SEALED HEARTS

MATURE CONTENT !!!

𝐑𝐮𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The sound of polished Italian leather echoed faintly across the marble as I stepped into Aadyan Zaveri’s office.

Calyx– his office, was all glass and minimalism — sleek lines, curated silence, and a panoramic view of the city that screamed power without needing to say it.

He didn’t bother to look up.

Didn’t need to.

Aadyan Zaveri was already seated at the long table, fingers steepled, a cigarette half-burned in the ashtray beside him. His assistant sat on the far end, scrolling through projections like this was just another regular corporate deal.

It wasn’t.

“Rudransh Singh Chauhan,” Aadyan finally said, voice smooth, dry like old whiskey. “Didn’t think you’d bother showing up in person.”

I dropped into the chair opposite him without waiting for an invitation.

“I don’t let my rivals meet my allies without me.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “So Eren told you.”

“Eren tells me what I need to know.”

He leaned back in his chair, amused.

“Then you must already know I’ve got a dinner date with Vikram Rathore tonight.”

I didn’t blink. “Cancel it.”

Aadyan raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think that I’ll do it?”

“Because he’s not good enough.”

I met his gaze, calm and unflinching.

“And I can give you everything you’re looking for.”

His laugh was short. Hollow. “I’m not looking for anything.”

“Everyone’s looking for something.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table now. The room suddenly felt sharper.

“You think because you’ve got your name buried under charities and solar projects, no one knows the filth you’re built on?” His voice was almost gentle.

“I might not have a face in the newspapers, Rudransh, but don’t pretend yours is clean.”

I smiled, cold. “Then you’ve done your homework.”

His eyes narrowed, still gleaming. “So have you.”

Silence hung between us for a second. A silent agreement.

“Fair enough,” I said. “We’ve both done the digging. Let’s talk numbers now. You sign with me, and I’ll give you whatever you want — all five virtues, shareholder rights, unlimited crossover into the Mideast zone. Any contract. Any backing. Day one, I make the call.”

He studied me for a long breath, then nodded slowly. “You’ll have your deal.”

“But—”

His fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the table. “I need something in return.”

I waited.

“I need you to arrange a contract with Vardhan & Sons.”

I blinked once. “Ajeet Vardhan?”

A faint shift in his expression.

Interesting.

“You do know he’s small scale, right?” I said, watching him now, closer.

“He doesn’t bring much to the table. Not your level. Not mine.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

His voice didn’t change. But his jaw tightened. Subtle. Only someone trained to read tension in silence would notice.

I noticed.

Still, I didn’t push. I wasn’t here to care about his motives.

“Done,” I said. “You’ll get your meeting.”

Aadyan nodded once. “Then you’ll get your deal.”

We both stood. Didn’t shake hands. We weren’t that kind of civil.

But I turned one last time before walking out.

“You’re playing a long game, Zaveri,” I said, voice low.

He smirked again, slower this time. “Aren’t we all?”

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

God, I was exhausted.

Three hours of calls, two hours of reports, and one miserable reminder — I promised her I’d pick her up from the hospital today.

And I failed. Again.

“Shit…” I muttered, tightening my grip on the steering wheel as I pulled into the mansion's driveway.

“I swear, God... if she scolds me today by taunting me as Gussail aadmi. I deserve it.”

I ran a hand through my hair, already picturing her face — that pout, those sharp eyes, the sarcastic ‘haan haan Mr. Gussail Singh Chauhan’.

How the hell does she even know these words?

I missed her.

God, I missed her so damn much.

I wanted to just drop everything and run to her — crash into our room, hold her face, kiss her breathless, and just feel her again. I hadn't seen her properly today. Messages, missed calls, a rushed smile while dropping her off — that wasn’t enough. Not for the woman who’d messed up my entire existence and made it better.

I parked, grabbed my keys, and stepped out. The clock in the hallway read 11:02 p.m.

Shit. She must be asleep.

She had evening shift today — she would've returned by seven.

I walked up the stairs quietly, unbuttoning my cuffs, pulling my tie loose. My body was dead weight, but my chest? It was pounding. I unlocked the door, already rehearsing the apology.

And then…

There she was.

Legs up against the headboard, scrolling on her phone, her hair sprawled everywhere like chaos incarnate. She was wearing my oversized grey T-shirt — the one that almost touched her knees — and a pair of those tiny shorts that barely counted as fabric.

My tired brain short-circuited.

She turned as she heard the door creak, and the second our eyes met — she grinned. Wide. Bright. Unapologetically happy.

"Rudranshhh!" she squealed.

Before I could even drop my bag, she jumped off the bed like a storm and sprinted across the room.

I didn’t even think. I opened my arms, and she rammed into me like she’d waited her whole day to do just that.

I caught her.

Lifted her.

