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...
📖 Because when I take you for the first time, with your feet on my shoulders, I want the jingle to mix your moans, making our first moment unforgettable!! ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ˚ ༘♡ 🪷🪕🪞🦢⋆｡˚ ❀
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(18+ Highly smut written ahead ‼️ )
The morning sun had barely filtered through the curtains when I found myself stifling a chuckle, the memory of last night's events replaying in my mind. Adhiraj's frustration and attempts to hide the soft chime of the bells...oh, I could still see that glare he gave me. Too priceless!
I adjusted the pleats of my white and blue saree, the mirror work shimmering as I moved. A mischievous smile tugged at my lips as my fingers brushed over the lipstick on the dressing table. This would be the perfect revenge for all those times he teased me. I glanced at him lying on the bed, sprawled on his back with one arm tucked under the pillow.
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The blanket rested at his hips, just barely concealing his sculpted frame. His dark hair was ruffled, and his chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths. I carefully climbed onto the bed, positioning myself beside his hips. My fingers traced a light path over the taut muscles of his back, causing him to shift slightly.
"Not yet, my king, stay in dreamland," I whispered, eyes widening as he groaned and turned his face toward me. For a second, my heart raced. But his eyes stayed shut, the calm returning to his features. I exhaled in relief.
"Charms overload, Mr. Rathore," I cooed, gently cupping his stubbled cheek. He deserved a little pampering for all the challenges I threw his way. But this pampering had a twist. I smirked, holding up the lipstick, its crimson shade daring me to make a masterpiece.
Slowly, I painted a thin moustache and a pair of mismatched hearts on his cheeks. He twitched slightly, muttering something about swords and training in his sleep. I bit my lip, suppressing a giggle. Oh, the sight of him...my mighty husband, looking like he'd lost a bet with a preschooler's art project.
"Perfect!" I whispered, leaning back to admire my work. His face now carried the distinguished mark of a red 'artistic touch.' Backing off the bed, I tiptoed toward the door, clutching my stomach to stop the bubbling laughter. The second I closed the door behind me, I burst into muffled giggles. Oh, Hukum-sa, just wait until you see yourself in the mirror.
