14 Second Of 48 Hours （18）
Niyati stirred slowly, her consciousness returning in soft waves.
The room was quiet.
Warm.
Peaceful.
Her body felt heavy in the most unfamiliar yet comforting way, like she had drifted into a sleep deeper than anything she had known before.
She shifted slightly beneath the blanket, the soft fabric brushing against her bare skin—and that’s when it hit her.
A blush crept instantly across her cheeks.
Memories.
Fragments of the last few hours came rushing back—the closeness, the intensity, the way everything between them had blurred into something overwhelming and consuming.
She bit her lower lip softly, her face heating up as she buried herself a little deeper into the blanket.
And then—
She felt it.
A gaze.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Ansh was sitting beside her on the bed.
Watching her.
There was something different in his expression now—softer, calmer… yet still carrying that quiet intensity that always seemed to surround him.
When he noticed her awake, a small smile spread across his lips.
“Finally,” he murmured.
Before she could say anything, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
The gesture was so simple—
So tender—
That it made her heart skip.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Ansh stood up and walked toward the kitchen counter.
Niyati watched him, still wrapped in the blanket, still trying to steady her thoughts.
He returned a moment later, holding a glass of water… and a pill.
She frowned slightly, confusion flickering across her face.
“What’s that?” she asked softly.
Ansh sat down beside her again, holding it out to her.
“We’ve been… careless,” he said, his tone calm but serious. “Take this. It’ll prevent anything we’re not ready for.”
She blinked, processing his words.
“I mean—” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, though his eyes remained thoughtful, “I wouldn’t mind being a baby daddy someday…”
Her cheeks flushed instantly.
“…but not like this,” he continued more gently. “Not at the cost of your studies. Not right now.”
For a moment, she just looked at him.
Then a small smile formed on her lips.
“I’m already on pills, Ansh,” she said.
His brows furrowed slightly. “What pills?”
“For my irregular periods,” she replied casually, though her tone held a hint of reassurance. “Doctor prescribed.”
He studied her for a second, clearly processing it.
Then she reached forward, taking the pill from his hand anyway.
“I’ll take this too,” she added softly. “Since you’re insisting.”
A faint smile returned to his face.
There was relief there.
And something else—
Care.
The kind that went beyond just the moment.
As she took the pill and sipped the water, Ansh watched her quietly, his gaze lingering just a little longer than usual.
Because somewhere between everything that had happened—
The teasing, the intensity, the desire—
This moment stood out differently.
It wasn’t just about them wanting each other anymore.
It was about looking out for each other.
And neither of them said it out loud…
But they both felt it.
Niyati's throat worked around the last of the water, the cool liquid sliding down as she set the glass on the nightstand with a soft clink.
The pills sat dissolved now, their bitter aftertaste still coating her tongue—a practical necessity, she understood, though the gesture of Ansh providing them had sent something warm through her chest.
She wiped her lower lip with the back of her hand and turned back to find him watching her with an intensity that made her pause.
His cock twitched visibly where he stood at the edge of the bed, the movement drawing her gaze downward.
She followed the trajectory of his own—throat to collarbone, the swell of her breasts still flushed from the bath, the curve of her stomach, and lower to where her thighs parted slightly on the cream sheets.
A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. She'd felt his eyes on her before, countless, but never like this—never with such naked hunger, such undisguised possession. The power of it settled into her shoulders, straightening her spine as she shifted on the bed.
"See something you want?" Her voice came out lower than she'd intended, husky from the warm water and what they'd already done in the tub.
Ansh didn't answer. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping there as his hand moved to his own thigh, fingers digging into the flesh as if anchoring himself.
Niyati let the silence stretch. She reached out slowly, her fingertips grazing the back of his hand where it gripped his leg, then sliding upward along his forearm, the dark hair there coarse against her palm.
She watched his nostrils flare as she traced the veins on the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse hammering against her thumb.
When her fingers finally closed around his cock, his breath hitched audibly. He was hot in her hand, the skin impossibly soft over the rigid core, still slick with remnants of their bath and his own arousal.
