28. Self-control
“One more!” I announced, sliding the empty glass across the counter.
The bartender looked at me the way teachers look at students who clearly failed but still argue for grace marks.
Men and their eyesight. Always scanning, calculating, judging as if they have a built-in lie detector for women who are spiraling.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, “that was your fourth.”
“Did I ask for a counting service?” I shot back. “I asked for a drink.”
He pressed his lips together, clearly debating his life choices, but refilled my glass anyway.
I lifted it and swallowed the whole thing in one go.
Burn. Good.
“One more!” I placed the glass back.
He gave me that look again.
“What?” I snapped. “Why are you staring at me like I’m about to rob this place? I have a lot of money. I will pay.”
He leaned forward slightly and said, deadpan, “Ma’am, I’m not worried about the bill. I’m worried about who’s going to carry you out.”
Excuse me?
Before I could respond with a Nobel-Prize level insult, he sighed, took the glass away and instead placed the entire bottle in front of me.
“Fine. At this point, let’s stop pretending,” he muttered. “At least this way I won’t have to keep walking back and forth.”
The audacity.
I stared at the bottle.
He stared back like he’d just handed a toddler a box of crayons and accepted his fate.
“Thank you,” I said sweetly, flipping my hair. “See? Cooperation wasn’t that hard.”
He shook his head and went back to his work. Ungrateful man.
My phone vibrated aggressively against the counter.
Mr. Raizaada.
Of course.
Why does the screen look blurry…wait, is my screen cracked? Or is my vision cracked?I cut the call anyway.
I turned my head toward the dance floor. The music playing was… offensive.
People were dancing. Badly. Horribly. Criminally.
I mean what do you mean you don’t like chatpate songs? And you’re Indian? Where is patriotism? Where is the culture?
I grabbed my vodka bottle in one hand and my clutch in the other, hugging it protectively to my chest.
Because it has my money.
Okay technically it has Mr. Raizaada’s money.
Yes. I stole it.
When he went to the bathroom to freshen up, I slide inside his room and robbed his pockets, his wallet. Took out cash. Cards too. Just in case.
Why?
Because this fancy club probably charges rent for breathing. And I am not wasting my hard-earned money on emotional breakdown liquor.
Also let’s connect the dots.
I’m drinking because I’m sad.
I’m sad because I’m worried.
I’m worried because I didn’t meet my brother.
I didn’t meet my brother because Yugant didn’t help me.
So technically? That's Mr. Raizaada’s fault. Never mind.
I marched toward the DJ booth with determination. Or maybe imbalance. Hard to tell and promptly hit my head on the counter.
“Ow.”
“What happened, ma’am?” the DJ asked.
Why are there so many men with the same face? Are they cloned? Triplets? Is this a government scheme? But one gets two men free? You know for three,
I shook my head. Focus, Dhwani.
“You. DJ. Play some chatpate songs.”
“Chatpate songs?” he repeated like I’d asked for ancient Sanskrit poetry.
“Yes, you dum...” I paused. “Play Jalebi Bai. Or Sheela Ki Jawani. Wait no. I love Salman Khan. Play Munni Badnaam Hui. Yes. That one. Immediately.”
“People are enjoying the current track. I can’t change it midway.”
He refused me.
He. Refused. Me.
I slowly placed my bottle on his counter. He stared at it cautiously.
“Don’t steal it, okay?” I warned.
He gave me a tight-lipped smile and nodded like he was dealing with a mildly dangerous person.
I opened my clutch dramatically and pulled out a thick stack of ?500 notes.
My smile widened. Crisp. Beautiful. So cooperative.
I waved a few in front of him. “Keep it. I have a lot of money. And play Munni Badnaam Hui.”
His face lit up like Diwali.
Money talks.
Within seconds, the beat changed.
YES.
I grabbed my bottle and strutted toward the stage.
The floor looked like it was moving.
Or maybe I was.
Hard to say.
I climbed onto the stage like it belonged to me. The beat dropped.
“Munni badnaam hui, darling tere liye…”
I pointed at someone and sang. My hips moved dramatically slightly off-beat, but confidence was 100%.
I tipped the bottle back to my lips again.
