She was already in the shower when I entered.
Steam curled around her body like a veil — teasing, translucent, and completely unnecessary. I'd seen every inch of her last night. Felt her. Owned her.
But the sight of her, standing under that cascade of hot water, her skin flushed and wet, her back arched slightly as she tipped her head beneath the stream—God.
It made me hard again.
Just like that.
She hadn’t heard me come in.
I took a moment. Watching.
Her hair clung to her spine, dark and slick. Droplets slid over her shoulders, down the arch of her back, dripping slowly between the curve of her ass.
I clenched my jaw.
So delicate. So fucking breakable.
And yet… she’d taken me like fire last night.
She had trembled beneath me. Cried out for me. Bled for me.
She was untouched when I married her.
But now?
Now she was mine.
I stepped forward.
She turned, startled, her eyes wide as I entered the glass enclosure behind her. “Y-you’re awake,” she stammered, pressing her back to the wall, trying to cover her breasts with her hands.
That wouldn’t do.
I reached for her wrists and pinned them above her head in one swift movement. Water poured between us.
“No more hiding,” I murmured. “Not from me.”
Her chest heaved. “Aaryan…”
That voice.
Soft. Unsure. Sweet as sin.
I leaned in, letting my nose brush her jaw, inhaling her — roses and the faint musk of last night’s sex. She still smelled like me. It drove me insane.
“I didn’t get enough of you,” I growled into her ear.
“I-I’m sore,” she whispered.
I paused.
A flicker of guilt twisted in my gut. Brief. Fleeting.
Then I looked into her eyes. The heat was still there, under the hesitation. Her lips parted. Her thighs pressed together.
She wanted me.
Even if she didn’t say it.
“Good,” I said, leaning down to kiss the hollow of her neck. “That means your body remembers who it belongs to.”
I released her wrists and let my hands slide down her wet curves. She shivered as my fingers circled her waist, moving lower, caressing the soft skin between her thighs.
When I touched her, she gasped.
“Still sensitive,” I whispered. “Still wet.”
I dropped to my knees.
She looked down at me, breathless, hands pressed against the slick wall behind her.
I spread her legs gently.
Then kissed the inside of her thigh.
And then I feasted.
Slow. Deliberate. My tongue worked her clit in lazy, teasing circles, making her hips buck forward, her moans echoing off the glass. I held her there, worshiping her like a man addicted — because maybe I was.
Because this girl, this bride, this innocent thing I had taken and claimed and marked…
She tasted like power.
And I liked power in my mouth.
She came with a soft cry, one hand flying to my hair as her body quaked.
When I stood, she was shaking.
But she didn’t stop me when I turned her around, pressing her palms flat to the fogged glass wall.
I leaned into her, my arousal pressed against her lower back. “One more time,” I growled. “Let me remind you.”
She nodded.
A whimper. A surrender.
I gripped her hips.
And slid into her.
The heat of the shower mixed with the heat of her body. My hands splayed over her slick stomach as I thrust slowly, every movement designed to make her feel it — deep, stretching, consuming.
Her moans were softer this time. Tender. But no less hungry.
I lasted longer. Made it count.
When I came, I buried my face in her wet hair, panting against her shoulder, her name on my lips like a curse.
Afterward, I turned her to face me. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips swollen. She looked like a dream drowned in desire.
I cupped her jaw.
“You’re mine, Aaradhya,” I said softly. “Not just in body. I’ll have every part of you.”
She didn’t speak.
But she didn’t deny it.
And that was enough.
For now.
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