💖 Ishita's Perspective

The days in Paris blurred into a beautiful, intoxicating haze of luxury and raw passion. Every morning started with the sun peeking through the curtains to find us tangled together, and every night ended with the "climax stains" on the silk sheets-a silent, messy testimony to how much my husband worshipped my body.

Rudra was a man of extremes. In the streets, he was the protective, possessive Prince, his hand never leaving the small of my back, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk ready to strike anyone who dared to look at me for too long. But behind the closed doors of our villa, he was different. He was my personal devotee. He would spend hours "worshipping" me-tracing my **brown skin** with his lips, whispering how my **slim figure** was the only art he cared about in this city.

And the bathing? God, I don't think I took a single shower alone. He'd carry me into the massive marble tub, the water overflowing as his **6'3" muscular frame** joined me. He'd wash my **long curly hair** with such tenderness, only for the "clean" bath to turn into another round of breathless romance against the wet tiles.

The most attractive thing, though? His intelligence. It was actually annoying how perfect he was.

We were sitting at a chic cafe near the Seine when the waiter approached. Rudra didn't even look at the menu. He started speaking in fluent, effortless French-his voice deep, the "R"s rolling off his tongue with a sophisticated grit. I just sat there, my chin in my hand, staring at him like a total fangirl. I tried to catch a word-*Bonjour? Merci?*-but I failed miserably.

"Ru," I whispered after the waiter left, my eyes wide. "You sound so... hot when you speak French. Like, dangerously hot. How are you so smart? You should teach me some sentences."

His **ocean-blue eyes** darkened instantly. He didn't look impressed by the praise; he looked hungry. He leaned across the small table, his large hand reaching out to grip my nape, his thumb stroking the skin just below my ear.

"You like my tongue when I speak French, *Janna*?" he rasped, his voice dropping an octave.

"I... I do. It's impressive," I stuttered, my **chooda clinking** as I nervously toyed with my napkin.

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing mine in the middle of the crowded cafe. "If you want to praise me, Ishi, don't praise my linguistics. Praise the 'night yoga' I do with you. Praise the way I make you moan my name until your voice goes hoarse. That's the only performance I want a review on."

My face went nuclear. "Rudra! We are in public! And 'night yoga'? Seriously? You are so shameless!"

"And yet," he smirked, leaning back and taking a sip of his black coffee, "you're the one who keeps asking for 'one more time' at 3:00 AM. We've lost count, haven't we? How many times have I claimed you in this city? Five? Ten? I've lost track of everything but the way you feel under me."

"I hate you," I whispered, though my eyes were dancing with love.

"Liar," he countered. "You love that I'm possessive. You love that I don't let you breathe without reminding you who you belong to."

He was right. I was dramatic, I was a handful, and I was fiercely possessive of him-God help the woman who even tried to glance at his broad shoulders-but he handled my drama like it was his favorite hobby. Whether it was me pouting because I wanted a specific crepe or me crying because a street performer sang a sad song, he was there, a pillar of strength and dark, protective love.

Our honeymoon was a cycle of: Explore. Eat. Shop. *Make love.* Repeat. And honestly? I didn't want to ever leave this Parisian bubble where I was the only girl in his world.

I stood in front of the full-length gilded mirror of our villa, giving myself one last satisfied look. I had leaned into my full "Model and Makeup Artist" power tonight. I was wearing a blood-red strappy crop top that hugged my curves perfectly, paired with a matching high-thigh slit skirt that teased a glimpse of my legs with every move. My **long curly hair** was a wild, voluminous mane, my **long nails** were freshly manicured, and I had gone for a bold, sultry makeup look-sharp eyeliner and a deep red lip that matched my outfit.

But the most important accessories? My **red-and-white chooda** and the bright streak of **sindoor** in my parting. I looked like a lethal combination of a modern-day siren and a traditional Rathor bride.

I was applying one last coat of perfume when I felt the air in the room change. I didn't need to turn around to know Rudra was standing in the doorway. Through the mirror, I saw him-a vision of pure, masculine power in a bespoke black suit. His **6'3" muscular frame** filled the space, his **fair skin** contrasting with the dark fabric, and those **ocean-blue eyes**... God, they were burning.

He didn't move for a long minute. He just stared at the reflection of my bare waist and the high slit of my skirt.

"Fuck, *Janna*," he growled, his voice vibrating with a dangerous edge. He walked over, his heavy footsteps sounding like a countdown. He stood behind me, his hands gripping my waist with a possessiveness that left bruises of desire. "You want me to do it right now, don't you? Stop looking so sexy, or that client is going to get a call saying we aren't coming."

I turned around in his arms, my **chooda clinking** as I rested my hands on his broad, suited shoulders. I looked up at my **sexy husband**, my heart doing a somersault. "Sharm, lihaz... *kuch nahi hai aapme*, Rudra," I teased, biting my lip. (You have no shame or modesty.)

"I traded my shame for you a long time ago, Ishi," he whispered, leaning down until his nose brushed mine. His hands slid down from my waist to the back of my thighs, his fingers grazing the skin exposed by the slit. "You're wearing my sindoor and my chooda, yet you look like a temptation I can't ignore. If a single man at that party looks at this slit for more than a second, I'm going to lose my temper."

