Resham si raat, badan mein shola sa asar,

Har ada mein nasha, har lamhe mein khatar.

Ek-doosre ki aag mein jalte rahe dono,

Anjaane mein ek-doosre ke zakhmon ka marham bante rahe dono.

The sound of my full name tearing from her throat didn’t just break the fog in my head—it physically leveled me. It hit my eardrums like a concussive wave, fracturing the frozen wall of my amnesia in a single, violent second.

For sixty days, my life had been flatlined. I had been moving through a pristine, sterile landscape of boardroom meetings, financial ledgers, and underworld protocols, functioning like a machine that had its core code deleted. The doctors spoke about neural pathways and trauma blocks, handing me files to read so I could memorize my own existence. They didn't understand that the emptiness wasn't in my brain. It was a physical, gnawing starvation right in the center of my ribs. I had been waking up at three in the morning with my palms slick and my lungs starving for a scent I couldn't name, chasing a phantom anchor through the dark.

Then she had walked onto that high-gloss stage, and the static in my universe simply died.

Now, feeling her fingers clawing frantically into the skin of my jaw, listening to her voice crack as she screamed her love through a flood of unchecked tears, the final wall inside me didn't just fall—it turned to dust. She was claiming me. She was calling me back from the dead with a desperate, terrifying certainty that made my chest tighten until it ached.

"I love you so much. I can't survive this without you. You are mine, Eklavya..."

I couldn't speak. The sheer, overwhelming impact of her voice hit my throat like a physical weight, cutting off my air. A rough, broken sound escaped me—a raw exhale of pure, exhausting relief that I couldn't compress even if I wanted to. The dangerous control I had spent my entire life perfecting simply evaporated in the dark air of the room.

Her hair brushed against my cheek, carrying that exact sweetness I had been dying for during my exile. I closed my eyes, my shoulders rising and falling in heavy, uneven rhythms as I anchored myself over her frame. The silence of the room settled over us, deep and absolute, swallowing up the distant noise of the arena outside. I didn’t care what questions were waiting for us tomorrow, or how many broken pieces of our past we still had to sift through in the light of day. The numbness that had dictated my life for the last sixty days was entirely gone. For the first time since the crash, the suffocating pressure in my ribs finally eased, replaced by the simple, quiet certainty that I was finally holding the only person who made me whole.

The silence between us stretched out, no longer heavy with grief, but thick with a slow, rising warmth that seemed to pull the remaining air from the room.

I didn't move away. My hands slid upward from her shoulders, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her collarbone beneath the structured edge of her gown. Every micro-inch of her skin was burning hot against my calloused palms, a visceral reality that completely wiped away the lingering chill of the winter night outside. I shifted my weight over the mattress, lowering my chest until the soft velvet of her couture dress pressed flush against my shirt, trapping her completely within my shadow.

When I looked down, her dark eyelashes fluttered open, her eyes searching mine through the dim, red-tinted light with a quiet, breathless vulnerability that demanded nothing but my presence.

"Pari," I breathed against her lips, the sound dropping into a low, rough whisper.

I didn't rush. The desperate urgency that had driven me to lock the world out vanished, replaced by an agonizingly slow, reverent focus. I slid one hand behind the dark, glossy waves of her hair, tilting her face upward just enough to capture her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. It wasn't the violent, starving collision from before; it was a deliberate, heavy press of my lips against hers, a silent re-writing of our history that poured straight into her veins.

A soft, broken sigh escaped her throat, her hands rising to find the back of my neck, her fingers tangling into my hair to draw me closer. The touch undid whatever restraint I had left, sending a sharp, electrical heat directly down my spine.

Slowly, my fingers moved to the intricate fastenings of her midnight gown, unlinking them with a steady, quiet friction that let the heavy fabric cascade away into the shadows of the sheets. Every inch of her bare skin that met the cool air of the room was instantly warmed by the unyielding furnace of my embrace. I leaned down, my mouth leaving her lips to trail a path of fire along the curve of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat where her pulse was jumping in a wild, erratic rhythm.

