Page 80 of Mrs. Pandey
I told him my head had healed, but Prashant refused to believe me. He didn't let me lift a finger.
"Dinner is ready," Prashant announced as he entered the room carrying a big tray. First, he placed the laptop table on the bed, then set the tray on top of it with a careful, almost ceremonial motion.
The food smelled divine, steaming bowls of dal, fluffy rice, soft paneer in rich gravy, and fresh chapattis still puffed with heat. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes for a second to savour it. God, how could he be this good at everything?
"Has Maa eaten?" I asked, reaching for a chapatti.
"She went to her sister's for a small function," he said, smiling that smile I loved most, the one that brought out two perfect dimples on either side of his cheeks. "She'll be back in the morning. So..." his voice softened, "we're alone in the house."
"We're alone..." I echoed, my lips curling into a knowing smile as I tore the chapatti into a small piece, dipped it into the dal, and placed it in my mouth.
Prashant didn't take his eyes off me the entire time. His hunger wasn't for food that much was obvious.
I chewed slowly, pretending not to notice how intently he was watching me. "What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow after swallowing.
"Nothing," he said, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. "Just wondering if the paneer tastes better than my last attempt at aloo parathas."
I laughed instantly, the memory flashing bright and clear as his half-cooked dough in the middle, burnt edges outside, and him blaming the rolling pin for the disaster. "Oh God, don't remind me. I can still feel that dough sticking to my teeth."
"That was innovation," he said, pretending to be offended. "You clearly don't understand experimental cuisine."
"Experimental?" I giggled, shaking my head. "That was criminal."
He laughed, the sound warm and deep, his dimples appearing again. "You're going to regret saying that because I was planning to make breakfast tomorrow."
I gasped dramatically. "You dare bring parathas into my life again?"
"Not parathas," he said, leaning closer, lowering his voice. "I'm thinking hot, fluffy poha. I promise...not a single raw grain... unless I decide it needs a little extra crunch."
I couldn't stop laughing, my stomach aching. He reached out to wipe a small smear of dal from the corner of my mouth, his thumb lingering for a second too long. My heartbeat stumbled, and suddenly, the air between us felt heavier.
"See?" he said softly. "This is why I cook. Just to hear you laugh like that."
I looked at him as his messy hair fell over his forehead, wearing a faded t-shirt, smiling at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Then his expression shifted. His gaze locked on mine, his tone dropping low. "You know what I'm going to do with you all night, don't you?" he whispered against my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine.
I swallowed hard, my voice sounding far steadier than I felt. "Aren't you going to eat?"
"Will you feed me?" His grin returned, boyish yet wicked.
"You have two perfectly working hands," I shot back, but before I could move, he caught my wrist gently, guiding my hand toward his mouth. He let me feed him and then, without warning, he began licking each of my fingers slowly, deliberately. My breath caught, heat rushing through me.
"Exactly," he murmured against my skin. "I have two hands." His voice was thick with something that made my pulse hammer. "Eat first... because you're not going to make it through the night if you don't have enough calories."
My throat tightened. "And what about you?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
"I'm going to eat you," he said simply, the words stealing my breath.
"I'm done," I whispered, setting the tray aside and folding the laptop table.
When I stood, my legs felt unsteady, as though they belonged to someone else. I managed to walk to the wash basin, rinse my hands, and dry them, but I could feel his eyes burning with desire.
When I turned, he was still sitting on the bed, one arm resting lazily on his knee, watching me with a look so intense, my knees nearly gave out again.
He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, his gaze locked on something other than me.
My eyes were drawn to the way his golden skin stretched taut over his hard muscles as he pulled the fabric from his shoulders. We hadn't been together in more than two weeks, and the ache for him was a physical thing-a deep, burning need that I knew only he could soothe.