And spun her in a full princess twirl — because hell, if anyone deserved it, it was this girl in my arms.

Her laughter filled the room — high, soft, magical.

And with every spin, every breath, everything inside me just… calmed.

“Rainbow.… baby, I missed you,” I whispered into her neck, holding her tight. “I missed you so much.”

She buried her face in my shoulder. Her arms wrapped tight around my neck.

I held her longer than necessary.

And when I finally stopped, she looked up at me with that look — that look — the one that said, she missed me too.

I cupped her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone, brushing that wild strand away. She looked at me like I was her whole world.

I felt like it too.

So I kissed her.

First on the forehead.

Then her nose.

Then her lips — soft, slow, nothing rushed — just home.

“Hey, grumpy man,” she whispered, hands still tangled in my collar.

I breathed back. “Hey, shona.”

She gave me the smallest, sleepiest smile.

That was it.

That’s all it took to make me forget every damn email, every deal, every meeting. My whole world was wearing my t-shirt, giggling in my arms, barefoot and beautiful.

And God… I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

After changing and having dinner with her in my arms. I was finally back to bed. Still wrapped around her.

She was curled into my side, her head on my chest, legs tangled with mine, tracing the veins on my hand. She was pressing lazy kisses on the back of my hand.

And then…

“Imagine…” she murmured between kisses, “what if we never got married?”

My brows pulled together.

“…Huh?”

She didn’t even look up. Just casually kept kissing my hand like she hadn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb into the calm.

“Why are you asking that?” I asked, suspicious, eyes narrowing slightly.

She shrugged, still all soft and innocent. “No reason. Just imagine.”

I stared at the ceiling, sighing through my nose. “Okay. Fine. I’m imagining.”

A few seconds passed in silence.

Then—

“So?” she asked sweetly.

I turned to look at her. “…So what?”

“You imagined?” Her voice was light. Too light.

“…Yeah. You told me to.”

And that… that was my mistake.

Because the very next moment, her entire vibe changed. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed into a pout that could bring kingdoms to their knees.

“So you imagined yourself with another girl?”

I blinked. Sat up slightly, confused. “What? No! You literally told me to imagine—”

“Oh, so you couldn’t wait, huh?” she snapped, pulling her hand away.

“You instantly imagined your life without me? Wow, Rudransh. Wow.”

My jaw dropped. “Rainbow —what the— You just said to imagine—!”

“But you wanted someone else, right?” she accused, eyes shooting daggers at me now.

“That’s why it was so easy for you to picture your life without me. I was over here kissing your hand like a good wife, and you were off on your bachelor fantasy!”

“I was not!” I exclaimed, flustered out of my damn mind.

“I imagined you—wait—hold on! What is this?! Is this one of those emotional traps again?!”

She turned away with a dramatic huff. “Don’t talk to me.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “You literally started this.”

“And you ended it. By cheating on me.”

“What the—Rainbow!”

She crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes like she was judging me from the Supreme Court, and then—

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

I blinked. “What? Why?!”

She sniffed, dramatically tossing her hair. “Because my husband is too busy imagining life with some other girl and I can’t breathe the same air she does.”

My mouth fell open. “Aarohi—what are you even saying—?”

“No, no. Don’t ‘Aarohi’ me now,” she snapped, already grabbing one of the pillows on the bed with the grace of a warrior.

“Baby, I swea–”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me either.”

“You had your golden chance to say, ‘No, rainbow, I can’t imagine a life without you. Not even for a second.’ But no. You just said, ‘Okay. Imagined.’

So quick. So excited. So not guilty.”

I sat up, completely baffled. “Because you told me to! You literally told me to imagine—”

“Oh, now it’s my fault you betrayed me?” She glared, winding up like a pitcher—

Thump.

The pillow hit me square in the chest.

Deadpan, I stared at her. “You’re arguing over a hypothetical situation you created.”

“Exactly!” she shouted, arms flailing. “I created it. And you failed the test! Miserably!”

Next thing I know, she’s grabbing my second pillow and shoving it into my arms.

“Get out. Couch. Now.”

I blinked again. “You’re throwing me out of our bed?”

“I’m throwing you out of my heart, Rudransh Singh Chauhan,” she declared, like she was on stage. “And the bed is just collateral damage.”

“Okay, first of all, that was hot.” I tried to maybe distract her but her eyes were still the same, on the verge of killing me just with that look.

I let out a groan, dragging myself off the bed like a prisoner sent into exile. “You’re insane.”

“I’m your wife, remember?” she called, as I shuffled to the couch. “The same one you forgot in your imagination!”

I dropped onto the couch with a dramatic thud, muttering, “Next time I’m just gonna imagine a brick wall instead.”

From the bed, I heard her shout back, “At least the wall won’t betray you!”

God help me.

