Haathon mein mehndi,

aur chehre pe haldi ka noor…

Har rasam mein bas tum hi tum ho.

Aaj hasi bhi hai,

aur halki si sharam bhi…

kyuki kal se,

main tumhari ho jaaungi poori tarah.

This chapter contains explicit adult content, including detailed descriptions of oral sex (fellatio), swallowing, sensual exploration, dirty talk, and intense emotional intimacy between a newly engaged couple. It includes themes of deep love, vulnerability, possessiveness, and post-engagement passion in an Indian context.

Strictly 18+ only.

If graphic sexual scenes or intense emotional intimacy make you uncomfortable, please skip this chapter.

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Arshan stepped closer, his expression no longer casual—there was sharp intent in his eyes now, something calculated.

“Bhai… your marriage is in a few days,” he said quietly. “Let me handle this.”

Riddhimaan didn’t respond immediately. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, jaw tight, as if weighing something heavier than just a deal.

“But I gave him my word, Arshan,” he finally said, voice low. “I don’t break promises.”

A pause.

“And these Blackston brothers… they’re not normal. They’re insane.”

Arshan let out a slow breath, nodding slightly. “I know. That’s why I’m saying this.”

He tilted his head just a little, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“I can keep them in place.”

Riddhimaan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his brows lifting in quiet challenge. “How?”

Arshan’s smirk deepened—dangerous this time.

“By using their weakness.”

A beat.

“Their obsession with a woman.”

Riddhimaan went still.

His expression hardened almost instantly.

“This isn’t a game, Arshan,” he said sharply. “These aren’t players you manipulate for fun.”

His voice dropped, more serious now.

“What if something happens to Yasmin?”

For a moment—

Arshan didn’t smile.

Didn’t joke.

He just answered, steady and firm.

“She can defend herself.”

A pause.

“I trust her.”

Silence stretched between them.

Heavy.

Because this wasn’t just strategy—

this was risk.

And not just any risk.

A woman’s life.

Riddhimaan exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair, frustration and conflict flickering across his face.

He didn’t like it.

Didn’t trust it.

But he also knew—

Arshan wasn’t reckless without reason.

Finally, he looked at him, eyes still sharp but resigned.

“Do whatever you want.”

A warning. Not permission. Because if anything went wrong—there would be consequences.

Severe ones.

And Arshan knew it.

The smirk returned—but softer this time, more controlled.

Because this move—wasn’t just dangerous. It was a gamble with fire.

And in their world—fire either warmed…or burned everything to ashes.

Riddhimaan sent the message without hesitation, his words short but decisive—Arshan will handle it. There was no room for doubt in his tone, no space for argument. Once he decided, it was final.

Miles away, in Italy, Dante glanced at his phone when it buzzed. His sharp eyes scanned the message, but his face remained unreadable. No reaction. No reply. Just a quiet acceptance settling in—because if Riddhimaan had stepped back, it meant he trusted the one stepping in.

But the next day—control slipped.

Dante stood outside his own chamber, the heavy doors shut before him. Not locked. Not guarded.

Claimed.

By her.

The silence in the corridor was suffocating, broken only by the faint sound of movement inside—soft, deliberate, unapologetic. As if she belonged there.

As if it was hers.

Dante’s jaw clenched, a slow breath leaving his lips as his patience thinned to a dangerous edge. His hand twitched at his side, resisting the urge to break the door open.

“Tesoro…” he muttered under his breath, voice dark and laced with restrained fury. “You’re making me lose my temper.”

His gaze hardened, something almost inhuman flickering through his eyes.

“Get ready,” he continued quietly, the calm in his tone far more terrifying than rage. “Because when I start… I’ll make your life hell.”

A pause.

His lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but in warning.

“You don’t even know what kind of demon I am.”

With that, he turned away, his footsteps echoing sharply through the corridor. No one dared stop him. No one dared speak.

Even the bodyguards stood at a distance—

because Dante didn’t need to shout.

Didn’t need to act.

His presence alone was enough to freeze the air.

And today—it carried a storm that hadn’t yet broken… but soon would.

Riddhimaan stepped out into the grand living room of the Shekhawati mansion, his sharp gaze instinctively searching for only one person. The place was alive—maids and servants moving around, some even quietly enjoying leftover cake, their tired faces finally relaxed in celebration. After all, they were human too… not just shadows working endlessly behind the walls.

But Riddhimaan’s focus wasn’t on any of that.

