Fourty Two

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**RATED M**
*A general warning for readers who find intimacy scenes uncomfortable, feel free to skip over the first part.*

Rewrite the Stars

Summary: Aap humein ya toh bana dengi ya mitta dengi. Kuch aisa rishta hai humara."

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The day dawns and Amrit is oblivious to it. She sleeps on her side, turned to him even in her sleep. Unbound hair is scattered over her arm and face like a flimsy veil. The burgundy of his sheets make her look paler than she is, setting off the peach tones of her complexion.

Veer holds his breath, watching how the streaming sunlight brings out hints of copper in her hair, tones of rose gold to her skin. Her lashes are long, curled at the ends. There are copper hints there too.

He reaches with a cautious hand and brushes back that flimsy curtain of hair which shields her from his feasting eyes.

She is his, to brand into his memory, to savour and cherish, he wishes to be undisturbed in his perusal.

His fingers trail over her arm, along that smooth expanse of skin. Her skin responds by breaking into goosebumps along the trail of his touch.

"Are you cold?" He murmurs and draws her close.

Even in her sleep, Amrit burrows into his warmth, folding herself into his arms as if it is the most natural thing to do. Veer's hands continue their exploration along her spine and her appreciative sigh sings in his ear.

His mouth presses against her throat, upon a particular point he had lavished his attention the previous night. Her entire being shudders at the sensation and Veer smiles, gratified by her responsiveness.

Her unblemished skin has already darkened there, forming an insignificant yet endearing monument of passion.

He traces it with the tip of his tongue and Amrit writhes. Her lashes flutter, her arms tighten around him.

Veer is right when he says he is always warm. He is. There is a toasty warmth about his embrace, about his skin pressed against hers, about his hands trailing fire or his breath singing in her ear.
He plays her like an instrument he knew too well. Like that old violin of his, she thinks as her sleep dissipates.

"Biwi - sahab," his tone is hot silk. Amrit shudders, impatient hands trying to pull him closer.

He doesn't comply, instead those maddening hands continue their sweet torture, kneading her soft flesh, caressing, lingering.

"Veer -!" Her voice raises and breaks, her eyes are fully open now, staring at the burgundy canopy above them.

He trails a finger, only one tantalizing finger round and round and round around one of her nipples, rather oblivious to the statics that run through her entire body, or the liquid heat that pools in her core.

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