I stared at the ceiling for a second. My life. My woman. My chaotic, overdramatic, makes-no-sense-until-she-does, everything.

I got up and padded back to the bed like a defeated soldier.

She was already tucked in, blanket up to her nose, pretending to watch reels with an attitude that could kill.

I crouched beside her, brushing a hand over the blanket.

“Rainbow.”

No answer.

“Baby, come on. Please.”

Still nothing. Just her eyes peeking out like a grumpy squirrel.

I exhaled. “It was you, you shona. I imagined you. Just not in this house. Not married. Not in my shirt, stealing the blanket and my sanity every night.”

She sniffled. Once.

My heart stalled. “Wait… are you crying?”

Another sniffle. Louder.

I panicked. “No, no. Baby. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she whispered, very much crying.

She sniffled again, a little louder this time. “I just didn’t think it would hurt so much. Even in a fake scenario... you picked someone else so easily.”

I sat on the floor beside the bed, head in my hands. “God, I can fight anyone. Literally anyone. But I cannot fight your imagination.”

She peeked at me again, glassy-eyed. “So… you admit defeat?”

“I admit I’m the dumbest husband alive if I ever make you feel second to anything. Even in your own made-up soap opera.”

She blinked at me. “You mean that?”

I cupped her face gently. Her cheeks were warm, soft, flushed from both fake anger and real emotion.

“There’s no version of life where I want anyone else,” I said softly. “You’re it for me. The endgame. The drama. The fire. The calm. You.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and I swear my chest cracked open a little.

“Can I come back, baby?” I whispered. “Please.”

She mumbled, “Only if you promise not to imagine anyone else either.”

I smirked. “I’m too busy surviving the chaos that is you. No one else has the stamina.”

She let out a small, watery laugh. Victory.

I leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose.

“I imagined you in every version of my life,” I whispered. “Married, unmarried, stranger, enemy… you were always there, Shona. Even when you weren’t.”

She just giggled.

“There’s my girl,” I murmured.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me halfway into the bed.

And just like that, my exile was over.

God bless emotional blackmail.

Tugging her closer. “Stop being mad. You’re the only girl I’ve ever imagined. Even when I didn’t like you, it was still you.”

She snorted quietly. That was a good sign. Very good.

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” she muttered.

“It’s the best I can do,” I mumbled. “I’m exhausted, baby. I missed you so much today, and now I’m being punished for obeying your command. This is domestic terrorism.”

I nuzzled her neck, smiling against her skin. “Now please forgive me, Mrs. Chauhan, before I cry on your shoulder and ruin your T-shirt.”

“It’s your T-shirt,” she replied, turning in my arms.

“Exactly. So the tragedy hits twice.”

She laughed — that full, real one. The one I was living for lately.

I cupped her face and leaned in, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

She stared at me for a second, and then… melted.

And as she looped her arms around my neck, pulling me in for another kiss, I knew — no amount of late meetings or stupid hypotheticals could ever shake what we had.

Even if she drives me crazy.

Especially because she does.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Rudransh was asleep.

His breath, soft and steady, fanned against my neck. One of his arms was flung across my back, holding me like I was a part of his body. Fused. Melted. His fingers were curled lightly around my waist.

I shifted just slightly to face him. His face was so close. The shadows danced softly over his cheekbones, his jaw… and there it was — the small furrow between his brows. Always there. Always tense. Even in dreams.

I smiled.

Raising my hand, I let my fingers trace the line gently. The moment I touched it, it relaxed just a little. But there was still a faint crease. One that refused to leave.

Just like the unease in my chest.

It had been… what? Minutes? Hours? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that sleep felt distant. Out of reach. The bookstore, the man in black, the other one — stranger — his voice, the grip of his fingers, that strange stillness in him… it all kept flickering through my mind like a slideshow I didn’t ask for.

Maybe I’m making something out of nothing. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe it was just a weird coincidence.

But the way my spine had straightened, the way every hair on the back of my neck had stood up — that wasn’t my imagination. Something about it didn’t feel… right.

Should I tell Rudransh?

I turned my gaze back to him.

Even asleep, he looked exhausted. There was a tiredness on his face that went deeper than just physical. I knew there was some problem at the office — something about a deal, some big mess he hadn’t shared with me. And yet, he still sent me voice notes, still listened to my rants, still picked fights with me over the dumbest things just to make me laugh.

He had a million things on his plate, and I… I just didn’t want to add more.

I let out a soft breath.

It’s okay. It’s probably nothing. Don’t overthink it, Aarohi. Not tonight.

I looked at him again, a familiar ache settling behind my ribs. God, how much does this man loved me? How much does he do just to make sure I feel safe, seen, spoiled?

I remembered how I had pushed him into that silly little fight earlier — the whole imagination scene. I knew he’d never, ever imagine anyone but me. I knew how stupidly whipped he was.

