[21] TEASING
The first pale light slipped through the lattice windows.
Amisha stirred with a tiny, sleepy groan.
School. Breakfast. She had to get up.
She tried to move,
only to find herself locked in iron arms,
Abhiraj's chest pressed to her back,
one heavy leg thrown over hers.
She wriggled.
He growled low, eyes still closed, voice thick with sleep and possession.
"You're not going anywhere until I say so."
His arms tightened,
pulling her higher against him,
her soft body sliding up his bare chest.
Amisha blinked, half-asleep...
then everything from last night flooded back.
The red saree.
The bed.
The pain.
The pleasure.
His mouth everywhere.
Her eyes shot wide.
Cheeks flamed crimson.
Abhiraj felt the sudden tension in her body.
A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips against her neck.
He nuzzled into the marks he'd left,
voice a rough whisper.
"Did you like it, biwi?"
Amisha squeaked, mortified.
"W-what...?"
He lifted his head,
dark eyes glinting with amusement.
She was staring hard at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe.
His big hand slid down,
wrapped possessively around one thick thigh,
squeezed.
"Did you really not understand the question?"
She slapped a hand over her face.
"I-I understood! I... I enjoyed it, okay?!"
The words tumbled out in a shy rush.
He grinned,
cuddled her closer,
lips brushing her ear.
"Then we should do it again. Right now."
"Nooo!"
She wriggled harder.
"Mujhe school jaana hai!"
He laughed softly.
"I'll just call the principal.
Tell him my wife is busy making love to her husband."
She gasped,
playfully slapped his cheek.
"Don't you dare! I want to go!"
He glanced at the clock,
smirk widening.
"Baby, it's not even six. We have all the time in the world."
Before she could protest,
his hands were already under her cream kurta,
pushing it up,
mouth latching onto one sore, swollen nipple.
He sucked gently at first,
then harder,
like a starving baby,
tongue swirling,
teeth grazing.
Amisha whimpered,
back arching despite herself.
"Aramse... dard ho raha hai..."
He hummed around her nipple,
switched to the other,
soothing the sting with soft licks.
Somehow, after long, lazy minutes of kisses and teasing,
he finally let her escape,
grinning like a satisfied wolf.
Amisha stood at the counter,
moving slowly,
still tender between her legs.
She had chosen carefully this morning:
a delicate white anarkali with soft pink embroidery,
high neck,
long sleeves,
flowing skirt,
dupatta draped modestly.
No saree today.
A saree would never hide the constellation of love bites blooming across her neck, collarbones, and chest.
Every time she turned,
the fabric brushed against a mark and sent a secret shiver through her.
Abhiraj leaned against the doorframe behind her,
arms crossed,
wearing only his black lowers,
watching his shy, blushing wife cook breakfast,
knowing exactly why she'd picked that modest outfit,
and loving every second of it.
He walked up behind her,
arms sliding around her waist,
chin on her shoulder.
"School can wait five minutes,"
he murmured,
pressing a gentle kiss to the darkest mark on her neck.
She squeaked,
elbowed him lightly,
but couldn't hide her smile.
The morning smelled of aloo paratha,
fresh chai,
and two people very, very newly in love.
Abhiraj sat at the long teak table,
plate of steaming aloo parathas in front of him,
chai in one hand.
Amisha moved around the kitchen,
bending to take out curd from the fridge,
reaching up to put away the masala dabba,
walking from counter to stove to sink.
Perfectly normal steps.
No limp.
No wince.
Not even a tiny hitch in her gait.
He chewed slowly,
eyes narrowing.
One round.
That's all they'd had.
Because his little moti had passed out cold the second he'd cleaned her up and pulled her into his arms.
And now she was prancing around like nothing happened?
Like he hadn't spent the night buried inside her,
marking every inch of that soft body?
He set the steel glass down with a soft clink,
watching her bend again to pick up a fallen spoon,
the white-pink anarkali swaying innocently.
His jaw tightened.
Thought running dark and possessive:
Yeh toh bilkul theek chal rahi hai...
Ek bhi dard nahi? Ek bhi limping?
Kal raat itna kuchh kiya aur aaj aise normal?
Not acceptable.
I'm feeling like I wasn't powerful enough.
Sharam se mar jaana chahiye tha usko aaj subah...
Par yeh toh bilkul fresh lag rahi hai.
He took another bite of paratha,
chewed harder than necessary,
eyes never leaving her.
A slow, dangerous smirk began to form.
Tonight,
he decided,
she wouldn't walk straight for a week.
No mercy.
No single round.
No falling asleep early.
He'd make sure of it.
Amisha turned,
caught his stare,
blushed instantly.
"Kya dekh rahe ho?"
He leaned back in his chair,
voice low,
lazy,
but laced with promise.
"Nothing, biwi. Bas soch raha hoon... aaj shaam jaldi ghar aaun."
She frowned, confused.
"Kyunn?"
He just smiled,
took a slow sip of chai,
and said nothing.
She had no idea what was coming.
Abhiraj's black SUV rolled to a stop in front of the school gate.
He leaned over, brushed a soft kiss on Amisha's cheek.
"Be good. See you soon."
His voice was casual, but his eyes held that glint.
She blushed, clutched her dupatta tighter, and hurried inside.
School - Lunch Break
Karishma, her colleague and friend, spotted her instantly.
"Arre, aaj saree nahi?"
Amisha smiled shyly, adjusting her high-neck anarkali.
When she reached up to fix her dupatta, the fabric shifted just enough.
Karishma's eyes widened at the deep red-purple mark peeking above the collar.
A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
"Lagta hai kisi ne kal raat bahut mehnat ki hai..."
Amisha turned crimson, slapped Karishma's arm, and ran off while her friend laughed behind her.
The house was quiet.
Everyone still at the Lagn festivities.
Amisha stood in their bedroom in front of the open almirah, folding freshly laundered clothes, humming softly.
White and pink anarkali swaying as she moved, dupatta draped modestly.
She glanced at the clock.
Abhiraj had said he'd come early, but 8 was still the usual time.
Plenty of time to finish chores.
The heavy front door opened with a familiar creak.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Purposeful.
Then his deep, booming voice echoed through the haveli:
"Amisha! Kahan ho tum?!"
She froze, clothes half-folded in her hands.
He was home.
Already.
Another shout, closer now, laced with dark amusement:
"Bedroom mein ho? Theek hai... ab kahan bhaagogi?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She heard his slow, deliberate footsteps on the marble,
each one louder, closer.
He appeared in the doorway,
still in his black shirt and trousers from the morning,
sleeves rolled high,
a dangerous, predatory smile curling his lips.
He leaned against the frame,
arms crossed,
eyes raking over her from head to toe.
"Lagta hai subah thodi si rehmat kar di thi maine..."
He pushed off the doorframe,
stepped inside,
voice dropping to that low, sinful tone she now knew meant trouble.
"Aaj shaam poori tarif ke saath karunga."
The door clicked shut behind him.
And Amisha realised,
with a delicious little shiver,
that the night had come three hours early.