Chapter 29
IRA
I lay on the bed, trying to forget what had happened just hours ago.
Prashant reminded me of those monsters I had run away from.
Had I ended up in the arms of another one?
No. No, Prashant wasn't like that. He was different, he was sweet and caring.
He had just forgotten the beautiful human he used to be. I only wanted to remind him.
I glanced at the clock. It was half past eleven, but Prashant still hadn't come into the room. Was he sleeping in another room?
I pulled the duvet over my body and tried to fall asleep, but it was useless. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Kabir's face. Amish's too. Their twisted smirks and haunting eyes stuck to my memory like a magnet. I had married Prashant with the hope that he would protect me. But things had changed.
The way he behaved with me today, it shook me to the core.
Was Pari right? Had his change become permanent? Would he ever be the same Prashant who used to cycle 8 kilometers just to bring me coffee from my favorite café? The man who made me feel like I mattered?
God, I was overthinking again.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing sleep to take over, when suddenly the door slammed open, making me sit upright in bed with a gasp.
Prashant stumbled into the room.
"Prashant..." I whispered, eyes scanning him from head to toe. His shirt hung loose over his broad shoulders, his hair messy, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.
"Ira..." he slurred, collapsing onto the bed.
The smell of alcohol hit me like a wave. I winced. "Are you drunk?"
"Mmm..." he hummed lazily, trying to reach for my cheek. His fingers barely grazed my skin before I slapped his hand away.
"What are you doing?" I snapped, pulling away.
"I'm... examining your wound," he muttered, dragging himself closer again.
I scooted away. "You're drunk, asshole."
He laughed, an unexpected, rich laugh that made my heart skip. There they were: his dimples. The ones I hadn't seen in so long. Not since Avni made him laugh that day. For a fleeting moment, my heart softened at the sight of him like this, unguarded, free, almost innocent.
But then, just as quickly, his smile vanished. He caught me staring. That familiar coldness returned to his face like a mask slipping back on.
"Don't trap me again, okay?" His voice shook slightly. "Last time, you made me believe you were in love with me. I was a damn fool. I even bought you a ring... thinking you'd say yes. But no. I was just a distraction, wasn't I?"
His words hit me harder. I held my breath. "How much were you in love with me, Prashant?" I asked softly, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it.
He exhaled shakily. "So much..." his voice cracked. "I was so in love with you, Ira, that I defied death just to see you one last time."
His eyes glistened.
"I loved you like a pen loves its refill. I loved you like a phone loves its battery." His hand found mine, and he squeezed it gently, voice rough with emotion. "I loved you like Netflix loves asking, 'Are you still watching?'"
A broken laugh escaped me, even as tears slid down my cheeks. Sad, quiet tears that I didn't bother to wipe. I reached out, fingers running through his dark hair gently, lovingly. I wanted to kiss his forehead, but I stopped myself.
"You like to play with hearts and bodies, don't you, Ira Pandey?
" he whispered bitterly. "I wish...God, I wish.
..you had just loved me once. Even if it was only for a month.
I just wanted to know what true love felt like.
But now... I've forgotten. I don't remember what it's like to be loved or to love. "
"Shh..." I hushed him, placing my finger against his lips. "Wanna have sex with me?"
He blinked, surprised. Then sighed. "Hell no. I'm drunk." But he kissed the inside of my palm tenderly. "Go to sleep."
"Okay..." I grinned, my mood shifting like lightning.
Without warning, I ripped his shirt open, buttons flying across the room as he broke into a laugh. A genuine, hearty laugh that made my chest ache.
Next thing I knew, my tongue traced the curve of his neck, slid up to his jawline, then found his mouth. I kissed him slowly, deeply, and unhurriedly. I tasted the sharp tang of alcohol mingling with the familiar heat of his skin. It was intoxicating.
"Ira..." he rasped, gripping my hair, trying to take control.
But I shoved him down and climbed on top of him. "Don't," I whispered. "Let me."
I could feel how hard he was for me, the heat radiating from his body through the fabric of his pants. God, he was impressively aroused.