And still, I did it.

Just to see the stress ease off his shoulders. Just to feel the comfort of his flustered laugh. Just to know I still had that effect on him.

Keep your man on his toes. Right!

My throat felt tight suddenly.

That overwhelming kind of love — the one that catches you off guard when you’re lying in the dark beside the person who’s unknowingly your entire universe. That one.

I reached out again, brushing the tip of my finger along the bridge of his nose.

His hold on me instantly tightened, his arm pulling me closer.

I giggled softly.

Leaning forward, I pressed a gentle kiss to the space between his brows. The crease deepened for a second… then slowly, it eased.

I didn’t say anything.

I turned in his arms, resting my back against his chest, his warmth wrapping around me like a blanket.

I closed my eyes, trying to let sleep take over.

But my thoughts… they drifted again.

Back to that man.

Back to that feeling.

Something didn’t sit right.

And no matter how much I told myself I was okay — something in my heart… wasn’t.

His arm was under my head — thick, warm, unmoving — a pillow carved out of the man who was becoming mine.

It was almost 1 a.m. The quiet of the room hummed in the background while the thoughts in my head refused to stay quiet.

His hand — the one I was resting against — was open beside me, his fingers splayed slightly across the mattress. I let mine trace over the veins running along his hand. They were everywhere. Bold, strong, beautiful. I didn’t know why, but there was something about following those lines with my fingertip that always made my mind feel… quieter.

Like I was grounding myself.

I’d been doing this for… I don’t know, half an hour? An hour?

Still awake.

Still… unsettled.

I sighed under my breath, just softly enough.

And then I felt him shift behind me.

His other arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer, and I stiffened for half a second before his lips brushed against the side of my neck.

“Can't sleep?” he murmured, voice all gravel and heat and half-asleep.

My eyes widened. I didn’t realize he was awake.

“You’re up?” I asked quietly, biting down on the panic threatening to rise in my chest.

He hummed, nuzzling a little closer.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I said.

“You didn’t,” he mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

I paused.

So many things. None I could say.

“Nothing,” I whispered instead. “Just… after coming home, I dozed off for two-three hours. Guess I’m not sleepy anymore.”

That was a lie. Not completely, but enough.

“That’s not you,” he said, voice a little more alert now. “You can sleep for twenty-four hours straight and still be sleepy.”

I let out a breath of a laugh. Soft. He was trying to tease me. I didn’t reply.

Behind me, I felt his arm tighten.

“Baby,” he said again, low.

“Is something bothering you?”

I swallowed. Hard.

If I told him… if I told him about the shadow, about how I couldn’t shake off the feeling even now…

He wouldn’t sleep.

And he already barely did.

“No,” I whispered, kissing the inside of his arm.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

His fingers moved across my waist.

I squeezed my eyes shut and said nothing else.

His breathing evened out. His grip on my waist loosened just a little.

Maybe he was drifting off.

But just as my eyes fluttered shut, his hand moved.

Slipped beneath the hem of my T-shirt, fingers grazing the skin of my stomach.

I stilled. Every part of me.

My breath hitched, my lips parted, but no sound came out.

I was about to turn around, to ask him what he was doing — but before I could even move, his arm tightened around me, locking me in place.

“Don’t,” he murmured, voice low, rough against the shell of my ear.

“Rudransh,” I managed, barely above a whisper, “What are you…”

“Making you fall asleep,” he said, his words so lazy and laced with that signature gruffness it made my heart trip.

I shifted, uneasy. “You should sleep. I’m fine.”

But he leaned in, lips brushing over the curve of my ear. “Shhh. Let me do what I want. Hmm?”

I swallowed.

Didn’t respond.

Couldn’t, really.

His palm splayed across my stomach now, and then moved — slow, deliberate circles, his thumb ghosting over the dip above my navel. The heat of his skin seeped into mine, and though part of me still reeled from the thoughts of earlier, my body began to betray me.

I felt my breath slow.

The tightness in my chest ease.

The soft trail of his fingers across my ribs… across my waist… he was slowly undoing the knot of anxiety I had tied myself in.

I should’ve stopped him. He was tired. He’d worked all day. He’d come home to my mood swings and late-night sulking. He deserved sleep.

His fingers slid up, brushing just beneath the curve of my breast, and my spine arched—traitorous and wanting. He didn’t rush. Rudransh never did. He waited for me to fall apart on my own.

The way the warmth was pooling low in my belly with every brush of his knuckles… What is wrong with me?

And then his thigh moved between mine, fitting perfectly. More heat surged low in my belly.

He was barely touching me and yet I was drowning.

“What are you doing ?” I finally whispered, my voice breathless, trembling even though I meant it to sound cold.

His chuckle was a low growl. “I haven’t even started.”

I bit my lip. Hard.

