Esha laughed. “Do it in your real wedding.”
Rohan felt a jolt at her words though his feelings had stopped making any sense at all. He found her pajama-clad wet avatar very sensual. Her hair was wet from the shower and a few droplets fell on her collarbone, like dew drops on a rose petal. Now that he was finally alone with Esha, he wanted to further muss up her hair and kiss those wet pearls away. But never had he imagined that he would be alone in a room with her amidst roses and that her intoxicating perfume would drive him crazy. Theirs wasn’t a marriage in the true sense and yet her lips were calling out to him to feel them with his own.
But he was sure that she wouldn’t appreciate it. He forced himself to lean back on the pillow and give her an easy smile to fight his raging hormones. “So, which side of the bed is yours?”
She looked at him sharply to check if he was laughing at her predicament. She then went to her purse and took out a tape—a big, brown one.
“Naughty, naughty,” he said sitting up, suddenly feeling the air crackling between them with an invisible electric thread that was slowly pulling them towards each other. “What’s your intention darling?”
Esha gave him an evil grin and sashayed towards him, all the while opening the tape. “You didn’t think I would be prepared?” she asked, her voice husky. Any hot-blooded man would find this a big turn-on but Rohan sat up straight, wondering if she was drunk.
“Esha, I think we should go to sleep now.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “It’s getting very late.”
She threw back her head and laughed, “The night is still young, darling.” She opened the tape further and climbed on the bed, inching slowly towards him as she rolled it out. Rohan could feel his heart skipping a few beats. He wanted her no doubt, but he was not expecting this and her strange behavior made him uncomfortable.
“Do you want something to eat?” He sounded lame even to himself. She threw her head back and looked at him, her sherry colored eyes darkening into molten chocolate, and the light breeze from the window caught her silk tresses and made them dance to a tune of their own. She bit her lower lip and leaned in front of him, staring deep into his eyes. “Are you nervous?”
“Why are you behaving like this?” he asked, trying to get out of the bed. He felt an invisible hand clutching his stomach but he kept his tone breezy. “Are we taking this night to mean what it is meant to be? I’m ready if you are.”
If she took another step forward, her breasts would touch him. What the devil was she playing at? He couldn’t even lean back further since the head rest was stopping any further movement. She leaned forward but instead of coming towards him, she went beyond him and stuck the edge of the tape to the middle of the bed post. She then pulled the tape down – further and further and a line was drawn along the middle of the bed.
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About the author
I write a lot, which keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. There is always something to write about, always a new story to craft. Not writing, for me, is like trying to hold back a sneeze. Learning to write was the most powerful influence in my life. I can still remember the awe I felt when I realized I could put real words onto paper and tell out a story. From that first ‘a-ha’ moment I knew I wanted to write.
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