She arched into my touch, her breathing turning shallow and uneven as my hands slid down to span the narrow curve of her waist, anchoring her frame completely against mine.

The entire universe had narrowed down to the heavy tempo of our breathing and the slow, consuming heat rising between our bodies.

I looked into her face, my thumb brushing over the flush on her cheek, wanting to memorize the exact texture of her surrender in the dim light. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, wide and darkening with an absolute, unwavering trust that proved she belonged to me completely.

Before I could go any further, she spoke.

Her voice was soft, almost trembling against the crisp fabric of my black waistcoat, but the words landed with absolute clarity.

“I want you to get me pregnant."

The sentence stopped everything inside me.

I was still fully dressed — black three-piece suit, shirt buttoned beneath the waistcoat, tie loosened but present — while she lay completely bare beneath me. The heavy midnight gown I had unfastened earlier now lay in a dark pool on the floor beside the bed. Every inch of her skin was exposed to the cool air of the suite and to the heat of my clothed body pressing her into the mattress.

I pulled back just enough to look at her properly.

Her eyes were still wet from the earlier tears, dark lashes clumped together, yet there was no hesitation in them. Only a raw, steady certainty that made my chest tighten all over again.

I exhaled slowly, the sound rough.

“Say it again.”

She didn’t look away.

“I want you to pregnant me, Eklavya. I want your child. I want us to try again.”

Something dark and fiercely protective roared to life in my blood.

But I didn’t take her yet.

Instead I kissed my way down her body like a man who had been starving for days and months. My mouth left a wet, open path across the soft swell of her breasts, lingering on each tightened peak until she arched and made the sweetest broken sound. The fine wool of my suit jacket brushed against her bare stomach as I moved lower, the cold metal of my cufflinks grazing her hipbones.

When I finally settled between her thighs, I didn’t tease.

I simply buried my face against her and tasted her like a man who had been dying of thirst.

The first long, deliberate stroke of my tongue pulled a high, shaky cry from her throat. Her hands flew to my hair, fingers tangling hard in the dark strands as I licked deeper, slower, devouring every drop of her. The expensive fabric of my waistcoat and shirt pressed against the soft insides of her thighs, a constant contrast of structured clothing against completely bare, trembling skin.

“Eklavya—ah—”

I didn’t stop. I sealed my mouth over her and sucked, tongue working her with the same relentless focus I brought to every deal I refused to lose. Her hips jerked against my face. Soft, desperate whimpers turned into longer, broken moans that filled the quiet suite. I could feel her getting wetter with every pass of my tongue, the taste of her flooding my mouth until my chin and lower lip were slick with it.

Her thighs began to shake around my head.

“I’m—Eklavya, I’m going to—”

I only growled against her and pushed two fingers inside at the same moment my tongue focused hard on the swollen peak. That was all it took.

She came with a raw, sobbing cry, back arching clean off the mattress as her release flooded my mouth. I stayed right there, licking and sucking through every pulse, drinking her down like a man who had been denied water for two months. Her thighs clamped around my ears. Her fingers tugged hard at my hair. Soft, broken sounds kept spilling from her lips as the orgasm rolled through her in waves, drenching my mouth, my chin, the crisp white collar of my shirt.

Only when the last tremor faded did I finally lift my head.

My lower face was wet with her. The black three-piece suit was still perfectly in place, only the collar slightly damp now. I looked up the length of her bare body — flushed, trembling, completely open — and met her dazed eyes.

“That’s only the beginning,” I said, voice rough and dark. “I’m going to fill you until you’re carrying me. Exactly like you asked.”

Then I rose over her again, still fully dressed, and reached for the fastenings of my trousers.

I rose over her again, still fully dressed in the black three-piece, the lower half of my face still wet with her release. The taste of her lingered on my tongue — sweet, intimate, and completely mine. I freed myself from the tailored trousers and pushed into her in one slow, deep thrust, burying every inch inside the tight heat that had been denied to me for sixty days.

A broken, shaky moan left her throat.

I began to move.

