Vivian approached me, his steps deliberate and heavy, and said in a cold, dark tone, "Are you planning to put on this drama in front of the whole world too?"
Confused and a bit startled, I asked, "What drama?"
Vivian pointed at my mangalsutra, his e...
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After the storm of our passion ebbed away, I could feel Aarini trembling beneath me, her breath hitching in short, ragged bursts. The air around us was thick with the heat of what had just happened, but my focus zeroed in on the delicate figure beneath my hands. I had already freed her wrists earlier, but the angry red marks left behind twisted something dark in my chest, a reminder of how far I had pushed her-how far I had taken her.
She lay there, her body exhausted, barely able to move. I watched her chest rise and fall, each breath shallow, weak. I ran my fingers through her damp hair, brushing it away from her flushed face, my touch softer now. Her eyes remained closed, and for a brief moment, the fierceness in her melted away, replaced by a fragile vulnerability. It was rare, seeing her like this-unguarded, broken open, completely at my mercy.
Guilt-a feeling I wasn't used to-started to churn inside me. I'd pushed her too far, taken her beyond her limits. But now it was time to take care of her. I bent down, my lips grazing her forehead in a feather-light kiss, barely whispering against her skin, "You rest. I'll take care of you."
I stood, wrapping a towel around my waist, but my eyes never left her. Her body was still trembling, the aftermath of our intensity written across her skin. I turned toward the bathroom, turning the faucet on and letting the hot water fill the tub, steam rising in thick swirls. My hands moved on instinct, reaching for the bottle of lavender and chamomile bath oils. The scent was calming, soothing, but nothing could settle the storm still raging inside me.
I returned to her side, her delicate form trying to steady itself, her body weak and struggling. Without a word, I lifted her into my arms, the softness of her skin against mine making my heart pound with something I couldn't name. She whimpered, her body still aching, still sensitive. I pressed my lips to her forehead again, this time with more weight behind it. "Shh... Don't push yourself. Let me."
Lowering her into the hot water, I watched as her body surrendered to the warmth. She sighed softly, her head leaning back against the edge of the tub, her muscles slowly relaxing, but the tension was still there, lingering just beneath the surface. I grabbed a soft cloth, soaking it in the water before dragging it gently across her shoulders, over her collarbone, down her arms, and back again.
As I washed her, my movements were deliberate, my touch reverent. Every inch of her body I cleaned felt like a ritual-a way of apologizing for what I had put her through. I worked slowly, methodically, watching as the water droplets slid down her bare skin. Her breath began to even out, her body finally starting to calm, but I could still feel the echo of everything we had shared humming beneath her skin.
When I gently wiped her breasts, I felt the softness of her skin under my fingers, and when I moved lower to clean her more intimately, I did so with a kind of tenderness that was foreign to me. This wasn't about control or possession-it was about something deeper, something raw. My hands lingered on her thighs, and I could feel her muscles twitch beneath my touch, still responding to me, even in this moment of quiet.
