Grumpyxchaotic verhalen

- The Haveli She pushed open the heavy wooden door to their bedroom. She barely took one step inside before a hand-large, calloused, heavily ringed-clamped onto her waist from the shadows. She was yanked backward. The door slammed shut behind her. "Vikram," she breathed out. He spun her around, pinning her back against the wooden door. The room was dark, but his eyes were gleaming like a predator's. He was in a black silk kurta, his jaw locked so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. "Neeche " Vikram's voice was a dangerous, heavy growl. "Un lukhon ke gelya ghani hass-hass ke baat kar ri thi aap?" Vani looked up at him, her heart doing a frantic flutter against her ribs, but she kept her voice light. "Woh toh bas aise hi... normal baat kar rahi thi main," Vani said, trying to sound completely unaffected. Vikram gently caught her hand, lifting it between them. His thumb pressed firmly against her dark mehendi, right over the spot where his identity was traced into her skin. "Bhul gayi ke kiska naam lagya se aapki mehendi mein?" Vikram asked, his voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper full of raw ownership. "Neeche sab dhoondh rahe honge mujhe... chaliye neeche," Vani whispered, placing her free hand on his chest to lightly push him, an obvious attempt to escape the overwhelming tension. "Shh." And before Vani could formulate a single thought, Vikram leaned down and captured her lips. It wasn't gentle. It was a deep, breath-stealing, intensely possessive kiss that consumed her completely, leaving no doubt in her mind-or his-about exactly who she belonged to. ------------------- But fires like this don't start in a single day. It started much earlier. It started on a completely normal afternoon, when a highly irritable, Ludo-obsessed girl from South Delhi looked at the most dangerous politician in Rohtak... and completely mistook him for a dhaba uncle. Warning'*s⚠️ #18+ #Mature language #Abusive language #College lovestory #Happy ending #Dark romance

Bronx couldn't say he enjoyed Alto, Georgia. Sure, The Bronx was a shithole (yes, he's named after a county, shut the fuck up), but it was a shithole he was familiar with. And it actually had stuff to do, like the old arcade five minutes away from their old house. Or, you know, the entirety of New York Damn City. Sure, his family was broke as fuck, but it was cool to walk around. The only reason they had moved was for his kid sister, Brooklyn. His Aunt Queenie (named after Queens) had hunted down a renowned developmental pediatrician in Middle of Nowhere, Georgia. Most of his arguments had vanished at that; while he was happy (as happy as he was capable of being, at least), they had been looking for someone to help Brooklyn (in his family, it was just a recurring theme to hate your children enough to name them after landmarks). If you hadn't guessed already, he's not an honest guy. "Down on their luck" didn't fit, since they'd never had any luck to begin with. Aunt Queenie worked her ass off as a secretary at an entertainment agency in NYC, and while it paid well, this country was in shambles, and so was the pricing system. Had to tap your 401(k) to keep a roof over your head. His aunt knew what he did at night; she didn't like it, but she turned the other way when she saw the first stack of cash he dropped onto their old, rickety dining table. Though his dubious income helped them breathe a little, it didn't stop her worry from shifting from finances to her wayward nephew. His trashy (affectionate) aunt loved him, and he loved her, but Brooklyn was the light of his life; he would have ended up in a ditch long ago if they hadn't been waiting for him at home. The first week was fine; whatever, really. He got his info packet from Alto High School. His busmate was some girl named Ashlyn; there were two other new kids besides him, and he would start in three days. Mundane shit. He never could have guessed what would happen on that trip to Savannah.