Page 108 of Cherish my Heart
“But you were… twelve?” I whisper, voice shaking. “You were kids…”
He lets out a broken, bitter laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a child, Aditi.”
Something sharp twists in my chest.
I reach up, gently brushing his cheek. My thumb trembles against his skin. “I hate that you believe that.”
He swallows, and his eyes shine—but not with lust anymore. With fear. With shame. With grief.
He watches me for a moment. “But I am ready,” he says, almost stubbornly. “I just don’t know how to proceed. Like… do I ask? Do I touch? What if I freeze up in the middle of it?”
“You tell me,” I say. “You talk to me. You stop. You breathe. You ask. You always have a choice with me.”
His throat bobs, and I see his jaw twitch like he’s fighting emotion.
“This isn’t a performance,” I continue. “It’s not a test. It’s you and me, together. That’s all.”
He leans forward slowly, cupping my cheek, and whispers, “You’re too good to be true.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m just yours.”
There’s silence between us again. But it feels warm. Healing.
When he kisses me next, it’s softer. Slower. Like a promise being made. And I let it stay that way. He picks me up and carries me to our bedroom, his lips still on mine. As he gently puts me on the bed, I have undone most of his buttons. He takes off his shirt, and I can’t stop staring at his chest; he might be the most manly man I have ever seen.
I don’t waste time as I take off my kurti. He gets on the bed, crawling a bit to me. His eyes are roaming on my bare body as I take off my bra.
He gently presses on my abdomen to push me down on the bed. His eyes are still on mine. “Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” He whispers.
“You will never do anything wrong,” I smile, plopping on the bed to kiss his forehead. “I trust you with my life, Abhimaan,” I smile.
His hands slowly roam over my breast; I suck in a breath. His eyes are still on me as he sucks on my right breast. My back arches as a moan escapes my mouth. His other hand squeezes my left one. He pushes himself up against me as he presses his lips on mine. “Are you okay?” I ask, his mouth still on mine.
He smiles, “Yes, darling.” His fingers find the hem of my leggings. “Can I take this off?”
“Please,” I almost whine, and he chuckles.
He is swift in taking it off; I undo his pants and take them off, leaving him just in boxers. He takes off my panty, and I shudder under his gaze. He’s looking at me like he’s memorizing this moment.
Not my body—me. My breath, my skin, my warmth. Like he’s still surprised I’m real.
His fingers trail slowly up my thigh, not rushed or uncertain now, but reverent. I feel every inch of it—the weight of his touch, the permission he’s giving himself to want, to take. His eyes search mine constantly, as if every next move needs to be checked, confirmed, and welcomed.
It is.
All of it is.
He leans down again, kissing me—slow, lingering, and full of questions he doesn't yet know how to ask. I answer them in the way I touch his jaw, the way I pull him closer, and the way I whisper his name like it’s a prayer.
He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against mine. “This feels like too much,” he says, breathless. “Like I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
I smile through the ache in my chest. “You don’t have to earn love, Abhimaan.”
He blinks at me, and I realize no one’s ever told him that before.
“I’m scared,” he whispers again, quieter this time.
“I know,” I say. My hand cups the side of his face. “But you’re not alone in it.”