I felt his fingers slide along my inner thigh, slow, unhurried, knowing. My legs instinctively pressed together—but it was useless. He was already in control.

His hand slid under my shorts, palm warm against my bare skin, fingers brushing upward with maddening patience. “Do you know what it does to me when you tremble like that?” he asked.

My breath hitched.

I didn’t stop him when his fingers traced lazy circles around that aching bundle of nerves. I didn’t stop him when he kissed the side of my neck, soft, then biting.

I didn’t stop him when my body broke its silence and my hips moved against his hand.

I turned slightly, just enough to rest my temple against his.

“Rudransh…you're tired.” My voice barely above a whisper.

“And I’ll get more tired if I don’t see you fall asleep in my arms.” He whispered back, his voice was still sleepy.

The way he said it — almost as if sleep was a sacrifice he was willing to make, just to make sure I was okay.

I turned my face toward him, eyes locking onto the man whose fingers knew my body better than I did, whose presence could calm the storm and ignite it in the same breath.

I was about to say something—

“Don’t,” he whispered, brushing his lips against my cheek, “Don’t say anything. Just feel me.”

I gasped when his fingers hooked into my underwear—slowly, deliberately—and pulled it down, inch by inch, never breaking contact with my skin.

“Rudransh…” I whispered, barely. A prayer. A plea. A warning I knew he wouldn’t heed.

He hummed low, his nose trailing a line from the base of my throat to the soft spot beneath my ear.

“I’ve been patient,” he breathed.

“But this…” – he slapped my core lightly, my eyes widened, “—this belongs to me.”

His fingers danced between my thighs, feather-light, until my breath caught and my hips rolled into his hand without thinking. My back arched into him, and that’s when he moved—shifting slightly until he was propped on one elbow, hovering just above, his lips grazing the skin of my shoulder.

“I want to see you fall apart again,” he whispered.

Then he moved to my neck.

Soft kisses at first. Feather-light, like he was memorizing my skin all over again. And then—he bit. Gentle at first. Then harder. Deeper. Just enough to leave the kind of bruise that would bloom in the morning. A mark that said: mine.

I shuddered.

He moved lower. Another kiss. Another bite. Right where my neck met my collarbone. I let out a sound—broken and desperate—as he pulled back to look at his handiwork.

A satisfied, sinful grin stretched across his face. “Perfect,” he muttered. “Now everyone will know who you belong to.”

His fingers slipped lower again, dipping between my folds. I was soaked—undeniably, embarrassingly ready. His thumb pressed, circled, teased. The gasp that left me was involuntary, shame and desire dancing in my chest like wildfire.

“You always fight me,” he whispered, kissing the top of my spine, dragging his tongue lightly along my shoulder, “but your body… baby, your body never lies to me.”

And when I turned to look at him—eyes glassy, lips parted, skin flushed—he leaned down, brushing his lips against mine but not kissing me.

Not yet.

“I want to taste the sound you make when you fall apart in my arms,” he said, voice rough and ragged, hungry. “And I won’t stop until I do.”

Breathless, hazy, I rolled to face him, my palm landing flat on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. His fingers never stopped. Not even when I looked him in the eye with trembling lips and half-lidded eyes. Not even when my thighs clenched around his hand.

I reached down, grabbed his wrist, not to stop him—but to feel it. To control it. To anchor myself to him.

My other hand moved to his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to make him growl low in his throat. I felt his muscles tense under my touch, his jaw clench, his eyes darken with something animalistic. And then—

“Oh, fuck, baby…” he hissed, voice thick, rough silk wrapped in fire. “You look like sin begging to be touched.”

He leaned in, lips brushing mine—but he didn’t kiss me. Not yet. He was teasing. Playing.

“Rudransh…” I whined, squirming beneath him.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured against my mouth, his voice a dark, delicious dare.

Then his fingers curled just right — and I gasped, my back arching off the bed like I’d been struck by lightning. “Didn’t think so.”

My nails raked down his chest, frantic. “Please…” I breathed, shame crumbling into hunger.

“Please what?” he purred, still moving inside me. His thumb pressed down with maddening precision.

“Please… let me…” My voice broke, shattered by pleasure.

“Let you what?”

And then — two fingers thrust deep. All at once.

I cried out, my body jerking, hips chasing his touch like he was oxygen.

I was trembling, my lips parted, breath ragged, pleasure curling and tightening so fast I could barely hold on.

His fingers moved inside me like sin — precise, relentless and just when the heat was about to snap.

He pulled away.

My entire body jerked, a strangled whimper tearing from my throat as the sudden emptiness hit like a slap.

“Rudransh…” I gasped, my voice cracking in disbelief.

He leaned over me, face shadowed, eyes dark with that consuming fire he tried so hard to hide from the world but never from me. His fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him.

