Chapter 46

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

Her heart raced, caught off guard by the sudden change in plans. She knew she had little choice but to comply. With a sigh of defeat, she realized her hopes of a quiet morning had been dashed.

"Can I not come—"

"Didn’t I make myself clear? What’s there to question?"

His voice was stern, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Go. Change into a dress. I’ll be waiting."

The tension in the air was palpable. She hesitated for a moment, caught between frustration and resignation. His unwavering command left her with no room to argue. Slowly, she turned away from the door, her shoulders slumping in silent defeat.

The weight of his expectations pressed heavily upon her as she trudged towards her room to change, her thoughts a jumble of frustration and acceptance. The morning she had hoped for had vanished, replaced by the inevitable reality of his demands.

Raghav's pov...

She finally gave up, no longer trying to resist, and that was a good sign. She was getting used to the way things were, slowly surrendering to the inevitable.

As she turned around and walked to her room, I couldn’t help but be captivated by the way she moved. There was something almost hypnotic about her walk—graceful and elegant, yet so subtle that it could easily go unnoticed by someone not paying attention. It wasn’t the exaggerated sway of a runway model, but rather a natural fluidity, an unspoken poetry in her every step.

Her departure left me waiting, and as the minutes ticked by, frustration began to bubble beneath the surface.

Ten long minutes passed, and though impatience gnawed at me, I forced myself to remain calm. I knew better than to rush her, understanding that women often take their time to get ready. I was an understanding person, or at least I tried to be, especially in moments like these.

When she finally emerged, the sight of her erased my frustration in an instant. She had chosen a light blue anarkali suit, the delicate fabric flowing around her as she walked. The veil was draped loosely over her left shoulder, adding an extra touch of elegance to her already graceful appearance. Her hair was loosely braided to the side, with soft strands falling here and there, framing her face in a way that highlighted her features. It was as if each strand was deliberately placed to enhance her beauty.

Her lips, small and pink, caught the light, their subtle sheen contrasting against her fair skin. The bindi on her forehead was the final touch, a small but significant detail that completed her look. She was a vision of delicate beauty, a living doll crafted with care and precision.

As I looked at her, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to the future, imagining how she would look dressed as a wife. I pictured her with sindoor in her hairline, the traditional symbol of a married woman. How radiant she would be, how complete her beauty would become with that simple, yet profound, addition.

She was exquisite, a masterpiece of elegance and grace, and in that moment, all the waiting, all the frustration, seemed more than worth.

As she approached me, I couldn’t resist the urge to pull her into my arms. My hands found their place on her back, gently but firmly drawing her closer. As I pulled her to me, a small, restrained gasp escaped her lips. It was a sound I had come to recognize—a delicate noise that spoke volumes about her nature. She was always like this, always trying to remain quiet, even in the most intimate moments, as if holding back her true emotions was the only way she knew how to cope.

Leaning in, I pressed my lips to her cheek, a gesture meant to reassure her, to convey affection in the only way I knew how. Her skin was incredibly soft beneath my lips, so much so that I lingered there longer than usual, savoring the sensation. There was something intoxicating about her softness, the way it contrasted with her quiet reserve.

But as I kissed her, I could sense her discomfort in the small, subtle movements she made. She tried to look away, her eyes darting here and there, as if searching for something to focus on, something to distract her from the intimacy of the moment. It was her own way of coping, a silent protest against the vulnerability that closeness demanded.

I slowly withdrew, my lips leaving her cheek. I could tell she was relieved, though she would never say it out loud.

With my hand still resting on her lower back, I gently guided her towards the car. She followed my lead without a word, her steps careful and measured. I opened the car door for her, helping her into the seat before closing it behind her. Once she was settled, I walked around to the driver’s side and got in, taking a moment to glance at her before starting the engine.

Noticing that she hadn’t fastened her seatbelt yet, I reached over and did it for her, the click of the belt echoing softly in the quiet car. She flinched slightly as my hand moved towards the seatbelt, a small, involuntary reaction that I couldn’t help but notice. As I leaned closer, her natural scent filled the space between us, a delicate fragrance that made me pause for just a moment to breathe it in deeply. I could feel her breathing quicken, a sign of her nervousness, but I tried to make the moment as gentle as possible.

Satisfied that she was secure, I dragged myself back into my seat and started the car, the engine’s low hum breaking the silence. The road ahead was long, and as we drove, she continued to look out the window, her eyes distant and thoughtful. I couldn’t resist glancing at her through the rearview mirror, catching brief glimpses of her as we moved forward. Her scent lingered in the car, faint against the stronger scent of my cologne, but still present, still captivating.

A part of me wanted to mark her with my scent, to have it mingle with hers, but another part of me wanted the opposite—to carry her scent with me, to let it cling to my clothes and skin. The thought of burying my face in her chest, breathing her in deeply, filled my mind, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I made that desire a reality. I would wait until we reached the office, where we would have a moment alone.

