In the alternate universe, set in the medieval period, where power rules and superstition lingers in the thin air, the tale of The Last Princess unfolds.
For the hazel eyed king has secrets, desires and motives.
The champagne eyed queen has fears...
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His eyes.
The way he was looking at her now, was one of those ways by which none had ever eyed her before. His eyes were grey, not the steely kind, but the kind where his orbs seemed to be like candy floss. A shiver ran down her spine as he took steps towards her. He walked like a predator, as if she was his prey, handed to him to feast upon. Anika was fighting the urge to lower her eyes, her pride wasn't letting her.
He came right in front of her, her eyes trained on his every movement just as his were on hers. He circled her form, now standing right behind her body, which was slightly trembling.
"Mohabbat ek bhaari lafz hai, Anika." (love is a heavy word, Anika)
His head was close to her shoulder, almost resting on it as his hot breath fanned on the exposed part of her neck. "Himmat hai?" Shivaay questioned his wife, to which she nodded meekly. (do you dare?)
Himmat was not something she lacked, yet the nervousness was killing her spirits. Anika gulped, there were these tingles, these shivers and the anxiety. Was he going to...?
There was a storm brewing inside Shivaay. His restraints were becoming loose, he was done fighting himself, his urges and his desires. Maybe it was the way she blushed, shivered or casted her eyes down or they were probably those plump, red, luscious lips, or those curves which lured him in thinking all the wanton thoughts.
"Anika," he growled, placing his nose in the crook of her neck. This softness. He craved her softness and he wanted even more. She was like a drug to him. The more he consumed, the more he desired.
His hands travelled to her hips making the woman quiver. His mouth joined his nose in the crook of her neck as he sucked her skin diligently making her want to release sounds. A soft moan left her lips making her surprised and his eyes darken, she had never known that she could make such sounds.
"Shivaay," she whispered his name, adding fuel to his fire.
"Agar rokna hai, toh abhi rok lijiye," (if your want to stop me, then do it now)
When his little sparrow did not respond to that question, he tried withdrawing his hands with disappointment sprouting in his heart, but she stopped him.
Anika placed her hands on his, nodding her head sideways, in a meek no. The weed of disappointment was crushed by her action. Instead, pride blossomed in his heart, Shivaay's hands travelled to her waist as his lips travelled on her back.
Her dupatta was the first thing to leave her body. Her arms had gooseflesh when he trailed his finger down them, as if he was playing a musical instrument. His breaths were hot, she was melting under him. She looked like an absolute mess, Anika thought. Her breathing was heavy, she was both anticipating and fearing what the night held for her.
