Chapter 28
That evening, Abhinav walked the corridor of the family wing, heading toward his office, his mind half on the work waiting for him.
Voices drifted from Naina’s room. His mother. Naina. Meera’s mother.
He would have passed.
Then one word reached him.
“Lehenga.”
His steps slowed.
The door stood slightly open. He moved closer, just enough to see. And then he forgot why he had been walking at all.
Meera stood on a small platform at the center of the room, with her back to the door.
Deep red silk wrapped around her. Gold embroidery ran through it, intricate, fine, catching light as she moved.
She looked…
He gripped the doorframe. His fingers pressed into the wood.
Sarita adjusted the fall of the skirt. Gauri smoothed the blouse at her shoulder. Naina circled them, quick, restless, entirely in command.
“Bhabhi, turn a little.”
Meera turned.
The fabric followed her. Gold came alive with each movement. The skirt swayed, heavy, fluid, shaping itself around her.
His breath stalled.
The blouse fit close, its lines tracing her form. It revealed enough to let his imagination go wild. His eyes followed the line of her neck, lower, to the curve of her waist.
His grip tightened. The wood gave under his fingers.
A short sound. Too short for anyone else. Not for Naina. Her head snapped toward the door and found him at once. Surprise gave way to recognition. A slow, knowing smile followed.
He straightened and stepped back.
Long strides took him away, distance forced into place. Behind him, the voices continued. Measurements, adjustments, fabric.
The image stayed.
Through calls. Through dinner. Through words he barely registered.
Deep red. Gold. The movement of it.
Sleep never came. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his body alert, his mind locked on her.
By dawn, he stopped trying.
He stood in the courtyard, hands clasped behind him, waiting. Still on the outside. Anything but inside.
He sensed her before the sound reached him.
She paused at the entrance, watching him as she always did before stepping forward.
Usually, he let her. Not today.
He turned and closed the distance before she could move.
His hands closed around her waist, drawing her in. His face buried into her hair, breathing her in as if he’d been allowed to breathe only just now.
“The dress.” His voice was rough at the edges.
She eased against him. “You saw.”
His grip tightened. “I couldn’t sleep.” He moved her hair aside, his lips brushing her pulse, the control in his tone held by a thread. “It hasn’t left my head.”
Her body responded before thought could catch up. She leaned into him. Her fingers curled into his shirt.
His mouth moved to her jaw, drifting lower, desperate.
“I kept thinking about it,” he murmured against her skin, his lips brushing, tasting, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
“Mmmm…”
His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. “About how it will feel under my hands…”
She arched against him.
His mouth touched her throat. “…when I take it off.”
She inhaled sharply.
“What it will feel like,” he continued, “when there’s nothing left between us.”
“Hukum…” The word came out unsteady.
He did not answer. He bent and lifted her, one arm under her knees, the other at her back.
She gasped as her hands found his shoulders.
He carried her deeper into the courtyard, into a shadowed corner.
He had come earlier today and prepared. Cushions rested against the stone, set behind an old pillar where light did not reach.
She saw. Understood. Her fingers held him firmly, but she didn’t pull away.
He lowered her onto the cushions with a care that contrasted the heat beneath his control.
For a few seconds, he did not touch her. He only looked.
Her breath came uneven. Lips parted. Dim light brushed across her skin, leaving the rest in shadow.
Abhinav’s control snapped.
His mouth returned to her throat, to her collarbone, each touch deeper, more demanding. His hands slid beneath her kurta, palms warm against her cold skin.
She trembled under him, a needy sound breaking free.
“Easy,” he murmured against her neck.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as his hands moved, finding the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. He pushed the kurta higher. Morning air touched her skin.
Her back arched on instinct as his mouth followed with such tenderness it made her breathe and gasp in the same moment.
He did not remove her clothes. Too risky, even in this hidden corner.
But it didn’t matter.
His hands found what they needed. Every place that changed her breathing. Every place that made her grip him tighter. Every place that drew her closer without her realising she was moving.
“I’ve never…” her voice broke. “This is…”
“I know.” The words came low, close, felt more than heard. “I’ve got you.”
Her head fell back, eyes closing as sensation rose through her. His teeth grazed her peaks softly.
She gasped. “Hukum.”
The word ran through him, primal and possessive.