“Where is Krishti?” he asked, his voice calm yet carrying authority, stopping an old maid in her tracks. “In her room?”

The old maid smiled gently, folding her hands in respect. “Sir… you cannot meet her now.”

A few servants nearby failed to hold back their giggles, exchanging knowing looks.

Riddhimaan frowned, confusion quickly turning into irritation. “And why exactly can’t I?”

The maid answered patiently, almost amused at his reaction. “Sir, Ritika ma’am and Jayshree ma’am have instructed… until the wedding rituals are complete, the bride and groom must not see each other.”

Silence.

Then—

his expression changed.

A slight scowl formed, his jaw tightening as his face almost resembled a denied child—one who had just been told he couldn’t have his favorite thing.

And right now—

his favorite thing was Krishti.

His baby girl.

“What kind of ritual is this…” he muttered under his breath, clearly displeased. “We can’t even see each other?”

To him—

this wasn’t tradition.

This was torture.

Pure torture.

Unaware of his misery—or perhaps enjoying it far too much—upstairs, hidden from view, Manvik and Nivaan watched the entire scene unfold.

And the moment they saw his expression—they lost it.

Both of them burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs as they tried (and failed) to stay quiet.

“Look at him!” Nivaan whispered between laughs. “Bhai looks like someone stole his entire kingdom!”

Manvik smirked, shaking his head. “Not kingdom… bhabhi.”

Their laughter echoed softly through the corridor as they leaned against the railing, thoroughly enjoying their brother’s suffering.

Because for once—

the powerful, untouchable Riddhimaan Singh Ranawat—

was helpless.

Defeated.

By rituals.

And by love.

Riddhimaan might have been stopped by rituals… but stopping him from thinking was impossible.

Because while his face still carried that faint scowl of denial, his mind had already moved ahead—cold, precise, planning.

If he couldn’t meet Krishti directly… he would find another way. A quieter way. A smarter way. His gaze lifted slightly, calculating.

Vamika could tell him. She would know where Krishti was kept. Her room, her movements, everything.

But first—he had to find her.

And that, in a mansion like this, filled with people, traditions, and watchful eyes… wasn’t as simple as it sounded.

Still—a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Because difficulty had never stopped him before.

Meanwhile, the reality settled in—both families, the Ranawats and the Shekhawatis, would now stay under one roof. Every ritual, every ceremony, every tradition would take place here… before Krishti would finally be taken to Jaipur Ranawat Mansion as his bride.

And somewhere far away, that very mansion was already preparing for her arrival.

Lit with countless diyas.

Golden lights glowing against the night like a silent promise.

Servants moving endlessly, arranging, decorating, perfecting every corner. Bodyguards and security stood alert, scanning every inch, ensuring no shadow crossed where it shouldn’t.

Because this wasn’t just a wedding.

It was an arrival.

A queen stepping into her empire.

Back in the Shekhawati mansion, Riddhimaan exhaled slowly, slipping his hands into his pockets, his eyes now holding a quiet determination.

Rules could be made.

Traditions could be followed.

But love—love always found a way around them. And tonight—he would find his.

Upstairs, hidden behind the carved railing, Nivaan Ranawat narrowed his eyes slightly as he watched Riddhimaan Singh Ranawat stand there in silence—too silent.

That was never a good sign.

“Something… something is definitely going on in that head,” Nivaan muttered under his breath, suspicion laced with amusement.

Beside him, Manvik didn’t even try to hide his smirk. His arms folded across his chest as he leaned casually against the pillar, eyes glinting with understanding.

“Not something,” he corrected smoothly. “A full plan is cooking.”

Nivaan huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Poor rituals… they really think they can stop him?”

Manvik’s smirk deepened, gaze still fixed below.

“They can delay him,” he said lazily.

A beat.

“But stop him?”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“Never.”

Upstairs, the mischief hadn’t died—it had only begun.

Nivaan tilted his head, eyes still tracking Riddhimaan below, a slow, dangerous grin forming on his lips.

“What if bhai actually finds bhabhi room?” he said, voice laced with curiosity—and pure chaos.

Beside him, Manvik didn’t even hesitate. “He can’t.”

Nivaan’s eyebrow shot up, that grin widening.

Oh, now this was getting interesting.

“What if he can?” he pushed again, clearly enjoying this.

Manvik scoffed lightly, waving his hand as if dismissing the entire idea. “This mansion is massive. Hundreds of rooms. Hidden wings. Even we took time to learn it.”