"Let them look, Ru," I whispered, my voice bold. "Let them see what the 'Cold Prince' of Rajasthan won. Let them be jealous that I only have eyes for you."

He didn't find that comforting. His grip tightened, and he pulled me flush against his hard chest. "No. I don't like sharing the view. I want to wrap you in my coat and hide you away."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over my collarbone, avoiding my makeup but making sure I felt his heat. "If you dance tonight, you dance only with me. If you drink, it's from my glass. And the moment I give you the signal, we leave. Because looking at you in this red dress is making me think of a hundred ways I want to ruin your lipstick later."

I felt a thrill of "dark romance" spike through me. I loved his jealousy; it was the fire that kept our relationship burning. He wasn't just my husband; he was my protector, my warden, and my biggest fan all in one.

"Deal," I murmured, leaning up to kiss his jawline, careful not to leave a mark. "But you have to promise to stay close. I'm pretty possessive of my 'Greek God' too. If I see any French socialite trying to talk business too closely with you, I might just have to show them how 'dramatic' a Sharma girl can get."

He let out a dark, appreciative chuckle. "I'm counting on it. Now, let's go. Let's show Paris who the real King and Queen are."

The moment our car pulled up to the grand Parisian hotel, the night exploded into a blur of blinding camera flashes. The French media had caught wind that the "Cold Prince of Rajasthan" was in town with his mysterious, stunning bride.

Rudra didn't even wait for the valet. He stepped out and was at my door in an instant, his **6'3" frame** acting like a human shield between me and the paparazzi. He tucked me firmly under his arm, his large hand splayed possessively across my bare waist, his thumb tracing the skin just above my **high-slit skirt**. I felt like a queen being escorted by her most dangerous guard.

Inside, the ballroom was a sea of silk, perfume, and power. As we walked in, the room seemed to tilt on its axis. Every head turned. I could hear the whispers-some in French, some in English. The men were staring at my legs and my **long curly hair** with hungry eyes, and the women were practically devouring Rudra with their gazes, their eyes lingering on his **ocean-blue eyes** and sharp, muscular jawline.

"Ishi," Rudra growled low in my ear, his grip tightening until it was almost bruising. "Stay close. Don't wander off, not even for a second."

"I'm not going anywhere, Ru," I whispered back, my **chooda clinking** as I gripped his arm. "I'm too busy making sure these French socialites don't get any ideas about *my* husband."

Clients and billionaires flocked to him, trying to talk business, but Rudra was barely listening. He didn't touch the champagne being offered-neither of us drank-but he looked intoxicated just by looking at me.

The music shifted to something slow, sultry, and rhythmic. Couples drifted to the floor. I knew Rudra hated public displays; the world saw him as emotionless and rigid. He only ever let his guard down-and his moves out-when we were alone in our room. But tonight, seeing the way a group of young businessmen were eyeing me, I wanted to claim him in front of everyone.

"Ru," I whispered, tugging on his silk lapels. "Dance with me?"

He looked at the dance floor with a scowl, then back at me. His eyes swept over my **red crop top** and the way I was looking at him with a pout. He didn't say a word. He just grabbed my hand and led me to the very center of the floor.

He pulled me in so fast I gasped, my chest bumping into his hard, suited torso. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, while his hands settled heavily on my waist. He didn't just hold me; he molded me to him, making sure there wasn't an inch of space between us.

We swayed slowly, ignoring the beat of the music for a rhythm of our own. Our foreheads touched, creating a private bubble in the middle of the crowded room.

"You're doing this on purpose," he rasped, his voice dark and dangerous. "You know exactly what this dress is doing to me, Ishi. Every man in this room is imagining what's under this skirt, and it's taking every ounce of my control not to start a riot."

"Then don't look at them," I whispered, my eyes locked on his. "Look at me. I'm the one who belongs to you."

His hands began to roam without a shred of shame. One hand slid down the curve of my back, resting just at the top of the slit, his heat seeping through the red fabric. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over my ear, his words turning into that "dirty talk" that always made my toes curl in my heels.

"When we get back, I'm going to make you regret wearing this color," he whispered, his voice a vibration against my skin. "I'm going to mark you so deeply that even when you're fully dressed, you'll feel where my mouth has been. You think you're being dramatic? Wait until you see how I worship you for making me wait all night."

I let out a shaky breath, my grip on his neck tightening. "Rudra... everyone is watching."

"Let them watch," he growled, his hand sliding a little lower, his possessiveness peaking as he noticed a waiter staring a second too long. He turned us slightly, shielding me from view with his broad shoulders. "Let them see that you are mine. Every inch, every breath, every moan. You are the Rathor's Queen, and I am a very selfish King."

The jealousy in his eyes was breathtaking. It wasn't toxic; it was a raw, primal declaration of love. He wasn't just my husband; he was the man who had waited three years to have me back in his arms, and tonight, in the heart of Paris, he was making sure the world knew that destiny had finally finished its work.

The atmosphere in the ballroom shifted from celebratory to lethal in a heartbeat. I was standing there, trying to be the perfect "Bhabhi" and wife, politely engaging in small talk with a French socialite, but my internal alarm was screaming. I felt a pair of eyes on me-not Rudra's warm, heavy gaze, but something oily and disrespectful.

