In a bid to save the man she loves, Amrit ends up making a deal with the uncompromising Kuwar Veer Pratap Singh. Bound by mutual weaknesses and wounds they hide from the world the two goes from unwilling pretenders to unlikely allies. Sometimes, it...
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Summary: Veer Pratap Singh - I want you, all of you.
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The air crackles with held breaths and barely restrained emotions whenever there is a canvas between them. Amrit had felt it that night at the boathouse for the first time and the onslaught of feelings had scared her. Now they creep up along her spine like a warm familiar brush of fingertips, and the shudder she presses down with a long exhale is one of thrall not fear. If Amrit saw herself in a mirror she would blush. That is the only coherent thought Veer manages to hold on to.
They had for about a couple of hours of this peace before the world came calling, before he had to stop anything from happening. He had no intentions of letting his mother play with his wife, take advantage of her good intentions to her own detriment. Veer would not allow Amrit to be given a choice between him and her brother, where to choose either would leave her scattered. No, Veer had made a promise never to allow that and he intends to keep it.
Watching her over the edge of his canvas, as she sat in that rightful place as a queen, Veer wonders what Amrit is thinking of. Her eyes had darkened just so, with an inviting sort of promise that made his blood stir.
The light of the dying day hits her in an angle that brings a warm glow to her buttery skin and the depth of her eyes is touched with a hint of magenta, folding into the molten chocolate. He adds a dash of red to blue and ocher and folds with the pelt knife, creating that perfect hue of old wine. Veer knew this would not turn like the picture before. That Amrit at the boathouse, flushed with anticipation and eyes full of laughter. There had been the tangy freshness of a girl exploring love, the sweet curiosity of venturing into the unknown. She had been simple, breathless, not quite aware of the power she wielded.
But the Amrit before him is all warm, fuzzy undertones of a matured wine, just like that hint of colour in her eyes. She knows and revels in the power she has over him, like a siren, the right mixture of desire and doom. She has the glow of a woman well loved, whose passions were received and reciprocated in full. If he had yearned for the one before, he craves the one before him now. This complete woman, so free with her affections, so warm and gentle, had chosen him to give herself to.
Amrit's cheeks colour as his gaze sweeps over them. Veer wonders if she'd ever stop blushing, it wasn't like he hadn't caressed that very expense of skin with his hands, his mouth, so many times over. Still the brush of his gaze brings heat to her flesh. If possible her eyes darkens further and unwittingly she draws her lashes over them, dropping her gaze. The sound he makes from the back of his throat is unintentional and basal, almost a low growl.
"Look at me," he purrs.
If possible her colour deepens and her gaze refuses to rise. Veer keeps away the palette, giving into the itching urge of his finger tips. He needs to touch her, taste her, as if his next breath depended on it. If he is forced to leave her in a while, he wants to make sure he carries her existence impressed upon himself, her taste in his mouth, her scent on his skin. More than anything as long as he is before her, he wants her eyes on his.
