CHAPTER 5 #2
"This is what you do to me," he growled against her lips. "Walking around my house in your simple clothes, feeding my dog, being so fucking sweet and innocent. You make me want to corrupt you."
"You already have," she breathed.
"Not nearly enough." His hand released her wrist and traveled down her body, skimming over her breast, her waist, her hip. "Tell me, Nimisha. If someone walked by right now, saw me touching you like this, what would you do?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I'd—"
"Would you push me away? Play the demure wife?" His hand cupped her between her legs, making her gasp. "Or would you spread these pretty legs wider and let me finger-fuck you in the hallway where anyone could see?"
"Samarth—" His name came out as a moan.
"That's it. Say my name." His fingers pressed hard against her center through the thin cotton of her pajamas. Even through the fabric, she could feel the heat of his touch, the pressure that made her hips buck involuntarily. "Let everyone in this house hear who you belong to."
He found her entrance through the fabric, pressing against it with firm pressure that made her hiss in pleasure. The sensation was maddening—not quite enough but too much at the same time.
"Please," she whimpered.
"Please what?" His teeth found her throat, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. "Tell me what you want."
"Touch me. Really touch me."
"So desperate." His hand slipped beneath the waistband of her pajama pants, then under the edge of her panties. "Is this what you want?"
His fingers slid through her wetness, and he groaned. "Fuck. You're soaked. Is this from me? Or were you thinking about me while you were in your room, touching yourself?"
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie." He circled her clit with his thumb while two fingers pressed at her entrance. "I bet you were lying in our bed, your hand between your legs, imagining it was me touching you."
She couldn't answer. Couldn't form words. Because his fingers had pushed inside her, and the sensation of being filled by him while standing in a hallway where anyone could discover them was overwhelming.
"So tight," he murmured, his fingers pumping slowly. "Even after a year of taking my cock, you're still so fucking tight."
His words were filthy, crude, and they shouldn't turn her on this much. But they did. God, they did.
She was aware of everything—the cool wall against her back, the heat of his body against her front, the way his fingers curled inside her hitting that spot that made her see stars. The risk of being caught, the darkness of the hallway, the intensity in his eyes as he watched her fall apart.
"Anyone could walk by," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Abhay. Armaan. My mother. Your precious Shaurya. They could see you like this—legs spread, my hand in your pants, your face flushed with pleasure."
The image should have mortified her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body that made her clench around his fingers.
He felt it and smiled—a predatory, knowing smile. "You like that, don't you? The danger. The possibility of being caught."
"No—"
"Yes." He added a third finger, stretching her, filling her completely. "My innocent little wife isn't so innocent after all."
His thumb found her clit again, rubbing in tight circles while his fingers thrust deep. The dual sensation was too much. Her head fell back against the wall, her mouth opening in a silent cry.
"That's it," he encouraged, his own breathing heavy. "Come for me, Nimisha. Come on my fingers in this hallway where anyone could see what a desperate little thing you are for me."
His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her moan as the orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her body convulsed, clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure rolled through her. He kept moving, prolonging it, drawing out every last tremor.
When she finally came down, trembling and gasping, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he licked them clean.
"Delicious," he murmured. "Better than any street food."
Her legs were shaking so badly she wasn't sure she could stand. He seemed to realize this because he bent slightly and scooped her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly.
"Samarth, what—"
"Shh." He was already moving, carrying her through the hallway toward their bedroom. "I'm just getting started."
Her arms wrapped around his neck automatically. "Started?"
"Did you think I was going to let you come once and call it a night?" His eyes were dark with promise. "No, baby. I'm going to make you come until you forget your own name. Until the only word you remember is mine."
He kicked open their bedroom door, carried her inside, and locked it behind them.
Then he dropped her on the bed and began unbuttoning his jeans.
"Strip," he commanded.
She scrambled to obey, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of her pajama top. By the time she'd gotten it off, he was already naked, his cock hard and heavy between his legs.
He was magnificent—all lean muscle and controlled power. A predator in his prime.
And for tonight, at least, he was hers.