A man across the room, some arrogant heir to a minor empire, made three fatal mistakes. First, he winked at me. Second, he had the audacity to blow a kiss. And third, his eyes didn't just linger on my **high-thigh slit**; they stayed there, stripped of any decency. When he actually walked over to strike up a conversation, I felt Rudra's entire frame turn into granite beside me. I tried to be polite, trying to de-escalate the situation, but the final nail in the coffin was a woman on the other side trying to place a flirtatious hand on Rudra's arm.

Rudra's control didn't just slip; it shattered.

"Laksh," Rudra's voice was a low, terrifying growl as he called his head of security in India . He didn't even look at the man or the woman. "Handle them. I don't want to see them in this room-or this city-by tomorrow."

Without a word of goodbye to our hosts, he gripped my hand so tightly my **chooda** pressed into my skin and hauled me toward the exit. The drive back to the villa was a blur of high-speed turns and the roaring engine of the sports car. Rudra's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his **ocean-blue eyes** glowing with a dark, predatory fire I hadn't seen since the days of the kidnapping. I was scared, yes, but underneath that fear was a thrilling realization: the "Cold Prince" was burning alive with jealousy for me.

The moment we cleared the threshold of our honeymoon villa, the door hadn't even finished clicking shut before he swept me into his arms. He didn't carry me; he claimed me, his **6'3" muscular frame** taking the stairs two at a time.

He threw the bedroom door open and slammed it shut, pinning me against the cold hard wood. I didn't resist. I knew better than to interrupt a Rathor when he was in this "dark" mood.

"Rudra..." I breathed, but the name was swallowed by his mouth crashing onto mine.

It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was a punishment. It was a declaration. His tongue demanded entrance, and I gave it, my hands tangling in his perfect hair, pulling him closer. The sound of our wet, rhythmic kisses filled the silent room. He groaned, a deep, primal sound, and his hand dove for the **high-thigh slit** of my red skirt.

He didn't just touch; he gripped. He hoisted my leg up, pinning my thigh against his waist as his large palm squeezed the soft skin of my upper leg.

"Polite?" he rasped against my lips, his breath hot and smelling of the mint he'd had earlier. "You were being *polite* to him, Ishita? While he was undressing you with his eyes?"

"I was just-"

"No," he cut me off, his hand sliding higher, his fingers grazing the edge of my lace inners. "You are mine. Every curve he looked at, every inch of skin that skirt exposed... it belongs to me. I told you I didn't want to share the view."

He leaned down, his teeth nipping at the sensitive junction of my neck and shoulder, right where my **red strap** sat. He bit down just hard enough to leave a mark-a dark, purple brand that would tell the world exactly who I belonged to tomorrow.

"Ru... you're hurting me," I moaned, though my body was arching into his, my heart hammering against his chest.

"I want you to feel me," he growled, his hand moving to the back of my neck to hold me still as he looked into my eyes. "I want you to remember this feeling the next time a man dares to look at what's mine. I'm going to worship you tonight, *Janna*, but I'm going to do it so thoroughly that you won't be able to walk straight for our flight home. I'm going to erase every look, every wink, and every touch from your memory until there is nothing left but the weight of me."

He didn't wait for a response. He gripped the thin fabric of my red crop top and gave it a sharp tug, his eyes fixed on mine as he prepared to show me exactly why they called him the ruthless Prince of Rajasthan. In this villa, there was no "Cold Prince"-there was only a man obsessed with his wife, and tonight, he was going to be anything but gentle.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

**[MATURE CONTENT NOTICE]**

*This chapter contains explicit descriptions of intimacy, afterglow, and adult themes. 18+ only.*

I didn't just want her; I wanted to consume her. My mind was a storm of dark possessiveness, replaying that bastard's wink and the way he stared at the skin I spent every night worshipping. I kept my mouth fused to hers, our kisses turning into something raw and desperate, the wet, rhythmic sounds echoing against the silent walls of our villa.

I was a man possessed. I pinned her small hand above her head against the door, my much larger fingers interlocking with hers, while my other hand roamed with a frantic, punishing hunger. I found the swell of her breast, squeezing the soft flesh through the red fabric, my thumb grazing the peak until I heard that broken, airy moan escape her throat-the only sound that could soothe the rage in my blood.

With a swift, practiced movement, I stripped the red top away, leaving her in nothing but a strapless, fitted black bra that pushed her chest up, making her look like the ultimate temptation. I lowered my head, my **ocean-blue eyes** turning nearly black as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. I didn't just kiss her; I marked her. I sucked the delicate skin of her collarbone, leaving deep, dark hickey marks that would act as my signature-a warning to the world that this woman was claimed by Rudra Singh Rathor.

"Ru..." she breathed, her voice trembling, her **long curly hair** a wild halo around her face. "Are you... are you angry with me?"

I pulled back just an inch, my chest heaving against hers, our hearts racing in a synchronized, violent rhythm. I looked at her-her lips swollen from my kisses, her **brown skin** flushed, and her eyes wide with a mix of fear and desire.

"No," I rasped, my voice sounding like gravel. "I could never be angry with you, *Janna*. I'm angry at them. I'm angry that the air touches you. I'm angry that the light dares to hit your skin."

I leaned in, my lips ghosting over her ear, my voice dropping to a dangerous, addictive whisper. "You are my life, Ishita. My only light. And I fucking hate anyone who dares to look at my wife like she's anything less than my Queen. I want to lock you in this room and never let you see the sun again just so I don't have to share your beauty with the world."

