It was midnight.
Her heart raced immediately, and she hated that.
When the final chime faded, she heard it. The connecting door opening.
Yamini closed her eyes briefly.
Then she turned as her heart continued to race in anticipation.
He stood in the doorway.
He was wearing his black robe, his broad shoulders filling the frame the way they always did, blocking the light from his room so that he appeared as a silhouette for one suspended moment before her eyes adjusted.
Then the soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp caught him properly, and she saw his face.
Her breath still caught at how stunningly handsome he was. Handsome yet unreadable as always.
He crossed the room toward her without speaking.
She didn't move.
She had told herself, standing at this window for the past hour, that she would remember this was just a contract marriage. She also reminded herself that this was a transaction for him, an obligation he fulfilled nightly with the same efficiency he applied to every other thing in his life.
But her heart refused to listen or slow.
He stopped in front of her.
He was close. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at his face properly.
He wasn’t looking at her. Not at her face. His eyes were on the emerald fish pendant nestled at the base of her throat.
He looked at it for a long moment, his face remaining unreadable. And then, his eyes lifted to hers.
Her breath caught. The air between them felt different. It always felt charged at midnight, but this was something else. Or maybe she simply imagined it to be different.
His golden-brown eyes stayed on her face, steady and unblinking, the way it had in his office when he had commanded Tina Mehta to leave without once looking away.
She waited.
She expected him to sweep her into his arms and carry her to bed, where he fulfilled the obligation of their marriage.
His hand moved. But it was not towards her waist.
His fingers rose slowly and touched the pendant. It was just a brief touch, the pad of his thumb brushing the emerald once, the same way he touched his cufflinks in the morning, that single practiced stroke before his hand dropped back to his side.
The touch lasted less than two seconds. But her heart raced under her chest.
His gaze lifted. And then, he slowly dropped to his knees.
She gasped when his hands pushed her robe open, and then his mouth was between her legs.
“Oh God,” she moaned, gripping his hair.
Her legs nearly buckled, but his arms kept her upright while his mouth stole her breath.
The sensation was unbearable, not just pleasure, but something raw and possessive in the way his mouth sealed around her, in the faint growl vibrating against her skin when she tugged at his hair and squirmed.
Her breath came in ragged bursts, her pulse hammering as his tongue hungrily lapped at the moisture between her legs. The pleasure grew until it snapped, and she climaxed with a cry.
