💖 Ishita's Perspective

The afternoon sun was warm, but the breeze carrying the scent of wet earth and river water made it bearable. I walked with Champa and Laxmi toward the riverbank, a bundle of our clothes balanced—somewhat precariously—on my hip. My **Payal** clicked against the river stones, a rhythmic reminder that I was a long way from the marble floors of the Raj Mahal.

We settled on the flat rocks near the edge where the water ran clear. As we began to scrub, the rhythm of the work loosened everyone's tongues.

"Bhabhi," Laxmi said, splashing some water on a saree, "you talk so differently. Your words are like the city news. How much did you study?"

I smiled, scrubbing one of Ru’s white shirts—the one that still smelled faintly of his sandalwood cologne. "I’m a B.Ed. pass," I said simply.

The sound of scrubbing stopped instantly. Champa’s jaw dropped, and Laxmi froze with a handful of soap.

"B.Ed.?" Champa whispered, her eyes wide. "That means... you are a teacher? A real, 'Master-ji' level teacher?"

"I have the degree for it, yes," I laughed, feeling a bit shy under their intense gaze. In this village, where most girls were pulled out of school by the eighth grade, my education felt like a superpower.

Other women, including Kaki, were gathered nearby, beating their clothes against the rocks. The news traveled through the water faster than a ripple.

"Did you hear? The city bahu is a teacher!"

"B.Ed. pass! No wonder she has such a sharp tongue with those village girls!"

Kaki looked over at me, her face softening into a genuine, toothy grin. "I knew it," she shouted over the sound of the rushing water. "The way she carries herself... she’s not just a pretty face. Look at her—she’s soft and happy, but she has a brain like a ledger!"

I felt a warm glow that had nothing to do with the sun. Despite the soot on my face and the rope burns on my arms, I felt... seen. Not just as Rudra’s wife, but as Ishita.

"Bhabhi..." Laxmi started, looking down at her hands, then back at me. "If you are a teacher... could you... I mean, the village school is so far. And the Master-ji there only comes twice a week."

"Would you teach our kids?" Champa jumped in, her voice brimming with hope. "Just an hour? Tuition? They don't know how to read the city signs, and the boys just want to play football

I looked at the circle of hopeful faces. These women, who had so little, wanted everything for their children. It reminded me of my own mother, Gayatri, always pushing me and Ravi to be more.

"Tuition?" I breathed, my heart skipping a beat. I looked toward the fields where Ru was working. He was out there breaking his back to fit in, and here I was, being offered a chance to lead.

"I... I would love to," I said, a wide smile breaking across my face. "We can gather under the big Banyan tree after the men go back to the fields. I’ll teach them English, Math... and maybe some art, too."

Kaki slapped her thigh in delight. "Arey waah! Our kids will be smarter than the Sarpanch’s son! Bahu, you’ve brought more than just beauty to this village."

The walk back from the river was lighter than the walk there. The weight of the wet clothes on my hip felt like nothing compared to the weight that had been lifted off my chest. As I rounded the corner of our small hut, my heart did that familiar little skip—Ru was already there. He was leaning against the doorframe, his skin bronzed by the afternoon sun, looking like a king who had accidentally wandered into a peasant’s life.

I dropped the basket of damp clothes and practically flew to him.

"Ru! You're back!" I beamed, my brown eyes dancing. I didn't care about the dust or the soot anymore. "Apne jo washroom banaya h mere liye... it’s so good! Pata h, pure din mujhe ek percent bhi problem nahi hui. You literally saved my life today."

In a fit of playful, traditional devotion, I dropped to the floor in front of him, dramatically reaching for his feet like a 'proper' village wife. "Patidev, tussi great ho! You are the best husband ever. Tohfa kabool karo!"

I sprang back up before he could protest and grabbed his face in my hands, peppering his cheeks, his forehead, and his jaw with a dozen tiny, frantic kisses.

"Careful, Janna," he chuckled, his deep voice vibrating against my lips as his large hands settled firmly on my waist, pulling me flush against his hard, warm chest. "If you keep this up, the Sarpanch will have to find someone else to plow his fields tomorrow, because I won't be leaving this hut."

