THE IInd DECISION

25. A Taste of Forbidden

guys Apni seat ki Peti band lijiye , kyuki ab safar shuru hone wala h .. hehehe ..15+

listen this song along with reading.

[Guys, fasten your seat belts because the journey is about to begin."]

The sweet, tantalizing taste of strawberry lip balm lingered on my lips, and my heart pounded in my chest like a drum. A rush of heat flooded my veins, sending a shiver up my spine, goosebumps prickling my skin. I felt her breath, warm and inviting, ghost over my cheek as she looked up at me with those big, innocent doe eyes. She smiled, a playful, almost wicked curve of her lips, and began unbuttoning my shirt. I parted my lips to say no, to stop this before it went too far, but my heart was in open rebellion against my mind. I wanted her. God, I wanted her so badly. I'd never felt anything like this before-this magnetic pull, this dizzying desire.

My hand trembled as I gently removed hers from my shirt. She tilted her head, her smile turning into a pout, her voice a soft whisper, "Don't want me, huh?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but my throat was dry, my thoughts a tangled mess. Ayan, what are you doing? Stop it. This isn't right. She's younger than you, and this is just a contract marriage-nothing more. But no matter how loudly my brain screamed, my body betrayed me.

"Ashi," I finally managed, my voice hoarse, barely a whisper. "You're not sober right now. We'll talk in the morning."

Her laughter, light and carefree, filled the space between us. Her fingers danced over my chest, playing with the buttons again. "So, you'll want me when I'm sober?" she teased, her voice like silk, wrapping around me, pulling me closer.

My breath caught in my throat. "Ashi, sleep now," I said, trying to inject some authority into my voice, but even I could hear how weak it sounded, how desperate.

She wasn't listening. Her hands tugged insistently at my shirt, and in my fumbling attempt to steady myself, my foot caught on the carpet. We tumbled onto the bed, her body beneath mine, her soft curves molding against me. Her face was inches from mine, her breath hot on my lips. The moonlight streaming through the window cast her in a soft, ethereal glow. Her hair was spread around her like a dark halo, and a stray lock fell across her lips-those lips, still glistening, still tasting of strawberries.

I couldn't help myself. My fingers brushed the lock of hair away, tracing the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, down to her lips. They were so soft under my touch, so warm. Maybe I do have a soft spot for her. Maybe...it's more than that.

No, Ayan, don't go there. I forced myself back, standing abruptly, my heart racing. I needed to get out, to put distance between us. But as I moved to leave, she caught my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. Her voice was a low murmur, almost a command, "Give me that shirt."

I hesitated, caught between desire and reason, but eventually, I pulled off my shirt and handed it to her, quickly grabbing a t-shirt for myself. I turned away, needing a moment to breathe, to regain some semblance of control. But when I turned back, she was already slipping the saree from her shoulders, the fabric cascading to the floor like water. She stood there in her blouse and saree shaper, her curves accentuated, her skin glowing in the soft light. My gaze drifted to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, to the hint of cleavage, to the smooth expanse of her waist.

My breath hitched. Stop it, Ayan. Stop it now. I muttered an excuse about needing coffee, practically running out of the room, desperate for a moment to think, to clear my head.