“You think you get to fall apart,” he whispered, “without telling me what you want?”

I shook my head , more in confusion than denial.

He tilted his head. “Say you need me. Say you want it. Say it, rainbow.”

I looked away, cheeks flushed, pride clawing at my throat. But my hips shifted instinctively, needing friction, needing him. God, I was soaked. Aching.

Still, I stayed silent.

So he made it worse.

He grabbed my wrists, pinned them above my head, and pressed his body flush against mine — his thigh still between mine, his clothed hardness nudging where I needed him the most.

And then… he just stilled.

No movement. No touch. Just… control.

“You’re going to beg for it,” he murmured into my ear.

“Because you don’t get to pretend you don’t need me when your body is screaming for it.”

I whimpered, the tension was unbearable. My thighs clenched around nothing. I could barely breathe.

“Please…” I finally whispered.

He didn’t move. “Not enough.”

I shut my eyes, humiliated and aroused all at once.

“Please, Rudransh… I need it. I need you,” I gasped.

“Please don’t stop. I want your fingers. Your mouth. Everything. Just… just touch me.”

A beat of silence.

Then a dark smirk brushed against my skin.

“There she is.”

The moment the plea fell from my lips raw, desperate, real something shifted in him.

His grip tightened on my wrists. His eyes, already dark, turned feral.

And then he moved.

There was no hesitation now. His fingers returned, but this time with a punishing rhythm — deep, precise, relentless. The sound of slick heat echoed between us, obscene and utterly shameless.

“Is this what you needed, baby?” he growled against my neck. I nodded breathless.

“You begged for it — now take it.”

I choked on a moan, my body arching wildly, helpless against the force of it all.

His thumb pressed against my clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles, synced perfectly with the way his fingers were destroying me. My muscles were coiled so tight it almost hurt. Every brush of his skin was fire. Every breath was a war.

I was gone.

“Rudransh—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, his lips now at my ear, warm breath sending another tremor through me.

“You’re going to come for me. Right now.”

He looked down at me.

“You think I can stop loving you just because you won’t say it back?” he growled.

“You think this,” he thrust his fingers one more time, slow and deep, “is about just touching you?”

I gasped, my body seizing under him.

“It’s not,” he whispered against my neck, voice trembling with restraint.

“It’s about claiming you. About showing you I’ll still choose you—even after hell, even after war, even when you won’t meet me halfway.”

My lips parted, but he caught them this time. And this kiss—this was destruction. Tongues tangled, teeth clashed, breaths stolen. It was everything we’d never said. Everything I’d locked away.

He kissed me like I was air. And he was drowning.

And God… when he finally pulled away, breathless and wild, his words shattered me.

“You’re mine, rainbow. Even when you fight me. Even when you run. I’ll always find my way back between these thighs. Into your breath. Into your soul.”

And with one final thrust just there, right there.

I shattered.

My release hit like a wave crashing through my spine, my thighs clenching around his wrist as I cried out, completely undone. My body convulsed, pleasure spilling out of me in ragged sobs as my back arched off the bed, my legs shaking uncontrollably.

He didn’t stop until I collapsed against the sheets, boneless, trembling and utterly spent.

Only then did he slow.

His grip on my wrists eased, fingers loosening, hands now softer. He pulled my hand free, bringing it up to his mouth to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. My chest still heaved, my skin flushed, my limbs too weak to move.

He leaned down, brushing kisses across my forehead… my cheek… the tip of my nose.

Then he sat back, knees on either side of my trembling thighs, and lifted my head gently with both hands.

“Come here,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against my damp cheek. “Drink this first.”

He reached over to the side table, grabbing the glass and half-full water bottle. Pouring slowly, carefully. Then he returned, sitting close, cradling the back of my head as he brought the glass to my lips.

“Sip by sip, baby,” he whispered.

My hands were trembling too much to hold anything, so he held it for me. Tipping the glass with slow precision, he watched as I swallowed, some water slipping past the corner of my lips. He caught it with his thumb, wiping it away with the same tenderness as he always showed.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, as if I’d just done something so commendable. His other hand cupped my cheek, rubbing soft circles into my skin, grounding me, anchoring me back to the earth after floating somewhere far away. Literally floating.

He leaned down, brushing kisses across my forehead… my cheek… the tip of my nose.

“You did so good, baby,” he whispered against my temple, his voice hoarse with emotion now. “So fucking beautiful.”

I whimpered something unintelligible, still floating, still shaking.

“Shhh…” he hushed me, setting the glass aside and gathering me into his arms. One of his hands ran down my spine, soothing. The other cradled my head to his chest, where his heart beat steady, strong and mine.

His lips moved across my face, not missing a single inch. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And slowly… finally… my body began to relax again. Not from exhaustion.

But from him.

And then—he kissed my forehead again.

So soft.

