Maine khud ko rokna chaha,

par tumhara asar hadd se zyada tha…

Yeh koi pyaar nahi tha,

yeh ek kashish thi—

jo todti bhi thi, aur jodti bhi.

Aur us lamhe mein samajh aaya—

main khud se nahi haari…

main tum mein kho gayi.

The moment I stepped in—my breath hitched. My heart started pounding wildly in my chest…as if it knew—exactly for whom it beats now. My lips parted—opening… closing—like I had forgotten how to breathe. Because this…this wasn’t a room.

It was a universe. Dark—yet glowing.

Soft neon lights traced the edges of the walls—deep hues of crimson and violet blending together. Above me—tiny starlights shimmered—like a sky captured just for this night.

And in the center—the bed. Decorated. Waiting. Silent—yet speaking everything. My throat went dry. A strange warmth spread through me—slowly…A thought crossed my mind—bold—I want him…My cheeks burned instantly at my own thought. I looked away—breathing slowly—trying to steady myself. Because I knew—this night…this moment…was ours.

And there was no rush. I walked forward—each step echoing softly with my anklets. Placing the tray carefully on the side table—my fingers brushing against the wood. Then I looked around again—taking it all in—the dark neon glow…the starlit ceiling…the quiet intimacy wrapped in the air.

My heartbeat didn’t slow. If anything—it only grew louder. Because somewhere—very close—I knew—he was coming.

The soft sound of the door unlocking—made my breath pause. I turned slowly.And then—

I saw him. Riddhimaan, standing there…a rose tucked between his teeth—like he had walked straight out of some dangerous dream.

My heartbeat—lost its rhythm. He had already freshened up. His hair slightly damp. Skin glowing under the dim neon lights. He wore nothing but black pants—and that alone was enough to steal the air from my lungs.

My eyes—betrayed me. They traced him. Slowly. Unintentionally. From his broad shoulders—to that sculpted chest—down to those sharp lines of his abs—every muscle defined—every inch of him radiating something raw…something powerful. His biceps flexed slightly as he stepped in—and I swallowed hard.

My throat went dry. Completely. Heat crept up my neck—to my cheeks—spreading everywhere. I lowered my eyelashes instantly—unable to hold his gaze. But that didn’t help.

Because I could feel him. The way he looked at me. The way the air shifted around us. My heart—raced faster now. Not from fear. Not from nervousness. But from something deeper. Anticipation. For him. And for the first time—I didn’t run from it.

His eyes—burning. Not just with desire—but something deeper… darker… his love. Riddhimaan stepped toward me. And without even realizing—I stepped back.

Once. Twice. Until— my foot hit the edge of the bed. A soft gasp left my lips—as I fell back onto the mattress.

My elbow pressed against the bed for support—my chest rising and falling rapidly—breaths uneven…heart pounding like it would break free from my ribs.

He didn’t stop. He came closer—slowly—deliberately—his presence swallowing the space between us. Those hazel-blue eyes of his—intoxicated. Pulling me in—like a deep ocean I didn’t want to escape.

I was drowning. And I didn’t want to be saved. His scent—God—it was addictive. Dark. Something I could never get enough of. The rose slipped from his lips—falling softly—right onto my stomach.

The petals brushed my skin—like a bloom against bare warmth—sending a shiver down my spine. Not from the cold air. But from him. He leaned closer—his voice low…deep...soft.

“You look breathtaking, wife…”

My breath hitched.

“I almost forgot myself… the woman I loved before…”

A pause. His gaze darkened.

“And now… completely mine.”

My fingers tightened slightly over the bedsheet.

“But not fully…” he murmured,

“not until we become one… together.”

His words—shameless…bold…And yet—they did something to me. My cheeks burned. Heat spreading across my face—down my neck—into every inch of me.

I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move. Because somewhere between his words—his gaze—his closeness—I wasn’t just nervous anymore.I was feeling him.

I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move. Because somewhere between his words — his gaze — his closeness — I wasn’t just nervous anymore.

I was feeling him.

He moved closer until I could no longer resist the bold things stirring inside me. Things I knew would embarrass me tomorrow — but right now, I didn’t care.

I lifted my right leg and placed my foot gently on his chest, anklet chiming softly.

“Not before you drink the milk,” I said, voice soft but teasing.