She squeezed gently, watching his abdomen contract, the muscles there jumping under his skin.
"Niyuu—" The nickname came out strangled, broken.
She didn't respond. Instead, she leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his thigh as she guided him toward her mouth.
The first taste was salt and heat, the faint bitterness of soap from their bath mixing with the musk that was purely him.
She swirled her tongue around the head, feeling the texture of him, the slight give of the ridge beneath her lips.
Ansh's hand found her hair, not guiding but simply holding on, his fingers threading through the damp strands and tightening almost painfully as she took him deeper.
She hollowed her cheeks, the stretch of her jaw familiar now where it had once been foreign, and pulled back slowly, letting her teeth graze him just enough to make him gasp.
"Fuck." The word tore out of him as she repeated the motion, finding a rhythm that had his hips jerking forward involuntarily before he caught himself. "Your mouth—fuck, Niyuu, your mouth."
She hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tremble against her shoulders. The power of it surged through her—this man who'd dominated her so thoroughly in the bath, reduced now to broken syllables and shaking hands.
She took him deeper, fighting the reflex to gag, her eyes watering slightly as she held him there, swallowed around him, then pulled back to gasp for air.
His cock glistened in the lamplight, wet from her mouth, and she looked up at him through her lashes to find his head thrown back, the column of his throat working as he struggled for control.
The sight sent fresh heat pooling between her legs, and she pressed her thighs together, seeking friction even as she bent to take him again.
"Stop." The command came suddenly, rough and desperate. Ansh's hand tightened in her hair, pulling her back with enough force to make her gasp. "Stop, or I'm going to—"
She licked her lips, swollen and tender now, and smiled up at him. "Going to what?"
His eyes darkened further, something dangerous flickering there. In one movement, he pushed her back onto the bed, following her down to cage her beneath him. His cock pressed against her stomach, hot and heavy, as he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head.
"Turn over."
The words were barely recognizable, ground out from somewhere deep in his chest. Niyati's breath caught at the rawness in his voice, the barely leashed violence that wasn't violence at all but need—pure, unfiltered need.
She didn't move immediately, testing him, and he released one wrist only to grip her hip and flip her himself.
The sheets were cool against her breasts, her cheek pressing into the pillow as she found herself on her knees, her ass presented to him like an offering.
She heard him moving behind her, the rustle of the sheets, then the sound of something being opened—the small bottle of oil from the bathroom, she realized, catching the familiar scent of coconut and something floral.
His fingers were slick when they found her, spreading the oil with deliberate care that made her toes curl.
He started at her lower back, working downward in slow circles, but she knew where this was leading—had known, perhaps, from the moment she'd felt his eyes on her throat and seen the dark thoughts gathering behind them.
"Ansh—" His name came out uncertain despite herself, the position so vulnerable, so exposed.
"Trust me." The words were soft against the back of her thigh, his breath hot there. Then his mouth, the press of his lips followed by the sharp nip of his teeth that made her yelp and arch. "I've got you, Niyuu. Let me have this."
His finger circled her rim, slick with oil, pressing just enough to make her feel the stretch without entering.
She gripped the sheets, her knuckles whitening, as he repeated the motion, again and again, each pass applying more pressure, more oil, until she was pushing back against him despite her hesitation.
"That's it," he murmured, and then his finger slipped inside.
The sensation was strange—foreign and intimate in a way that made her face burn against the pillow. He moved slowly, twisting his wrist, working her open with a patience that belied the tension she could feel radiating from him in waves.
When he added a second finger, she moaned into the sheets, the stretch burning now but not unpleasant, something deeper awakening with each careful stroke.
"Ready?" The question was breathed against her spine, his free hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
Niyati nodded, not trusting her voice, and felt him shift behind her. The head of his cock pressed against her, slick and hot, and she forced herself to breathe, to relax, as he began to push forward.
