Prem-Leela Series Book- 01
(Art of seduction)
𝐌𝐫𝐬. 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 (𝐀𝐝𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐣 𝐱 𝐒𝐢𝐲𝐚)
"Marry me, Siya," his voice whispered.
I should have laughed. I should have refused. What place did I have in his grand world of palaces a...
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(This chapter explores intimacy after postpartum recovery. Please read with an open mind, and if it's not to your preference, feel free to skip. Recommended for 21+ ‼️ and 18+ ‼️readers though I know some younger ones might sneak in too🥹)
My World, My Obsession.
I have lived my life with an iron heart and a steel spine. From the moment I could walk, I was taught that a man does not bend unnecessarily, does not break, and certainly does not weep. A king does not allow himself to be weak.
And yet, two tiny hands, barely big enough to hold onto my fingers, have broken me in ways I never knew were possible.
My children.
Avyan. Siddhika.
My tiny prince and my little queen.
I have led men into battle. I have stood against enemies without fear. I have held power in my hands that others could only dream of. But when I hold them? I feel powerless.
Avyan, my son, the one who watches me with sharp, curious eyes, so much like mine, yet so different. I see his mind working, his mischief brewing, and yet when I lift him in my arms, he becomes soft, pressing tiny kisses against my face, babbling words that make no sense but somehow hold all the meaning in the world.
And Siddhika? She is my undoing. She does not speak, yet her presence commands more than words ever could. She looks at me as though I belong to her and she is right. I do. She grips my kurta with those tiny fists, refusing to let me go. She glares at Salim Baig when he steps too close, pushing him away with all the strength her little body can muster.
My daughter, the first woman in this world to ever claim me before she could even say my name.
And Siya?
My Siya.
I have spent years pretending I could live without her. I have spent years pretending that my love for her was something I could control, something I could lock away behind my duties, my responsibilities.
I was a fool.
Because my love for her is not something gentle, something soft.
It is hunger.
I cannot exist without her. I refuse to.
When she smiles, I want to steal that expression and keep it locked away, so that no one else may see it. When she laughs, I feel both victorious and jealous, victorious because I caused it, jealous because the world gets to witness a sound that should belong to me alone.
I have never been a man who loves lightly. And for Siya, I will never be a man who loves gently.
I watch her now, with our children nestled against her, and I know she is mine.