He leaned closer to the railing, glancing down once more.

“He won’t find it.”

A pause.

Nivaan’s smile turned sharper—scheming now.

“And if he does?”

Manvik turned his head slowly, meeting his gaze.

Silence.

Then—a smirk.

“Then let’s make a deal, idiot.”

Nivaan’s eyes lit up instantly.

“If bhaiya finds bhabhi room…” Manvik said, his tone turning mock-serious, “I’ll give you my car.”

That hit.

Hard.

Nivaan straightened immediately, interest fully awakened now.

“And if he doesn’t?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.

Manvik’s smirk stretched, almost wicked.

“Then you give me your supercar—the one you bought last year.”

A beat.

Silence hung for a second—

then Nivaan let out a low whistle.

Now this—

this was no longer just fun.

This was war.

He extended his hand without hesitation, eyes gleaming. “Deal.”

Manvik clasped it firmly, both of them grinning like devils who had just set a trap—not realizing—the man they were betting on…was far more dangerous than the game they had just started.

Not too far from them, behind a slightly open door, two pairs of sharp ears had caught every single word.

Varshika and Paridhi weren’t asleep—not even close. The room was scattered with fabrics, color palettes, jewelry options, and mehendi theme boards. Typical girls’ chaos, as the boys liked to call it.

But right now—their attention had shifted. Completely.

Like two curious little mice sensing something interesting, they leaned closer to the door, eyes widening as they heard the deal.

Cars. Bet. Riddhimaan. Krishti bhabhi. Oh, this was gold. They exchanged one look—and that was enough.

The next second, both of them pushed the door open slightly and spoke in perfect unison, their voices cutting through the corridor like a sudden storm—

“So this is what you both are doing behind everyone’s back?”

Silence. Dead silence. Upstairs—

Nivaan and Manvik froze.

Their souls practically left their bodies.

Slowly… very slowly… they turned their heads toward the doorway—only to find their sisters standing there, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, expressions screaming we heard everything.

For a split second—nothing moved. Then—panic. Pure panic.

Nivaan immediately grabbed Manvik’s arm, while Manvik clutched him back just as fast—both of them instinctively hugging each other like long-lost lovers facing doom.

“Bro… we’re dead,” Nivaan whispered dramatically.

“I told you to keep your voice down!” Manvik hissed back under his breath.

Paridhi stepped forward, her lips curling into a slow, mischievous grin as her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“We’re too,” she declared smoothly.

Beside her, Varshika crossed her arms, nodding in full agreement, her expression just as dangerous.

Because for once— this wasn’t about teasing.

This was about opportunity.

Those beautiful cars—the ones their brothers never let them touch—were finally within reach.

And they weren’t letting it go.

Down the corridor—

Nivaan and Manvik stood frozen, still half-hugging each other like their souls had already left their bodies.

Inside—absolute chaos.

We are finished.

We are dead.

This is the end.

Nivaan’s eye twitched slightly as he whispered under his breath, “Why do I feel like we just lost everything…”

Manvik swallowed hard, his confident smirk from moments ago completely gone. “Because we did.”

Paridhi took another step closer, tilting her head. “So… what’s the rule now?”

Varshika added sweetly, “If bhai finds bhabhi’s room…”

She paused deliberately.

“Then we also get the cars.”

A beat.

“And if he doesn’t?”

Paridhi’s grin widened.

“You still lose something.”

Silence.

Nivaan blinked.

Manvik blinked.

Both of them slowly turned toward each other—regret hitting like a truck. Because what started as fun—had now become a full-blown trap. And they had walked right into it.

Above them—their sisters smiled like queens who had just claimed victory.

Below—Riddhimaan was still plotting.

And somewhere in between—four siblings had just turned a simple bet into a war of cars, pride…and pure chaos.

Riddhimaan gave a small nod as a servant showed him to his assigned room. He stepped inside, glanced around once—then exhaled.

Too quiet.

Too… normal.

And that was exactly why he didn’t stay.

The moment the servant walked away, Riddhimaan slipped out again, his steps silent, eyes scanning the long corridor like a man on a mission. One by one, doors passed him—each one a possibility.

Each one not hers.

He stopped at the first door and knocked lightly, pushing it open just a fraction.

And froze.

Inside stood Sarvajit and Niharika. For a split second—even Riddhimaan Singh Ranawat didn’t have words.

