Chapter 41
By the time the reception ended, Anand Mahal had begun to sink into the softness that follows a wedding. Music faded. Guests drifted away with sleeping children and half-finished conversations about who had cried most during the Phere.
The Haveli itself seemed exhausted. Happily exhausted.
Abhinav and Meera were led toward their rooms, Sarita and the women trailing behind. Naina walked ahead with a silver tray, glancing back with interest.
“They’re doing it again,” she announced.
“Doing what?” someone asked.
“The thing.” She gestured toward them. “Bhabhi smiling for no reason. Bhai looking at her as if he invented romance and deserves an award.”
Laughter filled the corridor. Warmth climbed up Meera’s neck.
She was smiling for a reason. Abhinav’s hand had found the small of her back near the family wing and had stayed there.
It made breathing difficult.
In the best possible way.
“Let them be,” Sarita added, amused.
“I am letting them be. I am observing.”
“You need sleep,” Abhinav told her.
“I need compensation. Watching this for six hours has consequences. I have feelings…”
“Naina.”
“I have trauma…”
The bedroom doors appeared ahead. Naina pushed them open with flair. The room glowed with oil lamps. Rose petals scattered across the floor and bed.
Meera stepped in, Abhinav beside her, his hand still at her back.
The others followed with instructions.
“Drink the milk first.”
“Eat the sweets.”
“Keep flowers away from your head, they cause headaches.”
“Where is the silver bowl?”
Abhinav stood through all of it with controlled patience. Then he folded his hands. “I think we can manage from here.”
“Thakur Sa is dismissing us,” an aunty noted, pleased.
“He has reached his limit,” Naina added, equally pleased.
He hugged his mother. She touched his shoulder before stepping away. “Good night, beta.”
Naina grinned. “Good luck.”
“Naina.”
“What? Blessings matter.”
Abhinav glared. The procession began to leave. Naina kept talking. The aunties kept laughing. Their voices faded into the corridor.
“We’re all exhausted,” Naina called out, “so feel free to make as much noise as neces…”
The door shut.
Silence settled.
Meera stood near the bed, watching him remove his pagdi and place it aside with care.
Everything that had stood between them through the day had fallen away. The room felt smaller. Warmer.
Her fingers curled into her lehenga.
He looked at her, and that look did not pass. It settled over her until she felt it everywhere. On her face, along her throat, in the uneven pull of her breath.
She tried to meet his eyes. Looked away. Looked again.
He stepped closer.
Heat rushed through her.
Closer again, until the space between them thinned.
Her fingers loosened, then curled again. “You should…” The words formed and failed in the same breath.
She quickly reached for the glass of milk and held it out. “You should drink first.”
He glanced at it. Then at her. And smiled… amused, slow, and just a little dangerous.
He did not take it. Instead, he began removing his sherwani. One clasp. A step forward.
She stepped back. “You should… sit.”
Another clasp. Another step.
“It’s been a long day.”
The fabric loosened. He moved closer.
“You must be tired.”
The silk fell away.
Her grip tightened on the glass. “You didn’t eat much.”
He set the sherwani aside without looking. The kurta followed.
She saw him. Fully. Her breath slipped.
That glimpse in the rain had not prepared her for this. Not even close. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Muscle drawn tight into a narrow waist. Strength no longer hidden.
He looked more… Bigger. Stronger. Real in a way she had not been ready for.
Heat climbed up her throat. She forced herself to look away, only to find her eyes returning.
He noticed.
“You should…” Her voice thinned.
He stepped forward, removing his watch.
The table met her back.
He placed the watch down.
She did not move. The glass stayed between them, though her hold on it weakened. Her breath came uneven.
He moved closer. Close enough that the warmth of him reached her before his hands did. Close enough that she felt him everywhere.
Her fingers tightened around the glass again. It did not help. Nothing did.
He took it from her hands. Raised it to his lips. Set it aside without swallowing.