Each stroke was deliberate, deep, and claiming. The fine wool of my suit jacket and waistcoat scraped lightly against her bare breasts and stomach with every drive of my hips, the structured fabric a constant reminder that the man the world feared was the same man currently losing himself between her thighs. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. Soft, breathless sounds spilled from her lips — little whimpers that turned into longer cries whenever I angled just right and the thick head of me dragged against that perfect spot inside her.

She is my whole damn world.

Without her I’m nothing.

I leaned down, pressing my face into the soft curve of her neck, and inhaled. The familiar mountain-air sweetness of her skin flooded my nostrils, calm and absolute. It settled the last restless nerves still flickering under my skin, filling the hollow emptiness that had lived in the center of my ribs for two months. She was the only light I had been searching for in the dark. The only thing that could quench the thirst that had nearly driven me mad.

I continued the deep, steady rhythm of my hips while my hands moved to the buttons of my black shirt. One by one I opened them, then shrugged the waistcoat and shirt off my shoulders without ever leaving her body. The moment my bare chest met hers, a soft, relieved sound escaped her. Warm skin against warm skin. No more barriers. No more cold fabric between us.

A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye before I could stop it.

She noticed immediately. Her fingers rose, gentle and sure, and wiped the wetness from my cheek with the softest touch. In return I cupped her face and carefully brushed away the tears still clinging to her pretty lashes.

She only deserved tears of pleasure.

Tears of my love.

Tears of the obsession that had never once left me, even when my own mind had tried to erase her.

I pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead, lips resting there as our bodies moved together in the dark. Beneath my chest I could feel the rapid, steady beat of her heart. Mine answered it — the same rhythm, the same desperate tempo — until the two sounds became one continuous pulse in the quiet of the suite.

For the first time in months, the void inside me was full.

The moment my bare chest met hers, something inside me snapped.

I drove into her harder, deeper, the wet sound of our bodies meeting sharp and filthy in the quiet suite. Every thrust forced a broken, high cry from her throat. Her nails dug into the bare skin of my back, leaving stinging trails that only pushed me further. I didn’t slow. I couldn’t. The days of emptiness poured out of me in raw, relentless strokes that made the heavy headboard knock against the wall.

“Eklavya—ahh—fuck—”

My name left her in pieces. I captured her mouth, swallowing every sound, kissing her like I was trying to crawl inside her lungs. Our teeth clashed. Her tongue met mine with the same desperate hunger. I could taste the salt of the tears we had both shed only moments ago, mixed with the lingering sweetness of her release still on my lips.

I hooked one of her legs higher over my arm, opening her wider, and slammed home even deeper. The new angle made her scream into my mouth. Her walls clenched hard around me, fluttering and soaking, trying to pull me deeper still. I gave her everything — every inch, every ounce of the obsession that had kept me alive when my own mind had tried to erase her.

“You’re mine,” I growled against her lips, voice wrecked. “Every part of you. This body. This heart. The child we’re going to make.” Another brutal thrust. “I’m going to fill you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

Her answer was a raw, sobbing moan as her back arched clean off the mattress. I felt the exact second her second orgasm hit — the violent flutter of her walls, the way her thighs locked around my waist, the broken cry that tore from her throat. I didn’t stop. I fucked her straight through it, chasing my own release with savage focus, forehead pressed to hers, eyes locked on the dazed, tear-streaked beauty of her face.

When I finally came, it ripped through me like a storm.

A guttural, animal sound left my chest as I buried myself to the hilt and poured everything I had into her — thick, hot pulses that seemed endless. I kept thrusting through it, shallow and desperate, determined to push every drop as deep as it could go. My arms shook. My vision blurred at the edges. The only thing that existed was the tight, perfect heat of my wife around me and the frantic, synchronized hammering of our hearts.

I collapsed over her, still buried deep, still pulsing, face buried in the curve of her neck as the last waves rolled through me. My voice came out hoarse and ruined against her skin.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

And for the first time in the months, the words didn’t feel like they were disappearing into an empty void. They landed. They stayed. They belonged exactly where they were — spoken into the skin of the only woman who had ever been my entire world.

When the last tremor finally left my body, I stayed buried inside her, reluctant to separate even by an inch. My weight rested carefully on my forearms so I wouldn’t crush her. That was when I truly felt it.

