Anchored in you

Chapter 24: The Afterglow and the Ambush

The morning didn't arrive with a gentle whisper; it arrived with the persistent, mechanical shrill of a smartphone vibrating against the teak nightstand.

I blinked my eyes open, the light in the room a sharp, unforgiving gold. For a second, I was disoriented, my mind searching for the familiar walls of my childhood bedroom. Then, I felt the heavy, warm weight draped across my waist and the rhythmic puff of breath against the back of my neck.

Reality rushed back in a flood of heat. The Thali around my neck, the scattered rose petals on the floor, and the memory of Harish's voice in the dark-Unna saapda poren di pondatti.

I felt a deep, pulsing blush spread across my entire body. I stayed perfectly still, my heart hammering. I remembered everything. I remembered the way he had worshipped me with his eyes, the startling intensity of our first union, and the way he had woken me at 2:00 AM with a hunger that seemed bottomless. I felt different-heavier, yet somehow lighter, as if a part of me had finally settled into its rightful place.

I carefully lifted Harish's arm. He was deep in sleep, his face looking younger and softer than I had ever seen it. I looked around the floor for something to cover myself with and spotted his white button-down shirt discarded near the foot of the bed.

I slid out of the covers and pulled it on. The fabric was crisp and smelled of him-cedar, expensive soap, and the raw scent of the night we'd just shared. The hem reached almost to my mid-thigh, the sleeves dangling past my fingertips. As I stood up, a sharp wince escaped my lips. My muscles felt like I had run a marathon through the sand, a dull ache in my thighs and lower back reminding me of exactly how thorough Harish had been.

I tiptoed toward the bathroom, feeling like a stranger in my own body. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I gasped. My hair was a wild nest of curls, my lips were slightly swollen, and there, stark against my pale skin, were the marks of his possession. A dark, purplish hickey bloomed right near my collarbone, and another sat higher on my neck, impossible to hide without a high collar or a strategically draped pallu.

"Harish," I whispered to the empty room, my face burning.

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water needle my sore muscles. It felt incredible-the steam clearing the haze of sleep and the heat soothing the aches. I stayed there for a long time, lost in the sensation, until I realized with a start that I had forgotten to bring my clothes in. Old habits die hard; I was still used to the privacy of my own room where I could walk from the bathroom to the closet in peace.

I wrapped a plush white towel around myself, tucking it tightly above my chest, and stepped back into the bedroom.

I thought he was still asleep. I moved as quietly as a ghost, my wet hair dripping onto the marble, as I headed toward the walk-in closet. I was halfway there when a low, husky voice broke the silence.

"You're not going anywhere yet."

I gasped, spinning around. Harish was sitting up, leaning against the headboard, the duvet pooled at his waist. He wasn't looking at me with the sleepy fondness of a husband; he was looking at me with that same dark, predatory intensity that had pinned me to the bed last night.

His gaze traveled slowly-painfully slowly-from my wet hair down to the towel, and finally to my bare legs.

"Harish!" I squeaked, clutching the towel tighter. "I thought you were asleep. The phone has been ringing for twenty minutes."

"Let it ring," he said, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

He stood up and walked toward me. He didn't say anything as he reached me, but the air between us suddenly felt as charged as it had at 2:00 AM. He didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his embrace, his skin cool and firm against my damp towel.

"The Tussar silk was beautiful," he whispered, his lips grazing my ear, "but I think I prefer the towel. Or the shirt. Or nothing at all."

"Harish, stop," I laughed, even as my breath hitched. "I've already taken a shower. I'm clean, I'm ready to get dressed. We have to visit the parents today."

"You took a shower without me," he said, his hands moving to my waist, his touch sending sparks through my nervous system. "That's a major logistical error, Samaira. We need to optimize the morning routine."

Before I could protest, he started dragging me back toward the bathroom.

"Harish! No! Let go of my hand!" I protested, though my heart wasn't really in it. "I'm going to be late! My mom will know exactly why we're late!"

He didn't listen. He led me into the walk-in shower and turned the water back on. In one swift move, he reached for the knot of my towel.

"Harish-"

The towel fell. I stood there, bare and flushing a deep crimson under the warm spray, as he stepped in behind me. He pulled me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me, his mouth finding the back of my neck.

"You're gorgeous," he murmured, his hands beginning a slow, sensual exploration of every curve he had claimed the night before. "I could spend the next three months right here."

I tried to turn around to push him away, but he caught my waist, turning me to face him. He looked at me with such absolute, unwavering adoration that my knees felt weak. He washed me with a gentleness that was almost more intimate than the night before, his hands lingering on my skin until I was breathless and clinging to his shoulders.

Eventually, the reality of the 10:30 AM deadline at his parents' house forced us out of the water. We stepped out, the bathroom thick with steam. I grabbed a fresh towel and, the moment I saw him reaching for his own, I made my move.

I bolted into the bedroom, grabbed a lightweight silk saree I had laid out, and sprinted back into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

"Hey!" I heard him shout, followed by a loud, thumping laugh as he hit the door. "That's cheating, Sami! I was just getting started!"

"You've had enough for one morning, Mr. CEO!" I shouted back, leaning against the door and laughing until my sides ached.

I worked quickly. I used a bit of concealer on the hickey on my neck, though the one near my collarbone was still slightly visible. I draped a vibrant peacock-blue silk saree, ensuring the pallu was pinned high and secure to hide any remaining evidence of Harish's enthusiasm. I did my hair in a simple, elegant bun and applied a fresh streak of sindoor in the parting of my hair.

When I finally emerged, Harish was fully dressed in a crisp linen shirt and dark trousers, looking every bit the professional-except for the mischievous glint in his eyes.

He let out a long, low whistle as I walked toward the vanity to put on my bangles.

I rolled my eyes at him in the mirror, though the blush was back in full force. "Stop it. We are already an hour late."

He walked up behind me, his reflection towering over mine. He didn't say anything at first; he just watched me in the mirror. Then, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back against him. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, right over the spot I had tried so hard to conceal.

"I need you more than they need us to visit," he whispered, his voice vibrating against my skin.

"Harish!" I gasped, lightly pushing his arms. "No. Not now. We are literally expected for lunch at your house and then tea at mine. It's the first day. We have to be responsible adults."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, but he released me, though not before sneaking one last peck on my cheek.

"Fine," he said, grabbing the car keys from the dresser. "But for the record? The peacock blue is even more dangerous than the Tussar silk."

I laughed, grabbing my handbag and checking my reflection one last time. The consultant was back, the schedule was set, but as I walked out of the apartment with my husband, I knew that the "Home Project" had finally achieved the perfect, beautiful, and utterly chaotic "Optimization" I had always dreamed of.