Page 97 of Trapped By the Maharaja
His mouth twisted into a dark smile. “You should be.”
Her heart raced at the words. It wasn’t in fear. It was in something more dangerous. Desire.
She pushed her chair back and rose, her chin high.It’s just anger,she told herself fiercely, ignoring the truth written in the way her pulse thundered at the mere sound of his voice.Only anger.
Taking a deep breath, she settled onto the velvet sofa with a stack of files in her lap, determined to focus. She opened the hospital expansion plans first. The pediatric wing drawings were promising, and the timelines were progressing faster than she’d expected. She flipped to patient records, scanning notes and lab results, letting the rhythm of work steady her.
But no amount of work could silence the awareness simmering inside her.
Across the sofa, Ram sat shirtless, his broad chest and muscled arms catching the lamplight. His attention was onthe phone in his hand, scrolling through messages with an unreadable expression. He looked like a king even here, completely at ease in his skin, exuding authority without a word.
Sanjana’s grip tightened on her pen. She hated that her eyes kept betraying her, flicking over to his broad shoulders, the expanse of his muscular chest, lingering on the shiny pendant with Devara insignia buried under his masculine chest hair. She hated the restless anticipation she felt for that night.
Focus. Stop letting him distract you.
She bent closer over her files, gritting her teeth, focusing on making notes. But her fingers trembled slightly when the silence stretched, thick with something she couldn’t ignore.
The old grandfather clock in the grand hall struck once, its deep chime carrying through the suite.
Her pen scratched harder over the paper.
It struck twice.
By the tenth chime, she was barely breathing.
On the twelfth, before the echo faded, her world tilted. Strong arms scooped her up, files tumbling from her lap.
“Ram!” she gasped, glaring up at him. “Put me down. I can walk.”
His expression didn’t change.
In two long strides, he carried her across the room and placed her on the king-sized bed.
Her pulse hammered as he climbed on top of her, balancing his weight on his arms. His gaze swept over her face for a long moment.
“I regret the past,” he said softly.
She was shocked by his words. “W-what?”
Is he going to confess what he did?
His dark eyes intensified. “I regret not taking you when you begged me to. I should have broken the self-imposed royal protocol. I shouldn’t have waited to make you my queen first.That only drove you into another man’s arms. I should fucked you thoroughly until you couldn’t walk and given us both what we wanted.”
Her cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. “You arrogant bastard! How dare you! I wouldn’t have allowed you to touch me. I found you boring then, and I find you boring now. You disgust me!”
His mouth twisted darkly. “Do I?”
“Yes! I already told you I endure your touch because of the contract!” she snapped.
The next moment, his hand slid under the hem of her cotton nightdress, bunching the fabric as he pushed it upwards. She gasped as he pulled it over her head in one swift motion, leaving her bare beneath him. His gaze traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts, her stomach, and the apex of her thighs covered only in a thin fabric. The intensity of his hungry gaze made her skin burn.
“Still disgusted?” he asked, his voice a dark caress.
Her heart thundered. “Yes,” she gritted.
“Good.”
He lowered his head, his hot mouth closed around one hardened nipple. She gasped, arching off the bed as he sucked, hard. Her fingers tangled in the sheets. He moved to the other breast, lavishing it with the same slow, relentless attention, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out.
