43
SHIVANI
I wake up to the sound of things crashing; a gasp escapes from my mouth as I look around frantically.
My heart skips a beat. I listen carefully; the noise is coming from Rudra's office. I quickly get out of bed and wince—the side of my neck aches. I must’ve dozed off while waiting for him, trying to finish that chapter.
Great . Now my neck is going to be stiff all day tomorrow.
Another crash, and I hear a glass shatter. Panic grips me, and I hasten my steps.
I grab the pepper spray. Rudra bought me for safety and rushed toward his office, my steps light but fast, chest tightening with worry. What if something happened? What if someone broke in? The door is slightly ajar, and I push it open.
My mouth is wide as I see his office. It is a mess. Papers are everywhere. A shattered glass lies near the wall, the sharp pieces catching the faint light, and I find Rudra standing by his desk, his back to me. His shoulders are tense, his body rigid. His silhouette glows under the bulb light.
“Rudra?” I call out softly, cautiously, my steps slow but firm as I near him.
He turns around, with his eyes bloodshot, rage flickering in them. I freeze for a second. My breath hitches, and I try to step forward.
“Don’t, Shivani.” His voice is low, but the warning is clear. He raises his hand, stopping me in my tracks. “I need to be alone.” His voice drips with rage.
But I don’t look at the anger. I see his hand. It’s bleeding.
“Rudra,” I step closer, and he tenses.
“Not right now,” he warns again, more sternly.
“Your hand,” I whisper gently, “it’s injured. Let me see it. Please.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs another glass from the desk and hurls it against the wall. I flinch; fear crumples my heart, but I don’t step back.
“Just go away, Shivani!” He shouts, the veins in his temple pop out, clearly conveying his rage.
I keep walking towards him regardless. He watches every move I make, like a wounded animal ready to attack or bolt.
But I don’t stop until I reach him. Gently, I take his hand in mine and examine the injury—his knuckles are bruised and cut.
Deep red marks are already swelling, and my throat tightens.
“Did you fight?” I whisper, not meeting his gaze.
He doesn’t answer. I don't expect him to. I don't know what made him so angry that he is hurting himself. Cautiously, I bend down, open the drawer, and pull out the first aid box. I empty its contents on the messy table and start tending to his wound, careful and gentle.
The air is thick with silence and tension. His breathing is still heavy, his eyes wild with leftover anger.
“No,” he finally says, voice low. “I didn’t fight.”
I nod, not pressing him as I clean the wound, noticing how tightly he is clenching his jaw. His whole body is tense like a wire pulled too tight.
“What happened?” I ask softly, taping the last bit of the bandage. My question lingers in the atmosphere as I look up. Our eyes meet.
He looks away, almost ashamed. “I had a meeting.” His voice drops as he tells me.
I stay quiet; I already know that, but I let him take his time.
“He congratulated me for our wedding.” His voice turns bitter, and his eyes turn sharp. “He said… he said…” He exhales sharply, his breath ragged. I place my hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him down.
“He asked me to share you with him,” Rudra says finally, his tone cold, dangerous. His eyes flick to mine, no hint of the carefree, mischievous Rudra I know. “I punched the laptop.”
I blink, my voice coming out in disbelief. “You broke my sautan?” I try to joke, flashing a soft smile.
“It’s not funny, Shivani,” he snaps as he side-eyes me.
“Come on, it’s a little funny,” I grin, nudging him. “Especially since we were literally talking about it this morning.”
He doesn’t smile. Instead, his voice rises again. “Did you not hear what he said?” He yells. “It makes my blood boil!” He turns away, facing the wall. His fists clench again; my fingers graze his fist in an attempt to calm him down.
I move behind him and wrap my arms around his torso. “I don’t care about him,” I whisper. "Or anyone else," I smile against his back. “I know I’m yours.” I press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “And I only want you. No one else.”
Before I can say another word, he spins around and crashes his lips onto mine.
His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me flush against him.
His kiss is rough, desperate, and full of bottled-up frustration.
He devours my mouth like he’s trying to erase the words of that man, claim me again, and remind himself I’m his.
I kiss him back with just as much need. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging slightly, feeling his anger melt into something primal.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he growls, lifting me and setting me on the edge of the table.
I yank off his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
My hands work faster as I raise my arms, and he strips off my kurti in one swift move.
His fingers find the clasp of my bra and undo it, his mouth latching onto my nipple the second it’s off.