He offered an awkward smile, something extremely rare for him. “Good night…”

Sarvajit’s eyes narrowed instantly, suspicion clear as day.

Niharika, on the other hand, simply smiled softly, as if she already understood everything without needing explanation. “Good night, beta.”

And then—the door closed.

Riddhimaan stood there for a second longer than necessary, exhaling slowly, only then realizing he had been holding his breath.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath.

Wrong door.

He moved to the next one.

Knocked.

Opened.

And immediately regretted it.

Inside were Athvik and Anavit.

Both of them turned their heads in perfect sync—and narrowed their eyes.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

“What are you doing here?” Athvik asked slowly.

“At this time?” Anavit added, folding his arms.

Riddhimaan didn’t even try to explain. Big mistake. Because the next five minutes—they ate his head alive.

Questions. Suspicion. Non-stop.

“Looking for our di, right?”

“Rituals already broken?”

“Brother in law is desperate—”

“Enough,” Riddhimaan cut them off sharply, his patience snapping just a little.

Without another word, he turned and walked away. Fast. Very fast. But—footsteps followed. He stopped. Closed his eyes briefly.

Then turned his head slowly—only to find both of them right behind him. Still following. Still smirking. Still not letting this go.

Riddhimaan sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead.

“Just great…” he muttered.

Because now—finding Krishti was no longer the only problem. He had two shadows stuck to him. And they were enjoying every second of it.

Athvik leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret meant only for one man.

“Upstairs… first room.”

For a second—

Riddhimaan just stared at him.

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

Because he hadn’t expected help.

Especially not this easily.

Behind Athvik, Anavit Ranawat smirked softly, both of them clearly enjoying this far more than they should.

No teasing.

No questions this time.

Just silent understanding.

Go.

And that was all Riddhimaan needed.

He didn’t waste a single second.

Turning on his heel, he moved—fast.

Not walking.

Not even running normally.

He rushed like a man on fire, his steps quick, sharp, urgent as he took the stairs two at a time. The sound of his heartbeat echoed louder than his footsteps, adrenaline mixing with excitement.

Riddhimaan climbed the stairs with deliberate steps, the weight of the day still clinging to him like smoke. The rituals downstairs had stretched long — family, traditions, expectations — keeping him away from the one person he truly wanted. Krishti. His fiancée. His future.

He didn’t knock.

He pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted him stopped him cold.

Krishti stood in the middle of the room, fresh from her bath, wearing nothing but a single white towel wrapped tightly around her body. Her damp hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, droplets of water still clinging to her collarbones and the tops of her breasts. The towel barely reached mid-thigh, leaving her long, smooth legs bare.

She looked... vulnerable.

And breathtaking.

Her breath hitched the moment she saw him. Her hands clutched the towel tighter against her chest, knuckles turning white. A nervous swallow worked down her throat as those intense hazel-blue eyes locked onto her — filled with immense love, but also a raw, hungry desire that made the air between them thicken instantly.

The room temperature seemed to rise, turning heavy and sensual, charged with everything they had been holding back because of the rituals and family presence.

Riddhimaan’s own breath hitched.

His lady.

His future wife.

He took a slow step forward.

Krishti instinctively stepped back, eyes widening slightly.

He kept coming — slow, purposeful — until her back gently met the wall. She had nowhere left to go.

Riddhimaan closed the final distance, caging her in with his body. One hand braced against the wall beside her head, the other hovering just above her hip, not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.

His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower — tracing the edge of the towel, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers trembled where they gripped the fabric.

“You took a bath without me,” he murmured, voice low and rough, laced with both adoration and barely restrained hunger. “I missed seeing you like this.”

Krishti’s cheeks flushed deep pink. She clutched the towel even tighter, but her eyes — those beautiful almond eyes — stayed locked on his, nervous yet shining with the same longing he felt.

“Maan… the rituals…” she whispered, voice soft and breathless.

“I know,” he said, leaning in until his forehead nearly touched hers. “But you’re mine now. My fiancée. Soon my wife. I have every right to want you. To need you.”

He dipped his head, nose brushing along the damp skin of her neck, inhaling her fresh, clean scent mixed with the faint trace of rose water. A soft groan escaped him.

Krishti shivered, her free hand unconsciously reaching up to rest against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart.

Riddhimaan pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again — that hypnotizing gaze pulling him under once more.

“I’ve been waiting all day to have you like this,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion and desire. “Just you and me. No one else.”

