KATHA

12 STALKER - ME AND MINE

When I entered her room that night, I had no intentions of hurting her. At least not the way I did. When I left her house, I saw blood on my hands. I wanted to just go back and grovel at her feet for forgiveness like I deserved. I liked her fear, the pain that ended in pleasure, I liked her writhing and moaning beneath me but never that way. Making her bleed like that after playing with her emotions and forcing myself on her ? I deserved to be slapped by all the women in the planet. Guilt gnawed at my insides, flaying my skin inch by inch.

Every divine inch of her I had the honour to touch... I would've known if I was being too savage to draw blood. I realised it were the dried roses I didn't sweep away before pulling her to me.

As I stood before her door, I almost turned on my heels and left. But I needed to see her. Make sure she was okay.

She was drunk off her rocker and sleeping on her side. A new thing. I never saw her drinking until it knocked her out cold. I cursed under my breath, turning the dim lamp off to submerge the room into darkness. She was wearing one of her usual cotton sarees and unpinned, it barely concealed her body from my wandering eyes. If I wasn't feeling like such an asshole, I would've worshipped, licked and marked her exposed back, that dip of her slender waist and curve of her ass mine with my teeth.

My heart pulsed with a mix of pain and dark desire. As the seconds stretched into minutes, I wrestled with conflicting emotions. The visceral allure of everything she was remained as intoxicating as ever, yet now it was accompanied by a intense sense of regret. I had caused harm to my Little gazelle and it cut through me like a savage blade.

Sighing, I somehow managed to pull out the healing ointment from my suit pocket and settled behind her.

She shifted and positioned herself on her stomach, her head going deeper into the fluffy pillows.

I leaned into her hair and inhaled deeply, her scent consuming me like a vortex. A delicate symphony of scents danced along my senses, a sensory melody that was both enchanting and intimate. It seemed to breathe life into me. I sighed in relief. I was physically aching to feel her, smell her, have her scent on me. Her scent was magical. Notes of sweet jasmine as tender as a lover's caress and beneath the floral cascade, a subtle hint of vanilla lingered, adding a soft warmth that mirrored her timeless elegance.

I pulled away when soft groans slipped past her lips, muffled by the pillows, and shot straight to my dick.

Not the right damn time.

When I grabbed the hem of her saree and slowly pushed it up her long legs, she unconsciously retrieved her knife and aimed for my face. I easily dodged it and snatched the knife out of her weak grasp. And I was harder, pulsing, aching. The fight in her was so fucking attractive, I was on my knees. One strong, beautiful, violent creature, My Little gazelle. She was drunk and sleepy and yet the fight didn't leave her. My pretty little heart.

She moaned in protest, her legs kicking and trashing against the bed.

"Stop it, Little gazelle."

She didn't.

A smile curled my lips as I straddled her calves, supporting my weight on my knees and placed my left hand on the curve of her spine to keep her from wriggling so much. My right hand worked the saree up her toned legs until I could see the assaulted skin. "Let go of me !" She mumbled and thrashed beneath me.

I froze.

My blood curdling in my veins.

She already had multiple scars across the expanse of her thighs.

And I was terrified to look further up.

My eyes trailed over her skin, an tempest of fury started swirling inside me. Pale scars marred her golden skin, faint but undeniable. The urge to seek out whoever that was the reason of her pain, to unleash my wrath upon them, clawed at the edges of my very being. A primal instinct, a visceral need to protect and shield her rose within me and just like that I was shaking.