Page 241 of Rudra Nandani: The Saga of Control And Seduction

She struggled to sit up, her fingers trembling. I could tell it had taken every ounce of her strength.

She looked at me with a tired yet radiant smile playing on her lips.“You’ve ruined every man, even the ones in my dreams,” she mumbled.

I chuckled, brushing the hair from her face.“You too, love. You too.”

I helped her sit back on the couch. She immediately lay down and closed her eyes, exhausted.

I lay on the floor, my hand reaching up to find hers dangling over the edge of the couch. I kissed her fingers gently and closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath.

“The night is still young,” I murmured.

She cracked her eyes open, meeting my gaze.“It is,” she whispered, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.

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Nandani

Iwas breathless as he hovered over me, his body claiming mine, our hands entwined above my head. My back arched in surrender, my strength long abandoned. I had lost count of my cries, my shudders, my releases, everything.

My body trembled beneath him like a frail thread unravelling, my senses reduced to a storm of sensations. His movements were relentless, sometimes slow, deliberate and deep, sometimes wild, overwhelming, until I gasped for breath. When he sank fully inside me, it felt like he was carving his place into my soul, and sometimes, tears would escape my eyes, unbidden, from the intensity of it all.

But there was no stopping.

That night, I understood the true meaning of his strength. He was not just a man. He was a force. And it didn’t feel like I was being loved by one man, but by the unstoppable will of many. I was nothing in front of him; I was not weak, not lesser, and just entirely undone.

My hair was in disarray, my cheeks and chest flushed a deep crimson. My body burned — not from pain alone, but from the ecstasy of being wholly claimed by him. Everything else faded, only sensation remained, and the heat of his skin against mine, the thunder of our heartbeats colliding.

The air in the chamber thickened with our moans and groans. The sheets, the crushed flowers, the scattered petals, all bore witness to what passed between us. I felt the crushing weight of his body on me.

Still, he persisted until he poured his final breath of energy into me, until he collapsed with exhaustion, or until he felt satisfied.

That night, I saw a different Rudra. Not the man I had always known — but the king. The warrior, like a storm, a man greater than life. His eyes had no regrets, no hesitation.

Yet I saw the fury of ten years of restraint break apart before me. I saw him fall apart. I saw him sweat and tremble. I saw him roll his eyes, writhing in pleasure. I saw his tangled, messy hair. I saw him shaking, desperate for release.

I wouldn’t tone down the true experience. It was not tender; it wasn't easy, and it hurt and shook me at times. But it was real, something painfully, gloriously beautiful.

Satisfying a man’s hunger in this way felt like an experience beyond this world. The pleasure was doubled when it was with the man who was not only your lover but also your husband, your everything.

It was a night that shattered every expectation, every boundary, every ounce of courage I thought I had. I felt him unravelling, losing himself in the moment.

When he grew restless with being over me, he would pull away, shift his weight to his knees, and, with a forceful grip on my ankles, flip me over onto my stomach. I could feel the warmth of the bed against my skin as he entered me from behind.

My fingers clenched the sheets, my face buried in the crushed flowers, my eyes clenched shut. Each thrust, deep and relentless, drove me further into submission. His hands pressed into the mattress as his hips ground against mine torturously.

As the night wore on, each moment seemed to stretch further, his movements becoming wilder, more frantic. The need in him had become almost painful, and with every release, I could feel his control slipping further.

I lost count of the positions he tried. One moment, I was beneath him, the next, I was above him, then on all fours, bouncing against his fierce thrusts. Sometimes I was in his lap, his fingers threading through my hair, pulling at the loose strands of my braid, other moments when I struggled for my release, my body pressing into his, legs tightly wound around his waist, my hands clutching his shoulders, our lips, locked in a heated breath.

He moved like a beast, not a wild, animalistic force, but a powerful, controlled presence—a beast of desire, of strength, ofunrelenting hunger.

Through it all, his hand never touched my neck, never restrained me. He let me fall apart beneath him. He let me become a trembling, moaning mess, senseless and out of control. His hips were grinding relentlessly. My hands fisted the sheets, my breasts bouncing with every movement, my back arching against the softness of the flowers and the bed beneath us.

The air was thick with the scent of roses, lavender, and our sweat, an intoxicating mix that filled the room. We did not sleep. He didn’t let me sleep, not until the first light of dawn crept into the room, and even then, he gave one final, deep, intense release—his third, while I had no idea how many I had reached.

He had drained all my strength, all my energy, which I had carried for twenty-two years. All of it vanished in that single, intense night. I was sure I had lost weight, not from hunger, but from the sheer physical exertion, the stretching, the relentless pace of our bodies moving against each other.

We had gone beyond what we knew, beyond any sense of shame. Every wall between us had crumbled. Every secret, every trace of hesitation, had vanished.

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