KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 017)
KHUSHI COULDN'T WAIT to share the news of Arnav's generous gift with Payal. Payal would agree this was exactly the tonic that Bauji required. The doctors maintained that his full and complete recovery was only a matter of time and will, and what more incentive did a man require than knowing that his home and business waited for him? Arnav---a man who placed high value on work---had understood this better than anyone, she realized. She glanced at her husband, pride and gratitude bursting in her chest.
How will I contain so much happiness in my one small heart, she sighed.
It was quite late when they returned to Raizada House, Akaash and Payal were standing near the entrance. Akaash was on the phone. When he saw them enter, he ended the call and said, "I was just calling you, Bhai."
"What's wrong?" Arnav asked with a touch of alarm in his tone.
"Nothing. Everyone is out this evening, leaving the four of us on our own for dinner," he explained. "Thought we could go to Mandarin Oriental for Chinese."
Khushi met Arnav's eyes. He tilted his head, as if to ask, yes?'
She nodded eagerly with a smile.
"We'll go change," Arnav said and pulled her towards the staircase.
When Khushi came out of the shower, Arnav was waiting outside the bathroom. He pressed a saree into her hand and advised, "we leave in fifteen minutes," and then stepped into the bathroom. Once the door was safely closed, Khushi wrinkled her nose. This saree was the only one he had had delivered to her that she did not like. Granted it was a polished silk of exquisite quality, but the colour was a dull grey and there was absolutely no embellishment.
Where was the Chamkili quotient?
This is exactly the sort of boring saree that fashion houses like AR Group charge gullibl e wealthy patrons an exorbitant price for, she said to Lakshmi, who had wandered into the room. She draped the saree, and then sat down to apply some makeup. She decided to wear the dangling diamond earrings she had worn at Holi, and as they were quite impressive, she decided to let her mangalsutra, kangans and ring be the only other jewellery. At second glance, the colour did look well on her. It had a subtle shimmer as it caught reflecting light. She was just applying a crystal bindi when she heard Arnav open the bathroom door. To indicate that she was ready before the stipulated fifteen minutes, she rose hastily from the stool to fetch her silver sandals from the wardrobe.
They collided. She reached out to steady herself, and her hands grasped at warm muscular arms. Khushi looked up and saw that the warmth in question was her husband in front of her in a pair of dark jeans slung dangerously low on his hips---and nothing more. His hair was damp, his skin was also damp---and he was radiating enough damp heat to replace a rain forest. She had never seen him shirtless, and though she tried to not become adolescent about the matter, she was aware that a few beads of perspiration were setting her face aglow.
Arnav Singh Raizada---beneath his buttoned-up vests and buttoned-up manners---was rather...uhmm... beautiful. His chest was broad, chiselled without being too bulky. And his waist was narrow with an astonishingly well-muscled abdomen. Khushi's eyes lingered a bit too long on his abdomen, and in realizing this, she coloured and bit the corner of her lip. She stepped to the side mumbling something about needing her sandals. He opened the wardrobe and handed them to her. He then pulled on a V-neck sweater the colour of sky.
To Khushi, he became in that instant the epitome of perfect maleness. Every man, if at all possible, should strive to look exactly like my husband, she decided.
While she was studying him, he had apparently been studying her. "Where do you keep the jewellery I've sent," he asked.
Khushi pointed to the end of the wardrobe where the boxes were piled up. Suspecting he was going to adjust her look, she frowned, glancing at herself in the mirror. "I think these earrings look nice," she spoke in her own defence.
He was rifling though the boxes until he discovered what he was seeking, and withdrew a large slim box. "Wear this," he said, placing the box in her hands.
She didn't remember that particular box. It must have arrived in the early days after their wedding, when she had been too furious to examine closely gifts from her enemy. Khushi opened it now, and nestled on the white satin lining rested a diamond pave hip belt. It was stunning---narrow, discreet but still stunning.
"Downstairs. Two minutes," he instructed, popping his phone in his jean pocket, and giving her one last full body survey before leaving the room. Pukka Laad Governor!
KHUSHI WAS ENCHANTED with the rooftop restaurant. Coloured lanterns by the hundreds, in all sizes, were draped along the perimeter. The tables were lit with more tiny paper lanterns, and it seemed like the perfect day had just got more perfect. Perfection.
