Chapter 17 Suman #2
“Um… but you’re tired, and you need rest. Someone might find us, you know,” I said, feeling him moving closer behind me.
My eyes widened when I sensed his hands on the sides of my waist, pulling me close slowly.
His chest warmed my back as he leaned into the crook of my neck.
“Do you want me to beg you to stay here for a night, dear wife?”
My knees went weak at the mention of ‘wife’, which made me close my eyes in surrender.
Yes, I was his wife. No one could change that fact. And no matter how wrong it was for people, society, and the world, I was his wife.
And it didn’t feel wrong. Not at all. Still afraid.
“No,” I replied. I didn’t want him to beg me, now or ever. His command was sufficient, but his request felt like an order to me.
I closed my eyes, feeling his lips brush against my neck as he kissed there gently.
He pulled me closer and held my hand, guiding me toward his bed, and hovered over me. I leaned back in anticipation as he sat down on the bed and settled beneath me at the end.
I gulped nervously, and his next move brought me peace amid the chaos.
“We’re just sleeping tonight, nothing more,” he said and kissed my forehead.
A smile spread across my face as he stepped aside, allowing me to feel at ease lying in his bed, and he lay beside me.
My chest rose with each breath I took and fell with every exhale. My stomach felt fluttery. My fingers knitted over my waist to stop them from trembling.
I watched him shift onto one side, resting his head on his elbow.
As he looked into my eyes, I realised we had shared a few intense moments, yet this silence felt more intimate and captivating.
When he thrust his dagger into me, my mind spun, and my body resonated with each thrust, creating its own melody. And when he placed me in his lap and awarded me the very first act of pleasure in my life, I was too stunned to react. But this was entirely different.
I didn’t feel dizzy; my body wasn’t heated enough to have a mind of its own. There was peace and quietude to capture these moments for a lifetime.
Darkness shrouded the chamber, except where a few fire torches were in the corner, and a lamp on the table by the couch cast light.
The curtains at the bedroom entrance and the windows were fully closed.
It was past midnight, and the chaos and the distinct sounds of attendants and soldiers walking and gossiping had quieted down completely.
The silence thickened the seasonally chilly night air, making his normal breathing audible. From a distance, the chirps of the insects and crickets dripped into my ears.
I pulled my knees up, feeling self-conscious about my waist being visible amid the dupatta tucked into the side of my skirt.
His deep eyes locked with mine. The dark green ocean pulled me deep into a surreal world where the chance of anyone intruding on our peaceful life was slim.
I gulped nervously, noticing his gaze drop to my lips, lingering there.
The tightness in my heart intensified slowly as I waited for him to look away. However, the warmth of my cheeks transformed into heat—the heat from a lover’s gaze, innocent yet sinful. Loving but dangerous.
My stomach tightened under his unwavering gaze, and a nervous thrill coursed over my skin. I turned, breathless, seeing him staring at my lips.
As he inhaled deeply, his cheeks turned darker. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, a cloud of questions visible in his eyes.
My heart sank to a new low, lost in his fresh green darkness, mesmerised by the warm glow soothing my soul from just inches away.
My gaze fluttered shyly as he moved closer. His palm brushed my head gently, and he hovered over me.
The pause was agonising. My toes curled in anticipation. His gaze fell to my lips again, and the rough yet gentle embrace of his palm on top of my head felt like the most comforting thing I had ever experienced.
I gulped nervously. “Someday, someone will see us,” I said in a low voice.
“We aren’t doing anything wrong,” he responded in a deep voice. The word ‘wrong’ hung heavily on my breath.
“Huh?” The words stuck in my throat.
I was too stunned to speak, waiting for him to move down the last few inches and take me on a flight to heaven, a pleasurable abode.
His wicked grin made me impatient. A low chuckle followed, and I couldn’t help but push him away, causing him to laugh.
“Tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” he laughed, and I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath.
“No, I’m not thinking what you’re thinking,” I said, feeling his hand on my stomach.
His fingers raked over my waist as he looked at me and spoke, “You can tell me how you’re feeling. I’m your husband,”
A timid smile appeared when I heard the word ‘husband’. “I will, if I feel anything,” I said slowly, and he shifted closer, resting his head on his elbow.
“So, how was your day?” he asked, and I realised he asked me this every time we met.
