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-• into the frenzied night •-

surprise bitchessssss ✨

cw: as it's infamously called by a reader, this is a smut trilogy 💀 so reader discretion advised for the next two chapters including this.

Taranya

I had been unable to ebb off that night from my memories. It happened so naturally, his touch, my reciprocal, our bodies enclosing like they were always ready, only waiting for our minds to catch up. I had never allowed a man so close, and I had a perfect reason why. He'd engrafted his touch into my skin so deep, my body knew no other man's intimacy. Another man's body never evoked the desire, the hunger, and the feral need of a flesh in me. I was never another man's, not even in my blissful pretense of hatred towards my husband, neither in reality.

And that night, I gave in. I gave in because I was tired of pretending his proximity doesn't faze me. I was tired of pretending I was only acting every time I kissed him. I was tired of letting another woman think she'd ever have a chance with my husband. And I was so fucking tired of pretending he's not mine, and that the thought of him being with another woman does not make me want to set the whole damn world of fire. It does, and I'll watch it on the sidelines, warming my hands as the world he's not mine in reduces to a pile of dust and ashes.

I don't know whether I love him or not. I don't know what I feel for him is enough to last a lifetime or not. I don't know if I can keep him happy for the rest of his life or not. I don't know whether I trust him or not. And I don't know a lot of things, but in all of those questions, I'm certain that he's mine, body and soul, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his hair, he's all mine. And I'd not allow him to have the freedom of choosing someone else. Even if I'm helpless to give him all of me, I want all of him. And I want him to wait until I take my world to bits, take his along, and piece them back to perfection, never to break apart ever again.

Him, as Rudra, as Shourya, as anyone he becomes, is mine.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" A sheen layer of tears curtains his eyes.

I bask in the glory of power this man allows me to have on him. I can ask him to drop to his knees, right now, at this moment, and he'd do it at the drop of a hat, without a question, without any reluctance.

"Do you dream of me that often?" I tilt my head to the side.

He takes a step forward, shuddering, deep breaths and low gasps, his chest rising and sinking, like a stranded ship, in the claws of a restless sea, broken and despaired, lying in its lover's ruin, ruining itself along.

"You've no idea," he whispers, tremor in his tone, his lower lip wobbling. "I've never had dreams. Never. All I had were nightmares. Still do. I didn't know what it feels to dream. Greed? That I do. Fear? Oh, so closely, like blood streaming through my veins." He speaks with every cell of his body, he's him in his words, through his thoughts. "I used to think I've felt everything there was to feel, only for you to come and prove me wrong. When I heard of dreams, I called them empty vessels, noisy, but useless. I believed in reality. But that's until I could no longer have you in reality. That's when dreams took me in, showed me what we can create together, and how happy I could be with you. That's what kept me going, trying, waiting. I had you in my dreams far before I could have you in my reality. I'm a man wronged by the world, but just right by your side. You've given me something nobody else can, not even me. You've given me a world beyond money and power and ambitions and status. You've given me a world where flowers bloom tenderly. Where winds sway not to uproot the trees but to dance with the leaves. Where houses have sheltered roofs and cobbled driveways, not four walls and a metal door. You've given me the world where childhood can grow, quietly, beautifully, kindly into adulthood. You've given me the world so pretty, it's sad that I never got the chance to exist there before."

Overwhelmed, I sniffle softly, my eyes teary.

"I love, love, love you, Taranya," He says with such intensity, the distance between us feels nonexistent. And when he walks up the stage, it starts to claw up my throat, daring me to confront the honesty of his confession. "If you were to feel the fraction of what I feel for you, you'd have been consumed with me right now, to the point you wouldn't be able to breath. Like a dying man's last gasp above the surface, before he sinks, embracing his fate." He stops in front of me, his eyes hard, the moonlight cutting through the edge of his sharp jaw.

"Why haven't you yet?"

"Wrecked ships don't die in the sea, Esther, they live there."

That does it. That snaps the last thread I had betted my rationality on. He knows his feelings, and he has been putting them across using words better than any artist could do using his art.

I slide a hand around his nape and draw him closer, crashing our lips together. He gasps over my lips, and we almost fall back, stumbling on my heels, but he catches me fast, his arms caging around my waist, holding me up safe against him.

We fight a battle, his desperation versus mine, his passion versus mine, his lust versus mine, and he wins. I let him. He can control my body as I control his heart. He can have me the way he wants as I have him without any conditions, without any trade.

So we sink to the floor, our legs giving in to the gravity of our lust. I straddle his lap, and he spreads a hand on the floor, the other moulding my body to his so we're pressed, chest to chesh, hip to hip, face to face. Then he brings the other hand to tuck an open strand behind my ear, lowers the thick, deft fingers to my chin, and pulls me in for another slow, ever so consuming kiss.

By the time we pull apart, I'm breathless and heady.