Away from the house and the whole family, she noticed how at ease Akaash and Payal were with each other. Payal quietly teasing her husband; Akaash attentive and doting upon his wife. She realized that in the past week, she had been too self-absorbed in her own dramatic marriage to notice that her Jiji and Jija had transformed from a besotted pair into a real married couple. It pleased her to see their happiness. Could it be possible that both the Gupta girls had met their respective prince? She was grateful that the dim lantern lights hid the tears that formed in her eyes.
The food arrived and the Raizada men took it upon themselves to educate the Gupta girls on the proper usage of chopsticks. Payal managed in no time, but Khushi struggled, laughing at her own sorry skill.
"I'll starve at this rate," she said to Arnav, as she nibbled awkwardly on a noodle that was in danger of falling into a lantern. He confiscated her chopsticks, and took on the task of feeding both her and himself with his set.
We noticed, of course--- but, Mr and Mrs Raizada were oblivious to the looks they received from other diners. Some sighed wistfully at the epitome of young love. Others felt this should be done behind closed doors. And the remainder decided that they too would rekindle their marriage by feeding their partner when opportunity next presented itself.
They cleared her plate---and his---and some more! Khushi finally said, "enough" and refused to accept another morsel.
He repeated, "enough?" his eyebrow lifting suggestively.
She nodded shyly transfixed by the audaciousness in his tone.
"Sure?" he pressed. She felt Arnav's hand slide low on her hips, and tug firmly at the belt, so that it cut into her flesh. It sent a delicious shiver up her spine. She looked at him, her mouth parting.
He said nothing. It was this nothing that spoke volumes. It asked. It declared. It affirmed.
How do I show him I'm ready? Am I ready? What am I to say? Khushi had worried over questions of this nature all during the drive home. She and Payal had shared the back seat, and Khushi had caught Arnav watching her in the rear view mirror several times. She had sensed he was reading her mind. She feared that he would read her hesitancy as reluctance. When they entered the house, Hariprakash handed him an envelope delivered by messenger while they were out. He explained he needed to quickly review it, and urged her to go upstairs.
She sat at the stool in front of the mirror brushing out her hair, wishing he had not left the decision to proceed in her hands. How could she possibly make the first move? Yet, if she did not, he would interpret it as unwillingness to move forward with their marriage.
He has put me in an impossible situation!
"So unfair," she lamented. And so deep was her self-pity that she failed to realize that she had spent fifteen minutes brushing her hair, and that her husband had entered the room, closed the doors and was now lazily leaning against them, keenly observing her reflection in the mirror.
When she became aware of this, the hairbrush slipped out of her fingers and crashed to the floor. She rose to pick it up and placed it on the vanity table, breaking eye contact with him.
"Come here," he commanded, without moving or extending his hand.
It was not a request. She turned slowly and walked to him, feigning more courage than she actually felt. When she neared him, he reached out, placed his hand on the curve of her waist, and pulled her close to him. His hands, his palms, his fingertips caressed her from ribcage, over her tummy and to where the hip belt rested. His eyes did not meet hers, but rather followed the movement of his hands, examining her. His touch was thorough, his fingers leaving a scorching trail. She watched his hands as they moved over her form. It seemed her breath was caught somewhere in her chest cavity and though her lips parted, she couldn't quite exhale. "Remove this," he said, tugging at her saree pleats. Her hands did as they were told. She wasn't even cognizant of how and when the saree fell to the floor. It made a soft sound. Or did she make that sound?
ARNAV SINGH RAIZADA WAS A LIAR. He told himself that he would touch her briefly, and then step away. Only one kiss! Then he would stop . He caught her face in his hands, and tilted it so he could press his mouth to those ripe lips. Her mouth softly parted beneath his--- yet, he still told himself he was fully in control. He slanted his mouth across hers, applying gentle pressure. Her lips kissed him back.
Just a taste. His tongue touched her lips. Someone groaned. He suspected it was himself. He had to taste her more fully. His tongue entered her mouth, and she yielded to the invasion. The more she yielded, the more he took. It was not the tender kiss with which he had wanted to initiate her---but that possibility was beyond him now. He bruised her lips. Sucked her tongue. Teeth met teeth. He demanded more---and she gave it.
