[13]KISS
The little goat vanished into the marigolds.
Silence fell, thick and sudden.
Amisha stood there, lavender poshak fluttering, braid swaying, lips slightly parted in a soft, wondering smile, still looking at the spot where the goat had disappeared.
Abhiraj didn’t wait.
No warning, no words.
In one breath he closed the distance,
one hand sliding to the small of her back,
the other cupping her jaw.
Her mouth was already open—just a fraction, surprised.
He took it.
A single, soft peck,
lips sealing over hers,
gentle but absolute.
Her eyes snapped wide,
grey irises huge,
shocked.
He felt the plush, pillowy softness of her lower lip against his,
warm,
cherry-sweet,
so ridiculously soft he almost groaned.
But he didn’t devour.
Not yet.
This was their first.
It had to be perfect.
He lingered only a heartbeat,
then pulled back an inch.
Her lashes fluttered,
eyes slowly closing,
cheeks flaming beneath the kohl.
He brushed another kiss to the corner of her mouth,
then her cheek,
warm and lingering,
then the centre of her forehead,
right over the fresh sindoor,
sealing it with his lips.
His mouth found the shell of her ear,
voice low, rough, intimate.
“Chale ab,ghar?”
She couldn’t speak.
Only a tiny, shy nod,
eyes still closed,
fingers curled tight into the front of his kurta.
He smiled against her skin,
took her trembling hand,
and led his stunned, blushing bride back through the marigolds,
her swollen lips still tingling from the first taste of forever.
The temple khet faded behind tinted glass.
Abhiraj walked her to the car, hand low on her waist, eyes locked on her lips the entire way: still swollen from that first innocent peck, glossy, parted, begging.
A dark smirk curved his mouth.
He opened her door, let her slide in, lavender poshak pooling like liquid moonlight.
The second his own door shut, the world outside disappeared.
Click.
Before she could even fasten the seatbelt, his hand shot out,
long fingers closing around her delicate wrist.
A shocked gasp tore from her throat.
“Abhira—”
He pulled: gentle, yet firm, undeniable.
She tumbled across the leather seat and landed sideways on his lap,
back to his chest,
lavender skirts spilling everywhere.
Her eyes went wide,
breath hitching.
He didn’t wait.
One arm locked around her waist,
the other cupped the back of her head,
and he took her mouth,
whole.
Not soft.
Not sweet.
Rough.
Hungry.
Messy.
Lips crushed hers,
sucking her plush lower lip between his teeth,
tugging just enough to make her whimper.
She froze: innocent, overwhelmed, hands fluttering like trapped birds against his chest.
He angled her head,
deepened the kiss,
tongue sliding along the seam of her lips, demanding entry.
She didn’t know how.
He pinched the soft skin of her waist,
light, wicked.
Her lips parted on a startled gasp.
He swept in.
Tongues tangled,
slow at first,
then urgent,
tasting cherry balm and temple smoke and her.
His hand tightened in her hair,
thumb stroking the nape of her neck.
The other slid down,
caressing the bare curve of her thigh where the poshak had ridden high.
She made a tiny, helpless sound in her throat.
Her palms pushed weakly at his shoulders,
needing air.
He broke the kiss instantly,
but didn’t let her go far,
just enough for her to drag in ragged breaths against his neck.
Her forehead dropped to his shoulder,
chest heaving,
lips tingling and swollen.
He pressed his mouth to her ear,
voice low, rough, amused.
“Kissing ki practice karni padegi, moti
Yeh din me kafi baar hoga.”
She hid her burning face deeper into his kurta,
nodding once,
shy,
breathless,
his.
The car purred smoothly along the village road.
Amisha was still on his lap, sideways, legs draped over his thighs, lavender poshak spilling everywhere.
One of his arms locked around her waist, the other resting on the steering wheel, driving one-handed like it was nothing.
She squirmed, cheeks still flaming from the kiss.
“Aap kaise chala rahe ho aise?”
Voice tiny, worried.
He glanced down at her, smirk lazy.
“Tum itni chhoti ho ki main aage ka saara road dekh sakta hoon.”
She narrowed her eyes, puffed her cheeks.
“Koi dekh lega mujhe aise!”
He chuckled, low and wicked.
“Maine tumhare liye apraa-na-dikhe wale glass lagwaye hain, moti.
Koi andar nahi dekh sakta. Tum bahar dekh sakti ho, bahar wala andar nahi.”
Her eyes went round.
“Sachhi?”
He didn’t answer with words.
His gaze dropped from her shocked eyes to her swollen lips,
leaned in,
and stole one quick, soft peck.
She squeaked, hands flying to his chest.
“Dhyaan se chalaiye na!”
He nipped her earlobe lightly.
“Tum yahan ho, mere paas. Road pe keda dhyaan rakhoon?”
She clutched his kurta tighter, voice panicked.
“Hum mar jayenge aise toh!”
He laughed, deep and warm, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Na na, itni jaldi nahi.
Main tumhe apne paas se gayab nahi hone doonga, biwi.
Marna bhi hai toh saath mein.”
She buried her burning face in his neck,
muffled, shy, but smiling against his skin.
The car rolled on,
windows hiding the world,
the world hiding nothing from them.
The Rolls-Royce rolled to a stop in the courtyard.
Abhiraj killed the engine and opened his door.
Amisha instantly scrambled off his lap like a guilty kitten,
hastily yanking her lavender dupatta across her chest,
one hand rubbing her eyes, the other covering a huge, sleepy yawn.
She hopped out,
poshak dragging,
gagra sagging low on her hips.
With every lazy step she tugged it higher,
payals dragging,
another giant yawn splitting her face.
Abhiraj watched, throat rumbling with a soft chuckle.
She looked exactly like a child who’d been dragged to a wedding and was now running on fumes.
He reached down, rescued the trailing end of her dupatta before it kissed the ground,
and held it bunched in his fist as they walked.
Minakshi and Dadi were waiting under the archway.
“Aa gaye? Pooja ho gayi?”
Abhiraj dipped his head.
“Ji, sab ho gaya.”
Minakshi smiled, reached over, and brushed Amisha’s messy hair back from her face.
“Jao beta, thak gayi hogi. So jao.”
Amisha managed a sleepy nod,
another yawn so big her eyes watered.
“Ji…”
She shuffled inside,
dupatta slipping off one shoulder,
gagra trailing like a tired peacock tail.
Abhiraj sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning the top of his kurta, watching her disappear into the bathroom.
She emerged two minutes later:
simple cream loose kurta,
soft cotton salwar,
dupatta tossed carelessly on the chair.
Hair loose, braid undone, waves tumbling everywhere.
She took three wobbly steps,
face-planted onto the mattress,
and was asleep before her cheek hit the pillow,
one small hand curled under her chin,
breathing already deep and even.
He stared for a long second,
lips curving.
The memory of her swollen mouth in the car flashed hot behind his eyes.
Kurta tossed onto the chair,
he padded barefoot to the wardrobe,
pulled out a crisp black shirt and black trousers,
changed in the bathroom.
When he came out,
she hadn’t moved an inch,
sprawled diagonally,
one foot sticking out from under the sheet.
He bent, tugged the sheet gently over her shoulders,
brushed a stray lock from her face,
thumb lingering on the faint pink mark his kiss had left on her lower lip.
A quiet, satisfied smirk.
Then he walked out,
door clicking softly behind him,
off to his office,
still tasting cherry balm and temple smoke on his tongue.
Happy.
Dangerously, perfectly happy.