She let out a soft whimper as I slid my hand down to her thigh, gripping the edge of that high-slit skirt and pulling it upward. My touch was heavy, dominant, leaving no room for doubt about who owned her.

"I'm going to make you forget there was anyone else in that room tonight," I growled, my teeth grazing her earlobe. "I'm going to be so deep inside you that you'll forget your own name, but you'll never forget mine. Every mark I leave on you tonight is a vow, Ishi. A vow that you belong to me-body, soul, and every breath in between."

I didn't wait for her to respond. I swept her up, her legs instinctively locking around my waist, her **chooda clinking** frantically against the back of my neck. I carried her toward the bed, my gaze never leaving hers, promising her a night of dark, relentless worship that would make the fires of Paris look like a flickering candle. Tonight, the "Cold Prince" was gone; there was only a man obsessed with reclaiming his territory.

I stood at the edge of the bed, my muscles coiled with a tension that only she could release. I didn't let her go; I couldn't. I needed her skin against mine like I needed air. With one hand supporting her weight, I reached down and found the zipper of that red skirt. The sound of it sliding down was a sharp hiss in the silent room, and the fabric pooled around our feet, leaving her legs bare and locked around my waist.

The sensation of her heat, her burgeoning wetness, pressing through her thin lace against my lower abdomen was like a match to gasoline. My control was a thread, and I was ready to let it snap.

I buried my face in her chest, my mouth finding the swell of her breast above the lace of her bra. I didn't just kiss her-I claimed her. I moved to her cleavage, the scent of her perfume and her skin driving me insane. I found that one specific spot, the small dip where her pulse raced, and bit down gently.

"Ah... Rudra... *Ru*..." she cried out, her back arching, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

"I know it's your weakest spot, *Janna*," I growled against her skin, the vibration of my voice making her whimper. "And it's my favorite place to leave my mark. I want everyone to know, but mostly, I want *you* to feel exactly who is making you moan like this."

My hands slid down, my palms heavy as I squeezed her hips, tracing the curves of her slim figure that I had memorized over the last five years. I lowered her onto the silk sheets, the moonlight catching the silver of her **chooda** as she reached for me. I tore my shirt off, the buttons straining, and then my trousers, not taking my eyes off her for a single second.

I hovered over her, my **6'3" muscular frame** a dark shadow over her radiant brown skin. I caught her lips again, our tongues dancing in a messy, desperate rhythm that echoed the wet, tempting sounds of our bodies clashing. My hand slid between us, hooking into the side of her strapless bra and her panties.

"Rudra... please... I can't..." she whispered, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps, her eyes hazy with a dangerous, addictive kind of desire.

"You can, Ishi. You'll take every bit of me," I rasped, my hand finding her center, rubbing the soft lace against her heat until she was sobbing my name. "I told you, I'm erasing the world tonight. There is no party, no other men, no Paris. There is only the way you feel under me and the way you scream for me."

I stripped the last of her lace away, tossing it onto the floor with a finality that made her shiver. I was completely naked now, my skin burning against hers. I moved my hand to her inner thigh, parting her legs wider, my thumb grazing her most sensitive spot as I watched her expression crumble into pure, blissful agony.

"Tell me you're mine," I commanded, my voice a low, dominant growl as I prepared to sink into her. "Tell me whose mark is on your soul, Ishita."

"Yours... only yours, Ru... *hamesha* (always)," she moaned, her head tossing back against the pillows.

The "Cold Prince" was dead. In this room, in this moment, I was just a man obsessed, ready to worship his Queen until the sun dared to interrupt us.

I stared down at her, my vision tunneling until the only thing that existed in the universe was the woman beneath me. She was completely bare now, her **brown skin** glowing like molten gold against the white silk sheets. The sight of her-vulnerable, flushed, and utterly mine-fed the dark, obsessive hunger that had been clawing at my chest since we left that party.

I leaned down, my mouth capturing one breast while my hand found the other, squeezing the soft weight of her desperately. I loved the way she felt, the way she reacted to the slightest pressure. Every time I kneaded her skin, a loud, broken moan ripped from her throat, echoing through the quiet room.

"That's it, *Janna*," I growled against her skin, my voice thick with a primal dominance. "Let me hear you. I want to hear exactly how much you belong to me."

I shifted my weight, the heavy, throbbing hardness of my length pressing firmly against her soaking wetness. I could feel her heat blooming against me, a silent invitation that almost made me lose my mind. But I wasn't ready to end this yet. I wanted to prolong her torture. I wanted her so desperate for me that she couldn't think of anything else.

My hand slid lower, my fingers finding the folds of her center. I didn't just touch her; I pressed, my palm rubbing against her in slow, agonizing circles that made her hips buck off the bed.

"Rudra... please... *ab chalo na*... I can't take it," she sobbed, her fingers digging into the muscles of my back, her **long curly hair** a wild mess on the pillows.

"Not yet," I whispered, my **ocean-blue eyes** fixed on her face, watching the way her features crumpled in pleasure. My possessiveness felt like a physical weight, a dark chain linking us together. I leaned my full weight onto her, pinning her to the mattress, making sure she felt every inch of my **6'3" frame**. "You aren't going anywhere, Ishi. You're trapped under me, and I'm never letting you escape this hold. Not tonight. Not ever."

