Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened against his shirt. Silence felt safer. Anything she gave him now would only make him more smug.
He let it stretch, warm and dangerous.
“If I had gone further…” His voice dropped, teasing. “…you would still be under me, asking for more.”
A horrified sound escaped her before she buried her face deeper.
His laughter moved through her, low and deeply satisfied.
He tried to tilt her face up. “Come on.”
She resisted instantly.
“Meera.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
His thumb moved along her jaw, slow enough to undo her.
“You were arching into me,” he murmured near her ear, “as if you could not get close enough.”
Every muscle in her body locked.
“Hukum,” she whispered, all protest gone.
The word changed him at once.
His breath deepened. His eyes darkened. For one dangerous second, his control slipped.
“You say that,” he murmured, leaning closer, “and still expect me to behave?”
She had absolutely no defense against him when he sounded like that.
None.
He drew in a slow breath, forcing himself back under control. Barely.
His touch softened as he adjusted her dupatta. Then her kurta, smoothing the creases from her waist and sides with infuriating tenderness.
His mouth brushed her hair in a soft kiss.
“Once,” he continued thoughtfully, “and you’re already exhausted.”
She shifted in protest.
He grinned. “That is genuinely concerning.”
She made an offended sound against his chest.
“You’ll need better stamina than this.”
“Hukum,” she groaned, scandalised all over again.
“If you plan on surviving marriage to me, this becomes a serious concern.”