Riddhimaan’s eyes dropped to my delicate ankle, then slowly traveled back up to my face. My heart raced wildly at the intensity in his gaze.

He smirked — naughty, dangerous, full of promise.

“But my milk is you.”

How the hell did he say that so straightforward? It made me lose every ounce of control.

I huffed slightly — trying to sound stern — but my voice came out breathy.

“Drink the milk… then you’ll get me.”

I smirked a little, feeling bold.

He raised his eyebrows, eyes gleaming with challenge and love.

“As my bold lady wishes.”

I watched him move to the side table with that predatory grace that always made my stomach flutter. He picked up the glass of milk, but instead of drinking it, he simply held it.

What’s going on? I thought, my heart already racing.

He turned back toward me, eyes locked on mine, and the way he looked at me — dark, hungry, completely focused — made every bold thought I’d had moments ago vanish into thin air.

I gulped.

He came toward me like a predator stalking prey, glass in hand, moving with slow, deliberate steps. I instinctively scooted back on the bed until my back hit the headboard. There was nowhere left to go.

“Maan…” I warned softly, voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

He ignored it completely. Unfazed.

I was lying flat beneath him now, chest rising and falling rapidly. My breathing was uneven, heart hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

He crawled over me — powerful, controlled — and brought the glass to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he tilted it.

Warm milk spilled from his lips, flowing onto my chest in a slow, deliberate stream. It hit my skin — warm, shocking, intimate — soaking through the thin fabric of my blouse and bralette beneath. My toes curled instantly at the sensation, a soft gasp escaping me.

He didn’t stop.

The milk continued to flow — down the valley between my breasts, over my stomach, trailing lower until it drenched the deep maroon saree and reached my toes. The silk clung to my body, wet and heavy, outlining every curve. My nipples hardened instantly, itching and pebbling visibly against the soaked fabric, impossible to hide from his gaze.

Heat flooded my face.

Shyness crashed over me like a wave.

I felt completely exposed — vulnerable — even though I was still dressed. The way the wet saree stuck to my skin, the way my nipples stood out so clearly, the way his eyes devoured every inch of me… it was too much.

“Maan…” I whispered again, voice smaller this time, cheeks burning with embarrassment and something far hotter.

He set the empty glass aside without looking away from me. His eyes — those intense hazel-blue eyes — were dark with hunger and love, tracing the wet trails on my body like he wanted to lick every drop.

“You look sinful like this,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “My beautiful wife… drenched in milk… nipples begging for my mouth…”

I whimpered softly, thighs pressing together instinctively. The shyness was back in full force, but so was the aching need between my legs.

He leaned down, hovering just above me, his breath warm against my ear.

“Don’t be shy now, meri jaan,” he whispered. “This is only the beginning.”

His fingers traced the wet fabric over my breast, thumb brushing my hardened nipple through the soaked blouse. I gasped, back arching slightly at the touch.

I felt exposed. Vulnerable.

But the way he looked at me… it wasn’t just hunger. It was love — deep, reverent, almost worshipful.

“Maan…” I whispered, voice trembling.

“Shh, meri jaan,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “I’ve got you. Always.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone, then another, trailing his lips slowly over the milk-slick skin. His tongue flicked out — warm, gentle — licking a slow path between my breasts, tasting the sweetness mixed with my own scent.

I shivered, my hands coming up to rest lightly on his shoulders. Not pushing him away. Just holding on.

He continued downward, kissing and licking every drop of milk from my stomach, his movements unhurried, almost devotional. Every touch was filled with love — careful, respectful of the vulnerability I was offering him.

When he reached the edge of my saree, he looked up at me, eyes dark but gentle.

“May I?” he asked softly, fingers brushing the wet fabric at my waist.

I nodded, cheeks burning, heart racing with a mix of nervousness and trust.

He slowly unwrapped the saree, peeling the wet silk away with such care that I felt cherished rather than exposed. The petticoat followed, until I lay before him in just my soaked bralette and panties.

His gaze lingered — not possessive in a frightening way, but full of awe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Every part of you… is mine to love.”

He lowered his head again, lips closing around one hardened nipple through the wet bralette. He sucked gently — warm, slow, reverent — while his hand cupped my other breast, thumb brushing the pebbled peak with tender circles.