"Let him find a tractor then," I whispered, switching seamlessly into English, our private language of the city. "Because my husband is far too talented to be wasted on dirt. Do you have any idea how much the women were talking about you at the river? You’re a local legend now, Mr. Rathor. The man who builds private palaces out of rusted tin."

Rudra’s ocean-blue eyes darkened with that familiar, shameless glint. He leaned down, his nose brushing against mine. "I didn't build it for the village gossip, Ishi. I built it so I could have my wife smiling and relaxed when I got home. And clearly," he trailed off, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck, right over those moles he loves, "it worked."

"Ru... we're outside," I breathed, though I was melting into him, my hands tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Technically, we're on our property," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. "And I don't see anyone. It’s just us, the dust, and—"

*Ahem. E-hem!*

A sharp, awkward clearing of a throat shattered the bubble. I jumped nearly a foot into the air, my face turning a shade of red that would put a Rajasthan sunset to shame.

Champa was standing at the door, clutching a basket of greens, her eyes wide and blinking in total confusion. She had clearly been standing there for at least two minutes, listening to our rapid-fire English and watching the "Cold-Hearted Prince" behave like a lovestruck teenager.

"Bhabhi... hum... hum ye metthi rakhne aaye the," she stuttered, her gaze darting between my disheveled hair and Rudra’s smirk. She obviously hadn't understood a word of our English, but the body language was universal.

"Champa! Ha... haan, rakho, rakho," I stammered, stepping away and frantically smoothing out my suit.

Champa practically sprinted inside, dumped the basket, and bolted back out without looking at us again. "Hum chalte hain!" she called out, her voice disappearing into the distance.

I covered my face with my hands. "Oh my God, Ru! She saw everything. She’s going to tell the whole village that the city couple is... is shameless!"

Rudra didn't look embarrassed at all. In fact, the second her footsteps faded, he reached out and hooked his finger in my dupatta, yanking me back into his space.

"Let her tell them," he growled playfully, his arms locking behind my back so I couldn't escape again. "Let the record show that Rudra Singh Rathor is absolutely, unapologetically obsessed with his wife. Now, where were we before the 'saag' interrupted us?"

"Ru, stop! I have to cook!" I giggled, pushing against his chest, though my heart wasn't in the protest.

"The fire can wait, Janna," he whispered, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the village around us vanish. "The husband is home, and he demands his 'proper wife' finishes that thank-you session."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I watched her move toward the basket of greens Priya had practically dropped in her haste to escape our "shameless" display. The setting sun was casting long, amber shadows across the mud floor, catching the gold of her **chooda** as she began to sort through the leaves.

But my mind was still stuck on the moment she had dropped to the floor.

I reached out, my large hand wrapping around her slim wrist, pulling her upright until she was forced to look at me. My expression had shifted from playful to that grounded, intense seriousness that only she could draw out of me.

"Ishi," I said, my voice dropping an octave, "don't you dare do that again."

She blinked, her brown eyes wide and confused. "Do what, Ru? I was just thanking you! The washroom is—"

"Touching my feet," I interrupted, my grip firm but gentle. "I mean it, Janna. I hate it when you bow to anyone. Even me. Especially me."

She let out a small, defiant huff, trying to wiggle her wrist free. "But you're my *Pati Parmeshwar* (God-like husband)! In the village, this is how a 'proper wife' shows respect, Rudra. I was just trying to be a good Rathor bahu."

"I don't care about the village 'rules,' and I certainly don't want to be your 'God,'" I countered, stepping into her space until she was trapped between me and the wall. I leaned down, my ocean-blue eyes locking onto hers with a fierce possessiveness. "I want to be your partner. Your equal. The man who stands *beside* you, not above you. When you bow, you feel smaller, and I never want you to feel small in front of me."

She pouted, that stubborn Sharma streak showing in the tilt of her chin. "You’re so dramatic, Ru. It was just a gesture! You did something amazing for me, and I wanted to honor that."

"Then honor it by standing tall," I murmured, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw, lingering near those new moles on her neck that I couldn't stop thinking about. "If you want to 'thank' me, do it like you did a minute ago—with those kisses that nearly made me forget we’re supposed to be in hiding."

