And then he entered her—deep, hard, claiming every inch in a single, fierce thrust.

"Ah—!"

Her cry broke into a soft, breathless moan as her head fell back, her hair sliding against the mirror. The jasmine flower shivered but held.

Ranjeet's jaw flexed as he fought to control the ragged sounds tearing from his own throat. A low groan rumbled in his chest—dark and raw—before he pulled back and thrust into her again, rougher, harder.

Every time their hips met, the little flower trembled closer to falling.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths colliding, their voices mingling in broken sounds—her soft, desperate whimpers, his rough, shuddering groans.

"You feel that?" he panted, his voice hoarse. "You feel how deep I am inside you?"

"Y-yes," she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders as she clung to him. "God—Ranjeet—"

He moved faster, each motion sending a tremor through her entire body, every thrust making the mirror behind her rattle softly.

A gasp tore from her lips, half a cry, half a plea. "Ranjeet...ah—"

The sound of her voice broke something in him. He slammed into her again, and again, raw pleasure and possessive fury twisting together.

"Say it," he growled, his own voice shaking. "Say you're mine."

"I—I'm yours," she gasped, her voice dissolving into a moan when he thrust deep, hard, relentless.

"Louder," he ordered, his breath ragged, his groan breaking free when she clenched around him.

"I'm yours!" she cried, her back arching, her head knocking the mirror.

He caught her face between his hands, his thumb brushing her lips as he panted against her mouth.

"You love this," he rasped. "You love how I take you."

She whimpered, her voice raw. "Yes—yes, I love it—"

"Good," he growled, his lips crashing to hers in a searing, possessive kiss.

Her moans tangled with his groans as he moved harder, faster, each thrust driving the flower closer to slipping free.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The mirror behind her shivered with every impact.

"Ranjeet—!" she gasped, her voice breaking on a cry when he shifted, hitting a spot that made her whole body quake.

A low, rough sound tore from his throat—half a curse, half her name—as he pressed her harder to the glass, thrusting so deep she saw stars behind her eyelids.

"Mine," he breathed, his voice thick, shuddering. "Only mine."

"Yours," she moaned, her hands sliding into his hair, clutching desperately.

With one last, powerful thrust, the jasmine flower finally slipped free, falling in a slow, fragile arc to the floor.

Ranjeet held her there, panting, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths ragged and mingled, every inch of them still trembling.

"I told you," he murmured, his voice low, possessive, and soft against her ear. "I'd make it fall."

And when she looked up, her cheeks flushed and her mouth swollen from his kisses, he couldn't resist one more slow, claiming thrust—just to hear the sweet, helpless moan it drew from her lips.

Her breath hitched as his rhythm grew uneven, his movements rough but desperate, every thrust driving her higher until she could barely think.

"R-Ranjeet—" she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.

His jaw was clenched, his voice rough and low against her ear. "Look at me."

She tried, blinking up into the blue of his eyes—dark and stormy, locked on her with a hunger that made her whole body quake.

"You're close," he breathed, his voice ragged. "I can feel you."

"Please—"

A deep groan tore from his throat, and he pressed his forehead to hers. "Come with me, chotu. Now."

The sound of his voice—so raw, so possessive—broke the last fragile thread of her composure. She cried out, her whole body tightening around him.

He growled her name—low, hoarse, a sound that made her shiver—and followed her over the edge in the same heartbeat.

For a moment, there was nothing but their ragged breaths and the tremble in their bodies as they came undone together.

When the last wave of release faded, he stayed pressed against her, his chest heaving, his mouth brushing her cheek in soft, shuddering kisses.

Advika's lashes fluttered closed, her body still trembling in little aftershocks.

He shifted slowly, easing her down to the bed with exquisite care. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her breath still catching every few seconds.

She tried to cover her face, embarrassed by the helpless little sounds she'd made.

"Oh no," he murmured, catching her hand and pinning it gently over her head. "Don't hide. Not after the way you just screamed my name."

"Ranjeet," she protested, her voice soft and mortified.

He leaned in, brushing a slow, teasing kiss over her lips. "You sounded perfect."

Her cheeks turned even redder. "Stop teasing—"

"Never," he said, his tone dark and smug. "Especially not after you spent all day testing my patience."

She made a sleepy, flustered sound and tried to turn away, but he caught her jaw lightly and kissed her again—slow, possessive, tasting her sigh.

When he finally pulled back, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear and studied her flushed face.

"Stay here," he murmured.

"Why?"

He smirked and sat up, reaching for the cloth left folded near the lamp. "Because I'm going to take care of you."