Somewhere in this, they got turned around, and his lower body pressed her against the door. Her head knocked on the frame. He halted. Broke the kiss. Looked down at her upturned face. Her eyes fluttered open. She touched his face and this time she took his mouth. He cradled her head so it was buffered, and allowed her to explore him as he had enjoyed her. She was thorough. He had never experienced a more erotic kiss. It shook him to his core. She softly bit his lips exciting his response. Then pulled away from the kiss. But he didn't allow it. She made him chase her tongue as their mouths re-joined.
By their own volition, his hands moved up her back and pulled at the ties on her blouse. This time she broke the kiss---and looked at him. The naked desire he saw in her eyes made his hands tremble.
"Say yes," he urged.
But he didn't wait for her response. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, placing her at the centre at a diagonal. He then kicked off his shoes, his eyes never leaving her. She watched him as he removed his sweater.
And when he tossed it aside, he said, "your turn."
Jalebi Jane
KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 017)
KHUSHI COULDN'T WAIT to share the news of Arnav's generous gift with Payal. Payal would agree this was exactly the tonic that Bauji required. The doctors maintained that his full and complete recovery was only a matter of time and will, and what more incentive did a man require than knowing that his home and business waited for him? Arnav---a man who placed high value on work---had understood this better than anyone, she realized. She glanced at her husband, pride and gratitude bursting in her chest.
How will I contain so much happiness in my one small heart, she sighed.
It was quite late when they returned to Raizada House, Akaash and Payal were standing near the entrance. Akaash was on the phone. When he saw them enter, he ended the call and said, "I was just calling you, Bhai."
"What's wrong?" Arnav asked with a touch of alarm in his tone.
"Nothing. Everyone is out this evening, leaving the four of us on our own for dinner," he explained. "Thought we could go to Mandarin Oriental for Chinese."
Khushi met Arnav's eyes. He tilted his head, as if to ask, yes?'
She nodded eagerly with a smile.
"We'll go change," Arnav said and pulled her towards the staircase.
When Khushi came out of the shower, Arnav was waiting outside the bathroom. He pressed a saree into her hand and advised, "we leave in fifteen minutes," and then stepped into the bathroom. Once the door was safely closed, Khushi wrinkled her nose. This saree was the only one he had had delivered to her that she did not like. Granted it was a polished silk of exquisite quality, but the colour was a dull grey and there was absolutely no embellishment.
Where was the Chamkili quotient?
This is exactly the sort of boring saree that fashion houses like AR Group charge gullibl e wealthy patrons an exorbitant price for, she said to Lakshmi, who had wandered into the room. She draped the saree, and then sat down to apply some makeup. She decided to wear the dangling diamond earrings she had worn at Holi, and as they were quite impressive, she decided to let her mangalsutra, kangans and ring be the only other jewellery. At second glance, the colour did look well on her. It had a subtle shimmer as it caught reflecting light. She was just applying a crystal bindi when she heard Arnav open the bathroom door. To indicate that she was ready before the stipulated fifteen minutes, she rose hastily from the stool to fetch her silver sandals from the wardrobe.
They collided. She reached out to steady herself, and her hands grasped at warm muscular arms. Khushi looked up and saw that the warmth in question was her husband in front of her in a pair of dark jeans slung dangerously low on his hips---and nothing more. His hair was damp, his skin was also damp---and he was radiating enough damp heat to replace a rain forest. She had never seen him shirtless, and though she tried to not become adolescent about the matter, she was aware that a few beads of perspiration were setting her face aglow.
Arnav Singh Raizada---beneath his buttoned-up vests and buttoned-up manners---was rather...uhmm... beautiful. His chest was broad, chiselled without being too bulky. And his waist was narrow with an astonishingly well-muscled abdomen. Khushi's eyes lingered a bit too long on his abdomen, and in realizing this, she coloured and bit the corner of her lip. She stepped to the side mumbling something about needing her sandals. He opened the wardrobe and handed them to her. He then pulled on a V-neck sweater the colour of sky.