I increased the pressure of my hand, my thumb finding her peak and flicking it with a rhythm that had her screaming my name into the night air. I was obsessed with the way her body trembled, the way her **chooda** clinked frantically as she reached for me, trying to pull me into her.

"You like this, don't you?" I rasped, my lips ghosting over her wet, swollen mouth. "You like knowing that I'm the only one who can make you feel this way. That I'm the only one who has the right to see you like this. Tell me, Ishita... who owns you?"

"You... only you, Ru... please... *aapka suhaag*... please come inside," she gasped, her eyes hazy and unfocused, her legs wrapping even tighter around my waist, urging me to close the distance.

The "Cold Prince" was gone, replaced by a man who was dangerously, obsessively addicted to the woman in his arms. I looked down at the dark marks I had already left on her neck and chest-my signature on my masterpiece. I wasn't just her husband; I was her master, her lover, and her shadow. And tonight, the first round hadn't even truly begun.

"I'm going to claim you so thoroughly, Ishi, that you'll feel me in your blood for the rest of your life," I promised,

The sound of her moans was the only music I needed. I stayed buried in her chest, my mouth working over her skin with a hunger that felt bottomless. I sucked at one breast while my hand worked the other with a desperate, crushing grip, needing to feel the reality of her beneath me. Ishita was a mess of sensation-her small fists were buried in my hair, pulling me closer, while her nails traced the muscles of my back, leaving faint red lines that I welcomed.

But the friction of her wetness against my thigh was pushing me over the edge of sanity. I couldn't wait another second.

I pulled back, my breath coming in ragged, heavy heaves. My **ocean-blue eyes** were dark with a singular, primal intent. I reached for the nightstand, grabbing a condom and tearing the foil open with my teeth-a harsh, metallic snap that echoed the violence of my desire. I rolled it over my thick, throbbing hardness, my veins standing out, my body screaming for the release only she could provide.

I looked down at her. She was flushed, her **long curly hair** fanned out like silk across the pillows, her **brown skin** marked by my mouth. I didn't give her a warning. I grabbed her knees, spreading her legs wide until she was completely open to me-the most beautiful sight in the world.

"Rudra... *please*..." she whimpered, her eyes pleading, her **chooda clinking** as she reached for the headboard.

"Look at me, Ishi," I commanded, my voice a dark, rough growl. "Look at exactly who is taking you."

As soon as her eyes met mine, I lunged forward. I entered her in one singular, powerful thrust-hard, deep, and relentless. I didn't stop until I felt my lower abdomen crash against hers, bottoming out inside her heat.

"AHH! *RUDRA!*" she screamed, her head tossing back, her body bowing off the mattress as she took the full length of me in one go. Her internal muscles clamped around me like a vice, trying to adjust to the sudden, overwhelming invasion.

"God, Ishi... you're so tight," I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers as I stayed still for a moment, letting the sheer intensity of the connection wash over us. "You feel like you were made specifically for me. Only for me."

"Ru... it's... it's so much," she gasped, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated pleasure. "Don't... don't stop..."

"I'm never stopping," I rasped, my hands sliding under her hips to tilt her up, ensuring I could go even deeper. I began to move-long, heavy, dominant strokes that claimed every inch of her. Each time I slammed into her, the sound of our bodies meeting was a wet, rhythmic slap that filled the room.

My possessiveness had reached a fever pitch. I wasn't just making love to her; I was marking her soul. I wanted her to feel the weight of my name, the power of my love, and the absolute dominance of the man who would burn the world down for her.

"Say it," I demanded, my pace increasing until the bed began to creak under my **6'3" frame**. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me I'm the only one."

"Only you... *Patidev*... Aah! Rudra! I'm yours... everything... is yours!" she sobbed, her moans turning into a high-pitched, melodic litany of my name.

I leaned down, capturing her lips in a bruising, messy kiss to stifle her screams, my body moving with a dark, addictive rhythm that promised this was only the beginning of a very long, very restless night.

The room was filled with the sounds of our raw, unbridled friction-the rhythmic, wet slap of my skin hitting hers and the frantic, melodic chaos of her moans. I was thrusting into her with everything I had, driving deep and hard, claiming every hidden corner of her heat.

"God, Ishi... you're so perfect," I growled, my voice vibrating deep in my chest.

She was in pure bliss, her head fallen back against the pillows, her **brown eyes** rolling as she took the force of my dominance. "Aaahh... Ru... dra... aaaa... love you... *Patidev*... Aaaaa!" Her voice broke into a high-pitched sob of pleasure, and her fingers, tipped with those long manicured nails, dug into my shoulders and back. She wasn't just holding me; she was clutching me like I was her only anchor in a storm.

I didn't give her a moment of peace. I leaned down, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, my tongue tangling with hers while my lower body never stopped its relentless work. I moved from her mouth to her breast, sucking the tip hard, needing to taste her while I possessed her.

"Mine," I muttered against her skin. "Say it, Ishita. Whose are you?"

"Yours... aahh... *sirf aapki* (only yours)... Ru, more... please, harder!"

I shifted the rhythm. I slowed down, drawing almost all the way out before driving back in with a slow, agonizingly deep thrust that made her toes curl and her **chooda clink** violently against the headboard. Then, I sped up again, my movements becoming a blur of power and need. My **6'3" muscular frame** was slick with sweat, my **veins popping out** on my arms and neck as I fought to keep my own climax at bay just to feel her break first.

