Demon's Physco obsession

Claimed by the House

Ankita lay draped across Adhiraaj's bare chest, her body loose and glowing in the hazy aftermath of their passion. The sheets had slipped down to their hips, leaving their skin bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. The air still held traces of their mingled sweat and the lingering spice of musk from his cologne. Her fingertip wandered lazily over his chest, tracing swirling patterns across the firm muscles and the faint, silvery lines of old scars—marks she knew by heart, like a map of the man she'd claimed entirely.

Adhiraaj gazed up at the shadowed canopy above their bed, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, the other tucked behind his head. His breaths came deep and even now, contentment settling over him, though his mind lingered on the simple joy of her gentle touch.

The quiet stretched comfortably between them until Ankita's voice, light and offhand, pierced the silence.

"I invited Jahnvi didi for lunch tomorrow."

Adhiraaj's hand, which had been drawing slow, soothing circles along her lower back, froze mid-motion. He tilted his head down, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her face.

"Jahnvi?" he echoed, his tone laced with honest bewilderment. "Who the hell is Jahnvi?"

Ankita's hand came down with a quick, playful slap against his chest.

"Ow!" he exclaimed in mock agony, clutching the spot dramatically, though the spark of amusement in his eyes betrayed him completely.

She propped her chin up, fixing him with a feigned glare of indignation. "You really should keep a better tally of everyone on this estate, ji. How could you forget the woman who nursed your wife back from the brink?" Her voice dipped into exaggerated drama. "The very same one you almost choked for daring to miss a vein when I was barely clinging to life?"

Adhiraaj's mouth quirked at the corner, but he schooled his features into deliberate indifference. "Ah. Her." He resumed his lazy caresses along her spine, as if the incident were nothing more than a forgotten footnote. "The one who stood frozen like a pillar while you raided the kitchen sweets, instead of putting a stop to it."

Smack.

Another light swat landed on his chest. "Ouch!" he yelped louder this time, grasping at his heart with theatrical flair.

Ankita shifted up onto one elbow, peering down at him with wide-eyed innocence. "Your body's forged from iron and steel," she teased sweetly, prodding the unyielding muscle under her palm. "So why act like my tiny slaps actually wound you?"

A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest beneath her hand. He captured her wrist before she could strike again, lacing their fingers together with tender precision. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a slow, reverent kiss across her knuckles, his gaze holding hers captive.

"Because to the rest of the world, I'm unbreakable iron," he murmured against her skin, his voice husky with raw affection. "But for you, jaan... I'm nothing but cotton. Soft. Defenceless." His thumb stroked over her fingers before guiding her hand to rest directly over his heartbeat. "Only you get to wound me—and I'll play along, pretending it hurts every damn time."

Warmth rushed to Ankita's cheeks; she ducked her head to his shoulder in a futile attempt to hide it, but he wouldn't allow the escape. His free hand cupped her chin, gently tipping her face back up to meet the fierce tenderness in his eyes.

"Tomorrow, then?" he said, a lazy smile curving his lips. "Lunch with Ved's woman."

Ankita's eyebrows arched high. "So you did know."

"Of course, I knew." In one fluid motion, he rolled them over, settling her beneath him once more, his weight supported on his forearms as he caged her in that possessive way she adored in secret.