To Khushi, he became in that instant the epitome of perfect maleness. Every man, if at all possible, should strive to look exactly like my husband, she decided.
While she was studying him, he had apparently been studying her. "Where do you keep the jewellery I've sent," he asked.
Khushi pointed to the end of the wardrobe where the boxes were piled up. Suspecting he was going to adjust her look, she frowned, glancing at herself in the mirror. "I think these earrings look nice," she spoke in her own defence.
He was rifling though the boxes until he discovered what he was seeking, and withdrew a large slim box. "Wear this," he said, placing the box in her hands.
She didn't remember that particular box. It must have arrived in the early days after their wedding, when she had been too furious to examine closely gifts from her enemy. Khushi opened it now, and nestled on the white satin lining rested a diamond pave hip belt. It was stunning---narrow, discreet but still stunning.
"Downstairs. Two minutes," he instructed, popping his phone in his jean pocket, and giving her one last full body survey before leaving the room. Pukka Laad Governor!
KHUSHI WAS ENCHANTED with the rooftop restaurant. Coloured lanterns by the hundreds, in all sizes, were draped along the perimeter. The tables were lit with more tiny paper lanterns, and it seemed like the perfect day had just got more perfect. Perfection.
Away from the house and the whole family, she noticed how at ease Akaash and Payal were with each other. Payal quietly teasing her husband; Akaash attentive and doting upon his wife. She realized that in the past week, she had been too self-absorbed in her own dramatic marriage to notice that her Jiji and Jija had transformed from a besotted pair into a real married couple. It pleased her to see their happiness. Could it be possible that both the Gupta girls had met their respective prince? She was grateful that the dim lantern lights hid the tears that formed in her eyes.
The food arrived and the Raizada men took it upon themselves to educate the Gupta girls on the proper usage of chopsticks. Payal managed in no time, but Khushi struggled, laughing at her own sorry skill.
"I'll starve at this rate," she said to Arnav, as she nibbled awkwardly on a noodle that was in danger of falling into a lantern. He confiscated her chopsticks, and took on the task of feeding both her and himself with his set.
We noticed, of course--- but, Mr and Mrs Raizada were oblivious to the looks they received from other diners. Some sighed wistfully at the epitome of young love. Others felt this should be done behind closed doors. And the remainder decided that they too would rekindle their marriage by feeding their partner when opportunity next presented itself.
They cleared her plate---and his---and some more! Khushi finally said, "enough" and refused to accept another morsel.
He repeated, "enough?" his eyebrow lifting suggestively.
She nodded shyly transfixed by the audaciousness in his tone.
"Sure?" he pressed. She felt Arnav's hand slide low on her hips, and tug firmly at the belt, so that it cut into her flesh. It sent a delicious shiver up her spine. She looked at him, her mouth parting.
He said nothing. It was this nothing that spoke volumes. It asked. It declared. It affirmed.
How do I show him I'm ready? Am I ready? What am I to say? Khushi had worried over questions of this nature all during the drive home. She and Payal had shared the back seat, and Khushi had caught Arnav watching her in the rear view mirror several times. She had sensed he was reading her mind. She feared that he would read her hesitancy as reluctance. When they entered the house, Hariprakash handed him an envelope delivered by messenger while they were out. He explained he needed to quickly review it, and urged her to go upstairs.
She sat at the stool in front of the mirror brushing out her hair, wishing he had not left the decision to proceed in her hands. How could she possibly make the first move? Yet, if she did not, he would interpret it as unwillingness to move forward with their marriage.
He has put me in an impossible situation!
"So unfair," she lamented. And so deep was her self-pity that she failed to realize that she had spent fifteen minutes brushing her hair, and that her husband had entered the room, closed the doors and was now lazily leaning against them, keenly observing her reflection in the mirror.
When she became aware of this, the hairbrush slipped out of her fingers and crashed to the floor. She rose to pick it up and placed it on the vanity table, breaking eye contact with him.
"Come here," he commanded, without moving or extending his hand.