The Next Morning - Main Sitting Room
The family meeting was in full swing by the time Nimisha arrived, carefully dressed in a simple but elegant salwar kameez, her hair neatly braided. She'd covered the mark on her throat with concealer and foundation, but she could still feel it—a reminder of last night's intensity.
She'd woken alone again. Samarth had left sometime before dawn, leaving her body satisfied but her heart aching.
Don't romanticize what we are.
His words from the night before echoed in her mind even as her body remembered his touch.
"Nimisha, finally," Saroj said, looking up from her seat beside Kritika. "We've been waiting to finalize the gala details."
"Sorry. I was finishing some work."
She took her usual seat in the corner, pulling out her laptop to take notes. On the table beside her, she'd placed her jar of Nutella and a package of imported biscuits—a small comfort in what was sure to be a long, tedious meeting.
Bruno appeared in the doorway, surveyed the room, and made a beeline for her corner.
He settled beside her chair with a heavy sigh, as if the burden of being a demon dog was too much to bear.
"The venue is confirmed," Kritika was saying, her tone bright and efficient. "The Grand Taj ballroom, Saturday three weeks from now. We're expecting over three hundred guests."
"The governor confirmed his attendance," Saroj added proudly. "As did several ministers. This will be our biggest event yet."
"Kabir's company has agreed to be the main sponsor," Tanisha announced, practically glowing. "He's donating five crores to the foundation."
"How generous," Saroj beamed. "What a wonderful man, Tanisha. You're very lucky."
Nimisha tried not to roll her eyes. Kabir's "generosity" was clearly a strategic move to ingratiate himself with the family. Everything about the man screamed calculated.
She reached for her Nutella jar and tried to open it. The lid was stuck tight, refusing to budge no matter how hard she twisted.
Bruno watched her struggles with his typical disdain.
"Stop being judgy, Boo, and help me," she muttered under her breath. "Can those teeth do anything useful besides ripping people apart?"
Bruno huffed, a sound that clearly communicated: I kill, adorable. Opening jars is beneath me.
He tilted his massive head toward where Samarth sat at the head of the seating arrangement, his laptop open, barely paying attention to the conversation. The dog's eyes seemed to say: Ask him.
"I'm not asking him," Nimisha whispered.
Bruno's expression suggested she was being ridiculous.
"We need to finalize the entertainment," Kritika continued. "I was thinking a classical dance performance for the cultural segment, and then a live band for the dinner portion."
"Perfect," Saroj agreed. "Nimisha, did you finish the seating arrangements?"
"Almost. I just need to confirm a few of the corporate sponsors' table preferences."
"Make sure the Mehtas are at table one with us," Saroj instructed. "And the Kapoors should be close to the stage."
"Of course."
"Kabir should be at the main table as well," Tanisha added. "Since he's the primary sponsor."
Nimisha made a note, trying to ignore the way Kabir's eyes had just drifted to her again. He was at the far end of the room, discussing something with Raghbir, but his gaze kept sliding her way.
Bruno's body went rigid beside her, a low growl building in his chest—so quiet only she could hear it.
She rested her hand on his head, the touch calming him slightly.
"Why is Bruno always near Nimisha lately?" Tanisha asked, noticing the dog's position. "It's so strange."
"He never warmed to me like this," Kritika said, a hint of petulance in her voice. "I've been trying for years."
"Dogs sense things," Saroj said dismissively. "Maybe he pities her."
The barb landed precisely where it was meant to, but Nimisha's expression didn't change. She was used to this.
A shadow fell across her, and suddenly the Nutella jar was plucked from her hands.
Samarth stood beside her chair, his face unreadable. He twisted the lid with one efficient motion, the jar opening easily under his strength.
He set it down in front of her without a word.
Their fingers brushed as she reached for it.
The contact was electric—a jolt that reminded her of his hands on her body just hours ago, his fingers inside her, his filthy words in her ear.
Her breath caught.
His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, something dark and possessive flashing in their depths before he looked away and returned to his seat.
Nimisha's hand trembled slightly as she picked up a biscuit and spread Nutella on it, hyper-aware of the lingering heat where his fingers had touched hers.
"As I was saying," Kritika continued, seemingly oblivious to the moment that had just passed, "we should have a chocolate fountain at the dessert station."