The tension between them crackled — intense, sensual, filled with years of unspoken feelings finally breaking free.

He didn’t kiss her yet.

He simply waited — giving her the choice, even as his body burned with the need to claim what was already his.

Yet, they could do something.

Their eyes were filled with unresisting desire and love — a silent storm that neither could deny any longer.

Riddhimaan’s throat worked visibly as he swallowed hard, trying to hold onto the last threads of his control. Krishti, cheeks flushed with deep shyness yet sparked with a quiet boldness she had never shown before, slowly unwrapped the towel from her body.

The soft white fabric slipped from her fingers and pooled silently at her feet.

Riddhimaan’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he inhaled sharply — a deep, steadying breath that did nothing to calm the fire raging inside him. He could control himself. He believed in his own restraint. He had to.

The sight before him was enough to test any man’s soul.

Krishti stood completely bare — her ivory skin glowing under the soft lamplight, every gentle curve and dip on full display. At 5'10", she was tall and graceful, but next to his towering 6'6" frame, she looked delicate yet powerfully feminine. A perfect match. A powerful couple in every sense.

Her face burned with deep shyness, but she lifted her chin with quiet courage, offering herself to the man she loved.

Riddhimaan opened his eyes slowly.

The hunger in them was unmistakable, but so was the reverence.

Krishti stepped closer, trembling slightly. She rose on her toes, wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, and pressed her lips to his.

It started soft — hesitant.

She took his upper lip between hers, a gentle, exploring kiss.

Riddhimaan responded instantly, sucking her upper lip between his own with tender hunger, deepening the kiss until it turned slow and consuming.

Krishti’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft sigh escaping into his mouth.

In one smooth motion, Riddhimaan swooped her up into his embrace — one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back — and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, then joined her, pulling the soft white sheet over both of them, cocooning them in privacy.

They were alone.

No one would disturb them.

Even so, Riddhimaan respected her vulnerability with every fibre of his being. No matter how exposed she was, no matter how much his body burned for her, he would not cross the final line until they were married. She deserved that sacred respect.

But he could explore.

He could love her with renewed desire.

With the sheet draped over them like a protective veil, Riddhimaan rolled them so she lay partially beneath him. His hand traced the curve of her waist, sliding up to cup her breast with gentle reverence. His thumb brushed over her nipple, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

He kissed her again — deeper this time — pouring every ounce of his love and restrained hunger into the kiss. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breaths mingling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “My Krishti… my future wife.”

Krishti’s fingers trembled as they traced his jaw, her almond eyes shining with love and trust.

“I’m yours, Maan,” she whispered back. “Even before the marriage… my heart has always been yours.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting her words sink into his soul like a blessing.

Then he lowered his head and pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts. His hand continued its slow exploration — calloused fingers brushing over her skin with such care that every touch felt like worship.

Krishti arched into him, a soft whimper escaping as pleasure bloomed under his touch. Her shyness had melted away, replaced by a quiet boldness born from love and the safety she found in his arms.

Riddhimaan kept his promise to himself — exploring, loving, cherishing — but never crossing the final boundary.

He kissed her deeply once more, then pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin, the sheet wrapped securely around them both.

The sheet draped over them like a sacred veil, shielding their intimacy from the world while allowing Riddhimaan to worship her in complete privacy.

He kept his eyes closed — not because he didn’t want to see her, but because he wanted to feel her completely. Every inch. Every breath. Every tremble. With his eyes shut, the world narrowed to touch, taste, and the overwhelming love that consumed him.

His lips trailed lower, pressing a slow, reverent kiss directly over the faint scar on her stomach — the last visible reminder of everything she had endured. He lingered there, breathing against her skin, pouring silent devotion into the mark that no longer defined her. She was healing. She was his. And he would kiss every scar until they became part of their shared story.

Krishti’s fingers tightened in his hair, a soft, shaky breath escaping her.

Riddhimaan continued downward, his mouth brushing over the gentle curve of her mound. He kissed her there — soft, open-mouthed, full of reverence — before his tongue flickered out, tasting her for the first time since the earlier moment.

She was already slick, warm, and sweet.

A low, hungry groan rumbled from his chest as he tasted her sacred water — her essence, her arousal, her trust. To him, it was nectar. Pure. Addictive. It fed something deep inside his soul, keeping him alive in ways nothing else ever could.