“Le jhandu baam hui, darling tere liye
Munni badnaam hue, darling tere liye.”
I stretched the “liyeeeee” so long the DJ glanced at me like he regretted taking my money.
I grabbed the nearest poor unsuspecting man by his collar and wrapped my arms around him, swaying my entire body.
“Shilpa sa figure, Bebo marja, beboo marja.”
Was that even the correct lyric? Who cares. I shouted it anyway. People started gathering.
Some were cheering. Some were recording. Some were confused.
“Hai mere jhatke mein filmy mazaaare filmy mazaaa!”
I jumped.
Sensually? In my head, yes.
In reality? It probably looked like a slightly uncoordinated flamingo trying to balance in heels.
I spun, flipped my hair dramatically, ran my hand down my waist like I was in slow motion. Except nothing was slow. Everything was wobbling.
I lifted the bottle to my lips again.
Empty.
I stared into it like it betrayed me.
“You finished already?” I whispered to it, deeply disappointed.
I looked toward the bar and moved towards him. Gravity immediately reminded me I am not a Marvel character as I fell downward.
My heels were still on the stage edge for a split second while my upper body tipped forward toward the floor.
In that one dramatic second, I saw my future.
Broken nose. Missing teeth. Viral video captioned: Drunk Girl Attempts Dance Career, Fails.
But before my pretty face could kiss the floor, An arm wrapped around my waist.
Strong. Firm. Annoyingly familiar.
I was hanging mid-air. Upper body suspended. An inch away from disaster.
I blinked slowly. And next moment that person who just saved me, pulled me down with just that arm which was wrapped around my waist.
I looked up at him.
Oh. Fuck. No.
Mr. Raizaada.
I felt like crying, and tried to stand still, but my feet said good bye to me.
If anyone ever asks me what public humiliation looks like, I will show them that night.
I reached the club ready to drag her out quietly.
Quietly.
That was my first mistake but the moment I stepped inside, the DJ blasted
“Munni badnaam hui darling tere liye…”
And there was Dhwani right at the center of stage with a vodka bottle in one hand and her purse clutched between her armpit as if she have some secret dancing like a mad woman.
For three full seconds, my brain refused to process it.
And when it did, I wished it hadn’t.
She wasn’t just dancing. She was performing. Loud. Dramatic. Completely off-beat but fully committed. She was pointing at random men in the crowd like she was accusing them of ruining her life. She flipped her hair. She moved her hips, that mini skirt of hers wasn't helping at all.
And people were cheering.
Cheering.
I felt my jaw lock.
She grabbed some poor idiot by the collar and started singing directly into his face. Not singingshouting. Wrong lyrics. Wrong pitch. Right confidence.
Bottle went to her lips again, and I guess it was empty as she realized she stared into it like it betrayed her.
As much as I understand her, I already knew she was going to jump. I moved ahead faster and as expected she jumped and my arm wrapped around her waist to save her on time.
She was inches away from kissing the floor. I tightened my hold and pulled her down making her stand, only for her to wobble. She looked shocked seeing me there.
“Hi,” she said, like we bumped into each other at a grocery store.
I swear I have never felt anger and relief hit me at the same time like that.
I pulled her upright. She poked my chest.
“You’re late,” she slurred. “Munni was already badnaam.” she said and placed that empty bottle back to her lips.
I wanted to strangle her. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to shake sense into her.
Instead, I grabbed the bottle from her hand.
She gasped like I stole oxygen.
“That’s emotional support,” she declared.
She leaned closer to my face and squinted at me.
“Why are there two of you?” she asked seriously. “Stop multiplying.”
People were staring.
Recording.
Whispering.
She suddenly pointed at the crowd.
“Stop staring! This is my husband!” She announced. Then she added loudly, “Fake husband. But still.”
Fantastic.
“Stop creating drama, Dhwani,” I snapped, glaring at her as I set her on her feet.
She swayed again wrapping her arms around my neck and holding that fucking clutch near her breast as if it held some secret.
“You scolded me?” she gasped, utterly offended.
Her eyes were barely open, lashes fighting gravity, but that tongue? Fully operational. Sharp. Dangerous. Annoyingly consistent.
