23 ~ I can Fuck You Hard #2
Her hands came up to my chest, pressing against me as if trying to create distance.
She looked angry at me.
I pulled her closer.
"Kartik..." Her voice was breathless.
But there was something else in it too. Something that made my blood run hot.
I looked down at her.
Her eyes were wide. Her lips were parted. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink.
She was beautiful.
"Bohot sundar lag rahi ho," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper.
(You look very beautiful.)
My forehead touched hers. My breath fanned across her lips.
"Yeh kya keh..."
(What are you saying...)
"Tum hamesha hi beautiful lagti ho," I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper.
My fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before tracing the side of her face.
They stopped beneath her jaw as I gently tilted her face upward with my thumb, "Lekin aaj... aaj tum aur bhi beautiful lag rahi ho."
(You always look beautiful. But today... today you look even more beautiful.)
Her breath caught.
I could feel her heart pounding against my chest. Could feel the way her body trembled slightly in my arms. Could feel the way her hands were shaking against my chest.
"Log dekh rahe hain," She whispered.
(People are watching.)
"Mujhe fark nahi padta," I said. "Tum meri ho, Kartik Singhaniya ki aur main chahta hoon ki sab ko pata chale."
(I don't care. You're mine. Kartik Singhaniya's. And I want everyone to know.)
She stared at me.
"Aur aap kiske hain Kartik...?"
(And whose are you, Kartik...?)
She asked and I couldn't help but hold her chin lightly.
"What do you mean to say..."
"I never knew you're a manwhore too."
I clenched my teeth when I heard her say that.
What?
Her hand pushed against my chest, forcing me to loosen my hold, and I immediately felt a flicker of irritation and rage.
I wasn't accustomed to being pushed away, least of all by my own wife, but before I could say anything, Dad's voice came from behind me.
"Kartik."
I turned.
"Some of our business associates are arriving. You should meet them."
I straightened my blazer and nodded. "Ji."
(Yes.)
Within a few minutes, several men entered the reception hall. They were associated with one of our upcoming textile projects. It was a collaboration that would involve fabric production as well as the launch of a new clothing brand under the larger business venture.
I shifted naturally into work mode, greeting each of them with the professionalism I'd been raised with.
They arrived in a group.
"Mr. Singhaniya!" The older man extended his hand. "Prakhar Rawat. We spoke on the phone about the textile project."
"Of course." I shook his hand firmly. "Please, call me Kartik."
"This is my son, Tanmay." Prakhar gestured to the young man beside him.
"Tanmay Rawat," the young man said, shaking my hand with a confident smile. "I've heard a lot about your work."
"Thank you."
"Mayank Sharma," One of the other business associate said, introducing himself.
Yet despite my attention being on the conversation, my eyes kept drifting toward the crowd.
I was looking for Chahat.
I hadn't even realised how frequently I was doing it until Tanmay suddenly glanced around the hall.
"Aapki wife? Kahin nazar nahi aa rahi?"
(Your wife? I don't see her anywhere.)
I looked at him.
Something inside me stirred at the question.
Why was everyone suddenly so interested in my wife?
"She must be busy with the guests," I replied casually.
But my eyes were already moving through the crowd again.
Nothing.
I couldn't see her near Dadi. Not with Seema Chachi. Not near the stage.
I excused myself from the conversation and walked toward the far end of the hall, checking the adjoining areas. But she wasn't there.
I stepped outside.
The moment I saw them, my entire body went rigid.
Chahat and Rivan.
His arms were around her as though he had every right to comfort her, while Chahat stood against him with tears visible on her face.
For a second, I simply stared.
Then he pulled back and wiped the tears from her cheek.
Something inside me snapped.
I crossed the distance between us before I had time to think.
"Himmat kaise hui meri wife ko haath lagane ki..."
(How dare you lay a hand on my wife...)
I shoved him back. My fist connected with his face. He staggered backward.
I grabbed his collar and struck him again.
"Kartik!" Chahat's voice barely registered.
"Tu samajhta kya hai apne aap ko, haan?" I snarled, grabbing him again.
(Who do you think you are?)
