[64] RELIEF
The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting a warm, golden glow over the bed.
Aviraj was feeding calmly in Amisha's arms, his little mouth working steadily, eyes half-closed in contentment.
Amisha looked down at him, a soft smile on her face despite the storm in her heart.
She played with him gently-tickling his cheek with her finger, watching him latch harder, then relax.
He made a small happy sound, fist uncurling.
She whispered, "Mera chhota rajkumar..."
Her anger softened for a moment-just looking at him.
Then his eyes closed fully, sucking slowing, until he fell asleep with her nipple still in his mouth, milk-drunk and peaceful.
Abhiraj, who had been watching quietly from the side, moved forward.
He carefully lifted the baby (one hand under his head, the other supporting his body), and placed him in the safe spot on the bed, tucking the blanket around him snugly.
Then he turned to Amisha.
Gently closed the open buttons of her kurti, one by one.
Covered her properly.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and concerned.
"Kya hua, Amisha?
Ukhdi ukhdi kyun ho?"
In one swift motion, Amisha moved.
She climbed onto him, sitting firmly on his legs, her core almost touching his cock through the thin fabric.
Face inches from his.
Eyes locked.
"apki wajah se hi main ukhdi ukhdi hoon."
He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, covering her more.
"Maine kya kiya?"
His voice calm, confused.
Her anger rose.
"Ab ap mujhse pyar nahi karte na."
He blinked.
"Arre aisa kyun keh rahi ho?
Main tumse bahut pyar karta hoon...
aur woh raha proof."
He pointed gently to sleeping Aviraj.
She shook her head.
"Par pyar toh ud bhi sakta hai na...
jo aapka ud gaya hai."
His eyes narrowed.
"Arre kya keh rahi ho?
Abhi bhi utna hi pyar hai wo bhi beinteha."
She leaned closer.
"Nahi.
Ab aap mujhe chhute nahi ho.
Mujhe attention nahi dete."
He pulled her closer, hands on her waist.
"Aisa thodi hai.
Pyaar karna kya chhune se hi pta chalta hai?."
She huffed.
"Baat mat ghumao.
Aap mujhe touch nahi karte ab."
He sighed.
"Arre tum pregnant thi na..."
She cut him off.
"Par ab nahi hoon!"
He nodded slowly.
"But your thighs have cut... it needs recovery."
She rolled her eyes.
"Kab ka ho gaya recover."
He looked at her seriously.
"Par tum thaki hui bhi hogi na..."
She leaned in even closer, eyes fierce.
"Par aap ab mujhe gurte nahi ho...
pehle gurte the jaise."
He frowned.
"Achha hai na... main nahi gurta."
She shook her head.
"Waise nahi gurna.
Gurna matlab... waise ki aapko mere saath kuchh karna hai."
The air between them thickened.
Silence.
His eyes darkened.
Understanding dawned.
He pulled her closer, hands sliding to her hips.
The conversation had just shifted.
And the anger was about to turn into something else entirely.
Abhiraj chuckled low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he pulled her closer, hands sliding down to cup her butt firmly.
His palms roamed there (slow, deliberate circles, fingers pressing into the soft flesh through the thin fabric of her gagra).
He knew.
He clearly knew she wasn't wearing any panty (nothing underneath, just her warmth against his touch).
Amisha's breath hitched, her anger faltering for a second.
He leaned in, nose brushing hers, eyes dark with understanding and amusement.
"Ab samjha... meri biwi ko kya chahiye."
His fingers squeezed gently, pulling her flush against him.
She tried to hold the glare, but her cheeks burned hotter.
He chuckled again, lips brushing her ear.
"Gussa isliye tha... kyunki main chhua nahi?"
His hand roamed higher, then lower, teasing the curve.
"Ab chhu raha hoon na..."
She shivered, hands gripping his shoulders.
He tilted his head, studying her face (trying to understand every layer of her insecurity, her need, her fire).
"Tum jo bhi socho... sab galat hai."
His voice dropped, serious now.
"Tum meri ho.
Har tarah se.
Hamesha."
One hand stayed on her butt, holding her close.
The other came up to cup her face.
Thumb brushing her lower lip.
He kissed her (slow, deep, proving every word).
She melted a little.
Anger cracking.
But not gone yet.
He pulled back just enough to look at her.
"Ab bata... aur kitna gussa hai?"
His hand squeezed again (playful, possessive).
She narrowed her eyes.
But her lips twitched.
The storm was shifting.
And he was ready to weather it.
All night if he had to.
She looked at him, eyes searching.
"Ab bhi... mujhse utna hi pyar karte ho jaise pehle?"
He took her hand, kissed her knuckles.
"Haan
Utnahi... balki zyada."
She bit her lip.
"Phir bhi... mujhe chahte ho?
Waise hi?"
His eyes darkened, hand sliding to her waist.
"Haan.
Right now.
Bahut zyada."
She looked down, voice smaller.
"Kya main... ab bhi sundar lagti hoon aapko?"
He cupped her face, made her look at him.
"Every much.
Tu pehle se bhi zyada sundar hai.
Har roz zyada."
Her eyes filled a little.
"Stretch marks... loose skin... sab dekh ke bhi?"
He nodded, thumb brushing her cheek.
"Haan.
Yeh sab tera hissa hain.
Aur tera har hissa mujhe pyara hai."
She swallowed.
"Breasts... heavy ho gaye... leaking... woh bhi?"
He smiled softly.
"Haan.
Woh bhi.
Aur zyada pyare."
She leaned closer.
"Ab bhi... mujhe chhuna chahte ho?"
His hand slid to her thigh.
"Haan.
Bahut."
She searched his face.
"Har roz?"
He leaned in, forehead to hers.
"Har roz.
Har pal."
She whispered, voice trembling.
"Phir bhi... kabhi thak gaye ho mujhse?"
He shook his head.
"Nahi.
Kabhi nahi."
One more question, barely audible.
"Main... ab bhi aapki Gulabo hoon?"
He kissed her softly, slowly.
"Hamesha.
Sirf meri Gulabo."
Her eyes closed, tears slipping.
The anger melted.
Replaced by relief.
By love.
She leaned into him.
He wrapped his arms around her.
Held her tight.
All the yeses she needed.
All the truth.
And in that quiet moment,
her postpartum storm finally calmed.
Because he loved her.
Same.
More.
Always.