I let go of her wrist and picked up a bunch of the metthi looking at the messy pile of greens with the analytical gaze of a CEO trying to understand a confusing spreadsheet. "Now, show me how to clean this. I'm not letting you sit here alone in the smoke while your hands are still red from that rope."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I watched him—this 6'3" man squatting on a tiny wooden stool, seriously inspecting a leaf of saag as if it were a high-stakes contract for **Eternity**.

"You're impossible, Ru," I giggled, reaching over to snatch a yellowed leaf out of his hand. "The great Rudra Singh Rathor, world-class businessman, defeated by a bunch of spinach."

"I am not defeated," he grumbled, though his eyes were dancing with mischief. "I am merely... calculating the most efficient way to de-stem this. It’s a structural issue, Ishi."

"It’s dinner, Patidev! Not a construction project," I teased, bumping my shoulder against his bare, muscular one. "But fine. Since you won't let me be a 'traditional wife,' you can be the 'modern assistant.' Start chopping, and try not to use your 'Rathor strength' to pulverize the poor vegetables."

We sat there on the floor of the hut, a billionaire and a model-turned-teacher, bickering over greens and speaking in rapid-fire English while the village settled into a quiet hum around us.

"You know," I whispered, leaning in to steal a quick kiss from his shoulder while his hands were busy, "Champa is definitely telling everyone right now that you're 'henpecked' because you're helping me in the kitchen."

He didn't even look up, a dark, handsome smirk playing on his lips. "Let them talk, Janna. As long as I’m the one eating the food you cook and the one sleeping next to you on that creaky bed, they can call me whatever they want."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I sat on the low wooden stool, my back leaning against the cool mud wall of the hut. The evening air was starting to bite, but the heat from the *chulha* and the sight of Ishita moving gracefully in the cramped space kept me warm enough. I watched the play of firelight across her brown skin, the gold of her **chooda** shimmering every time she stirred the *sabzi*.

I was still shirtless, the grime of the fields finally washed off, but the phantom weight of the plow still lingered in my shoulders.

"Ru?" she started, her voice sounding a mix of excited and hesitant. She didn't look back at me, focusing on the sizzling spices. "The women at the river... they asked me something today. They asked my education i told them I'm a B.Ed. pass."

I raised an eyebrow, my **ocean-blue eyes** tracking the elegant curve of her neck. "Word travels fast in a place with no internet," I murmured.

"They want me to teach, Ru," she said, finally turning around, the wooden spatula still in her hand. "The village school is barely functional. They want me to start a tuition class for the kids under the big Banyan tree. Just an hour a day."

My first instinct—the one honed by years of being Rajasthan’s "Cold-Hearted Prince"—was to say no. My jaw tightened as my  flashed back to the red rope burns on her hands and the soot on her face from this morning.

"You’re already exhausted, Janna," I said, my voice dropping into a stern, protective rumble. "You’re struggling with the well, you’re fighting with the stove, and now you want to manage twenty screaming kids in the heat? You aren't a machine."

"It's not about the work, Ru," she countered, stepping closer, the scent of spices and jasmine swirling around her. "It's about feeling useful. Out there, you're the hero who builds washrooms and plows fields. I want to give them something too. I want to be Ishita the teacher, not just the 'city bahu' who can't cook a roti."

I looked at her—really looked at her. I saw the spark in her brown eyes, a flicker of the ambitious woman I fell in love with years ago. I realized that while I was trying to shield her from the dirt of this village, I was accidentally stifling her spirit.

I reached out, my large hand finding her waist and pulling her between my knees. I looked up at her, my expression softening.

"You're never 'just' anything, Ishi," I whispered, my thumb tracing the hem of her suit. "If this makes you happy... if it makes you feel like yourself again, then do it. But on one condition."

"Anything, Patidev," she teased, a dimple appearing in her cheek.

"If I see you looking faint, or if those rope burns get worse because you're too busy with chalk to apply your medicine... the school closes," I said, my voice thick with a possessive edge. "And I'll be the one to tell the kids that their teacher is 'retired' by Royal Decree."

She laughed, a bright, melodic sound that made the drab hut feel like a palace. She leaned down, pressing her cool forehead against mine, her breath hitching as her eyes roamed over my bare chest.

"Deal," she whispered. "Now, sit back. The *sabzi* is almost done, and my 'modern assistant' still hasn't set the plates."

