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He scowled. She giggled and tapped his brow.
He caught her finger and tugged it into his mouth. He licked the pad and sucked on her finger and Naina wiggled under the sheet covering them. She sent her hands on a quest and found warm, rough velvety skin. She stroked him to her heart’s content—the silky hair, the taut nipples, the slab of his abdominal muscles, and further down...
He caught her wrist, and stilled her. He turned her until her back was to him and cradled her face in his hand. At her bottom, he was rock-hard. She gasped in a breath, ready again. Ready for whatever he wanted.
With his thigh tucked between hers, the pressure at her core was delicious. His fingers played with her nipple, sending arrows of want deep down.
“That’s not the kind of marriage I want,” he whispered, licking the rim of her ear.
“No?”
He bit the soft shell. “Remember when you said you were called old-fashioned and that it was an arbitrary construct forcibly put on women?”
“I can’t believe you remember all my lectures.”
“Every word, Dream Girl. But I have no problem admitting that I am terribly old-fashioned. I want the world and its myriad, talented artists and set designers to know you’re mine. I believe in claiming what’s mine.”
She turned around in his arms. “I...we don’t have to rush into this, do we?”
“That’s a relative term. We don’t have to get married tomorrow, as much as I want to. Daadi will never forgive me. Say at the end of next month, when she’s home from London?”
“I just need time to...”
“Decide?”
“No. To...take this all in.”
When he scowled, she went for his mouth. Softly. Slowly. In a sensuous whisper. Almost a supplication. She rubbed her mouth against his, and stilled. And he understood the stillness. That first slide of their lips breathed through him, memories of that first evening only amplifying the sensation now.
Her tongue tentatively licking at his lower lip, pleading for entry rather than barging in. And when he did, with a harsh exhale, the tip of her tongue swirled against his, and then retreated. And then she did it all over again.
In and out, tease and taunt, lick here and a nip there, she wrung slow, soft pleasure out of him until he was panting. But he let her. He let her take whatever she wanted, however she wanted him. He let her explore and seek and retreat and revel in the simple kiss.
“You’re all I want, Vikram,” Naina whispered against his swollen lips. “It’s not even like I want a big wedding. As long as Jaya Ma and Maya can make it, I’m okay with anything.”
“Good,” he whispered, the scowl disappearing.
Naina turned around again and nudged at the hardness with her bum. “Now will you just show me how it’s possible this way?”
He laughed against her back and it was like a symphony playing over her skin. He lifted her leg and pushed in slowly from behind and Naina thought she might die from the onslaught of pleasure.
“Let me guess,” she said, her breath seesawing through her, with his every firm thrust. “This is your favorite position.”
His hand sneaked down from between her breasts, over her belly to unerringly land on her nub. He flicked it and she felt fire rain down her belly. “How do you know?” he asked, working her with a practiced ease that she was so incredibly grateful for.
“You have all the control like this.”
He dug his teeth into her shoulder, counteracting the rivulets of pleasure pooling down at her sex. “True, Dream Girl. But I would never cheat you out of your pleasure.”
As his thrusts became faster, he turned her face and kissed her and Naina knew, as she climaxed more fiercely than ever before, that he would always keep his word.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“ITHINKTHEscript is brilliant. You’ve outdone yourself, bhai,” Virat said over the video call, his fingers still shuffling the pages on the desk in front of him and making notes.
Vikram smiled, feeling more than a sliver of satisfaction at hearing the awe in his brother’s words. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his own intuition. But he had spent most of his career making movies for commercial success and he’d begun to doubt his vision. He’d started this concept as an homage to his grandfather but it had become his own soul project.
Today instead of feeling the sensation of having shackles around him whenever he contemplated a new project, Vikram felt a simple joy. Saving his parents from definite ruin had cost him a lot of his artistic integrity. And yet for Virat and Anya and even his parents’ sake, Vikram knew he would make the same choices all over again.