So gentle.

It shattered me more than the high he’d just given.

He didn’t ask for anything in return. Didn’t shift to take, or demand, or chase what he easily could’ve had.

He just laid beside me.

The silence between us was loud. His breathing still ragged.

But I saw the tension in his jaw. The way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard. The way his chest rose a little too quickly.

This man.

This devastatingly beautiful, handsome, maddening man.

Laid beside me.

And I saw it—God, I saw it all.

The tight line of his jaw.

The faint tremble in his fingers.

The exhaustion behind his eyes that he tried so hard to mask.

And still, he put me first. Always.

He touched me , gave me what I didn’t know I needed. Even when he broke me apart, he made sure I was ok.

He could’ve rolled over. Closed his eyes. Fallen asleep with the satisfaction of having unraveled every inch of me.

But he didn’t.

He watched.

He waited.

He made sure I was okay.

Because in his world, my comfort would always matter more than his own.

I shifted closer, barely a breath between us now. My hand wrapped around his waist, and immediately, his arm came around my back, pulling me in tighter. He kissed my forehead again.

That one kiss was his answer.

Always.

Even without words.

And as I laid there, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, a thought hit me so hard it almost made my throat close—

What did I do to deserve him?

This grumpy, stubborn, ridiculously hot man who acts like the world can burn but God forbid I stub my toe.

He breaks bones for the ones he loves but softens his entire soul just for me.

He burns bright and brutal outside, but when it comes to me, he's nothing but worship and warmth.

And in that moment… I wanted to give. Not because I had to. But because I wanted to. For him.

So I turned, slowly, my fingers finding his waist. His body tensed slightly. Not in resistance—but surprise. I paused, my hand resting there, skin brushing skin.

Then I moved lower.

Lower.

He sucked in a breath—sharp, guttural—like it had caught him off guard.

“Rainbow…” he warned, voice rough. A rasp barely hanging on to control.

But I didn’t stop.

My hand slipped beneath the band of his pants, trembling but determined. I was scared. Not of him—but of myself. Of how much I wanted to make him feel what he always made me feel.

His hips jolted, just a fraction, as my palm curved over him.

His breath hitched. “Fuck… baby…” he groaned, biting down on a moan.

The sound was lethal. Masculine. Starved.

He clenched his eyes shut, his hand grabbing my wrist—not to stop me, but just to hold on.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered, voice shaking, “what you are doing, to me?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the way he looked at me—raw, dazed, completely unguarded—it was enough.

“I swear to god,” he said, resting his forehead against mine, “the day you let me have all of you… rainbow, I won’t let you walk for days.”

And yet—he didn’t move. Didn’t push.

His skin was hot beneath my fingertips.

Every inch of me shook, but I didn’t stop not when his breath hitched, not when his hand gripped my wrist, not even when his voice, thick with restraint, whispered, “You don’t have to, baby…”

I looked up, into those stormy, stormy eyes.

“I want to.”

And I meant it.

Because God, this man, he’d touched me like I was precious, I was his prayer. He never rushed. Never demanded. He gave. Always.

Now it was my turn.

So I slid my hand down gently, nervously until I wrapped my fingers around him. And the sound he made—raw, strangled—shot straight through me.

His jaw clenched so hard, I saw the muscles twitch.

I started slow. Up… down… feeling the weight, the heat, the sheer power of him in my hands. My thumb brushed over his tip, and his entire body jerked, his hips stuttering off the bed.

“Fuck,” he hissed, dragging a hand over his face. “Baby…”

He was trying so hard not to lose control.

But I could see it.

Feel it.

The tension in his abs, the flex in his thighs, the way his fingers dug into the sheets like he was holding on for dear life.

So I did it again. Faster.

His breath caught, and then he turned to me—really turned. His eyes locked on mine, wild and desperate, and when our gazes met, something cracked wide open between us.

Because I didn’t look away.

Not this time.

I watched him.

Watched the way his lashes fluttered, the way his lips parted, the way that perfect muscle in his neck strained when I squeezed just right.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice rougher than gravel.

I kept going. My pace quickened, movements bolder now, more confident.

His moans were low and broken. And so beautiful.

This grumpy, controlled, six-foot something man was coming undone by my touch—and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

He grabbed the back of my neck suddenly, pulling my forehead to his.

“I’ve never—fuck, baby —never felt this wrecked. You touch me like you own me.”

I smiled. Innocent. Dangerous.

And whispered against his lips, “Maybe I do.”

His forehead pressed against mine, breath ragged, lips barely touching as I moved my hand with purpose—faster now, firmer. I could feel him twitching, pulsing, like his entire body was on edge, ready to snap.

He was so close.

“Fuck… baby…” he grunted, his voice laced with something that was both agony and pleasure.

“You’re gonna make me come in your hand.”