I pulled her closer for a brief, hungry kiss before letting her go. "I'm a CEO, Janna. I delegate. But for you... I'll handle the logistics."

The dinner was simple, but sitting on the floor of the mud hut, eating the metthi  we had bickered over, it felt more intimate than any candlelit gala in Jaipur. Once we finished, I didn't let her touch the brass plates. I rolled up my sleeves, my 6'3" frame looming over the small washing area, and scrubbed them clean with the gritty ash and water.

I dried my hands and turned to find her sitting on the edge of the creaky *charpai*, her face tight with discomfort. She was unconsciously scratching at her forearms, the skin angry and inflamed from the dry February wind and the friction of that damn well rope.

I walked over and sat beside her, the wooden frame groaning under my weight. I didn't say a word; I just took her small, slim hands in mine and held them still. My thumbs traced the edges of the reddish welts, my touch as light as a whisper.

"It’s irritating you, isn't it?" I murmured, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a mixture of guilt and possessiveness. "I hate seeing you like this, Janna. This place... it's too rough for you."

"It’s just a little itch, Ru," she whispered, leaning her head against my bare shoulder. "I'll be fine. I’m a Rathor, remember? We’re supposed to be tough."

"You're *my* Rathor," I corrected, pressing a firm kiss to the inside of her wrist. "And tomorrow, I’m getting you a soft mattress. I don't care what the villagers think. I’m not letting you sleep on this thin quilt anymore. Your back will break."

She looked up at me, her brown eyes softening. "No, Ru... don't go buying things from the city. It’ll look suspicious. Kaki mentioned she has an extra cotton mattress—a *gadela*—stored away. She said she’d send it over. But..." she trailed off, biting her lip. "Can you make a proper wooden bed? Just a simple frame? This *charpai* is so uneven, I feel like I'm falling off every time you move."

I smirked, pulling her flush against my chest. "A bed, huh? So the 'Master-ji' wants her 'modern assistant' to turn into a carpenter now? You really are putting my engineering degree to work, Ishi."

I leaned down, my lips inches from hers, the scent of the woodfire and her jasmine perfume swirling between us. My hands settled on her waist, pulling her into the heat of my body. The air in the hut suddenly felt thick, the "shameless" tension from earlier returning with a vengeance.

"If I build you that bed," I whispered against her lips, "I expect a very thorough 'thank you' session. No interruptions this time."

She giggled, her hands sliding up my bare chest, her fingers lingering over the **tattoo of her name** etched over my heartbeat. "Deal, Patidev," she breathed.

Just as our lips were about to collide, a heavy, rhythmic thumping sounded at the wooden door.

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

"Rudra Bhai! O Rudra Bhai! Kaki ne gadela bheja hai!" (Rudra Brother! Kaki has sent the mattress!)

I let out a frustrated growl, burying my face in the crook of Ishita's neck for a second before pulling away. "I swear, the timing in this village is a curse," I muttered.

Ishita scrambled to adjust her dupatta, her face flushed and her hair a mess of curls. "Ru, go! It’s Kaki’s son. Open the door!"

I stood up, adjusting my sarong, and walked to the door with the expression of a man who was ready to plow the entire village into the ground. I swung the door open to find Kaki's son standing there, balancing a thick, rolled-up cotton mattress on his shoulder.

"Kaki said Bhabhi's back must be hurting," he panted, oblivious to the fact that he had just interrupted the Prince of Rajasthan mid-romance. "Where should I put it, Bhai?"

I stepped back, sighing as I looked at Ishita, who was trying very hard not to burst out laughing at my murderous expression.

I watched the kid drop the heavy cotton roll onto the cot my eyes tracking every second of the delay. Ishi, ever the polite Sharma daughter, gave him a sweet, "Shukriya, bhaiya," while I just stood there with my arms crossed, radiating "leave now" energy.

The second the door clicked shut, I didn't just close it—I slid the heavy wooden bolt home with a finality that echoed through the small hut.

The back-to-back interruptions had pushed my patience to the edge. I turned around, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with the *saag* we’d eaten. I stepped toward her, my 6'3" frame closing the distance in two strides.

