𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏: 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
"What?" she said, she couldn't believe her ears, that her Kabir ji would say something like that when he had been showering his whole life at her feet.
"Kabir ji, if it's abo...
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The air crackled with the remnants of my temper, a storm that had brewed ever since I saw that infuriating hand – Karthik Malhotra's, I recognized it now in a cold flash of clarity – resting on Aisha's back. My reaction had been primal, possessive, fueled by a rage so intense it clouded everything else. Looking back, the memory left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Fuck," I muttered, slamming a fist against the mahogany surface of my desk. The echo resonated through the cavernous office, a harsh counterpoint to the luxurious surroundings. The expensive paintings on the wall mocked me, their beauty meaningless in the face of the turmoil I'd caused.
Yes, I'd taken it too far. The look of hurt and confusion that had flashed across Aisha's eyes as I dragged her into my office was branded into my memory. The blind possessiveness that had driven me to force myself on her, leaving her trembling and speechless – a far cry from the passionate encounters we usually shared – was a monster I barely recognized.
Would I do it again? The answer, shamefully, was yes. The thought of another man touching her, of anyone daring to possess what I believed was mine, sparked a possessive fire that threatened to consume me. But would my Jaan forgive me for this transgression? A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. Knowing her fierce spirit, and her independence, the answer was a resounding no.
Regret, a feeling I rarely entertained, gnawed at me. Newsflash, Kabir, I thought with a sardonic chuckle, you're an asshole. She'd called me a "softie" once, a mocking endearment that now stung with truth. Aisha, with her unwavering strength and fierce intellect, had indeed softened me and chipped away at the walls I'd built around myself. Now, those walls lay in ruins, exposed to the raw, vulnerable emotions she'd awakened within me.
A flicker of movement outside my office caught my eye. Aisha stood there, her back to me, the white dupatta draped loosely over her slender shoulders. The sight of those three doris – the ones I'd fantasized about ripping away earlier in a fit of possessive rage – sent a pang of guilt through me. This wasn't the way I wanted her to see me, not as a controlling tyrant but as the man who cherished her and respected her. But how could I undo the damage already done?
INSIDE THE ROOM
My lavish hotel suite, once a mere stopover for a weary businessman, had been transformed into a sanctuary for my Jaan. Every detail whispered of Aisha, from the carefully curated selection of books on the shelves (her favourites, of course) to the lingering scent of her signature perfume that hung in the air. This wasn't just my space anymore, it was ours – a reflection of the love that bound us. Guilt gnawed at me, a stark contrast to the warmth this room usually evoked.
I watched from the doorway, unseen, as Aisha slipped into one of the new floral dresses I'd had delivered. The lavender hues mirrored the same elegant dress she wore the night we first met at the club. A wave of nostalgia washed over me, mingled with a fresh surge of admiration. Even the most intricate designs seemed to pale in comparison to her luminous beauty. She was the one who brought an air of effortless elegance to everything she wore, and everything she did.
My breath hitched as I noticed the telltale signs of a recent shower – her hair damp and cascading down her back, the back of the dress a delicate web of lace. Her sindoor, a vibrant splash of red against the milky white skin, remained a constant reminder of our bond, even when adorned in Western attire. As she stretched onto her tiptoes, reaching for a book on the top shelf, the dress fluttered upwards, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her long, sculpted legs.
My primal instincts roared a guttural urge to pull her close, to lose myself in the warmth of her embrace. But reason intervened. This wasn't the way. Not after the storm I'd unleashed earlier.
Taking a deep breath, I approached her, carefully selecting a book and holding it out. "Jaan," I murmured, my voice soft, the tone I knew disarmed her defences.
She turned, her fiery gaze meeting mine. A flicker of defiance sparked within it, but the long lashes that framed those eyes held a hint of vulnerability, a glimpse of the innocent girl I fell in love with. A desperate battle raged within me – the raw desire warring with the need for atonement.
Instead of responding verbally, she moved past me, a silent storm in her wake. She sank onto the plush bed, clutching the book to her chest. Folding one leg beneath her, she unwittingly offered a glimpse of the white lace peeking out from beneath the dress.
The image ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. This woman, with her fiery spirit and captivating beauty, was a constant test of my self-control. "Can I just fuck her again?" the beast within me roared. But I shoved it down, deeper this time. Aisha deserved more than just raw passion. She deserved respect, understanding, and the unwavering apology that stuck stubbornly in my throat.
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken emotions. This wasn't the reunion I had envisioned.
Fuck.
My baby likes wearing anklets so much that right now she is wearing two gold anklets that have thin bands but has probably stars dangling on them.
"Jaan Sorry na," I said moving towards her on the bed, taking the book.
"Go Kabir ji, I don't want to talk,"
"Please"
"So now you are begging haan?" she said smirking. Of course. She makes me beg outside of sex, and I make her beg during, she loves to tease me, and she loves it when I grovel for her. I know that, and I would gladly do it.
"But I'm not sorry for taking what's mine, wherever, however, and whenever I please," I said holding her face, her cheeks are so big, they make the hold tighter. Adorable. She looks so squishy.
"I'm sorry for not taking care of you afterwards"
"So, tell me, baby, who do I have to kill for touching what's fucking mine."
"Aap sune to" she said holding my hands that were now on her throat.
(Listen to me)
"Hmm," I said loosening the hold a little while hovering over her, I love it when she's under me like that, I love the fear and arousal in her eyes. Maybe I love it way too much.
"He is Karthik, Riya's brother, you have nothing to worry about, he considers me just as a friend."
Of course, I fucking know who that bastard is, but it didn't make anything easier, knowing the bedroom eyes she was giving her.
"Still not convinced"
"Malishka bhi to aapki friend hai!"
(Malishka is your friend too)
"Are you jealous baby?"
"Nooo, are you?" she said defensively.
"Hell yes, I'm a jealous man, Aisha, I. don't. share and I most definitely don't mind unliving anyone who is as close as come to touch what solely belongs to me" I said holding her by the nape of her neck.
"You are crazy," she said her lips wobbling, which were of plum pink shade.
"For you," I said kissing her hungrily, when there was a knock.
I was not focusing on that but I saw my baby pushing me back,
"Kabir ji, see who's there"
"Ignore it"
"Kabir Bhai" Akshat's voice could be heard from the background.
"You better be dying Akshat or I am going to kill you myself"
I covered her dress which I made a mess of with the blanket and asked her to stay put.