Before she could understand, his hand slipped into her hair, tilting her face. His mouth found hers. Warm. Unhurried. The milk passed between them, drawn from his mouth into hers, and the world narrowed to breath and this moment.
Her hands hovered, unsure. Then they found him. His shoulders first. Her fingers pressed in, and then, they moved… down, over his chest. Heat. Strength. Muscle shifting under her touch.
She stilled. He did not. But something in him changed. His breath changed. The kiss changed, stronger now.
Her fingers tightened, tracing without thought, feeling him.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes had darkened.
“You will need more strength than I will tonight.”
His gaze dropped to her chest, then returned to her face, darker now, intent settling deep. “That is mine.” His thumb traced her jaw. “You. This. All of it.”
Any answer she might have formed vanished before reaching her lips.
His hands rose to her veil first. He removed each pin with care. The fabric slipped free, falling at her feet.
His fingers found her waist.
Her knees weakened.
He watched her unravel as he loosened the clasp of her lehenga. The deep red silk loosened and fell, pooling around her ankles.
She did not move. She could not.
His eyes dipped once, then returned to her. His hands came to her waist and he set her on the edge of the table in one smooth motion.
She gasped. He steadied her, stepping between her knees until there was no space left. He was too close, close enough that if she moved just a little, she would feel him against her.
His hands moved over her legs, rising, claiming every inch.
Her eyes closed. Her fingers tightened against him as sensation rushed through her, too much, too fast.
He watched every change in her. Every breath, every reaction. His touch did not stop, drawing a slow arch from her body.
The maang tikka came away next. “I watched you walk toward me.” His voice dropped, pulled tight. “I could not look anywhere else.”
Her eyes opened, heavy, hooded.
The earrings followed. “I tried.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “It failed.”
The choker came next. He freed it, then leaned in, his mouth pressing to the mark it had left.
Her head fell back, her chest brushing his.
His hands moved to her back, undoing the ties, faster now, patience giving way to something deeper, darker.
“The whole evening,” he murmured near her pulse, “I kept thinking about this.”
One knot loosened.
“About being here.”
Another.
“With you.”
The blouse slipped away.
She held onto him, tighter now. She moaned.
He drew back just enough to look at her. This time, there was no restraint left in his eyes. Only possession. Only desire.
“You are…” His voice roughened, “so beautiful.”
His hands moved over her, slower now, taking in every detail. He cupped her, felt her.
“Oh…”
“To touch you like this…” A breath left him, uneven. “I have wanted this all day.”
His thumb traced her peaks, almost reverent. Her body reacted. She arched into him. Her thighs pressed together.
That was enough.
Whatever control he had been holding onto snapped.
He pulled her to him, off the table, and she came willingly, her arms around his neck, her body fitting against his as if it had already chosen him long before this night.
His hands settled at her back possessively.
“I am done waiting.”
The words were low. Final.
He carried her to the bed, his mouth finding hers again, deeper, claiming. By the time she felt the mattress, she had stopped trying to hold herself together.
He followed, his body over hers, leaving no space between them.
“Hukum…” The word slipped from her, soft, fragile.
He paused, drawing back just enough to see her. His hand came to her nape, holding her there. His eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide.
“Only that name tonight.” His thumb pressed at her nape. “Nothing else.”
A tremor ran through her. She clenched her thighs once again.
He saw it. His gaze sharpened.
“My wife,” he murmured, voice thick with promise, “I will make sure you remember this night.”
Her eyes closed. In surrender.
His mouth moved over her skin, each kiss claiming, learning, memorizing. She writhed under his touch. Her breath came slower, then faster. Her fingers dug into his hair.
“Hukum…” softer now.
His lips traveled lower, teasing, tasting her peaks.
A soft cry left her. “Aaah…”
He exhaled, undone, control slipping with every response she gave. Her back arched. Her grip tightened. She did not know whether she was trying to pull him closer or hold herself together.
"Please," she breathed.