I pulled her flush against me, my hands gripping her waist so tightly our breathing became one. She went up on her tiptoes, trying to bridge the massive height gap, but even then, she only reached my chest. With a soft, playful giggle, she reached up and guided my head down, forcing the "Cold-Hearted Prince" to bend to her will.

She pressed a lingering, sweet kiss to my forehead, then rubbed her nose against mine in a gentle *eskimo kiss* that made my heart hammer against the **tattoo of her name**.

I didn't wait another second. I hooked my arms under her knees and swept her off her feet.

"Ru! Wait!" she gasped, her arms instinctively locking around my neck as I carried her toward our small, creaky bed. "No, not here, Patidev! Not at all!"

I lowered her onto the thin quilt, the cot already let out a warning *creak*. I hovered over her, my weight supported by my forearms as I trapped her slim figure beneath me.

"Yes, Biwi," I growled, my voice vibrating with a shameless, possessive heat. "No one—not Champa, not Kaki’s son, not the Sarpanch—is stopping me now."

"Prannath..." she whispered, her face flushing a deep rose as she looked up at me. "Listen to me. This house isn't soundproof like our bedrooms in the Raj Mahal. And while I can survive your passion, I don't think this poor cot will survive it!"

I chuckled, a low, dark sound. I leaned down until my lips were brushing against her ear, my breath hitching as I caught the scent of her jasmine-scented hair.

"I will be gentle, pranpriye," I promised, my voice a silken thread of desire. "I'll make sure the only thing this village hears is the wind."

She blushed furiously, the heat of her skin radiating against mine. She didn't argue anymore; instead, she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, pulling me down to bridge the final inch.

I kissed her—not the polite, "prince-like" kisses from before, but the deep, soul-searing kisses of a man who had waited three years to truly have his wife back. The world outside the mud walls—the mission, the threats, the dust of Rajasthan—all vanished. In that small, dimly lit hut, there was only the rhythm of our hearts and the quiet promise that no matter where destiny threw us, we belonged exactly like this.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

**[MATURE CONTENT NOTICE]**

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

The air in the hut was thick, charged with a heat that had nothing to do with the desert sun. Ru’s weight above me was a grounding, heavy comfort—a reminder that after three years of cold, empty nights, he was finally *here*. My fingers, still a little rough from the morning's chores, found their way to his shoulders, tracing the hard, defined lines of his muscular frame.

He was my greatest weakness. The way his skin felt like warm velvet over steel, the strength in his viney arms that could plow a field all day and yet hold me as if I were made of glass—it made my breath hitch. And then, there it was—*Sone pe suhaga*—the sight of my name, **ISHITA**, etched right over his racing heartbeat.

I pulled him closer, my nails lightly grazing his back, and he responded with a groan that vibrated deep in his chest. He captured my lips in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.

"Ru..." I moaned against his mouth, my eyes fluttering shut.

His hands, calloused but incredibly sure, slid beneath me. I felt the cool air hit my back as he deftly untied my blouse strings. With a slow, deliberate graze of his fingertips, he slid the hooks and let the sleeves fall away, exposing my shoulders and chest to the dim light of the oil lamp.

I shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze. His **ocean-blue eyes** weren't cold anymore; they were a storm of blue fire as they roamed over me. He leaned down, his lips trailing fire from the hollow of my throat to the curve of my shoulder, kissing every inch of exposed skin as if he were memorizing me all over again.

"You're so beautiful, Janna," he whispered against my skin, his voice a low, possessive growl. "Every mark, every inch... you're mine."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his head back up to mine. In this tiny, mud-walled room, he wasn't the Prince of Rajasthan and I wasn't a world-class model. We were just two souls, finally finding home in each other's arms, the creaking of the old bed the only witness to a passion that had survived years of separation.

"Always yours, Prannath," I breathed, losing myself in the rhythm of his nonstop kisses.

The flickering oil lamp cast a dancing shadow of our tangled bodies against the mud wall. Ru’s hands were no longer those of a businessman; they were the hands of a man who had been starved of his life force for three years. With a slow, agonizingly teasing smirk, he slid the fabric of my saree and petticoat away, leaving me trembling in just my lace bra and panties.

He didn't stop. He couldn't. His lips found the sensitive dip of my waist, the curve of my hip, and the soft skin of my thighs. Every kiss was firm, deliberate, and left a blooming pink mark—a brand of his possessiveness.