I gasp, arching into him, my hands digging into his shoulders.
“Rudra...” I moan as his lips and tongue tease me, his hand already sliding my leggings off.
He doesn’t pause.
He strips down in seconds, pants and boxers pooling at his feet. I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s positioned at my entrance, his hand wrapped around my throat—not tight, but firm enough to command my full attention.
“Who do you belong to?” He asks, his eyes dark, his voice rough with need.
“You,” I manage, breathless, my harsh breaths echoing around us.
He thrusts into me in one sharp move, burying himself completely, his face buried in my neck. “So fucking tight for me,” he groans, thrusting harder, deeper.
I cry out his name, clutching his back, my legs trembling around his waist.
“Say it, Shivani,” he rasps in my ear. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I sob. “Only yours.”
He doesn't slow down. My vision blurs as I tremble under the force of his rhythm, overwhelmed by pleasure. My orgasm rips through me like a wave, and I scream his name, my voice hoarse.
But he doesn’t stop. His pace doesn’t falter. “Look into my eyes,” he demands. “Now.”
I try, but my eyes roll back again, my body twitching from overstimulation.
“Look at me, or I stop.” His thrusts are slow. My eyes flutter open instantly, a desperate whine escaping my lips.
“Rudra, please,” I beg, my cry coming out in a moan.
“Please what, darling?” He asks, kissing me again, his mouth tasting like whiskey.
“Please… faster,” I whisper, and he gives in. And it’s everything. The way he moves, the way he takes—drives me to the edge all over again. He finally pulls out, releasing over my stomach, both of us panting, completely spent.
My body’s still twitching, craving the fullness of him. But I don’t say anything. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck and hide my face there, breathing him in.
He hugs me back tightly, his heat engulfing us. We stay like that for a while, calming down our breaths.
Then suddenly he pulls back, his expression horrified. “Shit. Shit. I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t even ask you—”
I place my finger on his lips. “Don’t ruin it. It was perfect.”
His eyes soften. “You really like it rough, don't you?”
I giggle, a little breathless. “I don’t know what I like. I’m discovering it with you. All I know is, I do like you.” He smiles at me. That familiar, warm smile I missed.
Yeah. That’s my Rudra. He’s still drunk. The smell of whiskey lingers. It reminds me of bad memories I’ve buried deep. But this is Rudra. He’d never hurt me.
He looks at me for a long moment, then presses his forehead to mine. “Most people find me intimidating, you know,” he whispers, his voice raw and exhausted.
I exhale a soft laugh. “I can see that,” I whisper back, hugging him closer, “but whatever they find intimidating… I just find it enchanting.”
He lets out a shaky breath, and in that moment, I feel the weight he’s been carrying.
I hold him tighter. He looks at me gently for a while, eyes soft in a way that makes my chest tighten. “Don’t look at me like that,” I whine, swatting his chest lightly. I can't handle that expression. It's too tender, too raw—it makes me feel seen in ways I’m not ready for.
But his face doesn’t shift. He just stares, and then, in a low, cracked voice, he asks, “Didn’t you get scared that I’d hurt you when I was angry?”
I blink, startled. That question feels like it’s come out of nowhere, but maybe he’s been carrying it inside all this time.
“No!” I answer instantly, without hesitation, giving him a soft smile. “Not for a second.”
His brows furrow. “That wasn’t a smart move, Shivani. I was behaving like a monster.”
I shake my head in denial. “You weren’t.”
“I was.” There’s so much self-loathing in his voice, and it tugs at something deep inside me. I’ve seen that look in the mirror. I know what it means to fear yourself, to believe you're the villain in your own story.
“I’ve had demons in my mind since forever,” I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper. I lift my hand and gently trace the sharp edge of his jawline, grounding both of us. “And trust me, Rudra, you’re the angel that saved me from myself.”
His eyes flicker. I can tell he doesn’t believe me, not fully. But for now, he lets me have that truth.
“Not all monsters are bad, Rudra,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along his cheekbone. “Some of them are just hurting.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple, lingering there like he’s trying to absorb my warmth. Then he pulls back just enough to press a soft peck to my nose, making my heart stutter.
It’s quiet for a moment. Not awkward—just heavy. Full. One of those silences that says everything without words.
He still doesn’t say anything, and maybe he doesn’t need to. Because sometimes the way he holds me speaks louder than anything he could ever say.