Page 292 of A King's Oath

“Let me look and then we’ll see,” he parted the lapels of her robe and his eyes trailed down her eyes, her face, her neck to her breasts. They halted there, his irises suddenly darkening. His throat worked a swallow.

“I’m not athletic anymore.”

“Good,” his eyes trailed lower, to her torso, lower, to the stretch marks marring her flat belly. “I don’t own a six-pack anymore either.”

Avantika laughed even amid this hot, intense, tense moment. His eyes trailed down, his body stepping back — “Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to jog my memory.”

She felt her body explode into tiny flutters. He had not even touched her and she could feel thumping in pulse points hidden inside her. It had always been like that with him. He was so sweet and soft-natured. And came with his Sati Savitri rules. But when he looked at her like this, barked soft bursts of commands out to her, she couldn't hold her nonchalant shield up.

“Want me to spell it out, Raje?” His deep voice brought her out of the self-induced haze of arousal. Technically, Samarth-induced haze of arousal.

Her eyes met his, and she tipped her chin higher as his face bent — “Let’s see if you know your spellings as well as your daughter does.”

His mouth pulled up in that smirk — along with his eyebrow.

“O for obey.”

Her eyes widened.

“F for fingers.”

She swallowed.

“F for faster.”

Her eyes looked away from his, unable to take in the smirk that was now in his eyes.

“Off, Ava.”

She reached for the lapels of her bathrobe and pulled them off her shoulders. It rustled down in a pool around her feet just as his sharp intake of breath made her clench her legs. She looked at him and his head was bent, looking at her.

“Get in the tub.”

“I think I am done…”

“No, you are not.”

He stepped close to her and took her hand, only her fingers, in a delicate hold, as if he was guiding her to a ball dance. She flowed with him and stepped inside the tub, the water tepid but feeling warm after the cool of the air outside.

Samarth helped her down, then took steps back.

“Don't go…”

But he was reaching for the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them with one hand, eyes on her. She floated back, grabbing her wine and taking a sip, pulling her nonchalant shield back up.

“Need more?” He asked, pushing his shirt lapels off to reveal a broad muscled chest and torso that was no longer cut in six packs. He wasn’t in his 20s anymore and he didn’t play polo or practise regularly due to his Rawal duties. And yet, the body of a 34-year-old Samarth Sinh Solanki had the power to make her breathless. She now knew why she still held that same power over him, even after giving birth.

“What? You?” She smirked. “I think I’ll take it.”

He chuckled — “I meant the wine. The show is going to go on longer.”

“Oh…” her mouth dropped open as he reached for his belt and the metal of his buckle clinked. She took a sip and swallowed, thewine drying in her mouth at the sight of his briefs. She coughed, making him laugh.

“I think you need more.”

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