"So tight," he murmured, his fingers pumping slowly. "Even after a year of taking my cock, you're still so fucking tight."
His words were filthy, crude, and they shouldn't turn her on this much. But they did. God, they did.
She was aware of everything—the cool wall against her back, the heat of his body against her front, the way his fingers curled inside her hitting that spot that made her see stars. The risk of being caught, the darkness of the hallway, the intensity in his eyes as he watched her fall apart.
"Anyone could walk by," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Abhay. Armaan. My mother. Your precious Shaurya. They could see you like this—legs spread, my hand in your pants, your face flushed with pleasure."
The image should have mortified her. Instead, it sent a thrill through her body that made her clench around his fingers.
He felt it and smiled—a predatory, knowing smile. "You like that, don't you? The danger. The possibility of being caught."
"No—"
"Yes." He added a third finger, stretching her, filling her completely. "My innocent little wife isn't so innocent after all."
His thumb found her clit again, rubbing in tight circles while his fingers thrust deep. The dual sensation was too much. Her head fell back against the wall, her mouth opening in a silent cry.
"That's it," he encouraged, his own breathing heavy. "Come for me, Nimisha. Come on my fingers in this hallway where anyone could see what a desperate little thing you are for me."
His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her moan as the orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her body convulsed, clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure rolled through her. He kept moving, prolonging it, drawing out every last tremor.
When she finally came down, trembling and gasping, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he licked them clean.
"Delicious," he murmured. "Better than any street food."
Her legs were shaking so badly she wasn't sure she could stand. He seemed to realize this because he bent slightly and scooped her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly.
"Samarth, what—"
"Shh." He was already moving, carrying her through the hallway toward their bedroom. "I'm just getting started."
Her arms wrapped around his neck automatically. "Started?"
"Did you think I was going to let you come once and call it a night?" His eyes were dark with promise. "No, baby. I'm going to make you come until you forget your own name. Until the only word you remember is mine."
He kicked open their bedroom door, carried her inside, and locked it behind them.
Then he dropped her on the bed and began unbuttoning his jeans.
"Strip," he commanded.
She scrambled to obey, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of her pajama top. By the time she'd gotten it off, he was already naked, his cock hard and heavy between his legs.
He was magnificent—all lean muscle and controlled power. A predator in his prime.
And for tonight, at least, he was hers.
The Next Morning - Main Sitting Room
The family meeting was in full swing by the time Nimisha arrived, carefully dressed in a simple but elegant salwar kameez, her hair neatly braided. She'd covered the mark on her throat with concealer and foundation, but she could still feel it—a reminder of last night's intensity.
She'd woken alone again. Samarth had left sometime before dawn, leaving her body satisfied but her heart aching.
Don't romanticize what we are.
His words from the night before echoed in her mind even as her body remembered his touch.
"Nimisha, finally," Saroj said, looking up from her seat beside Kritika. "We've been waiting to finalize the gala details."
