CHAPTER 43
ANIKA
I can't stop looking at him.
Aarav. My husband. The man I married under terms I never truly accepted, who kept his distance even as I quietly ached for more. And now he sits here in front of me, eyes downcast, cheeks tinged with pink, telling me he’s never been with anyone. Not just emotionally—but physically.
Aarav is a virgin .
The words echo inside me like a wave that just keeps crashing. Not because I think less of him—God, no—but because I’ve not seen him like this since we got married. So open. Vulnerable. Raw. He was waiting for me.
My heart twists. My fingers, which were absently brushing the edge of the bedsheet, were still.
"You really mean it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never…” I still can’t fathom the idea that someone in this century would wait for me.
His eyes finally lift to meet mine, and what I see there—honesty, fear, a hint of something soft he tries so hard to hide—makes my chest feel too small for everything in it.
“I was waiting for you,” he says again, slower this time. No hesitation now. “Even when I didn’t know where you were. Even when I hated how much I missed you.”
I blink back the sudden sting in my eyes. He could’ve had anyone. I know that. Aarav isn’t just attractive—he’s magnetic in that frustrating, broody, unapproachable way. The kind of man who draws eyes when he walks into a room but never seems to notice. Or care.
And yet he chose to wait. For me. I look at him awestruck, unable to control my strong urge to kiss him. I sit on his lap; he grows still for a moment, but then his arms circle my waist as he pulls me closer. "You have no idea what that means to me,” I whisper.
He leans into my touch without realizing it, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I don’t need you to say anything, Anu. I just… I needed you to know.”
I smile, small and maybe a little shaky. “I do know. And it makes me feel like the luckiest damn person alive.”
His eyes open, and there's something different in them now—something that makes my breath hitch.
Hope. A quiet, careful kind of hope. Then, softly, like he's offering me the most sacred part of himself, he says, “Teach me.”
I blink. “What?”
His voice is husky. “Teach me how to touch you. How to make you feel good. I want to learn everything. From you. For you.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I kiss him again—slow, deep, lingering.
His lips are soft but urgent, like he’s waited a lifetime for this.
I pull back, just slightly, keeping my eyes locked on his.
My fingers trail down the side of my kurti, fidgeting with the fabric.
It slips off one shoulder, and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of everything—his eyes on me, the thud of my pulse, the way my breath comes too fast.
I’m nervous. God, I’m nervous . But it’s a good kind—the kind that says something big is about to happen. Something I’ve wanted, imagined, and maybe even feared a little. But I want this. I want him. Tonight, we cross that line we’ve both been tiptoeing around for far too long.
He’s already in bed, propped up against the pillows, shirtless, hair a mess, eyes intense in the low light. He looks like every fantasy I’ve tried not to let my mind run away with. His chest rises and falls like he’s barely keeping it together.
“You look… gorgeous,” he says, voice low, rough like gravel.
I smile, biting my lip as I step closer.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, even though my voice trembles.
I’ve always been the bold one between us, the one who teases and pushes—but now, standing in front of him, undressing one breath at a time, I feel like I’m seeing him truly submit to me.
He wants me to take control. That’s new. That’s powerful.
He nods toward my leggings. “Are you going to keep those on all night?”
I smirk and slowly peel them down, letting them slide to the floor. I’m not wearing anything underneath. The way his eyes darken—it makes my stomach flip. I climb onto the bed, straddling his thighs, placing my hands on his warm chest. His heart races. Mine answers.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, breath catching. “My darling wife.”
My wife . The way it rolls off his tongue. It sends a shiver down my spine. He grips my hips like he’s grounding himself. “I want to learn everything about you.” His eyes search mine, raw and open. “Show me… show me how to pleasure you.”
I pull back slightly, brushing hair from his face. “Then pay attention,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his jaw. Then down his throat. He shudders. “First rule—don’t rush. Take your time.”
“I’m all yours,” he breathes, closing his eyes.
I trail kisses down his chest. My fingers tease the waistband of his boxers. He’s already hard, and when I slide them down, his breath hitches. I look up at him, and he’s watching me like I’m the center of his world.
"Do you like seeing me in control?” I ask, and I take him in my hand, slow and steady.
He swallows hard. “Yes, I like… when you’re in control,” he admits, voice hoarse.
Something about hearing that from him, the man who’s always calm and collected—it lights a fire in me.
