My eyes fluttered shut, and my fist tightened in the sheet beneath me.
When the skirt finally slipped away, leaving me lighter in my petticoat, I heard the faint sound of it pooling onto the floor. He gently nudged it aside before moving back toward me.
“Hey,” he murmured, lifting my face so our eyes met.
My lips trembled with the unease blooming inside me. I was nervous, uncertain, and afraid of being seen too closely.
What if he doesn’t like me?
His thumb brushed over my lower lip.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, and I nodded, barely.
One by one, he removed my jewellery. Starting with my nose ring, then earrings, and finally the maangteeka. With every piece set aside, the moment felt heavier, closer.
He leaned in, pressing his lips to the hollow at the base of my neck.
“Accept me as yours, love… please,” he murmured.
My eyes closed, and instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing him nearer.
“I love you so much, Suman,” he whispered.
As his hands slid to my shoulders, easing the blouse away, heat rushed through me. His gaze was fixed on my chest, giving all his attention.
I tried to shield myself with my hands, embarrassed by my drooping breasts, but he caught my wrists gently and pinned them over my head.
A soft sound escaped me as the movement drew a subtle rise in my chest, and my breathing faltered.
I looked down breathlessly, watching him trace slow circles around my left nipple, where Princess Rudraja had bitten me. It started painfully slow, but with each passing moment, the pressure of his fingertip increased against my skin, causing my heart to thud loudly. The lingering sensation made my pulse race.
“I need you closer,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
He leaned in, closing the space between us, and pressed his lips over my bud.
Butterflies erupted violently in my stomach, and I drew my knees up anxiously, squeezing my eyes shut.
It felt… good. Terrifyingly good.
His mouth was warm, and when I opened my eyes, I found him staring straight at me.
My lips parted on instinct, and my breath shuddered out of me as he released my wrist and gathered my breast in his palm. He lifted it, drawing my nipple into his mouth, showing me, shamelessly, how he was sucking it.
“You’re a baby,” I teased breathlessly.
Suddenly, he dug his teeth into my skin and nipped at it softly, drawing a cry from me before I could stop it.
He smirked, clearly pleased by my reaction.
I cupped his cheek with my free hand, still dazed, but his expression darkened. In one swift motion, he pinned that hand above my head as well, trapping both wrists, abandoning my breast.
“I hate the smell of henna,” he said quietly.
I swallowed. I knew I was in no position to argue. His mouth returned to my nipple, taking it entirely, mercilessly, while his hand squeezed my other breast, pinching the sensitive bud between his fingers. The sensation forced my thighs to press together as I felt heat pooling down there.
I could only stare at him and at the way he sucked on my brown bud, like he needed it to breathe. He tugged, stretched, and then released it with a sharp, wet pop.
A helpless sound came out with the sweet sting lingering.