He licked slowly at first — broad, deliberate strokes that traced every fold, savoring her like a man receiving communion. Then his tongue flicked over her clit — gentle, teasing circles that made her thighs tremble violently around his head.

Krishti’s back arched, a broken moan spilling from her lips.

“Maan… oh God…”

He didn’t stop.

His tongue delved deeper, plunging inside her, drawing out every drop of her wetness. He drank from her like a man dying of thirst — slow, thorough, relentless — sucking gently on her folds, then returning to her swollen clit with soft, rhythmic flicks.

Krishti became a moaning mess beneath the sheet.

Her thighs shook uncontrollably around his head, squeezing him closer even as her body trembled from the overwhelming pleasure. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him deeper as soft, desperate cries filled the room.

Riddhimaan groaned against her core — the vibration sending fresh sparks through her — and continued drinking every single drop she gave him. Her sacred water coated his tongue, slid down his throat, and he swallowed greedily, as if her pleasure was the only thing that could sustain him.

He kept his eyes closed the entire time, lost in the taste of her, the scent of her, the way her body responded only to him. Love and desire blurred into one — pure, consuming, eternal.

Krishti’s moans grew higher, breathier, her thighs quivering as another wave built inside her.

Riddhimaan felt it — the way she tightened, the way her sacred water flowed more freely for him — and he doubled his efforts, tongue working faster, sucking her clit with tender hunger until she shattered.

She came with a soft, choked cry — thighs clamping around his head, body trembling violently as pleasure crashed through her in endless waves. He drank every drop, licking her through the orgasm with slow, soothing strokes, drawing out her release until she was whimpering, oversensitive, and utterly spent.

Only then did he ease back, pressing one last gentle kiss to her mound before sliding up her body.

He opened his eyes.

Krishti lay beneath him — flushed, glowing, eyes glassy with love and pleasure. The sheet had slipped slightly, but he pulled it back over them both, cocooning them once again.

He rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, voice thick with emotion.

“You are my everything,” he whispered. “Your pleasure… your trust… your love. I will worship you like this for the rest of our lives, meri jaan.”

Krishti’s fingers traced his jaw, her almond eyes shining with tears of joy and surrender.

“And I will give myself to you completely,” she whispered back. “Every part of me… is yours.”

Riddhimaan smiled against her lips — slow, tender, and filled with quiet pride. He kissed her deeply, pouring every ounce of his love and restrained hunger into the kiss, tongue sliding sensually against hers.

Krishti kissed him back for a few heartbeats, then gently broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Her eyes were dark with desire, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening.

Her hand slid down his body with shy boldness, palm pressing over the prominent, straining bulge in his pants. She cupped him through the fabric, feeling the sheer size and heat of him.

Riddhimaan groaned into her mouth — a deep, guttural sound that sent a violent shiver racing down her spine.

He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched tight, fighting desperately for control.

“Baby… stop,” he rasped, voice strained and rough.

Krishti’s eyes widened in pure disbelief. Her mouth fell open slightly as she continued to feel him — thick, heavy, and impossibly long. He had to be around thirteen inches, and the girth… God, it was overwhelming. Even through the pants, she could tell just how massive he was.

Her breath hitched.

She didn’t remove her hand.

Instead, her voice came out hungry, pleading, laced with immense love and shy desperation.

“Maan… please… can I suck you?” she whispered, eyes shining with emotion. “You do so much to me… please let me return the favour to you too. Please, Maan. I’ll keep my eyes closed… please let me feel you in my mouth. Please.”

Riddhimaan gulped hard, throat working visibly.

A flicker of fear crossed his face — not for himself, but for her. What if he hurt her? What if he was too big, too much? She was still so new to this, still so delicate in his arms.

But the raw need and love in her voice… it undid him.

He nodded slowly, eyes dark with both desire and careful restraint.

“Alright, baby,” he murmured, voice thick. “But we go slow. If it’s too much, you stop immediately. Promise me.”

She nodded eagerly, eyes full of trust.

Riddhimaan lay back on the bed, pulling her gently on top of him. He unzipped his pants with steady hands, freeing his massive length. It sprang up — thick, veined, and rock-hard — easily thirteen inches of intimidating, beautiful manhood.

Krishti’s breath caught again at the sight, but she didn’t hesitate.

She kept her promise — eyes softly closed — and lowered her head.

Riddhimaan’s hand gently cupped the back of her head, not pushing, just guiding with infinite care.

“Easy, meri jaan,” he whispered, voice hoarse with restraint and love. “Just the tip first… slowly.”