I moaned softly, back arching into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming — pleasure mixed with the deep safety of his love.

He switched sides, giving the same devoted attention to my other nipple, sucking and licking until I was trembling beneath him, thighs pressing together with growing need.

His free hand slid lower, tracing the edge of my panties before slipping beneath the fabric. His fingers found me already wet — not just from the milk, but from the way he was loving me.

He circled my clit slowly, gently, building the pleasure with such patience that tears pricked my eyes.

“Maan… please…” I whimpered, voice breaking.

He lifted his head, eyes meeting mine with so much love it made my chest ache.

“Tell me what you need, meri jaan,” he whispered, fingers still moving in slow, teasing strokes. “I want to hear you say it.”

I was trembling, aching, completely surrendered to him.

“Please… touch me more,” I begged softly, voice shy but honest. “I need you… inside me.”

His eyes darkened with desire, but he kept his movements gentle, respectful.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, kissing my stomach. “Let me take care of you first. Let me make you feel good.”

He slid lower, pulling my panties down with careful hands. Then his mouth was on me — soft, warm, worshipful. His tongue traced my folds, licking away every trace of my arousal with slow, deliberate strokes.

I gasped, thighs trembling around his head as he explored me with his mouth — sucking gently on my clit, then plunging his tongue inside me, drinking from me like I was the most precious thing in his world.

The pleasure built slowly, beautifully, until I was a moaning, trembling mess beneath him.

“Maan… please… I need… I need you…”

He hummed against me, the vibration sending sparks through my entire body.

“Beg for it, meri jaan,” he whispered, voice thick with love. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Tears of overwhelming pleasure and surrender slipped from my eyes.

“Please… make love to me,” I begged, voice breaking. “I want you inside me… please, Maan… I’m yours.”

He rose slowly, kissing his way up my body until he was hovering over me again. His eyes were full of love — deep, unconditional, eternal.

He came toward my face, his hazel-blue eyes burning with love and hunger. My own eyes fluttered closed as his lips claimed mine in a deep, passionate kiss.

I kissed him back — dirty, messier, full of all the pent-up desire I had been holding inside. Our tongues tangled, lips sliding, sucking, biting — raw and desperate, like we were trying to merge our souls through this one kiss.

He broke the kiss with a soft groan, pressing his forehead to mine for a moment before placing a tender kiss on my forehead.

“Just wait a little bit, meri jaan,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

I frowned up at him, confused and impatient, but I stayed silent — trusting him completely.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate gold bracelet adorned with tiny diamonds. My eyes widened in happy surprise, a soft gasp escaping my lips.

He smiled — that rare, beautiful smile reserved only for me — and gently lifted my hips. He wrapped the bracelet around my lower region, the cool metal and shining diamonds resting directly against my clit. The sensation was electric — cold, sparkling, intimate.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself, voice dark with satisfaction. “Now it’s better.”

I felt so shy — my cheeks burning hot — but the way the diamonds pressed against my most sensitive spot made my thighs tremble.

He stood up from the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. With deliberate movements, he pushed down his pants and boxers together, letting them fall to the floor.

My breath caught.

My hottest husband stood before me completely naked — tall, powerful, every muscle sculpted like a god. His cock — thick, long, and rock-hard — stood proud, easily thirteen inches of intimidating beauty. The sight made my mouth water and my core clench with both nervousness and desperate need.

He crawled back over me, caging me with his body, the sheet still partially draped around us like a private world.

His hand slid between my thighs, fingers brushing the diamond bracelet against my clit. I gasped — the combination of cold diamonds and his warm touch making me jolt with pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, eyes dark with love and lust. “My wife… my everything.”

He kissed me again — deep, claiming — while his fingers played with the bracelet, pressing the diamonds rhythmically against my swollen clit.

I moaned into his mouth, hips bucking helplessly.

He broke the kiss and moved lower, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers continued teasing me with the bracelet. The dual sensation — his hot mouth on my breast and the cool, sparkling pressure on my clit — drove me wild.

“Maan… please…” I whimpered, voice breaking with need.

He looked up at me, eyes glowing with intense love.

“Tell me what you want, meri jaan,” he whispered. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

I was trembling, aching, completely surrendered.