As the drive continued, I noticed her face growing puffy, the unmistakable signs of sleepiness settling in. She was clearly struggling to stay awake, her eyes fluttering as she fought against the pull of sleep. There was something endearing about her struggle, the way she stubbornly tried to stay alert, and I found myself smiling at the sight. I didn’t bother to assure her that it was okay to sleep, deciding to save that gentle gesture for another time. For now, I simply let her be, content to watch her in her quiet battle against drowsiness.

Finally, we arrived at the office. I pulled up right in front, bringing the car to a smooth stop. As I turned off the engine, I looked over at her, watching as her eyes widened in curiosity. She was staring at the building, her big, sparking eyes taking it all in. There was an innocent fascination in her gaze, a kind of wide-eyed wonder that made her look even more adorable.

“How is it?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

She turned to me, her expression still a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “I—It’s nice. It’s big,” she replied meekly, her voice soft and unsure, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

I smiled at her hesitation, finding it both endearing and amusing. “Let’s go inside,” I said, and with that, I stepped out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door for her. My hand rested gently on her back as I guided her towards the entrance, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her suit.

Once inside, I led her to my office, the familiar space offering a sense of comfort and control. I closed the door behind us, the sound of it shutting a signal that we were now alone. With a firm yet gentle touch, I guided her towards the desk. Without a word, I lifted her up, placing her on the edge of the table. She sat there, her legs dangling slightly, her eyes looking up at me with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

In that moment, she looked so small, so delicate, perched on the edge of my desk. The space between us was charged with unspoken tension, a current that hummed quietly beneath the surface. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of possessiveness, a desire to claim her, to make her mine in every way. I simply savored the sight of her sitting there, waiting, her presence filling the room with a quiet, irresistible allure.

The tension in the air was palpable as she looked at me with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Her body was rigid, yet she didn’t resist when I held her firmly. My lips descended on hers with a hungry intensity, but she remained still, submitting to the kiss as if she had no choice. I could feel the softness of her lips, plump and yielding, as I savored every moment, drawing her into me.

As I pulled away, a thin string of saliva connected us for a moment before it snapped. Without hesitation, I began trailing kisses down her neck, leaving a pattern of warmth in their wake. Her body trembled as I reached her chest, where I buried my face, inhaling deeply. Her scent was intoxicating—like the purity of fresh air, untarnished and invigorating. My hands, roaming with a mind of their own, found the zipper on the side of her dress. The realization made my eyes snap open, and in an instant, I pulled the zipper down, exposing more of her.

Her voice, though soft, was edged with desperation. “Please, no,” she pleaded, her hands weakly attempting to push mine away as they ventured further. I ignored her protests, my hands already inside, exploring. She tried again, her voice trembling. “Don’t. Please, not here.” But I was beyond reasoning, my hands now slipping under her bra, squeezing her breast as a helpless whimper escaped her lips.

I wanted more—to feel the fullness of her breasts in both hands, to take her nipples into my mouth and savor their taste. But the tightness of her dress made it difficult to proceed. If only she were wearing a saree, I thought, my frustration mounting. It would have been so much easier, so much more accessible.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of the intercom broke through the haze of my thoughts. The sound was jarring, but it wasn’t enough to pull me from my intent. I continued my assault, my mind a blur of lust and power. But then, a flicker of awareness returned—I remembered why I was here in the first place. Reluctantly, I pulled away, frustration simmering under my skin as I reached for the intercom behind her.

“Yes,” I snapped into the receiver.

“Sir, he has come,” a woman’s voice informed me on the other end.

“Send him in after five minutes,” I instructed curtly before cutting the call.

Turning back to her, I took in her tear-streaked face, her cheeks flushed with the aftermath of what had transpired. She was crying—tears streaming down her face in silent misery. I couldn’t understand why she bothered. What was the point? She had to learn to endure this, to be prepared for what was to come. And this was just a kiss. She needed more training, more conditioning. I sighed, frustrated by her weakness.

“Wipe off those tears and clean your face,” I ordered, my voice cold and detached. She complied, brushing her tears away with trembling hands, her face now a deep shade of red, a mixture of shame and fear.

“I’ll be in a meeting with someone,” I continued, adjusting my hair and straightening my shirt. “In the meantime, you can take a tour of my office. My assistant will show you around.”

Without waiting for her response, I signaled for my assistant to escort her out. She walked away, her shoulders hunched, as if carrying the weight of the world. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction mingling with the frustration still buzzing under my skin. She was weak now, but she would learn. She had to.

With that, I prepared myself for the upcoming meeting, pushing aside the remnants of the encounter, focusing instead on the business at hand.