"I need to take a shower. I'm drenched in sweat." I brush my lips over his, my hands sinking into the glorious, muscled dip between his pecs. I spread my hands afar, and my thumb hovers over his right nipple, before I press my finger into it, receiving a deep, sharp breath from him. His hand quickly latches over the back of my palm, looking deeply into my eyes.

"I don't care. This moment is perfect." He mumbles, stroking his thumb over my knuckles, before he brings my hand to his lips, kissing the tip of my fingers fondly.

An idea blows up like a light bulb in my head. "I've a way to make this more clean and scandalous," my lips tilt at the corners at the last word.

He frowns.

"Wait a minute," I get off his lap, cocking a brow at the proud tent in his pants. He doesn't shy away or close his legs, he lets me see the effect of a simple kiss has on his body. "Stay here," turning around, I get off the round stage and approach the bay windows, grabbing the remote control the house butler left me with after getting me acquainted with its functions.

I point at the chandelier hanging above the round stage and press a button. It spreads a dull white light on the stage, before a dim orange glow lits up around the ceiling medallion. His jaw drops in awe. I choose that moment to turn on the water showers.

"What the fuck!?" He drapes an arm across his eyes, sheltering himself from the rain shower.

I chuckle and set the settings to low, so it doesn't feel like the shower is hitting you in face. Then I walk back to the stage, climb it and stand underneath the artificial rain shower, spreading my arms afar and welcoming the water on my skin.

"What's the purpose of this?" He asks, looking at me innocently flabbergasted.

"What do you think of watching a woman dance in the rain?"

"Are you going to dance for me now?" Brows raising playfully, he doesn't believe I can do that.

"Should I?" I take off my dupatta and toss it towards him. It falls on his lap. He picks it up, clenching it in his fist, and looks back at me, eyes dark as the night, naked desire flaring. If it could be embodied, hungry flames would have ignited around the stage by now, licking at the water dripping over them, unaffected.

"If you're teasing me, don't. I'm already far off my senses. Just come here." He commands.

I remove my hair from the lose bun. The wet locks tumble down my shoulders and breasts. The white anarkali clings to my figure like a second skin, my white bra visible through the thin fabric. I see him shift on the floor, and his knees pull up. Holding the dupatta fisted in his hand in the centre, he watches me patiently, like he knows I wouldn't run away, or pull back, and even if I do, he'll find me, follow me, and linger around until I acknowledge him.

"I've only ever performed art, of all kinds, solely for myself. Never for anyone else." I smile at him, "But you, you've always found a way to incorporate yourself in my art. You were my first ever portrait. And you were the last. You'll be the last." He smiles. "And tonight, I'll dance for you. In the way you want to see me. So tell me, how would you like me to bend my body, tell me the ways you'd like me to leap through the air, tell me how should I move this vessel of blood and bones, tell me your fantasy of me."

"Like I'm the only one you see in the world." He answers. "Make me your universe, Taranya. Make me your God. Make me the man you worship. Make me feel like I'm the one you exist for. As if I were to cease this exact moment, your heart will stop beating the very next second."

I clap my hands twice. The music comes alive. The walls vibrate. And I take my position in the centre of the stage.

As soon as the beat drops, my body picks up the next ones. I cannot speak well in words, cannot express myself so clearly as he does. But I can let my body do it, in the way it moves, glides, across him, around him, every glide of my hand and slide of my feet a teasing tilt of my world, so he can climb into it, and make me his. I watch as he stares mesmerized, transfixed, on my face, down the dunes of my body, tracing the highs and lows as I leap through the slow and seductive music. Every time I move closer, he straightens, as if I'm reaching out to him, but then I retreat with a playful flick of my wrist, or a rise of his chin under my toe. He chuckles, tries catching my ankle, but I pull fast, spinning and spinning. The heavy fabric of my anarkali blooms, then comes back to wrap around my thighs when I stop.

I don't realise when he comes close, but my body slams into his, and he mobilises me by a firm grip on my hips. I breathe heavily, staring up at him through the wet lashes, watching his lips fall apart at my sight.

Then he does the unthinkable.

He bends sideways and scoops me in his arms. My arms fly to lock around his neck. He carries me to the centre of the stage again, and kneels, laying me there, in the middle of it, right under the glass chandelier.

I lower my legs flat and he climbs on top of me, shielding me from the rain shower, and sinks in to press our lips together. We kiss slowly, like a pair of swans meandering across the still lake, glorious, warm, happy. I thread my fingers through his dense hair and clutch the ends tighter, gasping into his mouth when he opens his lips wider and entangles our tongues.

"I cannot love you enough, Tara, and yet I love you so much I don't think I can contain it in one life." He breathes raspily over my swollen lips. "What have you done to me? What have you done to me, Taranya?" He cups my chin, feathering his thumb across my lower lip. I poke my tongue out and lick the rigid flesh. He sucks in a deep breath. "I cannot wait anymore."

I nod.

"You're in this for a long run, you know that right?"

"I know," I cup his cheek.

"You want this? Want me?"

