MOHABBAT-E-DIWAANGI ( Book 1)

46. Her moans 🎀

Happy reading yrra's 💗

As he cradled her in his arms, his steps carried them toward the attached bathroom—a space that exuded both luxury and intimacy. The moment they crossed the threshold, the automatic lights flickered on, casting a soft glow over the striking interior.

The bathroom was a masterpiece of design, its walls adorned with massive mirrors on all four sides, reflecting every angle, every breath, every unspoken emotion between them. Yet, beyond the mirrored expanse, everything else followed a singular, dominant theme—black. From the sleek marble flooring to the minimalist yet extravagant fixtures, the space exuded a bold, almost possessive elegance. A lavish bathtub nestled in one corner, its placement calculated for both comfort and indulgence, while a spacious shower area stood nearby, its dark tiles gleaming under the soft glow of the recessed lighting.

But none of that held his attention at the moment. It was her—silent in his embrace, the usual glimmer of mischief absent from her gaze, the teasing smirk nowhere to be found. A rare moment of quiet between them.

Stepping further inside, he didn’t take her to the tub or the shower. Instead, he carried her to the wide basin area, where yet another grand mirror stretched across the wall. Carefully, almost reverently, he set her down atop the sleek counter, the cool surface a stark contrast against her warmth. Their reflections stared back at them—two souls entwined in a space designed to capture every moment, every emotion, without escape.

As he settled her on the counter, his hands lingering just enough to ensure she was comfortable, his gaze softened for a fleeting moment. She, adorned in a deep-neck, backless blouse paired with a lehenga, did nothing but watch him. Her breath remained steady, her expression unreadable. Yet, as his eyes found hers, something shifted.

Aadish, whose gaze had always spoken of love—gentle, unyielding, and warm—now held something else. Something deeper. Something she had never seen before.

He stepped back, his eyes never straying from her face, yet the air between them thickened with an unspoken longing. He wanted to touch her. Craved it. But instead, he took his time, reaching for the hem of his kurta. With slow, deliberate movements, he pulled it over his head, the fabric sliding away effortlessly. His neck jewels came off next, a quiet clink echoing in the space.

Her eyes dropped to his body—one she had touched before, but never like this. And as if drawn by an invisible force, her hands moved forward, hesitant yet compelled. Before she could struggle with the decision, he made it easier, stepping closer, bridging the space between them.

Her fingertips barely grazed his chest, yet it was enough to set something ablaze within both of them. His breath hitched—just for a second—before he lifted his hand to her hair, undoing the careful arrangement, letting the dark waves tumble down her back.

She stilled. Her hands froze. Her gaze lifted back to his.

And in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

Aadish’s lips curled into a smirk before his fingers tangled into her hair, gripping them firmly—not enough to hurt, but just enough to make her breath hitch. And then, without hesitation, he pulled her into a kiss that stole the air from her lungs.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, a silent confession, a culmination of years of longing wrapped in the heat of the moment. His lips moved against hers with urgency, devouring, tasting, owning. And when he finally broke away, both of them gasping, a knowing smirk danced on her lips as well.

Catching her breath, she whispered, "Ye hum kya kar rahe hain?" (What are we doing?) Her voice was barely above a murmur, teasing yet unsure, her heart pounding against her ribs.