I felt her small hands roaming over my body, her fingers tracing the definition of my chest and the hard lines of my abs, admiring the muscles she loved so much. I saw her trying to lift her hips, trying to copy my rhythm, her body arching to meet mine halfway.

"Trying to keep up, *Janna*?" I rasped, a dark, arrogant smirk crossing my face. I gripped her waist tighter, my large hands nearly meeting around her slim middle. "Don't bother. Just lie there and take it. Let me do everything."

"It's... it's hard... you're too... aahh! Rudra!" she gasped, her voice thick with desire as she failed to match my pace. "You're too powerful... I love it... *main marr jaungi* (I'll die)... Ru!"

"You're not going anywhere," I promised, my pace becoming frantic as I felt her internal walls begin to quiver and pulse around me. "You're staying right here, under me, until I'm done with you."

The air in the room was thick, charged with a dangerous, addictive intimacy. It was **January 8th**, our last true night of freedom in this city, and I was going to make sure that when we stepped on that plane , her body wouldn't just remember my name-it would be humming with it.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The room was echoing with the sounds of our raw, unfiltered passion. I tried so hard to match his rhythm, arching my back and moving my hips in sync with his powerful thrusts, but Rudra was too sharp, too strong. Every time I thought I had the pace, he would drive deeper, harder, making me lose my breath and my mind all over again.

"Ru... please... I can't... *Aah!*" I cried out, my head tossing from side to side, my **long curly hair** a tangled mess against the white silk. I was clinging to him like a lifeline, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, my **chooda clinking** frantically with every heavy impact. I felt the corded muscles of his back under my fingernails, and I couldn't help but scratch him, leaving marks of my own as I traced the map of his **Greek God body**.

"Stay with me, Ishi," he rasped, his **ocean-blue eyes** dark and dilated, fixed entirely on my face. "Don't you dare close your eyes."

The tension built until it was unbearable, a coil of fire winding tighter and tighter between us. With one final, devastatingly deep thrust and a guttural, primal groan from him, we both shattered. I screamed his name, my body vibrating with the force of a climax that felt like it would never end, my internal muscles clenching around him in desperate waves.

He collapsed against me for only a second, his heavy, muscular chest heaving against my breasts. But the "Cold Prince" wasn't finished.

Before I could even catch my breath, he pulled back. I watched, dazed and shivering, as he stripped the spent condom and replaced it with a fresh one with brutal efficiency. My eyes widened. "Ru... wait..."

"I told you, *Janna*," he growled, his voice lower and darker than before. "I'm not letting you go tonight."

He grabbed my knees and hiked them up over his broad shoulders, opening me up completely. He lunged back inside me in one smooth, ruthless motion. I let out a loud, high-pitched moan, my hands flying to his biceps. This round was different-he was being a tease, drawing almost all the way out until I whimpered for him, then slamming back in with a force that made the headboard hit the wall.

"You like that?" he whispered, leaning down to suck the hard peak of my breast, his tongue swirling around the tip until I was sobbing. "You like how I'm taking you?"

"Yes... *Aah!*... Rudra, please... more! *Aur zor se* (Harder)!" I begged, my modesty long gone, replaced by the addictive fire he had lit in me.

"Say my name, Ishita. Tell me who is doing this to you," he commanded, his thrusts becoming faster, more punishing, as he licked the valley of my cleavage.

"You... my Ru... my *Patidev*... Aaaah! *Bas wahi* (Just there)... don't stop!"

The night was far from over. It was **January 8th**, and the air in our Paris villa was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and a love so possessive it was almost dangerous. He was dominant, he was relentless, and I was completely, hopelessly his.

The teasing was driving me to the brink of insanity. Rudra was playing with me like a master puppeteer, his hips moving with a slow, agonizing deliberation that made every inch of him feel twice as large. He would draw out until I was whimpering, begging for the friction, and then he would slam back in with a hard, desperate thrust that hit my soul.

"Aaaa... hhhh... aaahhh... Ru... dra!" I screamed, my voice cracking. My head slammed back into the pillow repeatedly, my eyes rolling as the pleasure became too much to contain. "Y-you... are... so... deep! Aaaaa!"

I reached up, my body acting on primal instinct, and bit his jawline. I needed to mark him back, to feel the salt of his skin and the strength of his bone. He didn't flinch; he only growled, his **ocean-blue eyes** flashing with a dark, satisfied fire. He captured my mouth again, sucking my lower lip into his mouth while his hand found my breast, squeezing it with a possessive strength that made me arch my back until I was practically vibrating.

Suddenly, he grabbed both of my wrists. With one powerful hand, he pinned them above my head, his fingers locking around my small wrists like iron shackles. I was completely open, completely at his mercy.

"After two days, we're going back to India, *Janna*," he rasped against my lips, his breath hitching as he drove into me again-harder this time. "Let me have what I want, *Biwi-ji*. Let me take every bit of you while the world is still outside these walls."

I felt the cold gold of my **mangalsutra** pressed between our sweating chests, a constant reminder of our bond, while my **red-and-white chooda** made a frantic, rhythmic clinking sound with every heavy, deep thrust. My internal muscles were clenching around him so hard it was almost painful, a desperate reflex of my body trying to hold onto him forever.

