He doesn’t answer. I don't expect him to. I don't know what made him so angry that he is hurting himself. Cautiously, I bend down, open the drawer, and pull out the first aid box. I empty its contents on the messy table and start tending to his wound, careful and gentle.
The air is thick with silence and tension. His breathing is still heavy, his eyes wild with leftover anger.
“No,” he finally says, voice low. “I didn’t fight.”
I nod, not pressing him as I clean the wound, noticing how tightly he is clenching his jaw. His whole body is tense like a wire pulled too tight.
“What happened?” I ask softly, taping the last bit of the bandage. My question lingers in the atmosphere as I look up. Our eyes meet.
He looks away, almost ashamed. “I had a meeting.” His voice drops as he tells me.
I stay quiet; I already know that, but I let him take his time.
“He congratulated me for our wedding.” His voice turns bitter, and his eyes turn sharp. “He said… he said…” He exhales sharply, his breath ragged. I place my hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him down.
“He asked me to share you with him,” Rudra says finally, his tone cold, dangerous. His eyes flick to mine, no hint of the carefree, mischievous Rudra I know. “I punched the laptop.”
I blink, my voice coming out in disbelief. “You broke my sautan?” I try to joke, flashing a soft smile.
“It’s not funny, Shivani,” he snaps as he side-eyes me.
“Come on, it’s a little funny,” I grin, nudging him. “Especially since we were literally talking about it this morning.”
He doesn’t smile. Instead, his voice rises again. “Did you not hear what he said?” He yells. “It makes my blood boil!” Heturns away, facing the wall. His fists clench again; my fingers graze his fist in an attempt to calm him down.
I move behind him and wrap my arms around his torso. “I don’t care about him,” I whisper. "Or anyone else," I smile against his back. “I know I’m yours.” I press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “And I only want you. No one else.”
Before I can say another word, he spins around and crashes his lips onto mine. His hands grip my hips tightly, pulling me flush against him. His kiss is rough, desperate, and full of bottled-up frustration. He devours my mouth like he’s trying to erase the words of that man, claim me again, and remind himself I’m his. I kiss him back with just as much need. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging slightly, feeling his anger melt into something primal.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he growls, lifting me and setting me on the edge of the table. I yank off his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. My hands work faster as I raise my arms, and he strips off my kurti in one swift move. His fingers find the clasp of my bra and undo it, his mouth latching onto my nipple the second it’s off. I gasp, arching into him, my hands digging into his shoulders.
“Rudra...” I moan as his lips and tongue tease me, his hand already sliding my leggings off.
He doesn’t pause.
He strips down in seconds, pants and boxers pooling at his feet. I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s positioned at my entrance, his hand wrapped around my throat—not tight, but firm enough to command my full attention.
“Who do you belong to?” He asks, his eyes dark, his voice rough with need.
“You,” I manage, breathless, my harsh breaths echoing around us.
He thrusts into me in one sharp move, burying himself completely, his face buried in my neck. “So fucking tight for me,” he groans, thrusting harder, deeper.
I cry out his name, clutching his back, my legs trembling around his waist.
“Say it, Shivani,” he rasps in my ear. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I sob. “Only yours.”
He doesn't slow down. My vision blurs as I tremble under the force of his rhythm, overwhelmed by pleasure. My orgasm rips through me like a wave, and I scream his name, my voice hoarse.
But he doesn’t stop. His pace doesn’t falter. “Look into my eyes,” he demands. “Now.”
I try, but my eyes roll back again, my body twitching from overstimulation.
“Look at me, or I stop.” His thrusts are slow. My eyes flutter open instantly, a desperate whine escaping my lips.
“Rudra, please,” I beg, my cry coming out in a moan.
