Page 49 of First Comes Marriage
He stepped into the villa and, using his shoulder, he closed the front door. He walked towards the sofa and lowered her onto it, hovering over her as her back hit the cushions. The soft light from the lamps reflected in his eyes, making it look like there were small flames in them. They roved over her face and she did the same, taking in his features as though she were seeing them for the first time. Which, in some ways, she was. It was certainly the first time she was seeing this side of Zafar.
A corner of his lips curved up as he edged back and then lowered himself onto one knee beside her. ‘May I?’
He pointed to her feet and she nodded – she couldn’t do anything with her hands until she got the henna off them and the last thing she wanted to do was get henna onto her lehenga.
Zafar put his hand under the hem of her lehenga and clasped her ankle before she could present it to him and, with the utmost care and the gentlest of touches, he undid the delicate buckle at her ankle and pushed the strap off the heel of her foot before removing the sandal and putting it on the floor beside him.
He held her foot in both hands, resting it on his bent knee, and with firm pressure, he pushed his thumbs into the heel and then up, towards her toes, eliciting a pleasurable groan from her which nothing could have stopped from coming out. He massaged her toes and the arch of her foot for a moment more and when he lowered her foot to the floor and let go, she just about held back from whimpering in protest.
He took her other sandal off and gave her second foot the same treatment and short of flopping back on the sofa inelegantly, there was nothing more she could do. She probably looked like a puddle of peach and cream.She moved her head to the side as she watched him, and when he lowered her second foot to the floor, he rested his arms on his bent knee and looked up at her, a sexy smile teasing his lips.
‘Do you think you can make it upstairs or would you like a lift?’
‘Hmm.’ She felt languid, like her blood had turned to treacle as it ran through her veins, and she wanted nothing more than to either stay where she was or, even better, be in Zafar’s arms again.
He laughed softly as he stood up, shaking his head as he grasped her elbow, and gently helped her up.
As she moved her head, she felt a sharp tug on her ear, making her cry out. ‘Ow.’
She couldn’t straighten her head, her earring caught up in something. She instinctively lifted her hands to free her earring when she felt Zafar grip her elbows tighter and stall her progress.
‘Hang on, hang on. It’s caught in your dupatta. Let me see.’
She lowered her arms and stood in front of him with her head cocked to one side, tilting towards him as best as she could to give him better access. She felt his hands above her shoulder, moving the earring and her dupatta. The back of his hand brushed the side of her jaw and she felt instant sparks on that very spot.
She must have made a sound because he paused what he was doing and looked at her. ‘Did I hurt you?’
She made to shake her head, but the tug on her ear stopped the movement short. ‘No.’ She mumbled the word, feeling heat infuse her cheeks and body as Zafar went back to untangling her earring. She felt surrounded by him, inhaling his aftershave mingled with hints of hisshower gel and the scent that was uniquely him. Warmth from his body was slowly heating hers. Or maybe that was her body’s reaction to his nearness. Whatever it was, it made her feel on edge.
Her ear felt lighter and a second later Zafar eased back with her earring held between his finger and thumb. ‘It’s heavier than it looks.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Reshma grumbled, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the rising flush on her cheeks or the fact that her body was now showing clear signs that it was feeling things.
Zafar stepped forward and gently took her second earring off, putting both of them in his pocket. Reshma stood frozen where she was as he slowly cupped her face and, even slower than that, began lowering his own, giving her enough time to call a halt if she wanted. But rather than put a stop to him lowering his head, she pushed herself up to close the rest of the distance and met Zafar halfway in a scorching kiss.
There were no tentative nibbles or delicate pecks. This was a tongues tangling, teeth clashing kind of kiss which had Zafar pushing his hands into her updo and anchoring her face in place as he plundered her mouth. Reshma rested her forearms against his chest as she met him stroke for stroke, tiny explosions taking place at her nerve endings as pleasure shot through her like wildfire.
She wanted to use her hands and the frustration of being restricted like she was had her growling and pulling back, panting as though she’d just run a four-minute mile.
‘I need to wash this off.’ She moved away from him and turned towards the staircase. She had reached the bedroom door when she sensed Zafar right behind her.
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ He closed the bedroom door behind them and, leaving her standing there staring afterhim, he went into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water and then he was back in front of her, his chest heaving just as much as hers was. ‘Come with me.’ His voice was gravelly as he led her to the bathroom, where the basin was steadily filling with water. He turned the taps off and dipped a towel in the water and gently ran it from three inches up her wrist, down towards her fingers, before immersing her hand in the basin and gently massaging the dry henna off her hands, leaving the dark staining of the patterns on them.
The henna was ideally supposed to be left on for longer so the staining was as dark as possible, but Reshma had always found it impractical, usually waiting no more than a couple of hours before getting it off. The only time she’d left it longer was for her own wedding.
Zafar had moved onto her second hand, running his finger over the inside of her wrist where the henna artist had written his name, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.
When Daadi and Haniya had concocted their plan earlier, Reshma had tried her best to dissuade them, but neither had listened to a word of her protest. Reshma had gone through waves of shyness, embarrassment, awkwardness and all sorts of uncomfortable feelings in the process – along with a healthy dose of desire towards her husband, which seemed to be outgrowing the box she’d put it in, making her feel inexplicably nervy.
She looked his way now, as he gently helped get the henna off her hands and then threw the towel in the basket in the corner of the bathroom before pulling out the plug in the basin.
‘There, all done.’ He looked at her hands as she held them out in front of her to see how the henna had turned out. ‘It looks great.’
Reshma nodded, looking up at him.
He lifted his hands and held her face, just like he had downstairs, resting his forehead against hers. ‘Tell me to stop. Tell me if you don’t want this because, try as I might, I’m struggling. I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel like I’m on a runaway train and only you can help control it or steer it for me.’
Reshma felt her pulse pick up pace again, thundering in her ears with the force of a stampede. Her breath sawed in and out of her and her mind warred with her body. ‘I don’t know what’s happening either. Things have never been …’ She shook her head, trying to find the right words and coming up with nothing. ‘… Likethisbefore. I don’t know but … I don’t want you to stop.’ She knew that much.