"Aaaah! Rudra! Please... my hands... let me hold you!" I sobbed, my breasts bouncing between us with the sheer force of his movements. The friction was becoming a wildfire, a dangerous, addictive heat that was melting my resolve.

"No," he commanded, his voice a dominant, low vibration that echoed in my chest. He shifted his weight, using his free hand to steady himself as he increased the pace. "I want you like this. Helpless. Watching me. Knowing that I'm the only one who can make you scream like this."

The bed was creaking under his **6'3" frame**, the headboard thudding against the wall in a steady, relentless beat. My legs were spread wide, trembling from the exertion, but I couldn't stop. I was trapped in his dark, possessive orbit, and as he began to move with a raw, primal speed, I knew I was about to shatter all over again.

"Ru... Ru... *main... i can't* (I'm going)!" I screamed, my body tightening like a bowstring.

"Stay with me, Ishita!" he roared, his own pace becoming frantic, his **veins popping** as he prepared to take us both over the edge.

The teasing had pushed me past the point of no return. I was trembling, my vision blurring at the edges as the fire in my veins reached a boiling point. I could feel my internal muscles pulsing, clenching around him with a desperate, rhythmic tightess that told him exactly where I was.

"Ru... I'm close... Aaa... hhh... Aaaaoohhhh! Please!" I sobbed, my head thrashing against the pillow.

He didn't hold back. He gave me one final, devastatingly deep thrust, his own body stiffening as he let out a low, guttural roar. We shattered together, a literal explosion of sensation that made the world go white. I clung to him, my **chooda clinking** frantically as my body took the waves of pleasure, my breath hitching in broken sobs against his neck.

But the "Cold Prince" was far from finished.

He didn't let the afterglow settle for even a second. While I was still dazed and breathless, he pulled out with a wet, slippery sound. My eyes fluttered open just in time to see him strip the spent condom away with a harsh, dominant efficiency. Before I could even murmur his name, he was back, hovering over me with that **6'3" muscular frame** that felt like a mountain of heat.

He didn't use a third one. He lunged back inside me, his bare skin meeting mine in a raw, electric friction that made me let out a high-pitched, shocked moan.

"Rudra... wait... Aah!"

"I'm not waiting, Ishi," he rasped, his **ocean-blue eyes** glowing with a dark, addictive intensity. "I want to feel you. All of you. No barriers."

He started thrusting again-hard, deep, and relentless. It wasn't rough in a way that hurt; it was firm, masterful, and incredibly possessive. He didn't give me a chance to catch my breath or even process the first climax. Every time I tried to inhale, he drove back in, pinning me to the mattress with the weight of his love.

I reached up, my hands trembling as I gripped his broad shoulders, my nails digging into his skin to keep myself from drifting away. My breasts were bouncing with the rhythm of his movements, and he leaned down, capturing one peak in his mouth, sucking hard while he continued the rhythmic assault below.

"Ru... you're... you're too much," I gasped, my voice a mere whisper of its former self. "I can't... keep up..."

"You don't have to," he murmured against my skin, his voice a vibration that went straight to my core. "Just stay open for me. Just stay mine."

The room was a symphony of wet sounds, heavy breathing, and the constant, rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall. He was marking the very inside of me now, ensuring that the memory of this Parisian night would be burned into my DNA. I was lost in him, a willing captive to his dark romance, as he continued to claim me with a depth that felt like it would never end.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I wasn't done. Not even close. The raw, primal need to mark her as mine-to occupy every thought in her head and every inch of her body-was driving me into a territory of dark, obsessive possessiveness.

Without pulling out, I gripped her waist with bruising strength and shifted. I heard her gasp, a sharp, wet sound of friction as I stood up, lifting her **5'3" frame** effortlessly while staying buried deep inside her. Her legs wrapped around my waist like a vice, her **chooda clinking** frantically in the quiet of the room. I carried her out to the private terrace, the cold Parisian night air hitting my bare back, but the heat between us was a literal furnace.

I settled her onto the velvet sex couch we had moved there earlier, immediately pulling a heavy, plush cashmere blanket over both of us. The contrast was intoxicating-the biting winter air of Paris swirling around us, while under the blanket, we were a mess of sweat, skin, and friction.

The dominance was overwhelming now. I had her pinned under the blanket, the world hidden away, making this feel like our own private universe. I began to thrust again-hard, deep, and desperate. Each impact was a heavy, rhythmic thud that made the couch creak.

"Aah... Rudra! *Yahin*... (Right here...)" she sobbed, her voice muffled by the blanket. I saw the glint of pleasure tears falling down her cheeks in the moonlight. She was clenching around my cock so hard it was agonizing, her internal muscles pulsing in a frantic rhythm that matched my own.

I didn't give her lips a chance to rest. I buried my face in her chest, my mouth finding her breasts-my favorite place to worship. I sucked the peaks hard, one after the other, my tongue swirling and nipping until she was arching her back so high she was practically lifting me off her.

"Mine," I growled, the word vibrating against her skin. "In the villa, on the terrace, under the stars... you are mine, Ishita. Tell me how it feels to have me this deep."

"It's... it's everything," she moaned, her hands finding my hair and pulling me down for a messy, desperate kiss. "You're... aah! Ru! You're stretching me... so deep... I love it... *Jaan nikal doge kya?* (Will you take my life?)"