I exhaled slowly.
Aggression was a terrible strategy with her. Especially when she was drunk enough to argue with gravity.
“Okay,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “I’m sorry. Let’s go home.”
I stepped forward to steady her, but she staggered back on those murderous heels, wobbling like a newborn deer who just discovered nightlife.
People were staring like we were some late-night entertainment package.
Fuck them all.
“Dhwani… please let’s go,” I tried again.
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin with drunken pride. “First, call me a cute mute ghost.”
You’re not even mute, I almost said.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Cute mute ghost. Let’s go home.”
“ You haven't added ‘My’?”
A smile formed on my lips. She is so cute.
“ My cute mute ghost, let's go home, shall we?”
I extended my hand.
She broke into that soft smile the one that makes my anger lose 40% of its strength instantly nd slipped her hand into mine.
“I’ll go,” she said sweetly. Relief lasted exactly two seconds. “But…”
“But?” I asked cautiously.
“You have to drink with me.”
“Dhwani, I want to drive.”
“No. You have to drink,” she insisted. “Or I’m not coming.”
“I can’t drink.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Then I’m not coming.” she pulled her hand from mine and marched well, wobble-marched back toward the bar.
Unbelievable.
I dragged a hand down my face.
This is Samarth’s fault. If he hadn’t vanished, I wouldn’t have brought her into my house.
If I hadn’t brought her into my house, I wouldn’t be standing in a club at 10 p.m., negotiating alcohol terms with a hurricane in heels and I definitely wouldn’t have fallen for her.
“WHAT are you all looking at?” I snapped at the small audience pretending not to watch. “Enjoy your own lives.”
They immediately turned away.
Cowards.
I strode back toward the bar where she was already leaning on the counter.
“Another one,” she told the bartender with royal authority.
“No,” I cut in.
“You said sorry,” she reminded me, wagging a finger.
“I did.”
“Then behave like it and drink with me.”
God.
I leaned closer so only she could hear me.
“If I drink, we’re both staying here all night because neither of us will be able to drive.”
She squinted at me.
“Can we book a private room to stay here tonight?” she asked the bartender. The bartender glanced at me, already done with her and nodded slowly.
“Okay, book two for us,” she added proudly, like she had just solved housing crisis.
So she wasn’t planning to listen.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Why the fuck am I handling her with patience? Why am I not snapping? Any other person would have been dragged out by now.
But this isn’t any other person.
This is the woman you love, idiot. My mind knocked sense.
“Please. Just three drinks.” She held up three fingers.
Oh God.
Why isn’t she understanding that I get drunk very fast? And if I get drunk, who the hell is going to handle her?
“Sir, should I book the room?” the bartender asked carefully. I looked at Dhwani. So I really don’t have any option.
“Yes. Book them.” I muttered and pulled out my wallet. I opened it.
Empty.
I blinked.
Opened it again.
Still empty.
No cash..No cards. Nothing.
Just my ID staring back at me like it’s judging my life choices.
I scratched the back of my neck. Did I drop it somewhere? Slowly… I lifted my head towards her and she turned her head away, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. Her clutch hugged tightly to her breast again.
Oh no.
“Dhwani.” I called.
“Yes?” she replied sweetly. “You don’t have money? It’s okay, I have. I will pay.”
She opened her clutch and pulled out a stack of cash. I leaned slightly and peeked inside.
My black card.
She noticed my gaze and snapped the purse shut instantly. So she robbed me.
She robbed me and then came to a club to spend my own money.
Unbelievable.
“Okay sir, ma’am. Here are your drinks.” The bartender placed six shots in front of me and three in front of her. “I’ll arrange the room.”
I nodded and took a seat on the stool, because clearly this night is not ending peacefully.
As soon as he walked away, she pushed three shots toward me and three toward herself.
“Okay,” she declared. “Let’s see who eat the first.” her tongue slipped, drink enough.
“Drink,” I corrected because her brain and tongue are not coordinating anymore. She ignored me and started counting.
“One… two… three!”
We grabbed the shots.
First down.
It burned.
Second.
Worse.
Third.
My throat felt like it had been set on fire and my brain lagged half a second behind reality.
