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He began planting tender kisses along her neck and jaw as she surrendered to the moment, her hands trembling with anticipation as he drew her closer, guiding her gently back onto the bed. With a swift motion, he discarded her dupatta, letting it fall to the bed, and then, with a sense of urgency, he grasped her neck firmly, his touch sending shivers down her spine. His lips trailed down to her cleavage, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.
Lost in the sensation, he explored every inch of her, his hands tracing the curves of her waist and arms, leaving behind a trail of desire. "Ah, my love," he growled hungrily, his eyes closed as he savored the sensation of her body beneath him. Finally, he had her in his arms, and he couldn't believe his luck.
"Rishabh," she called softly, but he seemed lost in his own world, his lips now grazing her neck with a fervour that bordered on desperation. With a firm grip on her hair, he bit down gently, his hands fumbling to remove the strap of her kurta, revealing the white lace of her bra underneath. Despite her attempts to wriggle free, his knee pressed between her legs, forcing them apart.
She tapped frantically on his shoulder, her silent pleas drowned out by his single-minded focus. He seemed possessed, unable to hear her protests as he imprisoned her right palm with his own, intertwining their fingers above her head.
"Rishabh," she called again and again until finally, his trance was broken, and he looked at her face with a mix of confusion and concern.
"Sorry, sorry, baby, what happened?" he asked, his voice frantic with worry.
"Um... can we please wait for this?" she stammered nervously. It was only their first date, and while he had confessed his feelings for her, she wasn't ready to rush into anything.
"Okay," he responded shortly, his demeanour shifting as he began to pull away. The evidence of their heated moment was evident even through his trousers, his frustration evident as he ran a hand through his hair.
Standing beside him, her dupatta forgotten, she met his gaze once more, her flushed cheeks and dishevelled appearance betraying the intensity of their encounter. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers curling around her arm possessively. Leaning in close, he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with dark desire.
"Tadpa ke chorh diya tumne meri jaan, ye theek nahi kiya"
Her eyes widened at his words and tone, a sense of unease creeping into her mind. She had never heard him speak like that before; it was as if he was someone else entirely at that moment. Yet, lacking experience in such matters, she pushed aside her concerns, feeling a twinge of sympathy for him despite her discomfort.
Did she make the right decision by stopping him? Doubts nagged at her, but it was too late to dwell on them now. Awkwardly, she stood there, fumbling to gather her dupatta, the atmosphere heavy with unresolved tension.
"Where's the washroom?" he demanded impatiently.
"Over there," she replied quietly with her fingers pointing towards the washroom door, her gaze fixed on the ground. With a frustrated huff, he rushed to the washroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