She was lighter.

The soft curves I had memorized over years felt slightly thinner beneath my hands. The strength that used to meet me stroke for stroke had a new fragility to it, as if the months of silence and fear had stolen something from her body the same way they had stolen pieces of my mind. A sharp, ugly guilt twisted in my chest. What had she endured while I was walking around empty? How many nights had she carried this alone?

I wanted to kill myself for every second of it.

But when I lifted my head and looked at her — flushed, eyes still wet, lips swollen from my mouth — the same woman I had loved through every lifetime was still looking back at me. Softer around the edges, yes. A little more breakable. But still mine. Still Paridhi.

I began to kiss her.

First her forehead, slow and lingering. Then the damp space between her brows. The tip of her nose. Each closed eyelid. The high curve of her cheekbones where the tears had dried. The corner of her mouth. The center of her lips. I kept going — rain after soft rain of kisses across every inch of her face I could reach, as if I could rewrite the lonely months with nothing but the press of my mouth.

A soft, breathy giggle escaped her.

The sound was so unexpected, so purely her, that a real smile tugged at my lips for the first time in what felt like forever. I didn’t stop. I kissed the spot just beneath her ear and earned another quiet giggle. Then the hinge of her jaw. The delicate column of her throat. Each small, melodic sound she made settled something deep in my ribs that had been cracked open since the moment she screamed my full name.

I kept going, unhurried, pouring every ounce of tenderness I possessed into the simple act of kissing her face while her soft laughter — light, tired, and completely real — filled the quiet of the suite like the sweetest melody I had ever heard.

She was still here.

She was still mine.

And I was never letting the world take her from me again.

I pulled out of her slowly.

The thick length of me slipped free with a soft, wet sound that made both of us hiss — her at the sudden emptiness, me at the loss of her tight heat. For a moment I stayed braced over her, looking down. Whatever she saw in my eyes made her throat bob in a hard swallow. She already knew. There was no mistaking the dark, hungry intent still burning in me.

I was nowhere near finished with her.

My hand closed over her breast, squeezing possessively, thumb brushing the still-sensitive peak until it tightened under my touch. A small, shaky sound left her lips. I leaned down and gave the same attention to the other breast, rolling the nipple between my fingers while I watched her face.

Then I moved lower.

I settled between her thighs again, spreading them wider with my shoulders. The sight of her — flushed, swollen, still glistening with both of us — made something primal tighten in my chest. Without a word I lowered my mouth and dragged my tongue through her folds in one long, deliberate stroke.

Paridhi’s back arched off the bed.

“Eklavya—”

I didn’t answer. I simply sealed my mouth over her and began to ate her out with the same starving focus as before, tongue pushing deep, lips sucking gently at the oversensitive peak. At the same time my hands stayed busy higher up — one still squeezing and kneading her breast, the other pinching and rolling her nipple in slow, firm circles that made her thighs tremble around my head.

Every soft, broken moan she gave only pushed me further. I licked deeper, slower, savoring the mixed taste of us, while my fingers continued their relentless play on her breasts. The dual sensation had her squirming, one hand flying down to tangle in my hair, the other clutching at the sheets.

I wasn’t done collecting everything she had promised me.

And I planned to take my time.

I had just sealed my mouth over her again when the muffled voice cut through the heavy door.

“Where did Paridhi ma’am go? It’s the final walking with the designer — search for her!”

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside, hurried and anxious. More voices joined the first, calling her name, the sound growing closer then fading as they moved past our locked door.

I didn’t lift my head.

Instead I looked up the length of her bare body, eyes dark with a slow, teasing glint. Paridhi’s gaze was wide, still glassy from the orgasm I had pulled from her moments ago, cheeks flushed, lips parted in panic. The real world was trying to claw its way back in.

I fluttered my tongue faster against the oversensitive, still-numb peak of her clit.

A sharp, broken sound tore from her throat. Her thighs jerked around my head. One hand flew down to push at my shoulder, the other clamping over her own mouth to stifle the moan.

I didn’t stop.