It was not a request. She turned slowly and walked to him, feigning more courage than she actually felt. When she neared him, he reached out, placed his hand on the curve of her waist, and pulled her close to him. His hands, his palms, his fingertips caressed her from ribcage, over her tummy and to where the hip belt rested. His eyes did not meet hers, but rather followed the movement of his hands, examining her. His touch was thorough, his fingers leaving a scorching trail. She watched his hands as they moved over her form. It seemed her breath was caught somewhere in her chest cavity and though her lips parted, she couldn't quite exhale. "Remove this," he said, tugging at her saree pleats. Her hands did as they were told. She wasn't even cognizant of how and when the saree fell to the floor. It made a soft sound. Or did she make that sound?
ARNAV SINGH RAIZADA WAS A LIAR. He told himself that he would touch her briefly, and then step away. Only one kiss! Then he would stop . He caught her face in his hands, and tilted it so he could press his mouth to those ripe lips. Her mouth softly parted beneath his--- yet, he still told himself he was fully in control. He slanted his mouth across hers, applying gentle pressure. Her lips kissed him back.
Just a taste. His tongue touched her lips. Someone groaned. He suspected it was himself. He had to taste her more fully. His tongue entered her mouth, and she yielded to the invasion. The more she yielded, the more he took. It was not the tender kiss with which he had wanted to initiate her---but that possibility was beyond him now. He bruised her lips. Sucked her tongue. Teeth met teeth. He demanded more---and she gave it.
Somewhere in this, they got turned around, and his lower body pressed her against the door. Her head knocked on the frame. He halted. Broke the kiss. Looked down at her upturned face. Her eyes fluttered open. She touched his face and this time she took his mouth. He cradled her head so it was buffered, and allowed her to explore him as he had enjoyed her. She was thorough. He had never experienced a more erotic kiss. It shook him to his core. She softly bit his lips exciting his response. Then pulled away from the kiss. But he didn't allow it. She made him chase her tongue as their mouths re-joined.
By their own volition, his hands moved up her back and pulled at the ties on her blouse. This time she broke the kiss---and looked at him. The naked desire he saw in her eyes made his hands tremble.
"Say yes," he urged.
But he didn't wait for her response. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, placing her at the centre at a diagonal. He then kicked off his shoes, his eyes never leaving her. She watched him as he removed his sweater.
And when he tossed it aside, he said, "your turn."
Jalebi Jane
KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 18)
YES, SISTERS, HE ACTUALLY said your turn.' Arnav Singh Raizada realized that he had unconsciously expressed it as a challenge. He and Khushi had a long history of provoking each other with dares and bets. It had now entered their bedroom. How inevitable! Khushi had diverted her eyes at his statement, but they slowly lifted to meet his when he added, "you once said you could do anything I could do---" Arnav let the sentence hang incomplete.
In her eyes he read apprehension mingled with a spark of excitement. He smiled inwardly. Khushi could never walk away from a challenge. In this, they were perfectly matched. He lifted an eyebrow and said, "I'm waiting, Khushi."
She inhaled deeply, clearly calling upon all her female courage, and drew up to her knees. She turned so her back was to him.
Then tilting her head to the side, she caught the full abundance of her hair and moved it to the front so her blouse back was exposed to his eyes. Reaching behind, she began to untie the dori of her blouse. It gave way without complaint, parting to reveal most of her back.
Now it all came down to three tiny hooks.
Khushi looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
Arnav was spellbound. She seemed to innately know exactly what he found visually arousing. His loins tightened in response to her artless seduction. Her fingers struggled to reach the hooks, and his fingers itched to help---but he resisted. It was a tortured pleasure. When the hooks gave way, the blouse fell open, and with a tiny shrug, fell off her shoulders. In a deft move, worthy of an accomplished magician, Khushi let the blouse slip off her arms, and quickly crossed her arms across her bosom.
Dear Sisters, our heroine was not aware that by pressing her arms across her chest, she did more to stir her husband than she did to restrict his view. Her flesh overflowed what her arms could not contain, and Arnav expected that at any moment she would spill forth her splendour. He rested his knees on the bed, and approached her from behind. As he neared, he could hear her every distinct breath. He let his fingertips touch her back. Lightly. Her breath hitched.
"Khushi," he urged. His voice sounded raspy to his own ears.
It was not necessary for him to speak the words. They both knew what he was asking of her. She slowly twisted to face him, but did not meet his eyes---but nor did she resist when he parted her arms. He laid her bare.
