[20] FINNALLY ONE/18
His palm cupped her bare pussy,
heat radiating into his skin,
soaked,
swollen,
his.
One thick finger slid between her folds,
slow,
deliberate,
rubbing up and down,
spreading her slick everywhere.
She jolted like lightning hit her,
hips bucking,
a shocked, high-pitched cry spilling out.
"Abhiraj-!"
His arm locked tighter around her waist, iron band,
pinning her back to his chest.
"Hush, biwi. Move mat karo."
Voice velvet-dark, dangerous.
"Bas feel karo."
She whimpered, thighs trembling, trying to close.
He forced them wider with his knees.
"stay wider.this all is mine..."
His finger circled her clit,
slow,
maddening,
then dipped lower,
coating itself in her juices,
rubbing them back over her folds,
glistening,
shamefully wet sounds filling the room.
Her head fell back against his shoulder,
eyes squeezed shut,
mouth open in helpless little gasps.
"Yeh... yeh galat hai..."
Tiny, innocent protest.
He laughed low, twisted,
lips against her ear.
"Galat? your little pussy is so wet for me and you are saying...this is wron ?"
She sobbed, mortified,
but her hips started rocking on their own.
His other hand claimed a breast again,
squeezing hard,
pinching the nipple,
rolling it between rough fingers.
"Moan for me," he ordered.
"Let me hear how much you want this."
The rubbing grew faster,
firmer,
thumb on her clit,
middle finger teasing her tiny entrance,
so small,
barely a fingertip fitting.
His cock throbbed against her lower back,
hard,
leaking,
grinding with every shift of her body.
She was close,
he could feel it in the way her walls fluttered,
her thighs shook,
her breath hitched into frantic little cries.
"Come for me, biwi. Abhi."
She shattered.
Back arching,
a broken scream tearing from her throat,
pussy clenching,
fresh wetness flooding his hand.
Her legs gave out; only his arm kept her upright.
She reached blindly for the fallen saree,
tried to wipe his soaked fingers,
shy,
embarrassed.
"G-ganda ho gaya..."
He growled,
grabbed her wrist,
pinned it to her side.
"Ganda?this is mine."
And started again.
Same finger,
now slicker,
rubbing faster,
cruel circles on her oversensitive clit.
She wailed,
tried to twist away.
"Nahi-bas-please-"
"Ek baar aur,"
he rasped, teeth grazing her shoulder.
"I want you dripping down my wrist."
His palm ground against her,
breast still trapped in his other hand,
pinching,
pulling,
until she broke a second time,
harder,
sobbing his name,
gushing over his fingers.
Only then did he let her sag,
breathless,
ruined.
She grabbed the saree again with trembling hands,
wiped his fingers clean this time,
eyes down,
cheeks scarlet.
He brought those same fingers to his mouth,
licked them slowly,
eyes locked on hers.
"Sweet," he murmured, voice black with promise.
"Ab asli cheez ki baari hai."
He turned her in one swift motion,
no warning,
no gentleness now.
She landed on her back with a soft gasp,
hair fanning across the ivory sheets like spilled ink,
chest heaving,
eyes wide and glassy with tears and leftover pleasure.
Abhiraj loomed over her instantly,
knees forcing her thighs apart,
caging her beneath his much larger frame.
He crushed his mouth to hers,
brutal,
claiming,
tongue sweeping in,
stealing every breath.
She whimpered into the kiss,
tiny, overwhelmed.
He broke away only to attack her neck,
teeth sinking into the soft spot below her ear,
bite,
suck,
mark.
She cried out,
back arching.
His hand slid down again,
palm cupping her soaked pussy,
two thick fingers rubbing hard,
fast circles over her swollen clit.
She jolted,
legs trying to close on instinct.
SLAP.
His hand came down sharp on her bare mound,
not cruel,
but firm enough to sting,
to shock.
She yelped,
eyes flying open,
tears fresh.
"Abhiraj-!"
"Khula rakho," he growled against her throat.
"dont close them. Samjhi?"
She nodded frantically,
legs falling open again,
trembling.
One hand seized her left breast,
squeezed hard,
thumb and finger pinching the nipple,
twisting just enough to make her sob.
His mouth descended on the right,
teeth grazing the stiff peak,
then biting,
tongue flicking,
sucking hard,
wet,
messy,
until the nipple was dark red and aching.
He switched,
mouth on the left now,
biting,
licking,
sucking like he was starving,
hand tormenting the other breast.
Her moans spilled out,
high,
broken,
helpless.