“Say it again.” His voice had roughened, darker now.
“Hukum.” Softer now. Only his.
His mouth moved to her neck, hand mapping the swell of her breast. “On our wedding night…” Each word carried a promise. “I will show you everything. Every inch of what you can feel.”
His other hand slid lower, slipping under the edge of her salwar, finding her heat. Her breath hitched, sharp and sudden.
“Oh…” Her face turned into his shoulder. “Please…”
His fingers found a rhythm, measured, deliberate, drawing shudder after shudder from her.
His mouth moved close to her ear, voice rough, barely controlled. “I will taste every inch of you, Meera. Mark every part of you. Make you forget everything except my name.”
Her chest rose and fell unevenly, breath catching, slipping. Each inhale came shorter than the last, as if the air itself had grown too thin. Her fingers tightened against him, holding him without thought.
He watched her face as he took her apart slowly, deliberately, knowing exactly where to touch, how far to push.
When it finally broke through her, it did so all at once.
Her body went taut, then shuddered against him. He pulled her close, his mouth covering hers, swallowing the sound as it tore free.
Waves of aftershock followed, softer yet relentless.
His arm stayed firm around her, anchoring her, keeping her close as her breath struggled to return to normal.
“Mine,” he murmured against her skin, again and again.
It wasn’t a claim he shouted to the world, it was so quiet and deep, it settled into her, again and again. Until it felt less like a word and more like a truth.
Afterward, she remained curled into him, face hidden in his chest, fingers twisting his shirt. Not clinging now. Just holding.
Her breathing refused to settle.
She was very, very aware. Of everything. His hands. Where they had been. How easily her body had answered him.
Her eyes remained shut. Because facing him felt impossible.
He noticed.
His hand moved along her back, slow, grounding, which only made her want to hide more.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head at once. “No.”
The word came out muffled against his shirt, weak with embarrassment.
He bit back a laugh. “Meera.”
She pressed deeper into him. “I said no.”
His fingers slid into her hair, smoothing through it before tracing down her spine.
“You were not saying no a few minutes ago.”
Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened against his shirt. Silence felt safer. Anything she gave him now would only make him more smug.
He let it stretch, warm and dangerous.
“If I had gone further…” His voice dropped, teasing. “…you would still be under me, asking for more.”
A horrified sound escaped her before she buried her face deeper.
His laughter moved through her, low and deeply satisfied.
He tried to tilt her face up. “Come on.”
She resisted instantly.
“Meera.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
His thumb moved along her jaw, slow enough to undo her.
“You were arching into me,” he murmured near her ear, “as if you could not get close enough.”
Every muscle in her body locked.
“Hukum,” she whispered, all protest gone.
The word changed him at once.
His breath deepened. His eyes darkened. For one dangerous second, his control slipped.
“You say that,” he murmured, leaning closer, “and still expect me to behave?”
She had absolutely no defense against him when he sounded like that.
None.
He drew in a slow breath, forcing himself back under control. Barely.
His touch softened as he adjusted her dupatta. Then her kurta, smoothing the creases from her waist and sides with infuriating tenderness.
His mouth brushed her hair in a soft kiss.
“Once,” he continued thoughtfully, “and you’re already exhausted.”
She shifted in protest.
He grinned. “That is genuinely concerning.”
She made an offended sound against his chest.
“You’ll need better stamina than this.”
“Hukum,” she groaned, scandalised all over again.
“If you plan on surviving marriage to me, this becomes a serious concern.”
That earned him a shove against his chest that lacked any actual force.
He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
Before she could gather enough dignity to argue, he slipped an arm under her knees and lifted her again.
She gave up resisting.
Her arms went around his shoulders, face hidden against his chest, still refusing to meet his eyes.
He carried her through the courtyard, moving through shadows and blind corners with the ease of a man who had already memorised every possible risk.
At the last turn near the corridor to her quarters, he set her down. His hands remained at her waist, holding her upright.
She steadied herself.
Barely.
She kept her eyes lowered.
“Go.”
She nodded immediately and turned.
Two steps. Three.
Then, without turning… “Hukum.”
Soft. Breathless. Entirely deliberate this time.
She disappeared around the corridor before he could answer.
He stood there, a slow breath leaving him, close to laughter.
Tomorrow would test every ounce of control he had.