I intertwined my fingers with his. The feel of his fingertips sent a tingling sensation across my waist, and I nestled closer, burying my face in his neck. Nothing felt more comforting than his scent after a long day.
There was the home where I was born, then the home where I got married, and then the home where I forgot everything and moved on to live peacefully. Yet, being held in his arms felt more comforting than any heaven.
He was the devil who could kill for me and was the god who could protect me from any devil.
I felt liberated with him. He not only made me feel good about myself but also about others.
He was unlike anyone else. I always felt at ease around him, even before our wedding.
I had never seen him flirting with anyone or making anyone feel uncomfortable.
“Hey,” he muttered, sliding his hand along the curve of my waist, gradually pulling me closer. He pressed his back against the bed and laid me on his chest. It was firm yet comforting.
He pulled the duvet over us, and I closed my eyes as he stroked my head, soothing the uneasiness.
My breathing calmed with each passing moment.
“Do you see your parents?” he asked softly, and I opened my eyes, feeling a stiffness in my throat at the mention of my parents.
I shook my head and sensed his hand gently working through my loose braid.
“Why not?” he asked.
I lifted my gaze and pressed my chin against his chest, meeting his eyes.
“You know, when a girl is born, her parents view her as a debt, someone who belongs to another. They raise her with everything they have, teach her life’s lessons, prepare her for her future, reminding her that once she leaves her house for her husband’s, the door to her home will close forever,” I said, feeling his fingers gently touch the back of my head and his thumb caress my ear.
“After marrying me off, they seemed to treat me like I was gone, forever from their life,” I continued. “It was their dream to send me off to my husband’s home, and when they did, they didn’t care if I was dead or alive.”
His thumb, gently caressing my cheek, stopped me from crying.
“Then?” he asked, and I gulped.
“I couldn’t escape him for the first three months. I was terrified. Death seemed easy to me. I was young when I got married and…” I took a brief pause. My voice went heavy with emotion.
“You can tell me anything. I know everything,” he muttered, wrapping his other hand around me, sending me an extra wave of comfort.
“Menstruation always scared me,” I chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t even move, fearing I might get bloodstains on my clothes, and that would be embarrassing.”
He smiled weakly, listening to me, his fingers gently brushing my braid.
“And after spending the first night with him, I realised my fear was nothing compared to it. I was afraid of the nights. I couldn’t even watch the sun setting. Day after day, the terror became my ultimate reality.” I wobbled at the end and looked at his stiff face.
His fingers played with my thoughts, detangling the knots in my mind. He was silent, listening to every word I said.
“He hurt me beyond repair. After fucking me, he wouldn’t even ask if I needed water, or if I wanted to... be taken care of, or if I needed a break. And if I resisted because of exhaustion, he would make excuses, saying, ‘It won’t take long’.”
My breathing grew heavy as I recalled the painful memory, but he kept me grounded, caressing my cheek.
“Once I was cooking for his family, it was late morning. I was alone in our small house when he returned from work. While kneading the dough, I saw him walk in through the door. By then, I had become familiar with his expressions. The way he looked at me, I knew what it was. I tried to ignore him and focused on kneading the dough faster. I only intended to escape him and head toward the cowshed to feed them. But he stripped, stepping closer, and I knew there was no escape.”
Tears stung my eyes, my lips quivered, making it hard for me to speak.
He instantly wrapped his arms around me, holding me close to his chest.
“You don’t have to say it,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.
“He abruptly held me up and pushed me against the wall,” I burst into tears. “Then he bent me forward and took me from behind. My face was pressed against the wall, bruised. I… I went numb, and when he was done, I fell to my knees, nearly unconscious,”
“Suman,” he mumbled, kissing my forehead.
Tears fell from my eyes as words trembled out of my mouth.
“But I had to finish kneading the dough, watch over the boiling milk, finish cooking the vegetables, and make food for his family,” My heart ached immensely, and I clenched my fist tightly on his chest.
“Why did you not meet me before?”
I whimpered, looking at him. “I swear, if it had been you, I would’ve gladly hugged the flames without resistance.”
He cupped my cheek and shook his head. “No, never, for me or anyone; life is never worth giving up,” he muttered, kissing my forehead and cheek before hugging me tightly.