my skull down to the edge of the towel, moving so languidly it felt less like a massage and more like an intimate caress, drawing me further into his spell.
"You're driving me crazy." The words were breathy.
I felt his smile against the top of my spine as he pressed a soft kiss there.
"That's the idea," he whispered back.
Had not noticed how wet I was or he just ignored it? I wanted his fingers just slid inside me and worked professionally as he did to my back. I almost begged him to do more dirty things with my body but I just swallowed the words down my throat.
"You okay?" Prashant said his voice with want.
"Mmm..." I hummed.
"You're so gorgeous," he almost whispered, his fingers circled my spine.
I looked at him. He was standing half naked with his shitty grin like he just won a trophy by massaging my back.
"You can leave, Dimples." I forced those words out as I covered my body with a towel, turning around to lay on my back.
"Ira..." The way he said my name I knew what he wanted.
"Leave," I said coldly and he grabbed his shirt before putting it on and walked out of my quarter.
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