𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒔.
This is a multi- couple books and follows the lives of The Thakurs who are the chieftains of Meergarh...
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Him
I look down at my shirt satisfied as I clutch the buttons in my fist. The door creaks softly and I smile.
She is here.
I turn around and find her standing stuck to the door. It seems that I interrupted her in the middle of her cooking given the flour smudged on her forehead. Her eyes focuses on me completely.
"You are messy," I tell her as I pull her towards me and brush off the flour from her face. I remembered the week after our wedding that I had called her to find a file that I exactly knew where it was and she had showed up with muddy hands as she was gardening at that time.
She looks at me a little petrified and I try to pacify her, "But you are my mess." A small smile appears on her face and something strange crosses over his eyes. A look of adoration.
I clear my throat and show her the buttons in my palm. "Sew these buttons for me." I tell her and she looks at the five torn out buttons and then my open shirt. "Itne saare kaise toot gayeein, Vikram Ji?" (Translation: How come these many got torn?)
I keep quiet as she moves to get the sewing kit. She moves a strand of her hair troubling her behind her ear as she stops in front of me. I place my hand on her waist and then pull her to my lap so that she is sitting sideways on one of my thighs.
"Continue your work, Dhara." I tell her sternly as I observe my timid wife. She shifts a bit to make herself comfortable and the side of her thigh touches my cock and I feel blood rush through me. Her eyes widens but I nod at her to continue. She begins her work with the lowest of the button. I stare at her actions with my undivided attention. She looks flustered under my gaze.
I brush her hair back from her shoulder and touch her collarbone. She shivers and closes her eyes for a brief moment. Then she opens them and gets back to sewing. Her fingers were sloppy and I knew my actions were affecting her. I lower her dupatta and throw it away while my eyes land on her chest.
I move my hand in between her arms and circle my finger over her blouse and then squeeze her nipple through it. "Ah," she jerks up in surprise and looks at me. "I love when you wear blouses that have hooks in front." I tell her as I pull her other nipple. She yelps and stops working.
