Page 126 of Mrs. Rathore

"You drive me insane," he muttered, as if it was both a curse and a confession, a testament to the power I held over him. His mouth descended, sucking at the sensitive skin of my collarbone, then my throat. My head fell back with a cry as a delicious, searing heat coiled in my belly.

I cupped the back of his head, arching into him as he buried his face between my breasts, his breath hot against my skin. His touch scorched me, every brush of his fingers lighting me up from the inside, setting my very core ablaze.

And then he stripped off the last of our barriers. His eyes never left mine as he gently laid me back, spreading my legs wide, a silent invitation. And then he entered me. It was deep, fierce, and possessive, a powerful claim.

“Ah…” I cried out, the shock and intensity of it stealing my breath, a gasp of pure sensation.

He stilled for a moment, his gaze locked with mine, then thrust deeper, sending sparks of intense pleasure down my spine. I clung to him, to his back, his arms, his very soul. I writhed beneath him as pleasure coiled tight, delicious and almost painful in its intensity.

He moved with unrelenting hunger, like a man starved for touch, for connection, for release. We made love without patience, without mercy, a desperate, urgent coupling. His hands mapped my body like he owned every inch, claiming every curve, every dip. His lips kissed, bit, and tasted, marking me as his own.

I gasped his name again and again as lightning painted the walls in flickering light. And in that storm, we didn’t just make love.

We burned and forgave.

Afterward, Aryan gently helped me clean myself. He asked if I was feeling okay, his touch soft now, almost reverent, a stark contrast to his earlier intensity. Three weeks ago, he had brought contraceptives just in case. But I never used them until now.

It was my first time.

But it hadn’t felt like his.

Every move he made was deliberate, filled with an aching want and barely restrained longing, a depth of experience that hinted at something more. I didn’t let myself dwell on it. Not tonight. Tonight, I had the man who had haunted every corner of my mind, and that was all that mattered.

He lay beside me now, shirtless, in only his trousers, staring at the ceiling. I had changed into fresh clothes, my skin still tingling from his touch, still sore from the profound intimacy we had shared. But the hunger, the need, hadn’t gone away.

I turned to him, my voice soft, “Are you not feeling guilty?”

His eyes shifted to me, dark and intense. “Guilty for what?”

“For… this. For doing this with me.”

He paused, then said with absolute certainty, his voice a low rumble, “No. I enjoyed it. And I always will if you want to.”

“I want to,” I whispered, barely audible over the furious pounding of my heart.

He smiled softly, a tender, knowing curve of his lips. Then he leaned in and kissed my forehead, wordless but full of meaning.

And I knew, in that moment, we weren’t just lovers tangled in the aftermath of a storm. We were the storm itself, a force of nature, untamed and powerful.

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Chapter 51

AVNI

We were eating breakfast, sitting close enough that our knees touched under the table.

“I’m getting addicted to your homemade food, Avni,” Aryan said, taking a big, satisfied bite of masala dosa that made me smile. “Is there anything you can’t do? You dance, sing, cook… and you’re amazing in bed.”

“Aryan!” I gasped, throwing a piece of dosa at his smug face. It hit his cheek, and he laughed.

“I’m serious. I think I’m getting addicted to you,” he added with a wink that sent a rush of warmth through me. “See? Look how red you’re getting.”

“Let me eat in peace. You’re making me uncomfortable,” I mumbled, glaring at him, though my voice didn’t hide the flutter in my chest.

“I’m just being honest,” he said innocently, slowly licking his fingers as if he wanted me to watch.

I narrowed my eyes. “Since when did you start licking your fingers like that?”

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