“Please… make love to me,” I begged, voice soft but desperate. “I need you inside me… please, Maan… I’m yours.”

He groaned — deep, primal — and positioned himself between my thighs.

The thick head of his cock pressed against my entrance, the diamond bracelet still teasing my clit.

“Relax for me, baby,” he murmured, kissing my forehead. “I’ll go slow… but I’m going to ruin you tonight. In every sense.”

He pushed in — slow, deep, stretching me inch by thick inch until he was buried to the hilt.

I cried out — pleasure and fullness overwhelming me — my walls clenching around his massive length.

He stayed still for a moment, letting me adjust, forehead pressed to mine, breathing heavily.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than anything in this world.”

Then he started moving — slow, deep thrusts that made me see stars. Every stroke hit that perfect spot, the diamond bracelet adding extra sparks of pleasure against my clit.

He gradually increased the pace — harder, faster — until I was moaning loudly, nails digging into his back, legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

He ruined me — completely — driving me higher and higher until I shattered around him, crying his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me.

He followed soon after, groaning my name as he filled me with his release, hips stuttering deep inside me.

We collapsed together — spent, trembling, wrapped in each other’s arms.

He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my lips — soft, loving kisses that spoke louder than words.

“You are my world, Krishti,” he whispered, voice full of emotion. “My wife… my soul… my forever.”

I smiled through happy tears, curling into his chest.

“And you are mine, Maan. My husband… my everything.”

I could hear his heartbeat — steady, strong, lulling me like a lullaby meant only for me.

Riddhimaan’s fingers stroked gently through my hair, slow and soothing, as sleep claimed him. I closed my eyes too, safe in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his love and the quiet promise of our future.

Next Morning

My eyes fluttered open to the soft golden rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. I didn’t know what time it was at first. I glanced at the nightstand clock — 6:00 a.m.

A soft yawn escaped me as I stretched lightly, my fingers tracing the faint red marks my nails had left on his broad back the night before. The sight thrilled me in a quiet, possessive way — my marks on my husband.

I traced them gently with my fingertips. He stirred in his sleep, a low hum vibrating in his chest, then turned toward me. His chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. I admired him for a long moment — my strong, beautiful man — not wanting to disturb his peaceful sleep.

I slipped out of bed, completely naked. There was nothing on in the room except us. It felt… right. Natural. This was our space. Our marriage. I didn’t feel shy anymore. I was his, and he was mine.

My anklets chimed softly with every step. I took a deep breath and moved slowly toward the bathroom, closing the door gently behind me.

I sighed in relief as I handled my morning routine. After finishing, I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Warm streams cascaded over my body. I immediately cleaned my intimate parts with the shower gel, washing away the remnants of last night with gentle care, then rinsed thoroughly.

The bathroom door opened.

Riddhimaan stepped in, completely naked, having already placed our clothes and the sheets in the laundry hamper. His presence filled the shower instantly — tall, powerful, radiating that quiet dominance mixed with deep love.

My heart raced again.

“Good morning,” I said softly, voice still a little shy.

He came closer, water droplets sliding down his sculpted chest. His morning voice was husky, rough, and incredibly sexy.

“Good morning, moya zvezdochka,” he whispered, eyes roaming over me with open admiration. “I was wondering if you could even walk today… but here you are.”

I blushed deeply at his words, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“You were gentle with me last night,” I murmured.

He stepped fully under the spray with me, his large hands gently cupping my waist.

“I was worried about you,” he said, voice sincere yet teasing. “Thankfully, I didn’t hurt you too much. Turn around and let me check on you.”

His words were playful, but there was a protective edge beneath the teasing. I hoped he wouldn’t start anything again… though a part of me secretly craved it.

I turned around slowly, facing the tiled wall. He dropped to his knees behind me, water cascading over both of us.

His hands gently parted my thighs. I felt his warm breath against my mound as he inspected me carefully. My hymen was already broken from last night, but I hadn’t felt much pain — only overwhelming pleasure and connection. I still didn’t fully understand why it hadn’t hurt more.

Riddhimaan’s fingers brushed lightly over my folds — not to arouse, but to check if I was sore. His touch was incredibly gentle, full of care and love.

“You’re a little swollen, baby,” he murmured, voice soft. “But not torn. You took me so well… my strong, beautiful wife.”