And took in her beauty.
He was a man---and like every man, he had often visualized naked the object of his desire. He had unclothed her with his eyes many many times . But clearly he had done her an injustice. She was more magnificent, more sublime than his mind had rendered. Her breasts were surprisingly full and heavy for such a slim girl, thus making her waist appear even more tiny. His hands reached out to cup her, flicking his thumb against the rosy tips. She shut her eyes, and an equally rosy flush coloured her cheeks. She was perfection. He pressed her down on the bed, moving her hair aside and continued caressing her breasts, fondling them, massaging---he tugged at a nipple, and when she gasped with surprise, he captured her mouth in a kiss. His tongue plundered her depths, and her hands came up to cup his face, to bring his mouth nearer. He couldn't get his fill of her mouth. The more he tasted, the more he wanted of her. Arnav extended the kiss, trailing soft bites down her chin, her neck, her breasts. When his tongue licked her cleavage and latched onto a nipple, Khushi almost lifted off the bed with a gasp of pleasure. He held her down with his hips heavy across her lower body and explored her sensitive nipples further.
Alternating between pulling and suckling her nipples, he asked rhetorically, "do you like this?" She writhed beneath him. That was her reply. And her sighs stoked the fire in his lower belly. He knew then and there that he would soon outpace himself, so he sat back on his heels, and began to untie the petticoat drawstring. Alarm flashed in her wide eyes, but again, she did not prevent him. He drew the petticoat down her hips, and lifted her slightly to allow the fabric to slide down her thighs,and past her calves. His heart beat like a drum as his eyes followed the same path.
The contrast between her suggestive hip belt and her functional white panties confronted Arnav with the reality of sexually awakening this girl-woman. He had only been with experienced women---and for good reason. Just as this was all new to Khushi, it was uncharted territory for him also. She trusted him; did he trust himself?
He covered her warm body with his. "Khushi," he said, looking into her eyes, "I'll be careful, but...thora dard hoga ."
His brave wife replied by pressing a tender kiss to his mouth.
It was this kiss---this complete and generous gesture of trust---that filled Arnav with the restraint to merit the gift Khushi was about to bestow. He kissed her. Deeply. His hands stroking her breasts, and slipping down to her tummy. He sensed her alarm as his fingers caressed her inner thighs. "Shhh," he soothed her unvoiced concern. He brushed against her, gently---through her panties--- and felt the heat and damp of her desire. His self-control slipped. He took her mouth in a scorching kiss at the same time that his fingers slipped under the fabric to touch her. She immediately tried to move away, and struggled to break the kiss, but he forced her to maintain it, swallowing her gasps of shock and pleasure, as he made himself familiar with her body, learning the shape of her, finding her centre.
He then released her mouth, and carefully entered her with his finger while rubbing her bud with his thumb. She moaned into his shoulder. This moan almost unmanned Arnav, and it took the greatest discipline of his life to rein in his own desire. He strummed and played her body and when he heard in her breaths and sighs that she was approaching a peak, he stopped. It was selfish but he wanted to be joined to her when she climaxed.
"Stay with me, Khushi---" he said, removing his jeans. Khushi herself removed her panties, and when Arnav urged her to part her knees, she did, shyly but decidedly.
He pressed against her, and partially entered her. Her warm wet sheath felt incredible, but she felt so snug and tight against his girth. He hesitated for her sake.
Maybe it was best to wait. He felt her hand on his face. Their eyes locked. She said very clearly, "please don't stop."
Arnav lifted her hips with his hands and moved into her. He felt her tear. And her body clench against this invasion. He reached for her with his fingers again, pleasuring her, soothing her and by some miracle holding himself still. Khushi began to respond to his touch, and---finally---when he moved again, he felt her relax around him, open to him. He watched her face as he thrust into her slowly. Khushi moaned, her eyes closed, her mouth parted. He took her mouth and plunged his tongue into her mouth as he plunged into her body again. She immediately clenched against him with a sharp cry, and her body collapsed into spasms. Her contractions pulsed against him and he forgot to be careful and slow. His body reached for its own satiation, thrusting against her, taking her with him, until he too reached that sublime small death.
Jalebi Jane
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