Chapter 45

A sunbeam fell across their bodies through the window as his hands lay around her, his eyes silently praying over her as she slept.

Breaking his resistance he leaned forward and began to pepper kisses all over her face as she laid like a doll wrapped in a cloth.

He went rough on her last night, trying his best to control himself. He had decided not to hurt her, but she kept doing things that provoked him. After the third round, his anger automatically subdued just by listening to her moans.

She was spent because of him, barely conscious as he later carried her into the house. He gave her a bath, then roughly wrapped her saree around her and tucked the end of it into her chest.

Remembering last night, he strictly decided to manage his anger issues better and endure her tantrums. He knew he was already forcing himself on her and had to be lenient, even if she said hurtful things.

Scooping her back to his chest, he continued kissing behind her ear, trying to disturb her sleep so she could wake up and spend time with him.

"Wake up, Aasha."

His hoarse voice reached her ears as she stirred in her sleep, gradually emerging from her drowsiness.

Her eyes fluttered open to the bright sunlight. She turned away to avoid the light, only to find herself facing him from very close.

She restrained a gasp upon seeing him and instantly turned away.

"Learn some manners, lady. You shouldn't give attitude to someone giving you attention, especially when that person is out of your league."

He pinched her chin and turned her face towards him, initiating a kiss on her lips. She struggled to break free, her hands pushing against his chest to create distance. Feeling her touch, he paused and glanced down at her hands on his bare chest before meeting her eyes.

Seizing the moment, she slipped out of his grasp and spoke up.

"I haven't brushed yet," she said, leaving him stunned. Her soft palms lingered on his skin, the gentlest touch he had ever felt.

How would her lips feel on his chest?

"Neither have I," he replied, moving towards her again to claim her lips. She placed her hand on his shoulder, stopping him once more.

"After brushing," she insisted, the only way she knew to delay him. She knew her "no" alone wouldn't deter him.

He smirked and conceded.

"Fine. Let's take a bath first," he said, lifting her off the bed. She protested as he carried her to the bathroom.

"I can walk by myself," she argued.

"I can't let you walk when you need rest. In fact, I'll bathe you," he countered.

"No. Leave me. I will do it myself..."

Her protests faded as they entered the bathroom and he shut the door with a kick.

****

He placed her gently on the sofa, wrapped in a towel. He stood over her, also wrapped in a towel. Her skin glowed pink, a mix of dampness and possibly a blush, either from the intimacy of their shared bath or from his strength. Her hair was bundled in a towel, with a few stray strands framing her face. Her small pink lips stood out even more vividly, showing the marks of his attention.

Forcing his eyes away from her, he walked off to get dressed, handing her a saree. With his back still turned to her whike he is wearing his dress, she quickly began putting on a blouse and underskirt, keeping the towel around her body. After fastening the blouse hooks, she let the towel drop and started to drape the saree.

Suddenly, he turned towards her. She looked up at him, startled, as she held the bottom pleats of the saree, ready to tuck them into the underskirt.

He took the pleats from her and, still locking eyes with her, tucked them into the underskirt himself, his hand brushing against her abdomen, causing her to catch her breath nervously.

She looked away, stepped back, and adjusted her saree properly.

His eyes scanned her as she adjusted her saree, carefully pulling it over her chest and waist. She skillfully managed to cover almost all of her waist, except for a small strip of skin that would peek out when she moved or lifted her arms. He adored that little glimpse of skin.

A thought struck him to replace all her sarees with netted ones, imagining how she might struggle to adjust them in front of him.

His one thought led to another, like a sudden lightning strike in his mind.

Here's the edited version:

If they were a couple and he was her husband, would she still try to cover herself like this?

Would she?

He would be devastated if she did. As her husband, he believed he would have the right to look at her whenever he wanted. Not just look—he could touch her as much as he wanted.

But then, the idea of marrying her seemed absurd. After all, he could still touch her now. He could grope her anytime he wanted. He didn't have to be her husband to taste or touch her. He could get whatever he wanted.