He lifted his head, and moved between her thighs, his tip pressing against her. Her hips rose to meet him, asking him, begging him.
He held her there, then entered her in one clean motion.
Her body tensed.
“Hukum…” she cried out in pain, in pleasure, in sensation.
He stopped. His hand rose to her face, thumb brushing her jaw, grounding her. “Look at me.”
She did.
“I will not rush you, Meera.”
Effort showed in his voice. The restraint cost him.
She nodded, tears slipping free. Her fingers tightened into the sheets. “Don’t stop… just stay.”
Something in him gave.
He pressed his mouth to her forehead, then began to move, slow, careful, watching her face as if nothing else mattered.
She felt herself stretching to hold him. It felt too much, too overwhelming. Her fingers dug in.
"Okay," she managed.
"Yes?"
"Yes."
They moved together.
He guided her, his hand firm at her waist, easing, adjusting, making sure she felt him fully. Every motion deliberate, meant for her.
He kept returning to her face. Her mouth. Her ear. Her name passed through him again and again, as if he needed to anchor himself in her.
Her hands moved without thought, holding him, pulling him closer, losing track of everything except him.
The tenderness held until it couldn't.
At some point, her body took over, pulling him deeper, her hips rising, a sound tearing out of her that she had no control over.
He adjusted, giving her what she asked for in a single thrust.
She came undone against him, her face buried in his neck, hands gripping his shoulders.
He followed soon after, his forehead against hers, his body shuddering. The most unguarded sound she had ever heard from him pressed into her skin.
Afterward, only breath remained.
He rested against her neck. Her fingers loosened over his shoulders. The lamps burned low. Rose petals lay crushed around them. The room was warm and wrecked and entirely quiet.
He drew back after some time and looked at her.
Her sindoor smudged. Her lips parted. Her eyes heavy. Beautiful in a way that stayed.
“Hukum…” she whispered, barely awake.
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and gathered her into his arms, holding her close as he rose.
"Where…" Her body still twitched. "Where are you taking me?"
“To wash you.” His tone softened. “It was your first time. You need warm water.”
She settled against him.
He carried her inside solely to help her wash. That was the plan.
Then under the warm shower, she pressed her lips to his throat. "Hukum..."
He stopped. A low breath left him, half a laugh. “You are not helping.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
"Meera."
“I can barely think.”
“You are thinking very clearly.”
She smiled against his neck. He felt it and it ruined him just as thoroughly as everything else about her had tonight.
He kissed her, slower this time, holding her there, until everything else faded.
Time blurred after that.
He had taken her enough that her body refused to cooperate anymore, limbs soft, strength gone. She lay against him, half-covered in a sheet, her head on his shoulder, his arm firm around her waist.
He brought a sweet to her lips. “Eat.”
“You are a tyrant,” she murmured, eyes barely open.
He chuckled softly. “Your tyrant.”
She took a bite, too tired to argue.
He watched her, then held a glass of milk to her mouth. She drank because he asked, because his hand remained there until she did.
“You look…” her voice trailed.
“Unbothered?” he offered.
She frowned. “Unfairly energetic.”
“That too.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “You were not complaining a while ago.”
Her fingers curled weakly against him. “I was not… capable of complaining.”
“No,” he agreed, far too pleased. “You were very cooperative.”
“I was not…”
“Hukum,” he reminded her softly.
She stilled. “…that is not fair.”
“You made it very effective.”
A breath passed between them.
“Hukum…” she whispered again, half-asleep.
He exhaled, warmth and exhaustion in it. “And you blame me.”
“You are impossible.”
“And you,” he murmured, adjusting the sheet around her, drawing her closer, “are very tolerant of your tyrant.”
She smiled. “I will not call you that again.”
“We will see.”
She did not argue. She had already drifted too far.
He watched her for a while, the teasing fading into something deeper. His hand moved through her hair once.
Then he settled on his back, pulling her fully against him, his lips resting against her hair.
Sleep came for him as well, though his hold on her did not loosen.