"Maybe," I rasped, my pace becoming frantic as the cold air outside and the heat inside pushed me to the edge. "If it means you never belong to anyone else, I'll take every breath you have."

I gripped the sides of the couch, my **6'3" muscular frame** hovering over her like a shadow. My **veins were popping** as I drove into her with a final, relentless speed. The blanket shifted with our movements, the sound of her loud, messy moans carrying out into the silent Parisian night, a declaration that the Rathor Prince had claimed his Queen in every way possible.

I released her wrists, but I didn't give her freedom-I gave her more of me. My large hands slid down to her hips, my fingers digging into her **brown skin** as I lifted her slightly off the velvet cushions. I forced her to arch upward, tilting her pelvis so she had no choice but to take every brutal, soul-deep thrust I gave her. I wanted to reach the very center of her, to leave a mark so deep that even when we were miles apart, she'd still feel me.

"Aaah! Rudra! *Bas... bas wahi...*" she screamed into the night air, her voice cracking with the sheer intensity of it. Her head was thrown back, her **long curly hair** spilling over the edge of the couch like a dark waterfall. She was crying now-not from pain, but from the overwhelming weight of the pleasure I was forcing upon her. "Ru... dra... Aaaaah!

I growled, a low, primal sound that started in my chest and vibrated through her. I leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss so hungry it was borderline violent. Our lips were swollen, our tongues dancing in a frantic, wet rhythm. In the heat of the moment, she bit my lip-hard-and I tasted the faint, metallic tang of blood. It only made me drive into her harder.

"I'm breathless... *Pati-dev*..." she gasped against my mouth, her chest heaving as her **breasts bounced** against my hard, muscular chest . She let out a shaky, hysterical little laugh amidst her moans. "Rudra... *agar main pregnant ho gayi toh aapki kher nahi, I swear!*" (If I get pregnant, you're in trouble, I swear!)

I paused for a fraction of a second, my **ocean-blue eyes** locking onto hers with a possessiveness that was bordering on insanity. I gripped her thighs, spreading them even wider until she was completely exposed to the moonlight and my gaze.

"Then let it happen," I rasped, my voice thick with a dark, addictive promise. "Let me fill you with everything I am, Ishi. If you carry my child, it's just another way for the world to know you belong to me-body, blood, and soul. I'll make you a mother, and I'll still worship you every night just like this."

I didn't wait for her to process it. I slammed back into her, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing like a heartbeat.

"Aah! *Nahi...* Ru! You're too... aaaaa! *Pagal ho aap!*" (You're crazy!)

"Crazy for you," I muttered, my pace becoming a blur of power. "Only for you."

I buried my face in her neck, sucking and biting at the skin I'd already marked, while my lower body worked with a relentless, rhythmic dominance. I felt her internal walls clenching around me in a frantic, desperate rhythm, her **chooda clinking** against my back as she hugged me with every ounce of strength she had left.

"Ru... *main... main gayi...* AAAAAAHH!"

"Stay with me, Ishita! Don't you dare close your eyes!" I roared, my own body tightening like a bowstring as the final waves began to crash over us. I wasn't just her husband in that moment; I was her entire world, and I was going to make sure she never forgot it.

The world shattered in a final, violent surge of heat and friction. I drove into her one last time, my body locking as a guttural roar ripped from my chest, echoed by her high-pitched, broken scream of my name. We collapsed together on that terrace couch, the heavy blanket the only thing separating us from the Parisian winter. I stayed buried deep inside her, my heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, our sweat-slicked skin cooling in the night air.

I felt her go limp beneath me, her **5'3" frame** exhausted and trembling. "Ru..." she whispered, her voice barely a thread, before her eyes fluttered shut.

I didn't want to move, but I couldn't let her catch a chill. I carefully pulled out of her-a wet, lingering sensation that made her let out a soft whimper even in her daze. I stood up, my **6'3" muscular frame** towering in the moonlight, and scooped her up into my arms. She felt like a delicate doll, her **long curly hair** draping over my arm and her **chooda clinking** softly one last time.

I carried her back into the warmth of the bedroom and laid her on the silk sheets, but the moment I tried to pull away, her hand gripped my forearm.

"No... stay," she mumbled, her eyes still closed.

I didn't need to be asked twice. I climbed into bed and pulled her directly on top of me, her chest resting on mine, her legs tangled with my own. I wrapped my arms around her, my large palms caressing the small of her back and the curves I had just spent hours worshipping. I kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, and the dark hickeys I'd branded into her neck.

My hand moved to her hair, stroking the curls gently, feeling the deep, protective peace that only she could give me. I was the "Cold Prince" to the world, but here, with her heartbeat against mine, I was just a man who had finally found his home.

"Ru..." she mumbled against my skin, her breath warm and shallow. "I definitely... can't walk tomorrow. My legs feel like jelly... you're a monster..."

I let out a low, vibrating chuckle, my thumb tracing her jaw. "Then I'll carry you, *Janna*. To the car, through the airport, all the way to India. You won't have to take a single step."

She didn't answer; she was already deep in a sleep brought on by pure exhaustion and bliss. I held her tighter, staring at the ceiling and realizing that while our honeymoon was technically ending, my obsession with her was only beginning.