Page 64 of Mrs. Pandey
The smell of alcohol hit me like a wave. I winced. "Are you drunk?"
"Mmm..." he hummed lazily, trying to reach for my cheek. His fingers barely grazed my skin before I slapped his hand away.
"What are you doing?" I snapped, pulling away.
"I'm... examining your wound," he muttered, dragging himself closer again.
I scooted away. "You're drunk, asshole."
He laughed, an unexpected, rich laugh that made my heart skip. There they were: his dimples. The ones I hadn't seen in so long. Not since Avni made him laugh that day. For a fleeting moment, my heart softened at the sight of him like this, unguarded, free, almost innocent.
But then, just as quickly, his smile vanished. He caught me staring. That familiar coldness returned to his face like a mask slipping back on.
"Don't trap me again, okay?" His voice shook slightly. "Last time, you made me believe you were in love with me. I was a damn fool. I even bought you a ring... thinking you'd say yes. But no. I was just a distraction, wasn't I?"
His words hit me harder. I held my breath. "How much were you in love with me, Prashant?" I asked softly, afraid of the answer but needing to hear it.
He exhaled shakily. "So much..." his voice cracked. "I was so in love with you, Ira, that I defied death just to see you one last time."
His eyes glistened.
"I loved you like a pen loves its refill. I loved you like a phone loves its battery." His hand found mine, and he squeezed it gently, voice rough with emotion. "I loved you like Netflix loves asking, 'Are you still watching?'"
A broken laugh escaped me, even as tears slid down my cheeks. Sad, quiet tears that I didn't bother to wipe. I reached out, fingers running through his dark hair gently, lovingly. I wanted to kiss his forehead, but I stopped myself.
"You like to play with hearts and bodies, don't you, Ira Pandey?" he whispered bitterly. "I wish...God, I wish...you had just loved me once. Even if it was only for a month. I just wanted to know what true love felt like. But now... I've forgotten. I don't remember what it's like to be loved or to love."
"Shh..." I hushed him, placing my finger against his lips. "Wanna have sex with me?"
He blinked, surprised. Then sighed. "Hell no. I'm drunk." But he kissed the inside of my palm tenderly. "Go to sleep."
"Okay..." I grinned, my mood shifting like lightning.
Without warning, I ripped his shirt open, buttons flying across the room as he broke into a laugh. A genuine, hearty laugh that made my chest ache.
Next thing I knew, my tongue traced the curve of his neck, slid up to his jawline, then found his mouth. I kissed him slowly, deeply, and unhurriedly. I tasted the sharp tang of alcohol mingling with the familiar heat of his skin. It was intoxicating.
"Ira..." he rasped, gripping my hair, trying to take control.
But I shoved him down and climbed on top of him. "Don't," I whispered. "Let me."
I could feel how hard he was for me, the heat radiating from his body through the fabric of his pants. God, he was impressively aroused.
I paused, staring down at him, at the man who had loved me with the kind of passion people wrote poetry about. The kind of love I'd spent years running from.
"Ira..." he breathed again, this time with a desperation that nearly broke me.
I didn't reply. I just leaned in, ready to lose myself in the moment... in him... in us.
I kissed him rough, hard, and hungry until a deep, raspy groan tore from his throat. His wide chest rose and fell beneath my palm, each breath quick and unsteady as I tried to take control of his massive, trembling body.
He felt like fire under my hands. Solid muscle. Bare skin. Power, barely restrained.
My lips traveled to the crook of his neck, that place where his scent was strongest. I buried my face there, inhaling him, claiming him. I kissed, nipped, and tasted, needing to mark every inch of him. Beneath me, I could feel the ache of him, hard and pulsing trapped beneath the press of my hips. I ground down slowly, deliberately.
"Say it," I whispered, my voice thick with want, "say you don't want me."
He didn't answer, not with words. Just a sharp exhale that was half surrender, half protest.