"Ah-ah-please-"
"Bahut zyada-"
"Abhiraj-main-main thak gyi hu-"
Every sound fed him.
His fingers never stopped rubbing her pussy,
fast,
relentless,
pushing her toward the edge again,
her slick coating his hand,
dripping onto the sheets.
She was completely undone beneath him,
tears on her cheeks,
body shaking,
moans turning into desperate little sobs,
exactly how he wanted her.
Her third orgasm left her wrecked,
body limp,
thick thighs trembling like jelly,
soft and heavy against the sheets.
Abhiraj rose to his knees,
yanked his black kurta off in one savage pull,
fabric ripping slightly at the seam.
Chest and abs carved from years of discipline,
sweat catching the low light.
He gripped her ankles again,
spread those gorgeous, plush thighs wider,
the flesh quivering under his palms.
She tried to close them,
weak,
exhausted,
only managing a pathetic little squeeze.
He hooked her legs over his broad shoulders,
her thick thighs framing his face,
soft, warm,
irresistible.
Lowered his head.
Hot breath washed over her swollen, dripping pussy.
"Fuck... so beautiful," he rasped, voice raw.
"This is my favorite thing in the world now."
One slow, filthy lick,
tongue flat, dragging through her folds.
She screamed,
hands flying to push his head away.
"No-no-Abhiraj-that's dirty-!"
He seized her wrists, pinned them to the bed,
growled against her clit:
"Nothing about you is dirty. This is mine to taste."
And devoured her,
sucking,
flicking,
tongue fucking her until she shattered again,
fourth climax ripping through her,
sweet release flooding his mouth.
Her eyes rolled back,
vision swimming.
Then,
zip.
The sound cut through her haze.
She looked down,
and froze.
His cock,
thick,
long,
veined,
standing furious and proud.
Her breath hitched in pure terror.
"That... that will never fit," she whispered, voice cracking.
"It's too big... it'll tear me..."
He wrapped a hand around himself,
stroked once,
slow,
smirking like sin.
"We'll make it fit, baby."
He leaned over her,
tip nudging her tiny, soaked entrance.
"You were made for me. This pretty little pussy was made for this cock."
"From the day you had marry me.12 years"
She shook her head, tears spilling.
"Please... it won't go..."
He kissed her trembling mouth,
soft for one heartbeat.
"Trust me,"
he murmured against her lips.
"Just a little pain at first... then only pleasure. I promise."
And began to push,
slow,
relentless,
claiming what was always his.
He knelt between her thick, trembling thighs,
one hand splayed low on her belly, fingers spreading her slick folds wide, opening her tiny entrance as much as it would allow.
The other hand gripped the base of his rock-hard cock, thick, angry, pulsing.
He press
Led the blunt tip against her.
Just the head.
Heaven.
Warm, wet silk closing around him like a fist.
He groaned, low and guttural, eyes rolling back for a second.
Amisha's breath hitched,
sharp, panicked.
Fresh tears spilled the moment he began to push.
He leaned down instantly,
lips catching every tear,
kissing them away.
"Shh... breathe, baby... I've got you."
Then he sealed her mouth with his,
deep, slow, swallowing her whimpers,
and in one steady, relentless thrust,
pushed all the way in.
Her muffled scream vibrated against his tongue,
body tensing rigid,
nails digging into his shoulders.
He stayed buried to the hilt,
motionless,
feeling her walls flutter in shock around him.
His palm on her lower belly felt it immediately,
a firm, unmistakable bulge beneath the soft skin,
his cock pressing up from inside her.
He broke the kiss,
forehead resting against hers,
voice rough with restraint.
"Feel that? That's me inside you... all of me."
She was crying softly,
but her hips twitched,
just slightly.
He stayed still,
letting her adjust,
watching her face,
every tear, every flutter of her lashes.
Minutes passed,
her breathing slowed,
the death-grip of her walls loosened,
just a fraction.
A tiny, experimental roll of his hips.
Slow.
Gentle.
She gasped,
but it wasn't only pain this time.
Another slow withdraw,
then ease back in.
Again.
Again.
He kept the rhythm tender,
almost reverent,
even though every instinct screamed to slam into her,
to claim,
to ruin.
His jaw clenched,
sweat beading on his brow.
"Tell me when it's okay," he rasped.
"I'll stay slow... as long as you need."
Her teary eyes met his,
soft, trusting,
still scared,
but no longer fighting.
A shaky nod.
A whispered, broken,
"...move."
And he did,
slow,
deep,
careful strokes,
watching her face turn from pain to something else entirely.