I licked her in deliberate, wicked strokes, savoring the way her body trembled under the dual assault of pleasure and the fear of being discovered. Outside, someone called her name again, closer this time.

I pulled back just enough to speak against her soaked flesh, voice low and darkly amused.

“They’re looking for you, Mrs. Raizada.” Another slow, filthy drag of my tongue. “Should I stop so you can go finish the show… or should I keep you right here until they give up?”

Her only answer was a muffled, desperate whimper as I sealed my mouth over her again and sucked.

The knocking grew sharper.

“Paridhi ma’am? Are you in there? The designer is waiting for the final walk!”

I didn’t pause.

I hooked both of her legs high over my broad shoulders, folding her nearly in half, and thrust back into her in one deep, brutal stroke. The new angle drove me so far inside that a broken, breathless cry tore from her throat. Her eyes flew wide. Her hands scrambled for purchase on my arms as I set a hard, punishing rhythm, every snap of my hips forcing the air from her lungs.

“Shh,” I whispered against her ear, voice dark and rough. “Make them go away, baby. Tell them you’re fine.”

Another firm knock, louder this time.

“Ma’am? We can hear something — are you okay in there?”

Paridhi tried to speak. The only sound that left her was a high, shaky moan when I drove particularly deep and the thick head of me dragged hard against that perfect spot.

“I—I’m—” Her voice cracked. “I’m f-fine—ahh—Eklavya, wait—”

“Talk to them,” I ordered softly, never slowing, the wet slap of our bodies meeting filthy in the quiet room. “Or I won’t stop. I’ll keep fucking you just like this until they break the door down.”

Outside, someone tried the handle. The lock held. Murmurs of doubt rose on the other side.

“Paridhi ma’am, please open the door. The show can’t finish without you. We’re worried—”

I thrust harder, deeper, her legs locked over my shoulders giving me perfect, relentless access. Tears of pure overload gathered at the corners of her eyes. She was completely unable to form a coherent sentence, every attempt dissolving into another broken, breathless moan.

I had heard enough.

Without pulling out, I turned my head toward the door and raised my voice into a low, dangerous growl that carried clearly through the heavy wood.

“She’s busy. With me. Walk away before you lose your damn jobs.”

Paridhi’s eyes widened in pure terror. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of disbelief.

I only winked at her — slow, wicked, completely unrepentant — and drove into her even harder, as if the entire floor hadn’t just heard me claim her. I didn’t give a single fuck about their reputations, the show, or the fact that our private life had just spilled into the public corridor. She was mine. This moment was mine. And I would take her exactly the way I wanted, while the world waited on the other side of a locked door.

“Now,” I murmured against her ear, voice pure sin as I resumed the deep, claiming rhythm, “where were we, Mrs. Raizada?”

I drove into her even harder, folding her legs tighter over my shoulders so every thrust hit impossibly deep.

“Eklavya—I’ll beat you at home—ahhhhh—maaa!!”

The scream tore out of her as her walls clamped down around me in a tight, fluttering vice. Her face scrunched up in the most adorable furious expression I had ever seen — pure angry bird energy, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed, lips parted on another broken moan.

I couldn’t help the dark, amused smile that curved my mouth.

“Yeah?” I thrust in deep and stayed there, grinding against her. “You’re going to beat me at home?” My voice dropped into a low, teasing drawl as I slowly mimicked her exact tone. “‘Maaa!!’”

Her eyes widened in pure stunned disbelief.

I leaned closer, lips brushing her ear while I rolled my hips in a filthy, deliberate circle.

“Cute. But let’s get one thing straight, Mrs. Raizada.” Another hard thrust made her cry out again. “At the end of the night you’ll still be pinned underneath me, shaking and full of me. And the only words I want to hear screaming out of this pretty mouth…” I nipped her earlobe,

“…are ‘husband’ or ‘hubby.’ Nothing else.”

I pulled back just enough to meet her dazed, still-angry eyes and gave her my most unrepentant smirk.

“Now be a good wife and try again.”

Then I slammed back into her, deep and relentless, determined to turn every future scream into exactly what I wanted to hear.

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