CHAPTER THREE #2
Rudraksh moved with blinding speed. He closed the distance between them, his uninjured arm wrapping heavily around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard, muscular frame. Before she could utter another word of protest, his head descended, and his mouth crashed down on hers.
The kiss was a desperate, shattering collision. It wasn't gentle; it was a claiming, a physical manifestation of all the terror, anger, and staggering relief they had both harbored in that jungle.
Serena gasped against his lips, her hands flying up to push him away, to maintain her control, but the moment her palms hit his chest, her resolve evaporated. She gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a fierce, ravenous hunger that matched his own.
The kiss went on and on, a dizzying, intoxicating exchange of breath and heat.
Rudraksh backed her up until her spine hit the solid wall, his body caging her in completely.
He moved his hand, his large palm cupping her breast through the thick layers of her tactical clothing.
The rough, possessive friction sent a jolt of liquid fire straight to her core.
Serena whimpered, a soft, helpless sound that she would have denied making in any other setting, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts toward his hand.
Rudraksh broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his dark eyes burning with a primal, unrestrained passion.
His lips moved down the sharp angle of her jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the long column of her throat.
Serena threw her head back against the wall, giving him better access, her hands tangling desperately in his dark hair.
"You are my life," he growled against her skin, the vibration of his voice sending tremors down her spine. "My storm."
He bent his head once more, his mouth capturing hers in another bruising kiss while his hands worked with precision.
He pulled her blouse open, the buttons giving way, and slid her bra down, baring one beautiful breast to the cool air of the room.
He captured its dusky nipple in his mouth, suckling hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak with a gentle, agonizing bite.
Serena moaned aloud, her control shattering. She held his head to her breast, her fingers threading through his hair, pleading silently for more, for everything.
He obliged, a low sound of pure male satisfaction rumbling in his chest. He pulled her clothes down further, baring her other breast, his large, calloused hand kneading the soft flesh roughly before he closed his lips over the peak.
He bit hard, a sharp spike of pleasure that made her gasp, and then buried his face in the deep, warm valley between her voluptuous breasts.
Serena’s hands moved frantically. She pulled his shirt from the waistband of his tactical pants, her cool palms sliding beneath the fabric to press flat against his hot, hard chest, mapping the ridges of his muscles.
The contrast of her smooth skin against his rough, battle-hardened body was intoxicating.
Rudraksh kissed his way down her body, his lips burning a trail of fire across her stomach as he pulled her pants down.
When he reached the soft mound of hair covering her most intimate place, he pressed a searing kiss there, and he felt the violent shudder that wrecked her frame.
He heard her moan, a beautiful, unguarded sound that belonged only to him.
His hand moved between her thighs, seeking the slick heat of her.
He inserted one finger inside her, and Serena arched her back, almost lifting off the wall, gasping, and moaning in immense, overwhelming pleasure.
He moved his hand, in and out, inserting one, then two fingers, stretching her, claiming her, driving her to the very edge as her staccato sighs filled the quiet quarters.
She couldn't wait any longer. She needed him. She spread her thighs, her hands gripping his shoulders, her body practically vibrating with the demand to have him inside her.
Rudraksh smiled against her thighs, a fiercely possessive, triumphant smile. Kneeling between her parted legs, his eyes locked onto hers—dark, intense, and wholly devoted. He undid his pants, pushing them down. His manhood sprang forth, tall and strong, a testament to his desperate need for her.
He stood up, lifting her effortlessly, and plunged into her with one long, hard, deep thrust.
Serena cried out, her nails digging into his back as he filled her. It was a soul-deep connection, a violent erasing of the boundaries she fought so hard to maintain. She wrapped her legs around his waist, beginning to lift her hips, matching the urgent, primal rhythm of his movements.
His thrusts grew harder, deeper, the world outside the quarters ceasing to exist. There was no army, no dynasty, no Mila Ardeshir. There was only this. The heat, the friction, the desperate gasps, and moans that echoed between them as the immense pleasure built to a shattering crescendo.
