Siya's life in Chandipur was marked by resilience and solitude, her days consumed by nurturing the vibrant blooms of her flower shop. Abandoned at birth and haunted by the mystery of her parents' disappearance, she had grown accustomed to the whispe...
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(18+ Smut written ‼️)
The morning after the wedding felt different, yet filled with a charged energy that I couldn't place. My senses stirred awake before my eyes even opened, the faint scent of flowers and her lingering warmth surrounding me. But the bed felt empty-my arms missed her warmth. Where's my wife? I grumbled to myself, not fully ready to leave that haze of sleep, but then a soft chiming sound filled the room, and my eyes slowly opened. With a sigh, I leaned back, dragging the duvet up to my torso and resting against the headboard, savouring the moment before the day began. But as I took in the room, something....someone-caught my eye.
There she was, my wife, in front of the mirror, her figure framed by the morning light, moving in that graceful way that stirred something primal inside me. My gaze sharpened as I watched her, standing there with her back to me, adjusting the pleats of her saree. The fitting sleeves of her blouse pushed her breasts up, making them look even more voluptuous. My mouth watered at the sight, my morning hood springing to life beneath the duvet. I dragged my gaze lower, taking in the way the saree clung to her waist and hips urging me to mark the smooth skin with my sharp teeth.
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I watched her move around the room, her hips swaying seductively. She was deliberately putting on a show, I realized, a thrill running down my spine. Last night's teasing had clearly left her wanting more, and now she was tempting me with every graceful movement.
I settled back against the pillows lazily, my darkened gaze following her every step. I let her get ready, savouring the view as she effortlessly made plates of her saree, keeping pin between her lips. Turning around, she let her back facing me. The sight of her bare back, her skin smooth and inviting, made me grit my teeth. The way she pinned her blouse with her teeth, her back arched in a way that made my fingers itch to grab her hips, only fuelled my desire. I could practically taste her on my tongue, feel the softness of her skin beneath my palms. The urge to fuck her right then and there was overwhelming, but I resisted. I wanted to make her beg for it first.
As if sensing my gaze, she glanced over her shoulder, draping pallu against her shoulder in one swift, her eyes locking with me. There was a challenge in her stare, a silent dare to make a move. I merely smirked, my eyes drifting down to the swell of her ass, barely concealed by the sheer fabric of her saree.
I watched her through narrowed eyes as she stood there, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. With slow, deliberate steps, I moved toward her, rounding the couch until I was close enough to grab her arm. She looked up, brows knitted in confusion as I shoved her down to sit on the couch. She sat back, her gaze searching mine, clearly puzzled by the intensity burning behind my eyes.
I couldn't shake the memory...the sting of her voice saying she didn't want to marry me. Those words cut deep, and even now, the bitterness remained, tempered only slightly by the fact that she had been honest. Her openness was something I valued, yes. It was clear she felt comfortable speaking her mind around me, but her words had wounded me in ways she couldn't understand. I was hurt-more than she realized. These damned entanglements between the Rathore's and Sharma's had made our lives a battlefield of bruised pride and bitter history. And she'd better be ready to make it up to me.
