Their
flight to Kashmir was two days away. But he needed to whisk her away
from the house sooner. Rehan may have been instrumental in bringing them
together, but for now he was only succeeding in keeping her
tantalizingly at arm's length.
Hence the slapdash escape from home.
They
had packed in a hurry. Asad insisted that they could buy things there
if they had to. He snatched the shopping bags from her as she unpacked
the newly purchased dresses, and dumped them unceremoniously into his
suitcase.
"No time!" he hissed.
Because right now,
they needed to get away from his family and a tiny Terrier that had sunk its teeth into them and just wouldn't let go.
"They'll have him spending the night with us, sleeping in our bed, if it was up to them," he muttered in frustrated annoyance.
She blushed and giggled in agreement, loath to reprimand him with a "Mr. Khan!"
He
hadn't wanted to keep his hands off her, but they needed to get away
fast before anyone woke up. Reluctantly they'd separated, but their
tangling glances and fingers had restlessly sought each other. It was she who had insisted on leaving the box of mithai with the note after their bags had been stowed in the car's trunk.
"It's so embarrassing!" she'd half-protested.
"So the mithai is to sweeten the blow?" he'd asked, an eyebrow arched.
This time she did reprimand him with a "Mr. Khan!"
"Nothing doing. Let's go!" he'd herded her toward the door, nearly lifting her off her feet.
"Mr. Khan, stop it!"
Asad scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the car's backseat to end all
debate and delay. The driver blushed and had a hard time keeping a straight face as he held the door open.
Her
husband had surprised her with a two-day stay at the Jehan Numa Palace
hotel.
Because.
To wait two days to start the official honeymoon was
incomprehensible.
"It can be a mini-honeymoon," he had told her through drugging kisses. "A vaccine to immunize myself or I'll never
let you really see Kashmir ..."
"Really?" She had parried when they came up for air. "I'm a germ or a virus you'll inject under your---"
"You're already under my skin, in my blood!" Asad said huskily, and she'd reddened with pleasure then.
But fear, hope and lust had gripped her insides as they sped away from home. She wanted him. But what if he didn't want her after ...? Zoya's
fingers knotted and twisted frantically before Asad grabbed one of her
hands in his. He stroked the top of her hand drawing lazy circles with
his thumb and she was on fire. She dared not look at him or she'd launch
herself into his arms and they'd end up causing an accident. Her hand
gripped his tightly, begging him to stop tormenting her. She dug her
nails into his palm and he chuckled softly. He pressed his thumb into
her palm and scraped it with his nail; she nearly
moaned aloud.
She cursed the driver's presence.
She cursed the traffic snarls on the way.
In the elevator to their room she cursed the bellhop's presence.
But in the suite, she cursed the bellhop's eager absence after he'd pocketed the hefty tip.
By
the time Asad turned around, she had opened the doors to the balcony
and stepped out to admire the panoramic view. But it was more to delay
that inevitable moment. The sight of the high four-poster bed with
billowing sheers unnerved her.
A knife to her heart.
She was acutely aware of him at the French doors even as she stood with her back to him.
"Zoya?" she heard the uncertainty in his voice and her heart scrunched up.
She bowed her head.
Asad walked up to her and crooked a finger under her chin to tug her face to him.
"Is something wrong?"
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Her hair swung darkly from one shoulder to the other.
"Are you scared?"
She covered her face and sobbed.
"Zoya! It's OK. We don't have to do anything. Let me just hold you, please?"
And
he gently folded her into his arms and let her cry. He wanted to stroke
her arms and back in comfort. He wanted to kiss the top of her head and
press her to him.
But he did none of the above.
His
heart thumped in fear and self-loathing. Had he been too aggressive?
Too overpowering? Had he scared her with his barely repressed ardor?
Thank god he had behaved himself in the elevator! Even then he had wanted to crush
her against him, lift her up to kiss her senseless and ...
But he had sensed her withdrawal in the
lobby itself.
She stood apart from him as he checked them in. Her
shoulders, always squared and perfectly held, drooped. He knew she was
terrified, and it slayed him that she was terrified of him.
He felt her sobs tapering off as she tried to compose herself.
Handing
her his handkerchief he whispered miserably, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have come on so strong. We can wait when you're ready." And he stepped
away from her, not trusting himself, punishing himself.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away from her to gaze unblinkingly at the city coming alive as dusk deepened.
He felt her hand on his shoulder.
"Asad?"
"I'm sorry," he repeated, a tortured whisper ripped from his lips.
"No!
It's not you."
She embraced him from the back, leaning her wet cheek
against him. Her hands crept up his chest, over his heart, and she hugged him tight.
She wanted to tell him but didn't want him looking at her when she did. When she'd heard the doubt in
his voice she almost fell to her knees with how heartsick she felt.
"I
want you. I love you so much. But I'm scared," she whispered. "Not
because of what you did, but because I'm not good enough for you."
His hand came up to cover hers, "what?! Zoya, how can you even say that?" He started to
pull her to face him.
