Chapter Four #3
"Tell me to stop," he said, even as his fingers unhooked her bra with practiced ease. "Tell me now, Advika, because in another minute, I won't be able to."
"Don't stop," she whispered. "Don't you dare stop."
Something feral flashed in his eyes. He captured her mouth again, swallowing her moans as his hands explored every inch of her skin. When his fingers finally slipped beneath her panties, finding her wet and ready, they both groaned.
"So responsive," he murmured against her lips. "So perfect for me."
He worked her with maddening skill, his fingers moving in circles that had her arching off the bed, desperate for more. When he finally pushed two fingers inside her, she cried out, her nails raking down his back.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice dark and approving. "Let me hear you. Let me know how I make you feel."
She was close, so close, when he withdrew his hand. She whimpered at the loss, but then he was sliding her panties down her legs, tossing them aside, and settling between her thighs.
His mouth on her was revelation. Advika's back bowed, her hands fisting in his hair as he tasted her with evident pleasure.
The scrape of his stubble against her inner thighs, the heat of his tongue, the way he groaned against her like she was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted—it was too much.
She came apart with his name on her lips, waves of pleasure crashing through her.
Before she could catch her breath, Sidharth was kissing his way back up her body. She heard the rustle of fabric as he removed the rest of his clothes, and then he was there, positioned at her entrance.
"Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your eyes when I make you mine."
Their gazes locked, amber meeting brown, and he pushed inside in one smooth thrust.
Advika gasped, her body stretching to accommodate him. It had been so long—longer than she wanted to admit—and he was bigger than she'd anticipated. But the fullness, the connection, the way he filled every empty space inside her—it was perfect.
"God, Advika," he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. "You feel incredible."
He started to move, slow at first, letting her adjust. But Advika was done with slow. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back, and met him thrust for thrust.
"Harder," she demanded, her nails dragging down his shoulders. "Stop treating me like I'll break."
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with lust. "You want harder?"
"Yes."
He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, the force of it making her cry out. Again. And again. Each thrust was punishing, claiming, absolutely perfect.
The headboard banged against the wall. The sounds of skin on skin, of their mingled moans and gasps, filled the room. Sidharth's mouth found her neck, sucking and biting, marking her as his.
"Mine," he growled against her throat. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."
"Yours," Advika gasped, too far gone to care about the implications. "I'm yours."
He changed angles, hitting something inside her that made stars explode behind her eyes. She came again, harder this time, her body clenching around him as pleasure ripped through her.
Sidharth followed with a guttural groan, her name torn from his lips like a prayer or a curse.
They collapsed together, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. For a moment, there was only the sound of their racing hearts, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through them.
Then Sidharth rolled off her, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back to her.
The shift was immediate. The warmth that had been building between them iced over.
"Sidharth?" Advika's voice was small, uncertain.
"This doesn't change anything," he said, his tone flat. Cold. The walls were back up, higher than ever. "Don't read into it."
The words hit like physical blows. Advika pulled the sheet up to cover herself, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with nakedness.
"Don't read into it," she repeated numbly. "We just—and you're saying don't read into it?"
"It was sex, Advika. Physical release. Nothing more."
She wanted to scream. To throw something. To demand to know how he could touch her like that, make her feel like that, and then dismiss it so casually.
But she'd learned her lessons in this house. Showing vulnerability only gave people weapons to use against you.
"Fine," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "It was just sex. Message received."
He finally turned to look at her, and for just a second, she thought she saw regret flash in his eyes. But it was gone too quickly.
"I have work to do," he said, standing and pulling on his pants. "I'll be in my office."
And just like that, he left. Walked out of the bedroom where they'd just tangled together, where he'd made her scream his name, where for a few perfect moments, she'd felt connected to another human being.
Advika lay in the big bed, alone again, her body still humming with the aftereffects of passion, her heart breaking in slow motion.
This was dangerous. Not the mafia world, not the threats from outside. This—what she felt for him, what had started taking root despite every reason not to let it.
She was falling for her husband. And he'd made it crystal clear he felt nothing for her at all.
The tears came then, hot and bitter, soaking into the pillow as Advika curled into herself. This was her life. This was her marriage. And she had never felt more alone.