Sacred Games Of Twisted Fate {18+}

*AN AFTER SHOWER (hot) MAKEOUT *

***author's pov***

AAYARA changed her clothes and slept . He body relaxing as the stinging pain in her wrist faded .

**************AFTER A WHILE*************

Arjun stood by the bed, his eyes fixed on Ayara's wrist. The angry pink scar stood out starkly against her pale skin, a constant reminder of her vulnerability. His jaw tightened as he remembered the scene: his stepmother's smug face, the scalding coffee spilling over Ayara’s delicate wrist. Anger surged through him, a cold, ruthless fury that made his hands clench into fists.

Without another thought, he strode across the room to the medical kit box. The metallic click of the lid opening echoed in the silent chamber. He rummaged through the contents, pulling out antiseptic wipes, gauze, and a tube of antibiotic ointment. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as if every action was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

He returned to the bed, sitting down beside Ayara. She stirred slightly at the movement but didn't wake. Arjun gently took her wrist in his hand, lifting it so the light could better reveal the damage. The skin was tender, still healing from the burn. He winced inwardly at the sight, though his expression remained stoic.

"Time to fix this," he muttered to himself, more out of habit than necessity. He uncapped the antiseptic wipe and began to clean the area around the burn. Ayara flinched as the cool cloth touched her sensitive skin, her eyes fluttering open.

"Arjun?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Shh," he said, his tone soft but commanding. "Stay still."

She obeyed, her body paralyzed by the combination of his touch and his authority. As he worked, their eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between them. There was something raw in his gaze, something that spoke of possession and protection all at once. Ayara felt a shiver run down her spine, not from fear but from a deep, untamed emotion she couldn't quite name.

Once the area was clean, Arjun squeezed a generous amount of ointment onto his fingers. He smoothed it over the burn, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so often described as cold and ruthless. Ayara watched him, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed over the sensitive skin.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, looking up at her for the first time since beginning his ministrations.

"A little," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's nothing compared to..." She trailed off, unsure whether to continue.

Arjun finished applying the ointment and wrapped her wrist in gauze. His movements were efficient, almost clinical, yet there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he handled her. When he was done, he leaned back, studying her face.

"You need to understand something, Ayara," he said, his voice low and controlled. "You are mine. No one else gets to mark you, no one else gets to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Ayara nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. There was a fierceness in his words, a protective rage that sent a thrill through her. She wanted to argue, to remind him that she wasn't just some possession, but the intensity of his gaze kept her silent.

Before she could respond, Arjun pulled her closer, his hands gripping her waist with a force that left no room for doubt. He kissed her then, a hard, demanding kiss that left her breathless. His lips moved against hers with an urgency that seemed to consume them both, his tongue delving deep as if claiming a territory.

Ayara moaned into the kiss, her body responding instinctively despite her confusion. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the restrained power that hummed just below the surface.