The initial penetration was pain—sharp and shocking, her body resisting the intrusion. She cried out, her fingers clawing at the sheets, and he stilled immediately, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Breathe," he ground out. "Breathe for me, Niyuu. Let me in."
She focused on the air moving through her lungs, the way his hand on her hip was drawing slow, grounding circles. The pain began to shift, becoming something else—fullness, pressure, a dark pleasure that built as he inched deeper.
When he was finally seated fully inside her, they both exhaled shakily, the connection so complete she could feel his heartbeat through the walls of her body.
"Move," she whispered, and he did.
His first thrust was slow, testing, and she felt every inch of him sliding through her, the drag of skin on skin heightened by the oil. He found a rhythm that started gentle but quickly built, his control fraying with each passing second.
The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, wet and obscene, mixing with his grunts and her broken cries.
"Touch yourself," he commanded, and she obeyed without thought, her hand sliding between her legs to find her clit swollen and sensitive. The dual sensation—his cock filling her ass, her own fingers circling her clit—sent sparks shooting up her spine, her orgasm building with terrifying speed.
"Ansh, I'm—"
"I know." His pace faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. "I know, Niyuu, I'm right there—"
She came first, her body clamping down around him, the intensity of it tearing a scream from her throat that she muffled in the pillow.
He followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural cry, his release hot and pulsing inside her as he collapsed forward, his weight pressing her into the mattress.
For long moments, they stayed like that—joined, breathing hard, the sweat cooling on their skin. When he finally pulled out, she winced at the loss, at the sudden emptiness, and felt him settle beside her, gathering her against his chest with hands that still shook slightly.
"Forty-eight hours," he whispered into her hair, the same promise from before, but softer now, worn smooth by what they'd done.
Niyati pressed her face into his neck, tasting salt, and said nothing. The pills sat forgotten on the nightstand, the water glass empty, and outside the glass doors, the private pool reflected the first stars of evening.
Ansh watched her carefully, his gaze softer now, steadier.
“Go freshen up,” he said after a pause, his voice calm but laced with quiet intent. “I’ve ordered food. We’ll eat after.”
Niyati nodded, pulling the blanket around herself before slipping off the bed. She didn’t meet his eyes this time—her cheeks still held a faint warmth as she walked toward the bathroom.
The door closed behind her.
And for a few minutes, the room returned to silence.
When she stepped out again, the atmosphere shifted.
Her hair was slightly damp, falling loosely over her shoulders, and the soft bathrobe wrapped around her body only added to the effortless glow she carried. There was something fresh about her now—something softer… calmer.
Yet not entirely untouched by what had happened earlier.
Without saying anything, she moved toward her luggage, kneeling slightly as she unzipped it and began searching through her things.
Ansh, now dressed in his trousers, watched her for a moment before walking closer.
“What are you looking for?” he asked, leaning slightly against the table beside her.
“Clothes,” she replied, her attention still buried in her bag.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Clothes?”
That made her glance up. “Yes. I brought some.”
“How many?”
“Two pyjamas, two dresses… and two casuals,” she said, almost defensively now.
For a second, he just stared at her.
And then—
A slow, amused smile spread across his face.
“Why?”
She frowned, clearly confused. “What do you mean why?”
Ansh stepped closer.
Closer than necessary.
“Why do you need so many clothes,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her pulse shift, “when you’re not really going to need them?”
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone.
And before she could respond—
His hand moved.
The knot of her robe loosened under his fingers with a simple pull.
Her breath hitched.
The fabric slipped from her shoulders, slowly, softly, as if the moment itself was stretching out just to feel it longer.
“Ansh…” she whispered, her voice barely there.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t say much.
His lips brushed lightly against her shoulder, lingering just enough to send a quiet shiver through her.
“Just stay like this,” he murmured near her ear, his tone low, teasing, but not forceful. “That’s kind of the point of this trip… isn’t it?”
Her cheeks burned instantly, her gaze dropping for a moment as she tried to steady herself.
But she didn’t stop him.
Didn’t pull away.
Because beneath the embarrassment, beneath the shyness—
There was acceptance.