She slammed her glass down triumphantly.
“I win.”
“It’s not a race.”
“It is. Everything is a race.”
She leaned closer, her elbow on the counter.
“You know…” she squinted at me, “you’re very handsome when you’re slightly angry.”
Why is she being this cute? My eyes dropped to her lips. Soft. Full. Slightly glossy from the drink.
I swallowed.
And suddenly I was thirsty. Not for drink.
“Sir! Here is your key.” The bartender’s voice cut through my thoughts. I exhaled sharply and pulled my gaze away, taking the key from him, the room number was mentioned on the key chain.
“Why only one?” I asked.
“All other rooms are booked.”
Perfect.
Another complication.
My head was already throbbing from the shots. I grabbed Dhwani’s arm gently but firmly. “Let’s go.”
“I want one more drink,” she whined, planting her heels like a stubborn child. I turned back, irritation crawling up my spine.
She pouted.
That damn pout.
“I want one more drink,” she repeated, dragging the words like a spoiled princess.
Is she insane?
“Sir, please take madam away,” the bartender practically folded his hands in front of me.
She glared at him ready to hit him with her clutch. “Uhh!”
“That’s enough,” I snapped. Before she could argue again, I bent down, hoisted her over my shoulder in one swift motion.
Gasps echoed behind us.
“No! Yugant! Leave me!” She started hitting my back with her fists. I ignored her and walked ahead toward the stairs.
“Yugant! One more drink pleeease!” she shouted, drawing everyone’s attention again.
My jaw clenched. She kicked her legs, heels tapping against my thigh.
“Yugaaant!”
That was the end of my patience.
I adjusted my hold and gave her a firm smack on her ass. “Enough,” I said, my voice low and firm. “Keep that mouth shut before I give you something better to focus on.” Her movement froze. “Test me again,” I murmured near her ear, voice controlled but heated, “and I won’t be this patient.”
She went still.
I reached the room, adjusting her weight on my shoulder, I unlocked the door with one hand. The second we stepped inside, I kicked the door shut behind us.
Silence.
No loud music. No staring crowd.
I carefully lowered her from my shoulder but the second her heels touched the floor, she wobbled.
“Woah,” she mumbled, grabbing my shirt for balance. “The room is moving.”
“The room is not moving,” I said flatly. “You are.”
She blinked up at me slowly, as if processing my words through layers of alcohol.
“You’re mean,” she declared.
“You stole my wallet.”
“Sharing is caring.”
I stared at her.
She smiled lazily, then stumbled forward again. I caught her by the waist before she could face-plant into the wall.
My hands tightened automatically around her.
She looked up at me, eyes heavy but shining.
“You’re strong and…” she whispered, swaying slightly as she stepped closer.
“And?” I asked, watching her carefully.
“And you’re so hot and…” Her fingers slid up to my shoulder, gripping my shirt like she needed it for balance.
“Hm. And?” I leaned down a little, my arm instinctively wrapping around her waist to steady her before she fell again.
“And you’re so… umm…” She squinted at my face like it was moving. “Good. I mean your touch is so good.”
The alcohol was creeping into my system too. Her warmth, her fingers gripping my shirt, the way she leaned into me—it was starting to blur my control.
I tightened my jaw.
Before my mind could make any reckless decision, I pulled the key out of the door and slipped it into my pocket. If I passed out, she wouldn’t be wandering outside in this state.
“Aww…” she cooed, I don't know why before burying her face into my chest.
I stepped back, my balance slightly off because of the alcohol, but I managed to guide her toward the bed.
“Sleep,” I ordered gently, helping her lay.
I was about to straighten up when her arms suddenly tightened around my neck. She pulled me down with unexpected strength.
I lost balance and fell forward, bracing my hands beside her shoulders. My lips brushed against her forehead.
She smiled lazily, eyes half closed.
“Hmm… you smell so good,” she murmured.
My heartbeat spiked. Her hands slid from my neck to my collar, fingers curling there.
“Dhwani…” I breathed her name.
She tilted her face slightly, nose brushing against my jaw.
“ Yes?”
“ You’re drunk.”
“ You too.”