"More than I've ever wanted anything else." I confess.

"That's it, that's all I wanted to hear." He kisses me long and hard, before he pulls away to get rid of his clothes. The wet material sticks to his skin, and he struggles for a moment with it.

"Want me to help you?"

"Please," he smiles.

I sit up, blinking through the slow drizzle of water and help him unbutton his shirt, sliding it off his marvelous biceps. They bulge and flex as he discards the shirt. I run my hands down his shoulders, lingering on his biceps before bringing my hands closer on his chest, tracing the hard planes of his upper body. "You're so beautiful," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist, crawling until I find his shoulder blades and dip my face in the hollow of his throat, kissing there softly, biting it until I hear a hiss, and then smothering the redness with a small lick.

I climb his right thigh, and catch the hem of my anarkali suit. He helps me get rid of it. He undoes the lace of my pants and this time, we struggle a lot. The pants get stuck at my ankles and he has to shift back to yank them off my legs.

We laugh when he accidentally tugs too hard and almost slips on the wet floor.

"What the fuck?" He growls, half frustrated, half amused.

"I'll get them off. You go and turn off the shower. It's the blue button on the remote."

"You sure? I can ask someone to bring a scissor-"

"It's fine. I'll do it. Go," I wave him off.

He walks off the stage to grab the remote. I loosen up the bunched fabric, and slowly slide off the end past my heel until I reach a broader opening and it's easier to get off the pants.

He returns just as I throw the pants down the stage, in the company of his wet shirt and sit with my legs tucked sideways in only my white bra and undies.

He stands in front of me, scrubbing his stubbled jaw as his eyes rakes down my body, taking me in through his gaze. I clear my throat, growing unexpectedly demure under his gaze. He smirks.

Then he descends to his knees, curls a hand around the back of my knee, the other wraps around my waist and brings me back over his lap. "Continue," he instructs.

I blush deep red.

Unable to withhold his gaze any longer, I bury my face in his chest and slap it when a deep, belly laugh escapes his mouth, amusement lingering in the way his chest vibrates. He runs a hand over my thigh, his laugh settling slowly. I pull away, only to breathe half a second before he's seizing my lips in a violent, fervent kiss. I push myself closer, until the clothed erection grazes the inside of my thigh and he moans in my mouth. I swallow the sound, dropping my hand to his throat, and rub a thumb over his Adam's apple.

My hand trails down a definite path, and it stops at the waistband of his pants. I pull the belt off the loops, and proceed to unbuckle his pants, before opening the fly and diving my hand inside to cup him over the briefs.

He pulls away and tosses his head back with a long, dragged, painful groan.

I've envisioned this moment constantly the last two weeks. I've salivated behind this man like a bitch in heat. I want to see him naked and wanton for me. And I want him to see me the same way.

He is a monster inside those tight briefs. And I'm barely talking about the size. It's the way it twitches and reacts to my touch, as if a wrong caress and it'll tear through the boxers for me. I can't wait to see it. God, I'm dying to see it.

"I want to see you," I look into his eyes.

He stares at me starstruck, as if he's still failing to believe I'm saying these words to him. Not his fault. I've acted that he doesn't interest me, that this marriage is nothing but a deal, but it's only true on the papers. In reality, I'd accepted him as my husband the day I took seven vows with him. I couldn't show him, but not anymore. I want him as long as I want him, and I'm not going to stop myself from having him.

"Now. I want to see you now." I reiterate.

He reacts faster this time, wrenching off his pants along with his briefs, and his erection springs free, the head bobbing softly. It should have been gross, lewd, obscene, the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. That's what I used to feel every time I watched men in porn. Instead, I'm entranced. He's so magnificent, from the large, bulbous head to the arched curve of his thick length, he's so perfect, even the shiny precum leaking from the slit has me caught. "Stop looking at me that way," He moans so sweet it's like a lullaby to my ears.

"You're so beautiful," I assure him, kissing his throat as he stares at the ceiling apprehsively, his shoulders tense. He looks down at me, at the way I gently handle him and bites his lower lip. "You want this, don't you?"

He nods softly.

I'm still on his lap as I unsnap my bra so he doesn't feel he's alone in this. "Is it comfortable?" I caress him slowly, taking the precum along and spreading it evenly over him.

He nods, jaw clenched, eyes fixated on the way I work on his length.

"Don't think about the past," his eyes snap to me. "Don't," I instruct tenderly.

He sighs, grabbing me by the back of my neck and pulling me in for a sweet kiss. "I'm not. I won't ever allow the demons of my past to taint our present. I promise you." He breathes over my lips.

"You still want this?" I ask to confirm, my hand stilling on his hard shaft.

He engulfs my small hand with his, and sqeezes it gently. "Yes, God, yes." He moans into my mouth, licking my lower lip needily. "I'll only ever allow you to use me. I'm yours. Inside out, alive or dead. I'm yours, Esther. All yours."

Couldn't contain it in one chapter 💀

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