"Kartik, bas!" Chahat stepped between us, gripping my arm.
(Kartik, Enough!)
I looked at her, breathing heavily, "You stay out of this."
She pulled me harder.
I finally released Rivan, but my anger hadn't disappeared. It was still burning through me, fueled by the image of his arms around her.
I caught Chahat's hand.
She looked at me in disbelief.
"Kartik, chhodiye."
(Kartik, let go.)
I didn't.
I pulled her toward the house, ignoring her protests.
My grip was tight around her wrist perhaps, but I couldn't loosen it. Couldn't control the rage that was burning through my veins like wildfire.
She stumbled behind me, trying to keep up, trying to pull her hand free.
"Kartik! You're hurting me!" She didn't stop. She kept pulling, kept trying to free herself.
I didn't slow down.
I couldn't.
The image his fingers wiping her tears made my blood boil.
The reception was winding down. Guests were leaving, servants were cleaning up. No one noticed us. No one stopped us.
I reached our room.
I kicked the door open and pushed her towards the bed.
She fell onto it, her body bouncing against the mattress.
She gasped.
I stood over her.
My chest was heaving. My fists were clenched. My entire body was trembling with barely contained fury.
"Kartik..." Her eyes were wide. Her lips were parted. Her chest was rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths.
"How dare you?" I said, my voice low and dangerous. "How dare you let him touch you? Tum meri biwi ho," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as I grabbed her jaw. "Tum meri ho. Aur kisi ko tumhe choone ka haq nahi hai."
(You're my wife. You're mine. No one else has the right to touch you.)
I stepped closer.
"Rivan." The name tasted like poison. "Aaj ke baad usse door rehna. Samjhi!?"
(From today onwards, Stay away from him. Understood!?)
She stared at me.
And then, slowly, she shook her head.
"Aap mujhe bata rahe hain ki main kis se baat karun?"
(You're telling me who I can talk to?)
"Exactly."
"Main aapki wife hoon. Slave nahi. Aur main kisi se bhi baat kar sakti hoon. Kisi se bhi mil sakti hoon..Aap mujhe rok nahi sakte!" She yelled.
(I'm your wife. Not your slave. I can talk to anyone. Meet anyone. You can't stop me!)
The words were sharp. Defiant. A challenge thrown at my feet.
I smirked and looked at her.
She was sitting in front of me, in my room, on my bed, her chest heaving, her eyes blazing with fury. Her green lehenga spread across the bed around her.
I couldn't help but admire the mole on her waist.
It was my favourite.
She's breathtaking but this fire, this defiance, this stubborn refusal to back down...this was what drove me insane.
I stepped closer.
My hand shot out, gripping her jaw. I tilted her face up to meet my gaze.
"I can, Trouble," I said, my voice low and rough. "I can even fuck you hard... until you're sore from screaming my name and unable to walk for weeks."
Her eyes widened and lips parted.
I saw her gulp down.
"You want me to do that?" I continued, my thumb brushing across her lower lip. "Tell me my cute little headache..."
She was trembling.
I could see it. The way her body was shaking. The way her breath was coming in shallow gasps. The way her eyes were dark with something she was trying to hide.
I caressed her lower lip.
"I'll be glad if I get the chance," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Main bohot acche se bataunga ke main kaise rok sakta hu tumhe uss kamine se milne se."
(I'll explain very clearly how I can stop you from meeting that bastard.)
"Bas...bohot go gaya..." She gasped as if asking me to keep quiet.
(Enough...that's too much...)
She gulped down again.
Her throat moved. Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin.
I leaned closer.
"You want me to tell you," I murmured against her ear, "how badly I would like to punish you... until all you remember is me... the whole night?"
She shivered.
Her eyes clenched shut.
I watched her.
She was beautiful when she was scared. Beautiful when she was defiant. Beautiful when she was trying so hard to hide her desire.
I looked at her.
The way she trembled beneath my touch. The way her breath caught when I held her jaw. The way her body responded to my words, my proximity, my dominance.
I smirked.
She likes it.
She likes being controlled.
She likes when I take charge.
The realization hit me like a wave of heat.