“Exactly,” I muttered, jaw tight. “Let me go, or I’ll end up doing something we’ll both regret.”
Her heavy-lidded eyes forced themselves open, red and unfocusedbut stubborn.
“I won’t regret,” she whispered. Her gaze dragged over my face slowly… then stopped at my lips.
“I am needy,” she said with absolute seriousness. “I want you.”
Before I could react, she lifted her head toward my mouth. I pressed my palm gently over her lips.
“No. It’s wrong.”
“No, it’s not,” she protested, muffled against my hand.
And then she shoved me back.
I hit the mattress, breath knocked out for a second, and she climbed over me, straddling my waist like she had every right in the world.
“Dhwani---” I tried again.
“Shut up!” she snapped, attempting to look fierce but swaying slightly. “I am going to kiss you. And you’re not going to stop me.”
I blinked at her.
Is she serious right now?
Before I could gather control, she leaned down and her lips crashed onto mine.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Just messy, determined pressure.
I froze as her hands fisted into my shirt, her kiss clumsy and demanding, all heat and no technique. She tasted like vodka.
My hands hovered in the air.
I could flip us over in one second.
I could deepen it.
I could lose control.
Instead, I grabbed her wrists gently but firmly and broke the kiss.
She frowned at me, offended.
“Why did you stop?” she demanded.
“Because” I muttered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You might not regret it. I would.”
I am afraid to watch her look at me like I took advantage of her.
I already messed things up by giving her the deal of those five nights, making her think I want her body, just to mess up with her mind.
And the result was she though I tried to rape her.
And if this happened, she would think I actually wanted this since starting. Then I will not be able to face her?
“No, I will not,” she mumbled stubbornly and smashed her lips against mine again.
“Dhwani!” I pulled her back slightly. “You’re not in your senses.”
She frowned like I had insulted her intelligence. Then she grabbed her clutch, pulled out her phone, and opened the front camera.
“What are you doing?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
She hit a record.
“So I, Dhwani,” she announced looking at the screen, “am recording this video so that when I wake up tomorrow, I know what I did was in my full senses.”
I stared at the ceiling for divine patience.
“And this,” she continued, turning the camera toward me, “is Yugant Raizaada. And I am going to kiss him, tear his clothes, gonna,” she leaned closer to the phone, whisper-shouting, “--fuck him in my senses. And if tomorrow he gets pregnant, I will take full responsibility for my child. And this video recording is proof.”
She ended the recording proudly.
I kept looking at the ceiling praying for my dear life after hearing her statement.
“Problem solved,” she declared, tossing the phone aside. “Let’s continue now.”
Before I could process anything, she leaned forward again and pressed her lips to mine.
This time it wasn’t just messy. It was determined. Her hands were already at my collar, fingers fumbling with buttons.
She tried to deepen the kiss, tilting her head and nearly bumping our noses. I had to fight a laugh and a groan at the same time.
My self-control got lost somewhere the moment her leg shifted, pressing down there and my breath hitched despite myself.
“Dhwani,” I said lowly, gripping her waist firmly now, stopping her movement. “If I continue this, you won’t be the one in control.”
She blinked at me, clearly not understanding the warning.
“I don’t want control,” she muttered. “I want you.” Her lips drifted back to my neck.
She kissed from my jaw down to my throat, soft, open-mouthed presses that made my breath hitch despite every warning siren in my head.
I swallowed hard.
My fingers instinctively dug into her hips, not to pull her closer but to steady both of us.
She pushed open my shirt. One popped open. Then another. She pushed the fabric apart, palms sliding over my chest like she was exploring something she’d claimed. I closed my eyes, it was a torture. Pure torture.
“Hmm…” she hummed against my skin, clearly pleased with her discovery.
Her hand moved downward, and that was the end of my self-control. I grabbed her wrist and flipped her beneath me.
Her eyes widened for a second. Breathe becomes fast. She bit her lip, pulling me closer. “Please Yugant… fuck me. I’m so needy.”
“You’re going to cry,” I said darkly. “I don’t do vanilla.”
“Good,” she declared, tracing her tongue slowly along my lips. “I don’t like vanilla either.”
“ Fuck my self control.” I crashed my lips against hers.
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