Posted:
I was responding to a topic by Lip-a-licious, a discussion that contains many possible (*ahem*) scenarios and it began to look like an OS, so here it is. Not meant to offend any sensibilities, and I hope the fan-girls enjoy it.😊
(Slightly) Mature Content Ahead
He waited in ambush. He'd heard Di on her way out to the temple asking Khushi if she would carry the flowers up to the terrace, and leave them in the shade for the evening's decorations. He knew Nani had gone for her afternoon nap. Lavanya had retired to the spa for the day taking Mami with her, to get ready for her big day.
He had Khushi where he wanted her, alone on the terrace.
From the shaded corner under the eaves, he watched her as she bent down to place the flowers, her hands like white flowers themselves. She looked about, and picked up a stretch of thin cream muslin from a basket that lay nearby, and dipped it into the swimming pool, perhaps to keep the flowers fresh till later.
He walked towards her, not making a sound. She looked so small, her bent body in a red salwar suit. Did she have to wear red? He wanted to pick her up, carry her into the darkness of his room, never let her out. Never leave the room himself. No, he wanted to take her and run. If no one could find them, neither of them would be engaged, and then he would have her all to himself. Run? Arnav SIngh Raizada never ran. He stood his ground and took what he wanted.
And he wanted Khushi, not just that soft body in his arms, where it panted at his touch, but the life that danced in her eyes, her laughter like a sudden burst of rain on parched earth. He wanted those, and he wanted to be the reason for those smiles, smiles that had disappeared in the last week, making Shantivan empty as a ghost town despite all the bustle of guests and engagement preparations. She turned and wrung the wet cloth over his plants, and he found himself wishing he were in their place.
She opened the muslin and raised it, giving it a hard shake. It let out a sound between a grunt and a sigh, and did not come back to her. She looked up to find it draped on the one person she had done her best to avoid all day. There was no mistaking that tall corded body under the wet cloth, nor the jut of his sharp nose and chin. She knew she must pull back the cloth and face the brewing storm he would unleash on her, yelling, taunting, stabbing her with his words.
But her hands did not move. Instead the muslin walked the distance of the three steps that separated them, slipping from his face in the process and clinging to his throat instead. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes, on his stubble, his lips. Her gaze snagged on those beads of water, and she did not notice when his hands came up to touch her arm, and pulled her gently towards that wet muslin. Those brown eyes said too many things to her dazed mind, and she closed her own to break that searing contact.
He felt a pull at the pit of his stomach at the sight of those trembling lashes, the clenched lips.His right hand moved up from her arm to her neck, and he did not know whether she moved her face up towards his or he
bent his face into hers. But her breath now fanned his face, and despite the wet cloth clinging to him, he burned.
She felt the wetness before it touched her, and the shock opened her eyes. She now wore the dripping muslin, one end of which was in his fingers as he laid it on her right shoulder. He bent his head and placed his mouth over the cloth. She could smell the musk of his after-shave that had become familiar in all those times their bodies had found a way to collide, touch, fall one over the other, as if that is where they belonged. But it was not just the scent of his body or his hair that became her undoing, but his lips that had now trailed up her throat, his hair that brushed her chin. His lips stole their way up to her jaw, and his hands moved, ever so light on the wet muslin, molding it to her, like a wanton gust of breeze that teased but did not touch.
He looked at his hands on the breasts that had begun moving in rhythm with his touch and felt his body clench in response. He drank in the smell of her that was a mixture of lavender and sweat, felt the pulse on her throat fluttering under his thumb, and knew that he could not afford to lose this gamble. He let his lips do the talking for him, and was rewarded when he felt her hands in his hair, hesitant at first, and then tugging. He kissed her chin, her face, and lingered at the corners of her lips. He pushed himself into her, shivering from the wetness that held them together, the muslin that had dried itself on their clothes.
She felt his hands move from her front to her back, his touch firm, pressing her to join him, yet his lips fluttered on her face, unsure. And not knowing where it came from, Khushi moved to trap his wandering lips, and claimed them with hers. His mouth opened in shock, and Khushi pushed in, mating her tongue with his, for once the aggressor and not the passive victim. Inside his mouth, he was soft, vulnerable. He tasted of orange juice, his favorite drink, but he was her favorite drink right then, and she drank him in.
He stumbled and fell back under her assault, and felt himself fall into one of the chairs beside the pool, her body on top of his. He did not let the fall break their kiss, and thrilled in the slight weight of her over him, the way his hands could span her tiny waist, and how their legs tangled.
When they both came up for air, Khushi found herself lying on his lap, her hands in his mussed hair, and went very still. His right hand lay over the muslin on her left breast, as if it was the most natural place in the world for it to be. And somehow, it felt right, the weight of his hand on her heart, the possessive curl of his fingers.
He had a devilish grin on his face as he whispered against her lips, "Kyun Khushi Kumari Gupta, kya ab bhi kahogi ki tumhe koi farak nahi padta?"
Second OS: Mrs. Khushi Singh Raizada
Hui Ghum Yaadein
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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