Finally, with a hoarse, guttural groan, Rudraksh collapsed against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Their bodies remained intimately joined, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized beat against each other's chests.
He didn't pull away. He held her tight, his lips trailing soft, feather-light kisses all over her face, tasting the salt of her sweat.
He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her jaw, before finally capturing her mouth once more.
It was a kiss of dark, consuming passion, his tongue thrusting into the deep recesses of her mouth, claiming every inch of her as his own.
***
The travel back to the Delhi Cantonment the following day was without incident. The military transport plane touched down on the tarmac under a bruised, gray sky, the engines whining down as the intelligence team prepared to disembark.
Rudraksh was back to being the Monarch. The stoic, unreadable Tactical Commander was firmly in place, his uniform immaculate, his wounded arm carefully concealed beneath the tailored fabric of his jacket.
Serena walked two paces behind him, her posture rigid, her face an unreadable mask of professionalism.
To anyone watching, she was simply Major Dhar, a brilliant asset attached to his team.
But as they descended the metal steps of the transport, the reality of his other life was already waiting for him.
Standing near the edge of the tarmac, sheltered by the awning of a black military transport vehicle, were Drishya and Kyra Ashmehr-Vohn.
Rudraksh, engaged in a low-level tactical briefing with Armaan, did not immediately spot his sisters.
But they spotted him.
Kyra, twenty-two and fiercely protective of her older brother, broke into a wide smile, preparing to wave him down. But the smile faltered, freezing on her face as she watched him.
Rudraksh had stopped walking. He turned slightly, leaning in toward the tall, stunningly beautiful woman walking behind him. The woman—a lithe, dangerous-looking soldier in dark fatigues—looked profoundly annoyed about something, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
And then, Kyra saw something she had never, in her entire life, seen her brother do in public.
Rudraksh reached out, his hand gently grasping the woman’s elbow.
He leaned in closer, his stoic mask shattering, replaced by a soft, coaxing smile that transformed his harsh features into something devastating.
He spoke to her in a low murmur, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of her sleeve.
The woman’s severe expression cracked, just a fraction, and she rolled her dark eyes, but she didn't pull away.
In fact, she leaned into his touch, a silent understanding passing between them.
Kyra gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in pure shock. "Drishya," she whispered frantically, grabbing her older sister’s arm. "Who is that woman? That isn't Mila. Mila is petite and... and she doesn't wear combat boots!"
Drishya followed her sister’s gaze. The observant middle child took in the scene with wide, intelligent eyes.
She saw the way Rudraksh looked at the woman—as if she were the only person standing on a crowded tarmac.
She saw the terrifyingly possessive angle of his shoulders, positioning himself between the woman and the rest of the base.
"What is going on?" Kyra demanded, her voice rising in pitch. "Isn't he supposed to marry Mila? We were just looking at engagement rings in Paris! I'm going to go over there. I'm going to confront him right now and ask him who this—"
"No," Drishya said sharply, her hand closing like a vice around Kyra’s wrist, pulling her back into the shadows of the awning.
"But Drishya—!"
"Kyra, listen to me," Drishya warned, her eyes darting back to her brother, who was now guiding the mysterious woman toward a waiting transport jeep. "You do not want to provoke Rudraksh's temper. Not over this. Look at him."
Kyra looked. She saw the unyielding devotion in the Monarch’s eyes.
"If you march over there and demand answers," Drishya continued quietly, "he will shut us out. Or worse, he will burn down the entire estate to protect her."
"Then what do we do?" Kyra whispered, her mind racing to reconcile the cold, brooding brother she knew with the deeply affectionate man standing thirty yards away.
Drishya took a slow, deep breath, her mind clicking into the strategic gears she had inherited from their grandmother.
"We don't do anything," Drishya said firmly. "But we are not keeping this to ourselves. We need to tell Dadi."
Kyra’s eyes widened. "Grandmother?"
"Yes," Drishya said, watching as Rudraksh and the woman disappeared into the jeep, the doors slamming shut behind them. "Because if our brother has found a storm instead of a flower, Grandmother is the only one in the family who can protect them from the fallout."