I paused, staring down at him, at the man who had loved me with the kind of passion people wrote poetry about. The kind of love I'd spent years running from.
"Ira..." he breathed again, this time with a desperation that nearly broke me.
I didn't reply. I just leaned in, ready to lose myself in the moment... in him... in us.
I kissed him rough, hard, and hungry until a deep, raspy groan tore from his throat. His wide chest rose and fell beneath my palm, each breath quick and unsteady as I tried to take control of his massive, trembling body.
He felt like fire under my hands. Solid muscle. Bare skin. Power, barely restrained.
My lips traveled to the crook of his neck, that place where his scent was strongest. I buried my face there, inhaling him, claiming him.
I kissed, nipped, and tasted, needing to mark every inch of him.
Beneath me, I could feel the ache of him, hard and pulsing trapped beneath the press of my hips. I ground down slowly, deliberately.
"Say it," I whispered, my voice thick with want, "say you don't want me."
He didn't answer, not with words. Just a sharp exhale that was half surrender, half protest.
I could feel his restraint unraveling.
His hand slid behind my back, fingers nimble and urgent as he undid my blouse. He flung it aside with a quiet grunt, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, with reverence, he cupped my breasts through the lace of my bra.
"They're perfect," he murmured, a boyish smile tugging at his lips like he couldn't believe this was real.
He eased one breast free and took it into his mouth. His tongue was hot and relentless, and I gasped, arching into him as a shock of pleasure raced through me.
I tangled my fingers in his thick, dark hair, guiding him lower, urging him silently.
"Prashant..." I breathed his name, breathless, broken just as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my petticoat sliding lower until he touched me where I was already aching for him. My hips jerked against his palm.
He kissed me then, deep and slow, before pulling back just enough to speak.
"We're in the same house as my mother and sisters..." he whispered, eyes dark with lust and danger. He pressed his hand gently over my mouth. "So you'll have to stay quiet while I make you lose your mind."
With one hand, he tugged my panties down and off, his movements quick and impatient. Then he lifted me just enough to align us and pushed inside in one deep, claiming thrust.
I gasped against his palm, my nails digging into his back.
He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, both of us trembling. Then he moved, slow at first, deliberately filling me with each thrust, his grip on my hips tightening as the pace built.
"Mmm..." My muffled moans vibrated against his skin as he drove into me, harder, deeper, his control fading with each movement.
Every sound, every breath, every slick movement was amplified by the risk of being heard, the forbidden thrill of where we were and who might be just down the hall.
"Don't hold back," I whispered when he moved his hand. "I want all of it."
His eyes flared with heat, and then he gave me exactly what I asked for, his rhythm rough, his mouth everywhere, his voice low and possessive in my ear.
"I've always wanted to make you scream my name," he growled.
My whole body trembled beneath him as waves of pleasure built higher, harder. The world outside that room disappeared. There was only him. Only us. Only the need we could no longer pretend didn't exist.
His hand muffled my cries, but my eyes said everything as they were wide, wild, pleading for more. Every nerve in my body sparked under his touch. His gaze flickered between hunger and hesitation, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to.
Our breaths tangled as his lips brushed my jaw, then lower, trailing fire down my neck. He moved with a mixture of desperation and control.
"Say it," I whispered into the crook of his ear, my voice shaking. "You want me."
He growled low in his throat, and the sound vibrated through me. "More than anything."
His hands roamed possessively as his fingertips tracing every curve, memorizing every inch. My body answered with an urgency I couldn't contain. I arched into him, grinding deliberately, claiming control and surrendering all at once.
The room felt heavier, like the very air was wrapped around us, thick with heat and the quiet sounds of longing, the rustle of skin, the gasp of breath, the creak of the bed beneath us.
When his forehead pressed against mine, his voice was a ragged whisper. "This can't be just once."
"It won't be," I said, cupping his face, pulling him back into the kiss.
Outside the room, the world stayed quiet. But inside, we moved as though time had folded around us.
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