Page 113 of Trapped By the Maharaja
Sanjana forced a small, tired smile. “Please bring dinner to my room,” she said.
She went up the grand staircase. By the time she reached the familiar corridor leading to the master suite, her pulse washammering. She stepped inside, the heavy door shutting quietly behind her, cutting her off from the world.
The silence was thick.
Ram hadn’t returned to the palace.
Will he come home tonight?
She knew he was angry with her. Hadn’t spoken to her after she told him she wanted to continue with the terms of their contract.
Will he ignore me tonight?
The very thought of it made her stomach clench. Although she intended to keep their relationship until the duration of the contract, she still craved the intimacy their passion offered. She wanted to wake up with her head on his chest each morning.
But now, she wasn’t sure if Ram would want the same.
With a dull ache inside her chest, she went towards the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. Then, stepping inside the spacious shower, she turned on the knobs.
She stepped under the scalding spray, eyes closed, head tipped back. Water sluiced over her, drowning out the noise, but not erasing her thoughts.
The past. The revelations. The attacks. Keya Sharma’s phone number.
The thoughts spun together until they became indistinguishable.
She didn’t know how long she stood, but suddenly cool air fell on her bare back. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned, only to gasp. Ram stood in the shower doorway. He was utterly naked and aroused.
Another gasp caught in her throat as he stepped inside and shut the glass door. He watched her silently as he came towards her until he crowded her against the cold marble wall.
Her heart thudded. “Ram—” His name came out as a whisper swallowed by the sound of water.
His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, pinning her hips to the wall. The cold marble shocked her skin. She braced against his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle.
He didn’t speak. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he thrust into her with a single stroke. A cry escaped her throat as she arched against the marble wall. His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her suspended, open and exposed while he filled her completely. Keeping his eyes on her, he began to move in a relentless rhythm that stole her breath. She felt the smooth hardness of the marble against her spine, the steam thickening in her lungs, and the pressure building low in her belly.
The water turned her skin slick, making her slide against him with every deep thrust. Her legs trembled around his waist while every nerve buzzed. Pressure coiled low in her belly, tightening until it was a white-hot wire. Her head thudded back against the marble wall. Her nails dug into his shoulders, then tangled in his soaked hair, pulling hard. A choked sound escaped her as her hips jerked against his, seeking and demanding. Soon, her climax shattered her. A scream ripped through her while her muscles clamped down on him in fierce, pulsing waves that left her shuddering and breathless.
He didn’t slow or falter. He drove into her even as she trembled in the aftershocks. And then, she felt his iron control fracturing. His hands tightened on her thighs, lifting her higher, pinning her utterly as he buried himself to the hilt. A low groan tore from him, primal and raw, as he spilled into her. His face buried in the curve of her neck, his ragged breathing hot against her wet skin while he remained inside her. For a suspended moment, the only sound was the drumming water and the frantic hammer of her own heart.
A long moment later, he slowly lowered her. Her legs buckled, but he caught her elbow, his grip steadying her. Water plastered her lashes together as she blinked up at him. His expressionwas unreadable again. He turned off the shower until there was sudden silence. Without a word, he opened the glass door and reached for a thick, white towel.
He began to dry her, his movements brisk, almost clinical. The towel rubbed over her arms, her back, and her hips. He didn't linger or caress. He dried her as one might care for a valuable, but impersonal object. She stood passively, shivering slightly despite the warmth, watching the water bead on his skin over the hard lines of his abdomen and the powerful shoulders.
He wrapped the towel around her and then grabbed another one. He dried himself with quick, efficient movements and knotted the towel loosely around his hips.
He then stepped out of the shower and walked out of the bathroom without a backward glance.
She watched him go, the towel still clutched around her. Anger and confusion filled her at his coldness. Anger won as she followed him.
She stormed out of the bathroom and went into the walk-in closet. Ram stood near his dresser, his back to her. He was naked again, his towel discarded on the floor. He was pulling a pair of night pants from a drawer. The sight of him, so utterly unselfconscious and powerful, made her cheeks burn hot. She marched up to him, fury overriding any embarrassment.
“What was that?” she demanded.
Ram paused, the night pants held loosely in one hand. He turned his head slightly, his handsome profile cold and regal. “You need to be specific,” he said.
“You took me like an object,” she said angrily. “Like I meant nothing. You didn’t even kiss me!”
He turned fully then, his dark eyes sweeping over her. “I thought you only wanted to fulfill the conditions of the contract and then leave.”
