Page 50 of Mrs. Pandey
I smirked. She was the storm once. Now she was facing a hurricane. And the most fucked-up part of it all? I still wanted her.
Even in this chaos. Even after everything. Even when hate wrapped itself around my spine like armor... there was a small part of me that wanted her to never leave again.
And that was the part I hated most.
I gripped her shoulders, my gaze drilling into hers. "You've used me again, Ira. Always. Like a discarded tissue. When your precious boyfriend was out of the picture, you craved me to sate your dark fantasies, no strings attached. Now he's married to Avni. And now you want me back? You've always been a selfish bitch, Ira. You toyed with my heart, my damn feelings, my very body."
"Prashant, I was so confused..." Her voice, a choked whisper, caught in her throat, her eyes brimming with a theatrical display of tears. But I wouldn't be swayed by that performance. They were fake, just like every fleeting emotion she'd ever shown. She'd probably just slither into the arms of the next fool who offered comfort.
"Turn around," I commanded, my voice flat. A faint frown creased her perfect brow.
"Uh..."
"I said, turn around, now," I barked, and she instantly obeyed, a tremble running through her. "Are you comfortable having sex with me?" I asked, my fingers already gathering the delicate fabric of her saree, lifting it to expose the sliver of pink lace beneath. God, she was flawless, breathtaking in her unwilling surrender.
"Yes." A sharp gasp escaped her lips as I yanked her underwear down her legs, then squeezed the soft curve of her buttock. "But not like this."
"You want me to stop...?" I drawled, dipping a finger deep into her, feeling the wet, slick folds immediately clench around me. She was already pulsating, a hungry little throb.
"No..." she whispered, her fingers splayed against the cool plaster of the wall, clawing subtly as I replaced one finger with two.
"How long have you been celibate?" I rasped, the tightness around my fingers an intoxicating lure.
"Three years," she mumbled, her back arching subtly, biting back a moan that threatened to escape. She liked it; she always had. My hand, her most intimate space.
"Haven't you fucked Aryan?" The name was a deliberate barb, a taste of the bitterness still lingering.
"No!" She barked. "Mind your language," she chastised, but my open palm connected sharply with her butt cheek, a stinging reminder of who held the power here.
"Oh, Dimples!" The sound was torn from her, a mix of pain and pleasure.
I rotated my hand, a rough, insistent friction that drew more of her hidden juice to the surface. She was getting wetter, slicker, filling my entire hand with her undeniable need. Her legs began to tremble, pressing her cheek against the wall, soft moans escaping like trapped birds. I liked her defiant, dominant spirit, but I loved her surrendering to my touch even more.
"Dimples..." she cried out, a raw sound of desperate pleasure, as I inserted a third finger, my jaw clenching against the sudden rush. We were still fully clothed, yet the heat in the room was a palpable, living thing. Her ass shook, her legs trembled uncontrollably as I fucked her with my fingers. The air thickened with her scent, a potent, primal mix of arousal and her unique fragrance that always drove me to the edge. I watched her face, a canvas of conflicting pleasure and pain, and a dark, vengeful satisfaction coiled in my gut. This was it. This was the reckoning for every time she'd casually discarded me.
Before she could crest, before she could find that release, I unzipped my pants. In one fluid, brutal motion, I thrust straightinside her from behind. A choked cry tore from her throat, but I covered her mouth with my hand, muffling the sound as I began to pound her deeper, harder, rougher against the unforgiving wall.
"Ah...mm..." Her cry was a strangled whimper beneath my palm as I buried myself, fully, completely inside her. I'd never been this hard, this consumed. Ira was the only woman I just took, and she was here, now. I was taking her, angrily, savagely, against the wall because she deserved it. She deserved to be punished for pushing me away, for making a mockery of my feelings, for weaponizing my very soul against me. I hated her, and I would remind her of that hatred with every breath she took, with every thrust I delivered.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair, twisting her head back, forcing her face to meet mine, and kissed her, a brutal, unyielding press of my mouth against hers. "Am I rough, Warrior?" I asked with a sneer, my voice a low growl against her lips.
Tears, thick and hot, welled in her eyes, but she stubbornly shook her head, refusing to acknowledge the pain. Too proud to admit it, wasn't she? I sneered again and plunged into her harder. Her body convulsed forward, her chin wobbled precariously, her perfect brows creased in a contortion of pain, and her eyes rolled back behind her eyelids, a silent testament to the exquisite pleasure she was fighting. I liked that she liked it. I pulled my palm away from her mouth, replacing it with another bruising kiss, dragging my tongue around her lips, then her cheeks, tasting the salty tears that tracked down her face. Again, I kissed her, but she didn't kiss me back. Her body remained rigid against mine, a taut string vibrating with every mercilessthrust. The only sounds in the suffocating room were our ragged breaths and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.
"Am I disrespectful to you, Warrior?" I asked her, my voice laced with venom. She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that scraped against my throat, and kissed her rough again, bruising her petal-like lips. "Have you ever earned it?"
I broke our kiss, glaring down at her, forcing her to meet my gaze. She didn't reply, biting her lower lip, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder, anywhere but mine. "Have I always disrespected you?"
She shook her head, a low moan escaping when I gave her a sudden, deep pound, driving into her with a force that stole her breath. Her fingers clawed against the wall, leaving faint marks, as she bit into her lower lip, a silent scream of both pleasure and agony. My free hand reached down, finding her aching clitoris, and began to rub hard. Her hips bucked, her back curving sensuously against me. I wanted to rip her saree, to feel her soft skin, every inch of it, against mine, but that wasn't the point tonight. First, she needed to learn I wasn't some sort of toy she could play with, to have me when she desired, to discard me when boredom struck.
"Ah!!!" She gasped, her head falling back against the cold wall.
"You like it, Warrior. You like me inside you, don't you? You like how perfectly we fit each other."
"I hate you," she hissed, her voice strained, raw. "I hate you for making me feel like this."
"What am I making you feel, Warrior?" I pushed deeper, the friction intoxicating, building into an unbearable pressure.
"Like a sex toy," she breathed out, her words punctuated by sharp, desperate gasps. "You've never taken me like that before. You've always been tender, a gentleman, but I hate this side..." I squeezed her ass roughly, her moan cutting her off. "...of yours."