He pressed a tender kiss to my lower back, then stood up, wrapping his arms around me from behind. His chin rested on my shoulder, water pouring over us like a blessing.

“I love you,” he whispered against my wet skin. “More than anything in this world. Last night… you gave me everything. I want to give you the world in return.”

I leaned back into his chest, heart full, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace.

“I love you too, Maan,” I whispered back. “With all my heart.”

He turned me in his arms, cupping my face gently, and kissed me — slow, deep, full of love and promise.

The kiss turned more passionate in an instant.

Riddhimaan’s mouth claimed mine with deeper hunger, his tongue sliding against mine in a slow, sensual dance. He sucked my tongue into his mouth — gentle yet possessive — drawing a helpless moan from me that he swallowed greedily.

His eyes were filled with addictive desire, dark and burning, as if he could never get enough of me.

He broke the kiss with a low groan, breathing heavily. Without a word, he dropped to his knees in front of me, water still cascading over us.

He guided me gently, making me sit on his face — my thighs straddling his head, the diamond bracelet still pressed against my clit.

The moment his tongue touched me, I cried out.

He licked my folds — slow, broad, worshipful strokes — tasting every inch of me. Then he sucked hard on my clit, the diamond chain adding an extra spark of cool pressure with every movement of his mouth.

I cried out badly — legs trembling violently around his head, thighs squeezing him as pleasure shot through me like lightning.

His both hands reached up simultaneously, cupping my breasts. His fingers tweaked my nipples softly — rolling, pinching with just the right pressure — knowing exactly how sensitive they had become after last night.

It made them itch with pleasure.

That unwanted sexual hormone rush — the same one that had made my breasts leak milk for him last night — surged again. My nipples throbbed under his touch, aching in the most delicious way.

“Maan… ahh…” I moaned, voice breaking, hips grinding instinctively against his mouth.

He groaned against my core — the vibration making me shake even harder. His tongue never stopped — flicking rapidly over my clit, then plunging inside me, drinking every drop of my arousal like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

His fingers continued playing with my nipples — soft, warm, teasing — knowing it drove me wild, knowing it made that sweet itch turn into overwhelming pleasure.

I was a trembling mess — legs quivering around his head, moans spilling freely now, no longer able to hold back.

He sucked harder on my clit — relentless, hungry — while his thumbs circled my nipples with perfect pressure.

The combination pushed me over the edge.

I came with a sharp cry — thighs clamping around his ears, body convulsing as waves of intense pleasure crashed through me. My sacred water flooded his mouth; he drank every drop greedily, licking me through the orgasm with slow, soothing strokes until I was whimpering, oversensitive, and completely spent.

Only then did he ease back, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs before rising to his feet.

He pulled me into his arms under the spray, holding me close as I trembled against his chest.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispered against my wet hair, voice thick with love and satisfaction. “My girl.”

I clung to him — breathless, glowing, utterly his — feeling cherished and loved beyond words.

I bit my lip, feeling deliciously naughty for my husband.

My hand slid down his wet, sculpted body until I reached his hard length. He was already so thick and heavy in my palm. I wrapped my fingers around him — barely able to meet around his girth — and stroked him slowly from base to tip.

Riddhimaan grunted — a deep, sexy sound that vibrated through his chest and sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“Moya zvezdochka… stop it,” he warned, voice rough and strained. “I won’t be able to control myself… Ahhh, shit…”

I tilted my head, looking up at him with a teasing grin, my eyes sparkling with mischief and love.

“Nope,” I whispered softly, continuing to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements.

He moaned — low and guttural — his hips twitching into my hand despite his words.

“Such a wildcat,” he rasped, eyes dark with desire and affection.

I smiled wider, feeling bold and cherished at the same time. My thumb brushed over the sensitive head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that had leaked for me.

Riddhimaan’s breath hitched. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb stroking my lower lip.

“You’re going to be the death of me, meri jaan,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint and love.

But he didn’t stop me.

Instead, he leaned down and captured my lips in a deep, hungry kiss — swallowing my soft whimpers as I continued to stroke him under the warm spray of the shower.

His free hand slid down my body, fingers teasing my still-sensitive folds, making me moan into his mouth.

