LOVE AGAIN | 18+ || ✔

☆ || C l a i m || ☆

~

T R I S T A N

My muscles tense and ripple reminiscing the promise I made to Aarna.
Blood rushes to my limbs, taking it straight to my cock, staring at her social media post.

The slayer black Saree that I chose for her. Fuck!
I tapped my thigh, controlling myself not to get a hard-on.

In the evening, I called her to tease that I wouldn't be attending the reception and the melancholic voice I received from her after that was just unacceptable. She misses me. I know.
I just intended to tease her and then surprise her with my presence, but this little nymph is up to something else.

Where the fuck did she wear this short piece of cloth she calls a blouse? The one we bought was black and stitched as per her comfort. And clearly, deep necks do not come under her cosy preferences. She chose something beyond her comfort zone tonight.

Her dewy collarbone shines like gold, and her bare, smooth belly hides under that net fabric. Have I ever imagined her to be this seductively charming in the Saree? Yes. I did a lot more than imagining in my dreams that I am sure would attempt all those sins I've been waiting to do.

The problem is, I've never had this feeling before.
To get something so desperately, I've had an easier way. Chasing is something I've never experienced. And that seems to be my newfound kink.
With Aarna, it's everything new. If I wanted a kiss I'd get it, but with Aarna, she resists. Makes me chase her. I love her small demands.
Just like shaving this thing. She doesn't like it? No worries. I will shave my beard completely as soon as tonight's shoot ends and before I drive off to Cleveland.

My old self looks young instead of this terrific Archer look.

Her night is mine, everything is mine.

I saw her messages with the pictures. And I very well know she didn't send this. Either Mayra or Kiara must have done this artistry.

I inhale, filling my lungs with the smell of cigarettes and crushing nearly a tenth of it under my feet. Fuck! Why did I have to agree to this late-night shoot? Rather I should have accompanied Aarna.

As soon I come out of my vanity, a strong iron rock that's been ordered for the sets hits against another rod; I run sideways to save the other small boy standing there; in the process, I hit my shoulder blade with the sharp metal.

"Fuck." The pain rushes to my nerves, oozing out the thick blood tainting my shirt completely in mere seconds.

The crew runs to me while I wonder if the small boy is injured somewhere. "Are you alright?" He nods nearly running to his mother, who's a worker here.

"Sir. You're heavily injured."

"No, no. I'm fine. I'll just change. And then we'll shoot for the part." It hurts like hell and I can barely bear the pain. But the urge in me to end the shoots and see Aarna is more than something like these small injuries.

"But, sir, you can't even stand properly. The injury is deep; see, the blood isn't even stopping a bit."

"The wound has almost parted your skin and blood brutally Tristan. We need the doctor immediately." The director announces.

I palm my back to stop the rapid blood flow, but it doesn't stop. Rather, it drenched my whole white shirt.

Over the director's insistence, a female doctor nurses my wounds. It's just two stitches and she wraps white medical tape after applying the healing antiseptic cream.