Page 62 of A Royal Deception

I knew His Highness had a tendency to be bossy, and it was time to show him that I would never let him boss me around in bed. So I gave him a little shove as I leaned forward and let my hair fall around his face like a silken curtain.

“And what if I don’t… Hukum?” I whispered as I brazenly rode his hardness.

He grabbed my butt and squeezed it with both hands, holding me in place as he rubbed himself against me, literally making me see stars. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he released his hold and left me teetering on the edge of release.

“Then I’ll have to punish you,” he whispered back, rolling me over and pinning my hands over my head.

Bending his head, he claimed my lips in a bruising kiss, and I almost came off the bed as I kissed him back. His tongue stroked mine, and it felt as if he’d set my whole body on fire. What madness was this?

I wasn’t a virgin when I met him, of course. I’d had a couple of boyfriends in college, but none of them ever made me feel like this. As if I’d die if I didn’t have him right now.

The bastard pulled away to smirk at me.

“Say my name, Shivina,” he teased.

“No,” I snapped and bit him on the shoulder. Who the hell did he think he was to order me about like that?

He hissed in surprise, and I was worried I had taken it too far. What was I thinking?

“You’re going to pay for that, Rani Sa,” he murmured, and I wondered if it was too late for me to run.

His Highness sat up, and I almost swallowed my tongue at the sight of the moonlight gleaming across his bare chest. Hismuscles rippled as he threw the towel across the room, and I felt the sudden, desperate need to nibble on that glorious chest.

Before I could have my way, he raised my foot and began kissing his way up the inside of my leg. When he got to the apex of my thighs, he stopped and started again with the other foot. By the time he finally settled down to feast on me, I was a writhing, moaning mass of need. And all thoughts of bossing him back flew out of my head.

The next morning, I was still sore when I went to wake Zarna. She had a mid-term break for a couple of days, and I was relieved she could catch up on some sleep.

“And what are we doing today?” she asked with a yawn.

“You’re going to be studying all day for your Russian Math exams while I’m going to visit the House of Trikhera studio.”

“How come you get to have fun while I have to work?” she grumbled.

“Because I’m not the genius in the family, you are,” I quipped. “And genius needs to be tortured daily for best results.”

We had breakfast together, and I set off for the fashion house with my heart in my mouth. Ranvijay had arranged for a car and chauffeur for my use, but I still felt like an imposter when the chauffeur greeted me like royalty and held the door open. I took a deep breath and decided I could get used to being driven around in air-conditioned comfort as long as I remembered my old days and was ready to travel by bus again if I had to.

House of Trikhera was a gorgeous studio in the heart of the Johri Bazaar in Trikhera. The Rani Sa came to the door to welcome me, and she was still as warm as she had been yesterday.

“You should be resting,” I said guiltily as I watched her waddle across the room. She looked like she’d pop the baby out if she sneezed too hard.

“Eh, resting is boring. Besides, I won’t be able to do much once the baby comes. And if I stay home, my husband fusses like an old hen,” she replied with a grin. “Come and have a look at the clothes.”

She waved a hand at racks of beautiful clothes, from lehengas to saris to kurta sets, made of gossamer fine fabric and in beautiful shades of pastel. It was very different from what I’d worn yesterday. These were the kind of clothes I liked to wear, only of a much higher quality. In fact, these were the kind of clothes I’d choose to wear if I had an unlimited budget.

“Oh, they are gorgeous,” I breathed.

“Thank you. And they will look even more gorgeous on you, Shivina. I know you don’t believe it, but you’re going to sell out my latest collection, trust me.”

“But I don’t look like a model at all,” I protested. This felt too much like charity to me. She was clearly doing Ranvijay a favour by clothing his wife.

“I have plenty of models. And while that kind of advertising has its place, we’re looking at a new way to reach people. The average Indian woman does not look like a fashion model. She looks like you. And she wants clothes that accentuate her best features, not clothes that look great on a stick-thin model but look awful on her. Shivina, you have the kind of curvy Indian body that looks divine in gauzy saris and lehengas. So when a woman who wants to look like that sees you in these clothes, she’s going to hit that buy button so fast it’ll send her credit card into shock.”

“I’m not sure about that, Rani Sa,” I began, but she frowned at me.

“Call me Diya, woman! We can’t keep Rani Sa-ing each other!”

With a laugh, I corrected myself.

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