Her And Him (Completed)

THE KISSING WAR

And thus began our joint battle with motherhood.

I spent all of my waking hours either helping Chantelle out with stuff or purchasing baby things for when the baby would finally be here or fantasising what best way to kick Vidyut in the nuts for being a complete asshole about this.

He tried to make it up to me by making me burnt breakfast, offering to drop me to work, or trying to soothe me at night, when I screamed my head off courtesy the latest nightmare that had struck me.

I chose the nightmares over giving him my forgiveness. I was not such a pushover.

I ignored him like a human would a rabid dog in a pink tutu and purple tiara.

But the few times I ventured out to lecture him in his responsibility as a father, he would just clamp up and glare at the space a few feet to my right.

Finally I had enough. I was as understanding as a wife who had found out that her husband had fathered a child with another woman and then decided not to acknowledge that fact and so, said wife decided to team up with said other woman would.

Okay maybe I was the first and last of such wives.

Anyways.

"Vidyut Rathore" I bit out, my voice low with a hidden threat of things to come.

He had been texting. He immediately looked around, considering it was 1 in the night and a seemingly incorporeal voice had hissed out his name.
He finally spotted my in the corner.

"Mm?"

Be scared of me, dammit.

"Why the hell are you being a damn asshole about your own child?"

He seemed to consider whether i was worth answering to. Finally, with a sigh he turned to me.

"Because it's not mine."

I didn't know if I thought he was lying or if he meant it.

I decided to find out. I got up from my corner to sit close to him on the couch.

"But it is, Vidyut! It's your child. And it's not fair to have you abandon him or her even before birth ."

He sighed, contemplating what he needed to do to shut me up, obviously.

I ploughed on.

"It's unfair. You literally did half the work and Chantelle is suffering alone. This is mphhhdhsh"

Hes not one for subtleties, I guarantee you.

He advanced on me suddenly, pinning me to the sofa that I had been sitting on seconds before.

Putting all his body weight on my much smaller frame, he effectively knocked out my breath.

For just a couple of seconds, he looked at my face. Really looked. Those luminous eyes seemed to be searing onto mine for just those seconds.

His eyes flitted down to my lips, and without any warning, we were suddenly kissing.

Whether that kiss was to prove a point or to shut me up or simply because he was in the mood, I didn't know.

I struggled futilely against him, even as I felt goosebumps erupt wherever his right hand was lightly traveling along on.

He knew how to make a lady pleased.One hand took hold of both my hands, controlling my struggles. The other explored my body - tracing, holding, caressing every bit of it. My nerves were on overdrive, shuddering at the heights this man was taking me to just with a touch.

I was angry at this man! I hated him! He disgusted me!

Get a grip on yourself, you brain dead female!

His lips were warm against mine. So warm. And soft. And wonderfully skilled.

What the fuck?

No!

Yes.

His hands were roaming freely over my helpless body, tracing curves that he had actually seen only once before. I blushed at that thought.

His expert lips continued to knead mine, nipping, biting , teasing.

Just as he was fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, good sense kicked in.

This was entirely against what I stood for! I was angry, for fuck's sake!

"Stop." I managed. But the heavy moan that escaped my lips soon after seemed to counter it.

He was by now kissing my collar bone , having finally finished with all the buttons. Let me tell you, he had every plan of going southward.

With all my lust weakened strength, I punched him in the stomach.

All that that achieved was hurting myself and also being forcibly reminded of how hard and chiseled his body was.

With a murderous look, he pounced back on me, kissing me with increased urgency.

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I rolled both of us off the couch and onto the cold, hard floor.

Well, he hit the cold hard floor, atleast.

The moan that escaped him was definitely not fueled by passion, rather by the pain of landing hard on the floor, with the weight of a female in top.

I got up , smirked down at him, and ran into my room, trying to tell my traitorous heart to go suck it.

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Love always,
LV.