We were lost in each other — teasing, touching, loving — the water cascading over us like a private blessing on our first morning as husband and wife.

After we finished our deeds. Riddhimaan had a towel wrapped around his torso while I quickly wrapped my robe around myself, finally remembering what I had completely forgotten before. I switched off the shower, the sound of water fading into silence, while he walked toward the mirror, casually drying his hair.

I stepped closer to him, watching him for a moment before asking softly, “How is your left hand?” He looked puzzled at first, as if trying to recall what I meant, and then it clicked—the injury from two years ago, the one that had once broken him from shoulder to chest.

He flexed his arm slightly, rolling his shoulder with ease before replying, “It’s better. In fact, I’ve been going to the gym too. There’s nothing I can feel now, love.”

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, but still looked at him carefully, needing to be sure. “Are you sure?” I asked again. He simply nodded, a small reassuring smile forming on his lips, and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on my forehead.

I looked at him for a moment, then asked softly, “What do you like to eat in breakfast?”

Riddhimaan didn’t even take a second.

“You.”

My face instantly heated up.

“Riddhimaan!” I muttered, lightly slapping his chest in embarrassment. He chuckled softly—that deep, teasing sound that always made my heart skip.

I whined again, looking away shyly, “Say properly, nah!”

He stepped a little closer, his gaze softening this time.

“Anything you cook with these pretty hands.”

I blinked at him—the teasing gone—replaced with something warm. A small smile curved on my lips as I nodded slowly.

I told her casually, “From this room, my room is attached to the walk-in closet.”

Krishti looked at me—surprised… almost shocked. Everything here was still new to her, every little detail unfamiliar. That’s why I had already told Varshika to help her settle in… or anyone from the house if needed.

Krishti nodded softly and walked toward the closet. And of course—I followed her.

She stepped inside and started looking around, her fingers brushing through the neatly arranged sections. Then she picked something for herself.

I looked away immediately. Because if I didn’t—I knew exactly where my mind would go. And I wasn’t risking that again. Not this morning. A small smile tugged at my lips. Teaser…She knew what she was doing.

Shaking my head lightly, I moved to my side of the closet and picked up a pair of boxers. I unwrapped the towel from my torso and wore them quickly, focusing on anything but her.

But then—I felt it. Her gaze. On my back.

My muscles tensed slightly—not out of discomfort, but awareness. And then my eyes flickered to the mirror. There they were—faint marks.

Her marks. I didn’t look away. Didn’t hide it. Instead—a smirk slowly appeared on my lips. Because I didn’t need anything else. I liked it. More than I should. I caught her reflection in the mirror.

Watching. The moment our eyes met—she looked away instantly.

I let out a quiet breath, amused, before pulling on my pants, buttoning them up and zipping them. Then I reached for a casual shirt—something simple that matched the shade she had chosen.

Out of the corner of my eye—I saw her take out a blue saree. And for a second—I just watched her. Because no matter what she wore—no matter what she did—She still managed to distract me. Without even trying.

I fixed my hair, pushing it back casually, then walked toward her.

“Let me help my wife,” I said, my voice low but steady. Krishti looked at me and replied softly, “Sure… my husband.”

Something about the way she said it—soft…breathy…It hit me harder than it should have. Memories from last night flashed for a second—and I had to steady myself.

She had no idea what she did to me.Or maybe…she knew exactly. I exhaled quietly, controlling myself, focusing.

She had already worn the petticoat.

I stepped closer and tied the knot for her, my fingers brushing lightly against her waist—just enough to make her aware, but not enough to distract her completely.

Then I picked up the blue saree—unfolding it slowly. She looked at me, a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

“Do you even know how to drape a saree?” she asked.

A faint smile touched my lips.

“I didn’t… at first,” I replied honestly. “But when I was small, I used to watch my mom. The way she draped it… I was always mesmerized.” My hands moved naturally now—muscle memory. Careful. Precise.

“I learned from her… even helped her sometimes.”

I glanced at her through the mirror—my gaze softening.

“And it’s not ‘a woman’…” I added quietly. Stepping a little closer—my voice dropping just enough—

“You’re my woman.”

I began draping the saree around her—pleat by pleat—adjusting every fold with care. Not rushed. Not careless. But like something I wanted to get right—for her.

By now, she had already worn the blouse.