There was want.
And he saw it.
After a second, Ansh stepped back, the intensity easing just enough.
“Come,” he said, his voice lighter now. “Let’s eat. You need energy.”
That earned him another flustered look from her, but she nodded anyway.
They moved to the small table together, the room settling into a quieter rhythm.
The contrast was almost strange.
Moments ago, everything had felt heated, overwhelming—
And now, it felt almost… normal.
Domestic, even.
Ansh pulled out a chair for her, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. She sat down, adjusting herself slightly, while he began setting the food out neatly in front of her.
“Eat,” he said gently.
Niyati picked up the spoon and began, her movements a little slower at first, still aware of his presence, his gaze.
A few bites in, she looked up.
“You’re not eating?”
Ansh shook his head, leaning back slightly in his chair.
“I will,” he said. “After you.”
She frowned faintly. “Why?”
A small smile tugged at his lips, something softer replacing the teasing edge from before.
“I just… want to watch you.”
That caught her off guard.
“Watch me eat?”
He nodded.
And this time, there was no teasing in it.
No mischief.
Just something quieter.
Something real.
Niyati shook her head slightly, a small, shy smile forming as she continued eating, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on her.
But inside—
Her heart felt warm.
Because the way he looked at her now…
It wasn’t just desire.
It wasn’t just attraction.
It was attention.
Care.
A quiet kind of admiration that didn’t need words.
And in that moment—
Sitting across from him, sharing something as simple as a meal—
Niyati realized something.
This trip wasn’t just about the intensity they had imagined.
It was about everything in between, too.
The soft pauses.
The quiet glances.
The way he stayed.
And the way she didn’t want him to leave.
The air between them was thick with the remnants of bhaang and something far more intoxicating—the unspoken promise of what came next.
She tilted her head, letting her hair spill over one shoulder, and fixed him with a look that was equal parts challenge and invitation. "Okay," she drawled, her voice still husky from earlier, "at least now you can eat."
Ansh didn’t answer with words. A slow, predatory smile curved his lips as he pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in three long strides. The carpet muffled his footsteps, but she felt the vibration of his approach in her bones.
He didn’t stop until he was close enough for her to catch the scent of him—salt and sex and something darkly sweet, like caramelized sugar. Then he turned, his back to her for just a second, and reached for the mini-fridge tucked beneath the counter.
The hum of the motor was the only sound in the room as he crouched, the muscles in his shoulders flexing, before straightening with a small plastic tub in hand. Nutella. The label was slightly crinkled, as if it had been handled before.
Niyati’s brows lifted. "You’re just gonna eat Nutella?"
"Yes." His voice was rough, the word clipped, as he peeled back the foil seal with his thumb. The pop of the plastic lid breaking the seal sent a ridiculous thrill through her.
He set the tub on the table between them, the spoon already nestled inside, and then—without warning—he sat. Not beside her. Across from her. Close enough that his knees brushed the inside of hers, the heat of his thighs radiating against her skin.
She should’ve known.
The first spoonful was cold against her skin, the metal edge of the spoon pressing into the soft flesh of her inner arm as he dragged it upward, leaving a thick, dark streak of Nutella in its wake.
The scent of hazelnut and cocoa bloomed between them, rich and decadent, and she inhaled sharply as he set the spoon down with a click against the table.
Before she could react, his mouth was on her, lips parting around the strip of chocolate, tongue hot and wet as he sealed his lips over her skin and pulled—a sharp, sucking kiss that made her gasp.
The sound was obscene, wet and sloppy, and when he released her with a soft pop, the imprint of his teeth was already bruising her flesh.
"Ansh—!" Her protest died in her throat as he did it again, this time on the other arm, his free hand gripping her wrist to keep her still.
The contrast of the cool Nutella and the scorching heat of his mouth sent a shiver down her spine, her nipples tightening into stiff peaks. She watched, mesmerized, as he dipped the spoon back into the tub, the chocolate glistening under the lamplight.
"You’re—" She swallowed. "You’re gonna make a mess."
