CHAPTER 5 #3
The meeting droned on. Nimisha ate her Nutella and biscuits, took her notes, and tried to focus on anything other than the man across the room who'd made her come apart in a hallway last night and then left her alone in their bed.
An hour later, as the meeting was winding down, the doorbell rang.
One of the servants appeared. "Ma'am, someone has sent sweets for the family."
Saroj's brows rose. "Who?"
"Kritika ma'am, apparently. From her favorite sweet shop."
Kritika smiled. "Oh! Yes, I stopped by there this morning and had them prepare a special order. Rey's favorite—kesar peda. I know how much he loves them."
She stood and moved to where Samarth sat, placing the box of sweets on the table beside him. "Remember when I used to make these in school? I could never get them quite right, but you'd eat them anyway."
Rey. The intimate nickname that spoke of years of shared history.
"You were terrible at cooking," Samarth said, but his tone was fond. Gentle in a way it never was with Nimisha.
"I've gotten better." Kritika's laugh was light, musical. "But I still can't compete with the professionals."
She opened the box, revealing perfectly formed golden sweets. The smell of saffron and cardamom filled the room.
"Try one," she urged, picking up a piece and offering it to him.
Nimisha watched from her corner, that familiar resentment simmering in her chest. The easy touching. The shared memories. The way Kritika knew his favorites.
The way he let her into spaces Nimisha would never occupy.
She looked away, focusing on her laptop screen, pretending she didn't care.
Bruno's tail thumped once against the floor—a gesture of solidarity.
"Bhabhi, want one?" Shaurya appeared beside her, holding out the box of sweets.
"No, thank you."
"Come on, they're really good—"
"I said no." Her tone was sharper than intended.
Shaurya's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded and moved away.
Nimisha closed her laptop and stood. "If we're finished, I have some work to do."
"The seating arrangements—" Saroj started.
"Will be ready by tomorrow. As promised."
She left before anyone could respond, Bruno at her heels.
In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.
Don't romanticize what we are.
She wouldn't. She'd remember the boundaries. The rules.
Even if last night had felt like something more.
Even if the way he'd touched her, claimed her, possessed her had felt like it meant something.
It didn't.
It never would.
That Night - Master Bedroom
Nimisha was already in bed when Samarth entered their room. She'd showered, changed into one of her modest nightgowns, and had been trying to read but the words kept blurring on the page.
She wasn't thinking about Kritika. She wasn't thinking about the sweets or the fond tone in Samarth's voice or the years of history they shared.
She definitely wasn't thinking about any of that.
"You left early," Samarth said, closing the door behind him.
"I had work."
"Liar."
She looked up from her book. He was stripping off his shirt, revealing the planes of muscle she knew intimately but which still made her mouth go dry.
"I'm not lying."
"You ran away because Kritika brought me sweets." He unbuckled his belt, his movements efficient. "You were jealous."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." He dropped his pants, standing before her in just his boxers, utterly unselfconscious. "I could see it in your eyes. The way you looked at her. At me."
"If you're here to gloat—"
"I'm here because I want my wife." He crossed to the bed, his eyes dark with intent. "Come here."
Her pulse kicked up. "I'm not in the mood."
"Yes, you are." He reached down and pulled the book from her hands, tossing it aside. "You're always in the mood for me, Nimisha. Even when you're angry. Especially when you're angry."
"You're arrogant."
"I'm right." His hand wrapped around her ankle, tugging her down the bed. "And you're going to prove it."
She should resist. Should make him work for it. Should maintain some dignity.
But when his hands gripped her nightgown and yanked it over her head, leaving her bare except for her panties, all thoughts of resistance fled.
"Turn over," he commanded.
She hesitated.
"Now, Nimisha."
She turned onto her stomach, her heart pounding.
His hands gripped her hips, pulling them up so she was on her knees, her face pressed into the pillow. Exposed. Vulnerable.
"This is how I want you tonight," he said, his voice rough. "Ass in the air, completely at my mercy."
She heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his boxers, then felt the bed dip as he positioned himself behind her.
"Spread your legs wider."
She obeyed, shame and arousal warring inside her.
His hand came down on her ass—not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to sting. She gasped.
"That's for lying to me earlier," he said. "Tell me you weren't jealous."
"I—"
Another slap, on the other cheek.
"The truth, Nimisha."
"Fine!" Her voice was muffled by the pillow. "I was jealous. Happy?"
"Deliriously." His fingers hooked into her panties and yanked them down. "Now tell me why."
"Because she—because you—"
"Because I was gentle with her." His hand smoothed over the slight sting he'd created. "Because I smiled at her. Because I let her touch me."
"Yes."
"And you wanted that for yourself."
She couldn't answer. Couldn't admit that much.
"Look at me," he commanded.
She turned her head, meeting his eyes over her shoulder.
His expression was intense, possessive, dark with hunger. "I'll never be gentle with you, Nimisha. That's not what we are. What we have is raw. Primal. I don't smile and laugh and share sweet memories with you."
Each word was like a knife to her chest.
"But what I do with you?" He thrust into her without warning, seating himself fully in one brutal stroke. She cried out, her body struggling to accommodate the sudden intrusion. "What I do with you is something I'll never do with anyone else. You understand?"
He didn't give her time to adjust. He simply pulled back and thrust again, setting a punishing rhythm that had her seeing stars.
"You're mine," he growled, his hands gripping her hips so hard she knew there would be bruises tomorrow. "Only mine. No one else gets to touch this body. No one else gets to hear these sounds. No one else gets to feel you come apart."
His words were possessive, claiming, and they shouldn't mean as much as they did.
But they did.
God, they did.
He reached around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. The dual stimulation—his cock pounding into her from behind, his fingers working her clit—was too much.
"Samarth," she gasped. "I can't—I'm going to—"
"Come," he ordered. "Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to."
She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with devastating force. She cried out his name, her body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
He followed seconds later, his own release violent and possessive as he buried himself deep and spilled inside her.
For a moment, they stayed locked together, both breathing hard.
Then he pulled out, rolled away, and stood.
She heard water running in the bathroom. He returned with a warm cloth and cleaned her with surprising gentleness before tossing it aside.
She thought he might leave. Return to his office like he usually did.
Instead, he lay down beside her and pulled her against his chest.
The gesture was so unexpected, so unlike their usual routine, that she froze.
"Don't romanticize what we are, Nimisha," he said quietly, his hand stroking her hair. "This is just sex. Incredible sex, but just sex."
Her heart cracked a little more, but she nodded against his chest.
"I know."
He was asleep within minutes, his breathing deep and even.
But Nimisha lay awake, staring into the darkness, feeling the warmth of his body against hers and knowing it didn't mean what she desperately wanted it to mean.
It was just sex.
It would always be just sex.
No matter how much her traitorous heart wanted more.