She tried to protest again, but he only shook his head, his blue eyes warm and dark at the same time. "You're mine to tease...and mine to look after."

He cleaned her with slow, careful hands, each touch gentle, though she still squirmed and hid her face in her hair.

"Stop moving," he teased. "Or I'll think you're inviting me to start again."

Her breath caught, heat flooding her cheeks. "Ranjeet—!"

He laughed, a low, wicked sound, and leaned over her, brushing his mouth over her jaw. "Maybe later," he whispered.

Once he finished, he tossed the cloth aside and lay down beside her, pulling her firmly into his arms.

Her cheek rested over his heart, their legs tangled under the thin sheet.

"Still think Raju is handsome?" he murmured, his tone playful but with an edge that made her shiver.

She huffed a tiny laugh. "You're insufferable."

"I'll take that as a no."

She tilted her head back enough to meet his gaze. "I only love you," she whispered, her voice soft but certain.

His expression softened, though a wicked glint still lingered in his eyes. "Good," he murmured, bending to kiss her slowly. "But if you ever tease me like that again..."

"What?" she challenged, her voice drowsy but teasing.

His mouth curved in a slow, dangerous smirk. "I'll make sure you can't walk straight for a week."

Her breath caught, and she felt her heart stutter at the promise in his tone.

And when he pulled her closer, pressing her face into the warm place under his jaw, she let out one last soft sigh—content, claimed, and loved beyond reason.

They fell asleep like that—wrapped up in each other, the jasmine flower forgotten on the floor, and the last of her teasing silenced by the quiet certainty of belonging only to him.

Morning light spilled across the room — soft and golden, slipping through the carved wooden panels, dancing across the ruined bed.

Advika stirred.

Barely.

Every inch of her body ached.

Her thighs were trembling even lying still. Her back tingled, her skin bore the ghost of every bruise, kiss, and bitehe'd given her the night before. Between her legs, she felt sore, swollen, and completely wrecked.

She tried to sit up.

"Ah—" she winced, falling back into the sheets with a soft groan.

A low chuckle sounded beside her.

"Hmm," Ranjeet murmured, his voice thick with sleep and smugness. "So you can't move."

She slapped his chest weakly. "Shut up."

He rolled onto his side, shirtless, bronzed skin glowing in the morning sun. One arm slid around her bare waist as he pulled her close, his lips brushing her cheek.

"You were loud last night," he whispered. "Do you even remember what you said?"

She flushed instantly. "Don't you dare—"

He leaned in, lips trailing down her throat, whispering each word against her skin. "Ranjeet... more... deeper... don't stop... ruin me—"

She shoved his chest. "Stop it!"

He grinned wickedly, mouth finding the mark he'd left on her collarbone.

"You begged for it, jaan. And I gave it to you. Twice."

"I hate you."

"You moaned that too," he teased, fingers brushing over the curve of her breast, making her gasp. "Right before you screamed my name."

She whimpered and tried to roll away.

Her body didn't let her.

"You can't even walk, can you?" he whispered, eyes glittering with dark delight.

She covered her face with both hands. "I hate you."

He kissed her shoulder gently, voice softer now. "No. You love me. Especially when I break you like this."

She peeked at him through her fingers, flushed and still trembling. "I do love you..."

That made his teasing pause for a second.

He cupped her jaw, kissed her slow and deep — not rough, not hungry — but reverent. Like worship.

When he pulled back, he smiled again.

"Let me help you."

He rose from the bed in one smooth motion, then bent down and scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing.

"R-Ranjeet! Put me down!"

"No."

He carried her across the room, into the bathing chamber, steam already rising from the marble tub. The water glowed with flower petals and scented oil — filled sometime earlier by a silent maid and left for them.

He stepped inside barefoot, still holding her against his bare chest.

Gently, he set her down on the edge of the tub.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, flustered. "I can do it—"

"No, you can't."

He untied the last knot of her blouse.

Let it fall.

His eyes never left hers as he slipped her down into the water, helping her sit, his hands steady on her waist.

She hissed softly as the warmth touched her sore thighs.

He got in behind her, pulling her into his lap again, the water swirling around them both.

His lips found her shoulder.

Then her neck.

Then her cheek.

And as his hands slowly began to wash over her body — massaging her thighs, her hips, her back — she sighed.

"Still regret it?" he whispered.

"No," she breathed.

"Want it again?"

"...No."

He chuckles

Advika lay back in his lap, her body warm and soft, his arms wrapped protectively around her. Ranjeet had washed every inch of her — slow, reverent strokes of his hands over her bruised thighs, her spine, her sore hips. He kissed every mark he'd left, whispered apologies that made her shiver, and promises that made her moan all over again.