"Good." His breath ghosted over her collarbone as he leaned in, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his nose. "I like you messy."
The next streak was bolder, painted in slow, deliberate strokes over the swell of her left breast. She arched into the touch before she could stop herself, her back pressing against the chair as he followed the path with his tongue, lapping at the chocolate like a man starved.
His teeth grazed her nipple, just enough to make her whimper, before he closed his lips around the peak and sucked—hard. The pull of his mouth sent a jolt straight to her clit, her thighs clenching together under the table.
He didn’t let up, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, teasing the Nutella into her skin until she was trembling, her fingers digging into the edge of the table.
"Fuck—" The word broke from her in a breathless moan as he switched to the other breast, his hand cupping the weight of it, thumb smearing chocolate over her nipple before his mouth descended again.
This time, he bit down just enough to sting, the pleasure-pain making her hips jerk forward. She could feel how wet she was, the slick heat between her thighs aching for friction, but he wasn’t done yet.
The spoon returned, cooler now, as he dragged it down the center of her torso, the chocolate catching on the dip of her navel. She held her breath as he circled it, once, twice, before leaning in to lick the residue clean, his tongue dipping into the hollow with a slow, deliberate flick.
"Ansh, please—" Her voice was thin, desperate, but he ignored her, too focused on his task. He spread another line lower, over the plane of her stomach, following it with open-mouthed kisses that left her skin sticky and glowing.
Then his hands were on her knees, pushing them apart. "Spread."
She obeyed without thinking, her legs falling open, the cool air hitting the wet heat between her thighs. The first stroke of the spoon up her inner thigh made her shudder, the chocolate melting almost instantly against her flushed skin.
He painted her slowly, methodically, from knee to the crease where her thigh met her hip, the back of the spoon pressing just hard enough to make her squirm.
When he locked eyes with her, his gaze was dark, almost feral, as he brought the spoon to his own mouth and licked it clean with a slow, obscene drag of his tongue.
"You’re gonna taste so fucking good." His voice was a growl, low and rough, as he leaned in and sealed his mouth over the chocolate on her thigh. The heat of his breath, the wet drag of his tongue, the sound—sloppy and filthy and hungry—it was too much.
She moaned, her head falling back as he worked his way upward, nipping at the sensitive skin near her hipbone, his fingers digging into her flesh to hold her still.
By the time his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, she was panting, her hips lifting off the chair in silent plea. He didn’t make her wait. His tongue speared between her folds in one long, flat stroke, lapping up the chocolate and her arousal in equal measure.
"Fuck—!" Her hands flew to his hair, gripping tight, but he pulled back just enough to deny her, his breath hot against her soaked lips.
"Beg." His voice was a dark murmur, his lips brushing her clit as he spoke.
She was already broken. "Please, Ansh, please—"
He gave her what she wanted—his mouth crashing against her, tongue fucking her in deep, relentless strokes, his nose pressed to her clit as he groaned against her.
The sound vibrated through her, her thighs trembling around his head, her back arching off the chair. He was ruthless, his fingers joining the assault, two of them curling inside her as his tongue swirled over her clit, the chocolate long since forgotten, replaced by the taste of her.
She came with a broken cry, her body locking around his fingers, her release painting his chin. He didn’t stop, licking her through it, drawing out every last shudder until she was boneless, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He didn’t give her time to recover.
His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her forward until their mouths crashed together in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate, filthy need. She could taste herself on him, the sweetness of the Nutella mingling with the salt of her arousal, and it sent another wave of heat through her.
He didn’t let her breathe. Didn’t let her think. His other hand gripped her thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hauled her onto his lap, the chair creaking under their combined weight.
She straddled him, her bare ass pressing against the cool wood, her breasts crushed to his chest as he devoured her mouth like a man possessed.
And when his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit again, she didn’t even pretend to resist. She rode his touch, her hips rolling in slow, needy circles, her moans swallowed by his mouth as the room spun around them—all chocolate and heat and the relentless, perfect ache of wanting more.