Page 180 of Lawfully Yours
Kushal had that faint, wicked smile that always undid her. She looked down quickly, her cheeks flaming as she bent to touch his feet. But he caught her wrists midway and kissed her forehead instead.
He repeated the steps, offering water to the moon first and then lifting the kalash (glass) before bringing it to her lips. She sipped some and then offered him to break his fast too.
When he picked up a piece of sweet, she fed him first, and then allowed him to feed her the rest of it.
Kushal was completely mesmerised seeing his wife relishing that small bite of sweet, staying thirsty and hungry for him the entire day.
“You have no idea what it does to me… watching you fast for me like this.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip deliberately, pulling her closer.
“And you have no idea what it does to me when you love me like this,” she whispered back.
“Love?” His smile deepened before he traced his thumb along her jaw. “I’m far past that, Aru. This is not just love anymore. It’s devotion.”
He put the chalni aside from her hand before cupping her face. “And I’m going to worship you for the rest of our lives,” he added.
Arundhati moved into his embrace, hugging him, as she murmured. His romantic one-liners were always the cherry on the top. Kushal pulled her tighter, pressing his lips on her forehead, silently promising her that he meant every word he just said.
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A while later
Despite his best intentions to order food and let her rest after an entire day of fasting, Arundhati had other plans. She insisted on cooking a light dinner— simple dal, rice, his favourite crispy lady finger sabji, and rotis. Kushal had argued at first, wanting to ease her from any more exhaustion, but how could he refuse when she said,“I’ll be quick. Please let me feed you tonight.”
That was it. He agreed, but with a condition.
“I’m helping,” he declared. “No arguments.”
Of course, his version ofhelpinghad very little to do with cooking.
Every time she moved in the kitchen, he found an excuse to touch her…his hand brushing her waist while reaching for the spice box, fingers grazing her wrist when she rolled the rotis, his body closing in behind hers as he stirred sabji in the pan.
She warned him softly to stop, telling him that they would never finish dinner if he kept doing that. But he didn’t stop. He simply couldn’t and continued his ministrations. The Kushal Nair she knew was always in control; today, he was desperate for his wife. Every delay from her only heightened his desire.
She had tucked her saree pallu into her waist, leaving her midriff bare. When he leaned forward to check the bindi fry, he purposely brushed his palm over her navel, tracing her skin before tugging her pallu loose. She froze this time, the rolling pin slipping slightly from her other hand.
When she turned her head to glare at him, he pretended innocence and grinned. Even while tasting the dal, his fingers pulled her hair loose from its bun, letting it fall over her shoulders. She was about to protest when his lips found the exposed curve of her neck, where he placed a soft kiss, and another one on her shoulder blade.
“I love your hair like this,” he murmured against her skin before he moved away, carrying the bowls and plates to the dining table like nothing had happened.
The Dinner was too quiet. Every glance they exchanged over the table ignited the desire and tension between them all the more. When he fed her a bite, his thumb lingered against her lip. When she returned the gesture, he took her fingers into his mouth, licking them slowly and sinfully.
After the dinner, they cleaned the table together. But before he could pull her close again, his phone rang. Kushal stepped away to take it, his voice turning professional in an instant.
Fifteen minutes later, when he returned, she was at the sink, washing utensils. Still in her saree. Still glowing from that forbidden heat.
“Aru,” he groaned. “Leave it. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
“I don’t like leaving dirty dishes overnight.”
He exhaled sharply, walking up behind her. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
She chuckled. “Doing what?”
“This,” he said, gesturing at her, frustration and want colliding in his tone. “Here I am dying to have you in my arms, and you’re more interested in scrubbing utensils.”
She turned slightly towards him. “Even I was desperate last night, remember? But I waited patiently and didn’t complain, unlike you.”
She only meant to tease, but he clenched his jaw. “Fine. Finish it at your own pace.”