I stepped closer, lifting the edge of the saree and placing it gently over her left shoulder. My hands moved with quiet precision, tucking the pleats at her waist neatly, making sure every fold sat perfectly on her frame.

As I adjusted the fabric, my fingers brushed lightly against the chain resting on her pussy—just enough to tease her.

She let out a soft giggle, a slight shiver passing through her. That sound—it lingered. I leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Soft. Unhurried.

Then I fixed the pleats properly, smoothing them down. She carried the saree so effortlessly that it didn’t even need pins. It just… stayed, like it belonged to her.

For a moment, I simply looked at her. Then I reached for the vermillion. Carefully, I applied it along her hairline—just a slight touch, but enough.

A quiet pause settled between us. Because that small gesture—wasn’t just part of getting ready. It was a reminder. She was mine. And I was hers.

I told her softly, “I’ll come down later… you go.” Krishti nodded, understanding without needing more words.

Before leaving, she leaned in and kissed my lips, and I kissed her back just as softly, though my hold on her tightened for a brief second before I let her go. As she walked away, I already missed her warmth, but work didn’t wait.

I turned and walked into my office room, the one attached to ours—my space, completely mine. I put on my earbuds and called my secretary, instructing him to arrange the reception from my side, the underworld circle, and to inform everyone close to me.

He acknowledged with a brief hum before cutting the call. I sighed lightly, but my thoughts didn’t stay still for long. TRT crossed my mind again—something impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just important, it was dangerous. Anirudh was still searching for clues, just like me. As Phantom and Deathrider, we both knew what was at stake. If it ever surfaced, none of us would survive.

Dante knew parts of it too and was handling things from his side as general, but his temper was unpredictable. If anything touched his wife, he would turn violent without hesitation.

And then there was the Blackston matter—handled by Arshan, supposedly settled. But I didn’t trust that. I would have to look into it myself.

Before I could think further, a maid stepped in and informed me that breakfast was ready. A faint smile crossed my lips—my wife was fast.

I removed my earbuds, picked up my phone, and walked downstairs. The house was alive with voices and movement, everyone gathered—but even then, my eyes searched for only one person.

Her.

That’s all I saw the moment I stepped down.

Krishti was coming out of the kitchen, completely unaware of the way she looked. A little bit of cornflour was smeared on both her cheeks, and somehow… it made her look even more adorable.

A soft smile formed on my lips. Without thinking twice, I walked straight toward her. She stopped when she saw me approaching, slightly confused. I didn’t say anything. I just lifted my hand and gently wiped the cornflour off her cheeks, my fingers brushing her skin softly.

Her eyes widened a little—cheeks turning pink instantly. I knew everyone was watching. Relatives. Family. But honestly?I didn’t care. Because in that moment—all I saw was her.

From the side, Gaurika smiled knowingly, while Manvik couldn’t hold back.

“Bhai… subah subah hi romance?” he teased.

(Brother morning in romance?)

A few chuckles followed. Krishti lowered her gaze, clearly embarrassed. And I?Just smirked slightly—completely unbothered. Because if loving my wife openly was a problem—then I wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.

Soon everyone gathered around the dining table, the house filling with voices and warmth. Praise followed instantly—for her. Krishti stood there, a little shy but composed, as everyone appreciated the breakfast she had prepared. My eyes shifted to my plate—healthy toast and black coffee. Exactly the way I prefer it. A faint smirk touched my lips. Mom must have told her.

Gaurika and Harshika exchanged knowing looks, clearly enjoying the moment. Some relatives from chachi’s side had arrived early in the morning, and they greeted me with smiles. I simply nodded in acknowledgment, my focus still drifting back to her again and again.

I took my seat and, between bites, informed Yashveer and Manveer, “The reception will be arranged… from my side. Underworld.”

Both of them nodded calmly, understanding without questions. And just like that—the dining table turned into chaos again.

Teasing. Laughter. Side glances thrown at us. Manvik smirked, while Nivaan added fuel to it, and even Varshika and Paridhi weren’t holding back.

Krishti kept her gaze lowered, cheeks flushed, trying to focus on serving. And me? I just leaned back slightly, sipping my coffee—watching her. Because no matter how loud the room got—my attention stayed on one thing.

My wife.