CHAPTER 8 #2
Every muscle in his body locked down as possessiveness roared through him.
"Is there someone?" His voice was deadly calm.
"That's not the point—"
He was on her in seconds, his hand gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Answer me. Is there someone?"
"No! But would you even care?"
His eyes were black with possession, with something primal and violent. "You're MINE, Nimisha. You don't smile at other men. You don't bring them gifts. You don't even THINK about them."
"Then what am I to you?" Her voice broke. "If I'm yours, what does that make me? Your possession? Your duty? Your—"
Silence.
She waited.
He had no answer.
She laughed bitterly, tears streaming down her face. "Exactly."
Something snapped inside him.
"You want to play wife?" He backed her toward the bed, his voice dark and dangerous. "This is how I want my wife."
"Samarth—"
He grabbed the delicate straps of her nightgown and yanked. The silk tore easily, falling to the floor in emerald ruins.
She gasped, shocked, and he used that moment to spin her around and bend her over the bed.
"This is all we are," he growled, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back. "This is all I can give you."
"Then give it to me," she said, her voice breaking. "Give me something, even if it's just this."
He freed himself from his pants with rough movements. No foreplay. No gentleness. Just raw, desperate need.
He thrust into her in one brutal stroke.
She cried out, her body struggling to accommodate him. He didn't give her time to adjust. He simply pulled back and drove in again, setting a punishing rhythm that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with claiming.
Marking.
Owning.
"Say you're mine," he demanded, his hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Samarth—"
"Who do you belong to?"
"You! Only you!"
His other hand reached around, finding her clit and rubbing with bruising pressure. The combination of pain and pleasure was overwhelming.
She was crying now—from sensation, from emotion, from everything.
"Come," he ordered. "Come for me. Show me you're mine."
Her orgasm ripped through her violently, her body clenching around him as she screamed his name.
He followed seconds later, burying himself as deep as possible, spilling into her with a groan that sounded like her name.
For a moment, they stayed locked together, both trembling.
Then he pulled out.
She collapsed onto the bed, curling into herself, tears streaming silently down her face.
He should comfort her. Hold her. Something.
Instead, he buttoned his pants and stepped back.
"This is all we are, Nimisha," he said, his voice cold despite the way his chest ached. "Accept it."
He turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Her voice was small, broken.
"I have work."
"On our anniversary?"
"It's just a date on a calendar. Nothing more."
He left.
For the first time in their year of marriage, he left her alone in their bed after sex.
He heard her sobs as he walked down the hallway.
Ignored them.
Went to his office.
Poured a whiskey.
And tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing.
Master Bedroom - Midnight
Nimisha lay alone in the bed, the sheets still carrying his scent, her body aching from his roughness.
The candles had burned down to nothing.
The music had long since stopped.
And she finally let herself break completely.
Not quietly. Not carefully.
She sobbed into the pillow, her whole body shaking with the force of it.
One year.
One year of trying to be enough.
One year of loving a man who couldn't love her back.
One year of breaking a little more each day.
She'd thought she was strong. Thought she could endure anything.
But this—this anniversary where he'd forgotten, where he'd taken her body but left her heart shattered—this was too much.
A soft sound at the door made her look up.
Bruno.
The massive dog padded into the room, his eyes finding hers in the darkness.
He jumped onto the bed—something he never did—and curled his massive body around hers.
Protection. Comfort. The only kind available to her in this house.
She buried her face in his fur and cried until she had nothing left.
Bruno stayed.
Because at least someone in this cursed house cared whether she broke.
Even if it was just a dog.
Samarth's Office - 2:37 AM
Samarth sat in the darkness, the whiskey bottle nearly empty beside him.
He couldn't get the image out of his head. Nimisha, broken and crying on their bed. Nimisha, who'd tried to make their anniversary special. Nimisha, who'd confessed she loved him.
And he'd destroyed her.
Again.
His phone buzzed. A message from Abhay.
Did you remember it's your anniversary? Please tell me you didn't fuck this up.
He had.
Spectacularly.
He typed back: Mind your own business.
She's too good for you, boss. And someday, you're going to realize that too late.
Samarth threw his phone across the room.
But he couldn't throw away the truth.
His wife loved him.
And he was destroying her one day at a time.
The question was—could he stop?
Did he even want to?
Or was he too broken to let anyone in, even the woman who'd somehow worked her way under his skin despite all his walls?
He poured another drink.
And tried not to think about the sound of her crying.
Tried and failed.