Krishti’s lips parted. She took the swollen head into her mouth — warm, wet, and tentative. Her tongue swirled around the broad tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that had already leaked for her.

Riddhimaan groaned deeply, fingers tightening slightly in her hair.

“Fuck… just like that,” he rasped. “Slow, baby. Don’t take too much.”

She obeyed, sucking gently on the head while her hand wrapped around the thick base — fingers barely meeting around his girth. She bobbed slowly, taking a little more each time, her tongue flattening along the underside, tracing every prominent vein.

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel how enormous he was — the weight, the heat, the way he throbbed against her tongue. It made her own core clench with fresh arousal.

Riddhimaan’s breathing grew ragged. He fought every instinct to thrust up into her mouth, keeping perfectly still, letting her explore at her own pace.

“You’re doing so good,” he praised, voice thick with emotion. “My beautiful girl… so brave for me.”

Krishti hummed around him — the vibration making his hips twitch. She took another inch, cheeks hollowing as she sucked softly, her hand stroking what she couldn’t fit.

Tears of effort and overwhelming love pricked at the corners of her closed eyes, but she didn’t stop. She wanted to give him this — to return even a fraction of the pleasure he had given her.

Riddhimaan’s free hand stroked her hair tenderly, his heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt.

“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely. “So fucking much.”

She moaned around his cock in response, sucking a little harder, a little deeper, lost in the intimate act of loving her man.

Riddhimaan’s control was hanging by a thread.

Krishti’s mouth was pure heaven — warm, wet, and so eager despite her inexperience. Her tongue swirled around the thick head with shy reverence, while her small hand stroked the heavy length she couldn’t possibly fit. Even with her eyes closed as promised, she was giving herself to him completely, and that trust made his chest ache with love.

He groaned low in his throat, fingers gently threading through her hair, not guiding, just holding her like the precious gift she was.

“Baby… you’re doing so good,” he rasped, voice strained. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Krishti hummed softly around him — the vibration shooting straight to his balls. She took another careful inch, cheeks hollowing as she sucked with tender hunger, her tongue pressing flat along the underside, tracing every thick vein.

Riddhimaan’s hips twitched involuntarily. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to thrust deeper.

“Slow, meri jaan… just like that,” he whispered, breathing ragged. “I’m close… so close.”

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she doubled her efforts — sucking a little harder, stroking a little faster, her free hand gently cupping his heavy balls, massaging them with careful reverence.

Riddhimaan’s head fell back against the pillow, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck… Krishti…”

His hand tightened slightly in her hair — not pulling, just anchoring himself as pleasure coiled unbearably tight at the base of his spine.

“I’m going to come, baby,” he warned, voice hoarse. “If you don’t want it in your mouth, pull away now…”

She didn’t.

Instead, she moaned around him — a soft, needy sound that told him everything.

That was all it took.

Riddhimaan’s hips jerked once, twice — and then he came with a broken groan, thick, hot pulses flooding her mouth.

He tried to hold back, to be gentle, but the sight of her — eyes closed, lips stretched wide around him, willingly taking everything he gave — shattered his restraint.

Spurt after spurt filled her mouth — warm, salty, endless. Krishti swallowed as much as she could, some of it slipping from the corners of her lips and dripping down her chin, but she never pulled away. She kept sucking softly, milking him through every powerful throb until he was completely spent.

Riddhimaan’s body shuddered violently, a low, wrecked sound escaping him as the last pulses faded.

He gently pulled her off him, breathing hard, eyes dark with awe and overwhelming love.

Krishti’s lips were swollen and glistening, a thin trail of his release still on her chin. She looked up at him — shy, breathless, but glowing with quiet pride and love.

He wiped her chin with his thumb, then brought it to her lips. She instinctively licked it clean, eyes never leaving his.

“Come here,” he whispered, voice raw.

He pulled her up into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, the sheet cocooning them both once more.

He kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her lips — tasting himself on her tongue without a single trace of hesitation.

“You are my everything,” he murmured against her mouth, voice thick with emotion. “My girl… my soul… my forever.”

Krishti buried her face in his neck, heart full, body still trembling from the intensity.

“And you are mine,” she whispered back. “My maan… my protector… my love.”

In the quiet sanctuary of the locked room, with the world still waiting outside, they held each other — spent, connected, and utterly in love.

The wedding couldn’t come soon enough.

But for tonight… this was enough.