Her walls began to soften around him,
no longer fighting,
only fluttering,
accepting.
He felt it instantly.
The tension in her thighs eased,
her sobs turning into shaky breaths,
then tiny, surprised moans.
His hips rolled deeper,
faster,
finding that spot inside her that made her eyes fly open,
back arch,
a broken cry spilling out.
He hit it again.
Again.
Again.
She came undone,
pussy clamping down hard,
a fresh flood of warmth,
body shaking,
nails raking his back as she shattered around him.
That was all it took.
He followed her over the edge,
growling her name,
hips slamming deep one final time,
spilling hot and thick inside her,
pulse after pulse,
marking her completely.
Silence fell,
only their ragged breathing.
She was gone,
utterly spent,
eyes fluttering closed,
lashes wet,
cheeks flushed and streaked with tears,
lips swollen and parted,
chest heaving.
He stayed inside her a moment longer,
then slowly, carefully,
pulled out.
A soft, wet sound.
He looked down.
Her pussy was swollen,
glistening,
a beautiful mess of their mixed release,
his white cum mixed with faint traces of her virgin blood,
creating a delicate, pale pink that coated her folds,
dripped slowly down her thighs,
staining the sheets beneath.
He sat back on his heels,
taking her in from top to bottom,
memorizing every detail of what he had done to her:
Hair wild and damp, spilling across the pillow like dark silk.
Eyes closed, lashes spiked with tears.
Cheeks flushed deep rose, wet tracks still shining.
Lips parted, red and swollen from his teeth and kisses.
Neck, collarbones, breasts, everywhere covered in his marks, some fresh red, others already blooming deep purple.
Nipples dark, bitten, glistening from his mouth.
Soft belly trembling with aftershocks.
Thick thighs fallen open, powerless, streaked with pink-tinged cum.
Her pussy, small, swollen, ruined in the most beautiful way, still fluttering faintly.
His chest tightened,
something fierce and tender all at once.
He brushed a damp strand from her forehead,
voice low, reverent,
almost broken.
"Look at you...you are mine. Poori tarah se."
She didn't answer,
already drifting into exhausted sleep,
body marked, claimed,
completely, irrevocably his.
Abhiraj rose from the bed,
slow,
body still humming with the aftershock of her.
He stood at the foot of the bed for a long moment,
just looking.
From the day I came back, he thought,
I wanted to take her.
Wanted to pin her down,
spread those thick thighs,
bury myself inside her until she forgot her own name.
But he had waited.
Waited for her to be ready.
Waited for her to want it too.
And tonight,
in that red saree,
with those shy eyes and trembling lips,
she had walked to him herself.
A slow, satisfied smile curved his mouth.
He walked to the bathroom,
turned the shower on cold,
let the water hit his back like punishment and reward all at once.
Abhiraj came back from the shower,
water still clinging to his shoulders,
a towel in one hand,
another slung low on his hips.
The sight of her stopped him again:
Amisha curled on her side,
deep asleep,
lips slightly parted,
breathing soft and steady.
He knelt on the bed,
gentle as he had never been with anyone else.
With the warm, damp towel he cleaned her slowly, reverently:
first the tears dried on her cheeks,
then the sweat at her temples,
down her throat,
over every bite mark and blooming bruise he had left on her neck and collarbones,
across her swollen, reddened nipples,
careful when she sighed in her sleep.
He wiped the soft curve of her belly,
the faint imprint of his cock still there beneath the skin,
then lower,
parting her thick thighs with infinite care,
cleaning the pink-tinged mess between them,
every fold,
every trace of him and her.
She never stirred,
trusting him even in dreams.
Satisfied,
he tossed the towels aside,
pulled on a pair of loose black lowers,
no shirt,
skin still warm from the shower.
He slid into bed behind her,
moulded his body to hers,
chest to her back,
one heavy arm sliding under her neck,
the other draping over her waist.
His palm settled between her shoulder blades,
slow, soothing circles over the soft cotton of the kurta,
tracing the line of her spine,
up and down,
again and again,
until the rhythm became a lullaby.
Her breathing deepened,
a tiny, contented sound escaping her lips.
He pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck,
just below her hairline,
and murmured into her skin,
so low it was barely sound
"So ja, moti... main yahin hoon."
His hand never stopped its gentle massage,
slow, steady,
protective.
Minutes later,
his own eyes finally closed,
arm locked tight around her,
their heartbeats syncing,
two bodies tangled,
quiet,
whole,
finally asleep.