The words did something to me—sent a shiver down my spine that made my thighs clench, my chest rise with something deep, primal.

And still, I didn’t stop. My pace quickened.

His grip on the sheets turned brutal. His abs tightened under my free hand. His eyes squeezed shut, head falling back as his jaw clenched.

So beautiful.

So powerful.

So completely undone.

I whispered his name, soft, sweet—“Rudransh…”—and that’s what broke him.

He let out a groan so guttural, so raw, it felt like it came from the very depths of his chest. His hips bucked, his entire body shuddering as he spilled into my hand, breath hitching in stutters and curses as I stroked him through it.

I slowed my pace, gentler now, coaxing every last tremble from his body until he was spent.

And then he collapsed.

Not dramatically. Not loudly.

Just… folded.

His forehead dropped to my shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around my waist like he was afraid I’d vanish. His breath came in heavy pants, his nose buried in the crook of my neck.

I held him.

Just held him.

One hand still gently curled around his waist, the other running through his hair as he calmed down. As he tried to remember how to breathe.

“I’ve never,” he murmured, voice muffled against my skin, “never come that hard in my life.”

I smiled against his temple. “Good.”

He chuckled, low and breathless, his lips brushing my collarbone. “You’ve ruined me, baby.”

I kissed his forehead.

Soft. Quiet. Certain.

“I was meant to.”

He stayed curled into me, his arms locked tight around my waist. My fingers continued threading through his thick, slightly damp hair, and every now and then, I felt the softest kiss against my collarbone.

“You okay?” I whispered.

He nodded against my skin. Then, after a pause, lifted his head just enough to look at me. His eyes—dark, glossy, full of so many emotions he never said aloud—searched mine.

Then, in that low, husky voice of his, he murmured, “Come here.”

I blinked. “I am here.”

He shook his head, a faint smirk curving his lips.

“No. Here.”

His hand slid to my hip and tugged me gently on top of him.

Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

I landed softly against him, straddling his waist, and the moment I did, his hands came up to cradle my face so softly—like I wasn’t just the woman who had made him come undone, but the woman who held every piece of him afterward.

He kissed my shoulder first.

Then my jaw.

Then my cheek.

And finally, my lips. Slow. Unhurried. Deep.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced my bottom lip.

“You’re my peace, rainbow…” he whispered, his voice laced with something reverent.

“My fire. My chaos. My calm. I don’t even know what the fuck you’ve done to me, but I don’t want it to stop.”

My chest tightened.

And maybe he saw the emotion flooding my eyes, because he cupped my face tighter and pressed our foreheads together.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I’ll keep saying it. Even if you don’t say it back. Even if it takes a lifetime. I’ll say it ‘til you believe it.”

My fingers curled around his wrists.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

Because even in all this heat… all this desire… he gave me warmth.

He gave me safety.

He gave me himself.

And when I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum like a war inside his ribcage… I finally let myself breathe.

His hand slowly glided up my back, fingers slipping beneath my loose tee as he held me tighter against his chest. I thought he’d sleep. I thought I’d melted him too much for anything more.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

I shivered.

“Your hand on me like that?” he exhaled a shaky breath, lips grazing the shell of my ear.

“I could fucking feel your innocence cracking with every stroke. And baby…”

He nipped my neck.

“…it was so fucking beautiful to watch.”

I swallowed hard, thighs tightening around his hips instinctively.

He noticed.

“Yeah,” he chuckled darkly, “you liked that, didn’t you? You liked making me lose control. Watching me fall apart for you.”

His hand slid lower—just above my ass—gripping me with possessive heat.

“I was this close to flipping you over and fucking you right there. Spilling into that tight little body until you forgot your own name… until all you knew was mine.”

“Rudransh…” I breathed, voice barely audible.

He growled.

“Say it again. Like you did earlier. When you were shaking in my arms, breathless, needy, begging with just your voice.” He kissed my throat.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me, rainbow. When you look up at me with those wide, desperate eyes…”

Another kiss. Lower.

“…when your lips part, and I know exactly what you need, even if you won’t say it out loud…”

My breath hitched.

“I dream about it,” he whispered. “Your mouth on me. Your legs wrapped around my shoulders. Your voice breaking when I make you scream.”

His hand slid beneath my thigh now, stroking the inside so slow I nearly gasped.

“But I won’t take you. Not yet. You’re not just s€% to me. You’re everything. And when I finally have you…”

He kissed me deep.

“…I’ll ruin you in the best fucking way.”

My face turned red, I buried myself on his chest. He chuckled softly. His fingers massaging my scalp. Then he kissed the top of my head and whispered,

“Goodnight, baby.”

I smiled, nodding against his chest. I closed my eyes.

His heartbeat, against my ear.

My calm. My chaos.

And maybe…just maybe my grumpy man.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