"Wait, listen." She spoke softly, tracing shy circles on his back.
"I ... want to be with you. But---"
Asad dragged her around to face him. "But nothing! Stop being your own worst critic."
He pulled her in his arms and caressed her cheek.
"No, Asad," Zoya held
his face urgently in her hands. "There's something you don't know about me."
"Then tell me. I can see it's important to you. But don't think it'll change anything between us."
"It won't?" she asked hopefully.
"Never! I won't let it." And he kissed both her knuckles before nuzzling her neck and drawing her in for a deep kiss.
"Tell me. And make it quick, because I have plans for you."
"I have a scar ..."
Asad chuckled. "Just one? I have at least half a dozen."
"No!" Zoya silenced him by placing her finger on his mouth. He kissed it and started to nibble on
it.
"Asad!" She protested through breathy moans and contented purrs.
She
would just have to take the plunge because his amorousness was driving
her crazy. A minute longer and her traitorous mind would be a buzzy blur
and she'd never be able to get the words out. Already her languorous
body was betraying her
resolve.
She held his hands in both of hers. Firmly.
"I have a horribly long, disfiguring scar up my whole arm. It's ... it's ugly ...," her voice broke.
She dropped his hands and turned her back to him, gripping the edge of the wrought iron railing.
The sky had darkened by now. The cavernous room behind them was even
darker. Before Asad could gather her in his arms to wipe away all her
fears, he saw her shoulders shaking. What terrible weight was she
crushing herself under?
"You shouldn't have married me Mr. Khan!"
With a choked sob, she bolted toward the glass doors to lock herself in the restroom.
But he didn't let her get there.
Asad caught her wrist to stall her flight. Moving behind her he pushed
her hair off one shoulder to nuzzle her neck again and wrap his arms around her waist.
"I shouldn't have done a lot of things. Doesn't mean I wouldn't have done any of those things. I'd marry you, again and again."
Squeezing
her tighter he murmured in her hair, "it's done now. You're stuck with
me, scar or no scar. And if you hate it so much, why didn't you get it
removed?"
"I've never thought of having it cosmetically fixed. At least not till the day I fell in love with you."
She
turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest. "I've lived with
it all my life and it's a part of who I am, but I hate it right now. I
wanted it to be perfect between us."
Cupping
her face, he asked, "And what makes you think it won't be? If this scar
makes you who you are, then why would I let you be ashamed of it? And why
wouldn't I still see you as beautiful?"
He
continued to soothe her fears away, crowding her against the railing, letting her know how much he wanted her. When those fears turned to fierce
longing, she had no idea. Her body melted and breath sighed. Asad picked
her up and carried her to the bed. She protested as he left her
momentarily to switch on a bedside lamp. From his suitcase, he removed
something and handed it to her.
"Put this on for me."
Zoya smiled shyly. She had told him about her scar: her secret, her legacy.
"How?" He'd asked, biting and sucking her earlobe.
"An accident which killed my mother," she breathed erratically, every nerve aflame, eyes closed.
And he had crushed her to him knowing why she'd never let any surgery anywhere near it.
When
she stepped out of the restroom, her heart stopped. He wasn't in the
room. But he appeared a second later to lean against the French doors.
Arms crossed across his chest, his stormy eyes drank in the sight of
her.
"Since
that day, I've longed to see you in my shirt." He walked up to her and
took her hands in his. "Night and day, you've appeared in my visions in
nothing else."
Switching
off the lamp he pulled her toward the balcony. He'd been busy as she
quickly showered and moisturized herself to change into his shirt. He
had managed to drag the bedding to the balcony.
"Here?" she asked, a thousand shy giggles in her voice.
"Here, under the stars," he pledged.
"Mr. Khan, the bed linens'll get dirty!" she teased.
"I'll pay them extra to get them laundered!"
Two dizzying orgasms later, she was still frustrated. Her body was liquid and molten, sinuous and electric.
But still unsated.
Unslaked.
"Asad
please!" she complained and begged as she dug her nails into his
shoulders, back arching in preparation for a third spill.
Under the silvery moonlight, her love-burnished skin glowed, opalescent and pearly.
"Please what?" he tormented her, hands a fiery blur, lips suctioning, and tongue swirling mercilessly.
"Take me," she sobbed, legs thrashing and hips convulsing. "Please! Now!" she keened.
Fingers trailing down her proud scar, he finally relented and capitulated to her desperate pleas and the blood hammering in his veins.
Her
breath caught at the sharp penetration, but her body, ready, a tender
sheath to his, gratefully welcomed the stinging relief.
"Thank you," she sighed, embracing him as he collapsed on her.
"Don't thank me yet," he grunted still jerking from his release. "Picture abhi baki hai!"
She laughed, delighted and bewitched. "Can't wait, I love movie marathons! Especially the climaxes!"
"Good! Because I've scheduled a private show next. The film's called "Mr. and Mrs. Khan and a black dress!"
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