Master Bedroom - Midnight
Samarth laid Nimisha on their bed with a gentleness that surprised them both.
He wanted to erase the fear from her eyes. Wanted to make her forget about the sick fuck who'd sent her those things. Wanted to replace violation with worship.
He stripped her robe away, revealing her simple cotton nightgown underneath.
"You're always covered," he murmured, his fingers tracing the modest neckline. "Always hiding this beautiful body."
"I'm not beautiful—"
"Don't." His eyes met hers, something fierce burning in their depths. "Don't say that. Don't let some bastard's perversion make you doubt what you are."
"And what am I?"
"Mine." He pulled the nightgown over her head, leaving her in just her panties. "Exquisite. Perfect. Mine."
He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring. His mouth moved to her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast.
"Samarth—"
"Shh. Let me take care of you."
He took his time, learning her body like he had all the time in the world. Kissing, tasting, worshipping.
When his mouth closed around her nipple, she arched off the bed, her hands tangling in his hair.
He lavished attention on her breasts until she was writhing, desperate, her fear forgotten in a haze of pleasure.
Then he kissed his way down her stomach, hooking his fingers in her panties and dragging them down her legs.
"I'm going to taste you again," he said, his voice dark with promise. "And this time, I'm not stopping until you come on my tongue at least twice."
"Samarth, you don't have to—"
"I want to." He spread her thighs, settling between them. "I need to. I need to replace every sick thought that bastard had about you with memories of me. Only me."
His mouth found her center, and coherent thought fled.
He worshipped her with his tongue, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her thighs tremble around his head.
When she came the first time, crying his name, he didn't stop. He kept going, kept licking and sucking and driving her higher.
The second orgasm hit her harder, her body bowing off the bed, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Only then did he pull back, his mouth glistening with her release.
"Beautiful," he murmured, crawling up her body. "So fucking beautiful when you come apart for me."
He entered her slowly, filling her inch by inch, watching her face as she adjusted to his size.
"Feel that?" he asked, fully seated inside her. "That's me. Only me. No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to see you like this."
"Only you," she breathed.
He made love to her slowly, thoroughly, each thrust deliberate and deep. This wasn't fucking. This was claiming in a different way—tender instead of brutal, worship instead of possession.
When she came again, clenching around him, he followed her over the edge, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her.