The thought of being her husband and having her as his wife filled him with excitement and a thrill he hadn't expected. He imagined what their life would be like as a married couple. How would they navigate each day together? Would she treat him with reverence, worshipping him as a devoted wife, or would she assert herself and rule over him? The possibilities intrigued him.

He wondered if she would be willing to sleep with him after marriage. From what he knew of her, she was a devoted woman, even in the memory of a deceased husband. The depth of her loyalty fascinated him, and he couldn't help but ponder if that same devotion would extend to him.

As he was lost in these thoughts, his phone rang, pulling him back to reality. She moved towards the balcony, still holding a towel in her hand. He watched her retreating figure for a moment before pulling out his phone to answer the call, his mind still swirling with the idea of a life together.

To better care for her, he made it clear that she would be staying with him in his room from then on. Though her belongings hadn't yet been moved into his room, the decision was made. It was a way of asserting his control and ensuring she was under his watchful eye.

He leaned back, still watching her as she dried her hair. She flipped her hair to the side, and as she shook the towel through it, a fine mist of water droplets filled the air. The sight was mesmerizing, and for a moment, he was captivated by the simple, mundane beauty of the scene.

"I'll be coming to the office today."

He replied to the other person in the phone.

At his words, her ears perked up, and a noticeable relief washed over her. Perhaps she had been waiting for a moment of normalcy, a return to routine. The announcement seemed to reassure her, giving her a sense of stability amidst the uncertainty of their situation.

He observed her reaction, noting the subtle shift in her demeanor. The news seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders, allowing her to breathe a little easier. And it irked him to realize that his absence was her solace. The thought gnawed at him, a bitter reminder that she felt more at ease when he wasn't around

After finishing the call, he walked over to her as she was rubbing the tips of her hair to dry them. Without warning, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against him. She stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, but he ignored it.

"You look amazing in a saree," he murmured, his voice low and appreciative. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, pressing soft kisses along her skin.

He wanted to add, "Mainly when you walk," but he held back. He knew that if he mentioned it, she would become hyper-aware of his gaze and more guarded in her movements, just to avoid his attention lingering on her. He enjoyed watching her subtle elegance and the way the saree highlighted her figure, and he didn't want to lose those unguarded moments.

She chose to ignore his compliment and continued drying her hair, her focus unwavering. It was her way of maintaining a semblance of normalcy and control, even in the midst of his advances.

He finally released her and stepped back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Prepare breakfast for me. I'll be leaving for the office and will come back by evening," he instructed, his tone casual, as if their interactions were entirely ordinary.

She nodded silently and moved towards the kitchen, her mind likely racing with thoughts. He watched her go, a mix of satisfaction and frustration simmering within him. While he reveled in the power he held over her, there was a growing awareness of the emotional distance between them. Yet, for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the day ahead.

She prepared breakfast quickly, eager to finish so he could leave. As they ate, a heavy silence enveloped the room. She was acutely aware of his gaze, which seemed to follow her every move. Whether she walked to serve the food or simply adjusted her saree, his eyes were on her, scrutinizing every subtle gesture.

The weight of his gaze made the silence even more uncomfortable. Although he had finished his breakfast well before her, he lingered, waiting for her to complete hers under his intense scrutiny. The oppressive atmosphere made it hard for her to enjoy her meal, and she ate hastily, hoping to escape the tension.

When she finally finished, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, bidding her goodbye with a mix of affection and ownership. She returned the kiss, her mind already relieved at the prospect of his departure. He left the house, and she watched his car pull away from the window. A sigh of relief escaped her as she closed the curtains, feeling the burden of his presence lift slightly.

With him gone, she walked to her bedroom, ready to collapse onto the bed and let herself sink into a bubble of sadness and solitude. She needed a moment to herself, to escape the stifling environment he created.

However, her brief respite was cut short. Within half an hour, she heard the sound of his car’s horn. Startled, she sprang up from the bed and peered out of the bedroom window. To her dismay, she saw his car pulling back into the driveway. Her heart sank, her brief moment of peace slipping away.

The doorbell rang, piercing the quiet of the house. Reluctantly, she went downstairs to answer it, opening the door to find him standing there, his expression resolute.

"Get ready," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "You’re coming to the office with me."