I let my tongue flick over him just once, and he groans, his hands tangled in my hair. I pull back and smirk. “Not yet.”
I reach for the condom from the nightstand and tear the wrapper with my teeth.
The first time I saw it there, I was astonished and maybe borderline terrified, but soon I burst into laughter, thinking we will never use it, but guess we're all wrong sometimes. “Safety first.” I roll it on him slowly, deliberately, watching him bite his lip. “You’re so hard for me.”
His voice breaks. “Do you like that? Like being in control?”
I meet his eyes, heat rushing through me. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“Tonight is yours… I want it to be about you.” He grabs my face and kisses me like he’s starving. I kiss him back, deeper. His hands wander my body like he’s memorizing me. But I guide him down and push him back against the pillows.
I straddle him again, breathless. “Then let me show you.”
I lower myself onto him, slowly, inch by inch. He gasps—his hands clenching the sheets, his eyes squeezed shut.
“Anika,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “You feel… amazing.”
I lean in, our foreheads touching, noses brushing, and breath mingling. “Move with me,” I whisper. I begin to ride him, slow and deliberate. The friction pulls a moan from deep in my throat.
His hand roams up my back, gripping tight, as he sucks on my breasts. I pick up the pace, his name falling from my lips again and again.
“Faster,” I pant, needing more.
He shakes his head, barely able to breathe. “Don’t rush me, wife. I want to feel every second of this with you.”
His voice—God. It’s not a line. It’s a promise. I laugh, breathless. “Husband, you’re killing me.”
He laughs too, but it ends in a groan as I grind down harder. My body’s humming, nerves sparking.
“Do you like that?” I tease. “Like being under me?”
“Yes,” he gasps. “God, yes. You’re… you’re perfect.” He says, pinching my nipple, drawing a gasp out of me.
I kiss him, hungry and deep, then let him flip us. His strength surprises me, but the way he looks down at me—like I’m something sacred—makes my chest ache.
“My turn,” he whispers, lips grazing my neck. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like it gentle,” I admit, voice catching. “But… I like it rough, too.”
His grin is all mischief. “Rough it is.”
He thrusts deeper, harder. I cry out, clinging to him as the rhythm builds faster. The sound of skin against skin, the creak of the bed, our breathless gasps—they fill the room.
“Aarav,” I moan. “Faster.”
He leans in, forehead pressed to mine, his body trembling. “Let me take my time. I want to make this unforgettable.”
“God, you talk too much,” I gasp, but my smile is shaky from the waves of pleasure building fast.
He laughs softly, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Then let me show you instead.”
And he does. He touches me like I’m art and moves inside me like he knows my body better than I do. I shiver under his touch. "You like that?" He asks.
"Yes," I moan, my voice sounding shrill. "More." He obliges, his movements relentless, his touch firm. My mind is completely blank, and no one can blame me because this man will be the death of me.
I tighten around him, close, so close. He feels it. His hand slides between us, his thumb circling where I need him most.
“Aarav—” I cry out, breaking apart beneath him.
“I’m close,” he groans, hips faltering. “Anika…”
I cup his face, breathless. “Then cum for me, my good boy,” I whisper in his ear; he shudders under my touch.
He thrusts once more, then freezes, forehead pressing against mine, his entire body tensing. I feel him unravel inside the condom, breath hitching, lips parting in a quiet gasp.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
I stroke his hair, still panting. “You're breathtaking.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His lips curve into the softest, most boyish grin. “How… how are you still a virgin?” I ask.
He laughs and winks at me, burying his face in my neck. “That’s what I’m wondering.”
“You may not be my first, Aarav,” I kiss his cheek, “but you have ruined me for anyone else.” His eyes soften as he presses his lips against my forehead.
“I didn't know you would enjoy being so dominant,” he says, brushing his nose against mine as a smirk curls up his lips.
“What can I say?” I murmur, kissing him again. "Hopefully, you will catch up soon.”
“With you as my teacher? I’ll be an expert in no time.”
I roll my eyes, pulling the sheet over us. “Arrogant.”
He grins. “Only when it comes to you.”
He turns us over effortlessly; my head rests on his chest, the rhythm of his heart slow and steady beneath my cheek. Everything feels calm now, warm and soft and safe. We crossed a line tonight. But it felt right, natural, like this was exactly where we were meant to be.