His To Adore

Abducted

The Beauty

He was kissing me. Soft, firm lips pressed onto mine, sending tingles through my body. It was soft, tenative, catious, as if he would somehow hurt me if he isn't careful. Sparks of pleasure jolts through my body, then mind, until I am incapable of forming a coherent thought. He smelled like smoke, brimstone and something that's entirely him. The firmness and softness contrasted with each other, the lush curve of his mouth and his stubble that grazed my skin and drove me to the brink of insanity.

He was savoring me. But so was I. Memorizing every move, his firmness, his smell, his strong masculinity, the raw desire that radiated of him. The desire for me.

He. Is. Driving. Me. Wild.

And then he's pulling away. I try getting up, to reach the sensations of his lips, the gentle yet rough touch. But no matter how hard I try, I can't reach it.

My eyes flapped open as sunlight filtered through the small gap in the curtains, hell bent on removing every ounce of dreamy haze I had. I groaned and sat up rubbing a hand on my face.

Flashes of memories rear its head into my mind and I jolt straight, turning my head towards him. The bed was empty beside me. It was a dream ?

What the hell ?

Why would I dream of him kissing me ? And it felt so damn real. And the worst thing ? I wasn't even stopping him.

Oh no, this is bad. I can't be actually dreaming to kiss my kidnapper—for fuck's sake.

You know if you dream of something early in morning, it comes true.

My mother's words come back to me. I subconsiously lick my lips and search for him. The sound of the running shower reaches my ears and I relax slightly. Aleast he isn't seeing me go wankers over a dream—especially when it included him.

He's naked inside..

I shut that intrusive voice, shove it in a metal box and snap the lid shut. Annoying bitch.

As if on cue, the bathroom door opened revealing a half naked Mr. Oberoi a.k.a the man I just dreamt of kissing. I struggled to get my mind out of the gutter when he looked at me. All eight packs of him bared to me.

And there my mind goes again. My eyes travel to his lips on its own accord—against my better judgement. Whatever he sees in my face brings an annoying smirk. “Morning, Amore” He strolls inside leisurely, looks at me head to toe, “You're always a vision in the mornings.”

I scowl. “Shut up.” My hair is a bird's nest and my pyjamas wrinkled, and I most probably have drool strolling down my chin—won't be surprising since I just dreamt of kissing,— I am definitely a vision. I lift my hand and rub my face, suddenly self conscious under his gaze. My mind drifts off to the haze of dreamland again, the rough, firm yet soft press of lips against mine—

I blink, getting my thoughts together. Its just a dream. Ugh. My cheeks heat up and I barely manage the urge to squirm. His presence isn't helping. I bite my lip as my gaze travels down his naked—half-naked— beauty. It should be illegal to look that devastating in mornings.

Not that he'll ever know that I think he looks like some God in mornings.

A trail of water rolls down his neck, to his broad chest, then abs before disappearing in his towel. When my eyes meet his, there's no masking of the raw hunger, the desire swirling in the depths of those black orbs. His eyes zeroes on my lips and my heart skips a beat.