"Ru... stop," I whispered, my voice breaking as his teeth grazed my collarbone. "I don't... I don't have my vanity kit here. How am I going to hide these at the Banyan tree tomorrow? The women... they'll know."

"Let them know," he growled against my skin, his breath hot and ragged. He looked up, his **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a primal sort of pride. "Let them see that you belong to me, Ishi. Every inch. I want the world to know you're loved so thoroughly that you don't need makeup to glow."

I threw my head back, my fingers digging into the muscles of his bare, viney arms. A sharp, sweet sensation shot through me as he pressed a particularly deep mark right near the new moles on my neck.

"Ah... *Ru...*" I gasped, the sound catching in my throat. I quickly bit my lip, my eyes wide with a sudden realization. "Shh... the walls, Prannath. They're so thin. Kaki’s house is right there."

"Then whisper my name, Janna," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup my face, forcing me to look at the raw passion in his gaze. "Whisper it so only I can hear how much you want me."

"Rudra..." I whimpered, my voice a mere thread of sound as I pulled him down for another soul-shattering kiss. "Please... Ru*... don't stop. Just... be gentle with the bed, but not with me."

He let out a low, triumphant groan, his weight settling more fully over me as the old wooden frame gave a rhythmic, protesting creak. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him into my warmth, my heart thudding against the **tattoo of my name** on his chest. In that moment, the "Cold-Hearted Prince" was anything but cold—he was the fire that was finally making me feel alive again.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The flickering oil lamp finally sputtered and died, plunging the small hut into a deep, velvety darkness, but the air was thick with a heat that didn't need light to be felt. My hands were no longer gentle; they were the hands of a man reclaiming his kingdom.

I reached for the clasp of her bra, the metallic click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. As the lace fell away, I didn't hesitate. I filled my hands with her softness, my fingers digging in just enough to hear that sharp, melodic hitch in her breath. I lowered my head, my tongue swirling over her peak before taking her fully into my mouth.

"Ah! *R-Rudra...*" she cried out, her back arching off the thin mattress. Her small hands flew to my head, her fingers fisting in my hair, pulling me closer even as she trembled.

"You're so loud, Janna," I growled against her skin, my voice a dark, vibrating thrum. I moved to her other breast, my teeth grazing the tip just enough to make her whimper. "What happened to the thin walls? What happened to the neighbors?"

"I... I can't... *Mmm...* Ru, please," she panted, her voice a broken whisper of Need. Her hands wandered down my back, her nails tracing the hard, knotted muscles of my spine before moving to my viney arms.

My hand slid lower, my fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties, tugging the silk down just enough to expose the curve of her hip to the cool night air. I leaned up, my **ocean-blue eyes**—though shrouded in darkness—locking onto where I knew her gaze was. My breath was ragged, my chest heaving against her.

**"Tell me, Janna,"** I whispered, my voice thick with a shameless, raw intensity. **"Which position? Do you want to be under me, feeling every bit of my weight? Or do you want to be on top, looking down at your name on my heart while you take what’s yours?"**

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I couldn't breathe. My head was spinning, my body felt like it was melting into the very earth beneath the hut. The way he talked—so bold, so unapologetic—stripped away every bit of my "city girl" composure. He wasn't the CEO right now; he was a force of nature.

"I... I want to feel you," I managed to sob out, my face flushing so hot I was sure he could feel the heat radiating off me. "I want to feel how much you missed me, Ru. Please... just... *now*."

"Not so fast," he murmured, his hand sliding fully inside my lace, his thumb finding the center of my world and making me see stars. I'm going to make sure you remember this night every time you look at a 'village girl' or a 'Banyan tree.' I'm going to leave my mark so deep that even the Raj Mahal won't be able to wash it off."

He leaned down, his lips crushing mine in a kiss that tasted of salt, fire, and absolute possession. He shifted his weight, his muscular thigh pushing between mine, his skin like a furnace against my inner leg.

"You're mine, Ishita," he hissed against my mouth, his hand pulling the silk away completely. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to while I show you exactly what a Rathor’s passion feels like."

"Yours," I moaned, my voice echoing off the mud walls, my heart thudding in sync with the **tattoo over his heartbeat**. "Only yours,