Continues...

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, and he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, noting it was already 1 PM. A heavy sigh escaped him as the realisation hit that they had spent the entire morning here. He focused on her, noticing her frail, trembling body resting on his chest, utterly spent yet so pretty to him.

"You alright?" He asked, his voice softer than usual. He noticed the faint tears on her cheeks.

"Hey, don't cry." He said, his tone a little softer.

He gently wiped a tear from his cheek with his thumb. "Don't come near me," she said, wincing as she sat up and wrapped the sheets around herself. He observed her, his heart heavy, as she shielded her vulnerability with the fabric.

"Don't be like that." He said, a small hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I'm your husband. I have the right to touch you." She looks away. He rolled his eyes at her reaction.

"Come on, don't act like that," he urged once more, a hint of frustration in his voice. He reached out and took her chin in his hand, gently turning her face towards him.

"Focus on me. He exhaled lightly, his frustration mounting.

"I won't say it again." He stated, his tone more resolute."

He grabbed her chin again, making her look at him.

"Look at me, damn it." He said, his grip tight." What do you want now?" she asked in anger

He held her chin tightly, his eyes locked on hers.

"I want you to stop being stubborn." He said, his voice stern. He paused for a moment, studying her face.

"I want you to behave like a wife."

"Or like a slave", she bites back. He felt a flash of anger at her words.

"Don't talk like that." He said, his grip on her chin tightening. "You're not a slave."

"Oh, right, not a slave but your pleasure doll," she mocked. He felt a wave of anger rise in him.

"Don't be so crude." He said, his voice firm.

"You are my wife." She scoffed. He could feel his anger rising again. "Don't you dare scoff at me like that." He said, his grip on her chin tightening.

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"You need to learn your role." He said, his voice firmer. She winced, a fragile breath escaping her lips, her eyes flashing with a mix of anguish and surprise. He could sense the sharp sting of discomfort radiating through her, yet the grip he held remained steadfast and unyielding. Despite the silent plea for relief that hung between them, he chose to tighten his hold, ignoring the turmoil within her that mirrored his own.

"You really won't budge on this," he said, his tone resolute.

"You just won't accept your place, will you?" The sharp edge of the broken bangle had left a deep cut on her wrist. She struggled against him, but he gripped her wrists firmly, determined to calm her restless movements.

"Stop moving." He said, his voice firmer. He examined the cuts on her wrists, his expression turning a mixture of concern and guilt.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of regret and remorse evident in his tone. She looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, frustration etched across her face. "You don't have to keep lying since yesterday; all you're doing is causing me more pain," she replied, her voice trembling with emotion. As her words sank in, he felt a sharp pang of guilt twist inside him, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He repeated, his voice softer. He let go of her wrists, gently touching the cuts on them.

"These need to be cleaned and bandaged." "I can handle it, just don't touch me."

He watched her get up from the bed, slipping her saree back on.

"You're not going anywhere." He said, his voice firm. "You're hurt. I need to clean those cuts."

"I can clean on my own, don't act here". He sighed, frustration evident in his expression.

"You're so stubborn." He said, his voice hinting at annoyance.

"Alright, I'll get the first-aid kit." "Don't worry; turmeric paste will work wonders." He sighed once more, exasperated by her unwavering determination.

"Alright, but I really want to help." "No. Don't you think your parents are starting to worry about you being stuck in your room all day?" She made an excuse to distract him

He took a moment, understanding that his parents might be concerned about his absence.

"You're probably right." He said, his tone more begrudging now. "But I still need to help you with those cuts."

"Why even try?" she scoffed. He clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of her words.

"You're in pain, and I can't ignore that." He said, his tone resolute. "You're my wife, and it's my duty to look after you."

"First, you give me pain, then act like you care. Don't fool me."

He sighed, exasperated at her words.

"I'm not trying to fool you." He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair.

"Look, I know I've been tough with you before, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you."

"You don't care about me, and I don't care about you too so don't pretend".

She left for to kitchen, watched her leave the room, feeling frustration and frustration grow.

"Damn it." He muttered under his breath.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He knew there was no point arguing with her.

He decided to give her some space, allowing her to tend to her wounds.

In the evening,

 Her elder brother came to take her for a ritual in which the bride stays in her parents' home for a few days. He was taken aback when her brother arrived, realising that she would be leaving the house.

"You're really leaving?" he asked, surprise and disappointment evident in his voice as she packed her suitcase. "I'm excited to get away from this place for a bit," she replied. "It feels stifling here." He couldn't shake the annoyance her words stirred within him.

"Are you truly happy to leave me?" he asked, his voice laced with a barely suppressed anger, each word dripping with disappointment. She continued to pack her trunk, her movements deliberate and resolute, avoiding his gaze as if it burned.

"Yes, I'm happy to leave," she replied, her tone unwavering and steely, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife. The admission struck him like a thunderclap, twisting his gut into a tight knot as he realised the finality of her words—her freedom was not just desired, but celebrated.

"I see." He said, his voice sounding defeated.

He watched her continue packing her trunk, feeling a mixture of frustration and sadness.

"You should also be happy, " she said before leaving. He watched her leave, feeling a mixture of emotions.

He felt a mix of emotions; part of him was glad that she was no longer there, but another part felt an unusual sense of loneliness.

He sat down on the bed, replaying the events of the morning in his head. He couldn't help but remember the anger and defiance in her eyes.

A few days had passed since she left. He had been occupying himself with work and other activities, but he couldn't seem to shake the thoughts of her from his mind.

He found himself constantly replaying the events of the morning in his head, relishing the memories of her defiance. He couldn't deny the effect she had on him.

The memories of her defiance and disobedience turned him on, even though he knew he shouldn't be feeling this way. He couldn't help but imagine the things he could do to her if she were still here. His mind was filled with lustful fantasies.

He imagined gripping her wrists tightly again, holding her down beneath him.

He imagined the sound of her whimpers and moans as he took his pleasure from her.

Later that evening, when he reached home, he found her napping on their bed, sleeping defenceless, her midriff exposed due to her saree rustling in sleep. He slowly approached the edge of the bed, his eyes first on her face, then her cute little belly.

He let his hand slowly graze over her bare midriff, his touch feather-light. He could feel the smoothness of her tanned skin beneath his white, pale fingertips, the warmth of her body seeping into him.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking in the sensation. He lay his head gently on her belly, feeling the warmth of her skin against his cheek.

He closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

He felt an odd sense of comfort in this moment. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto her navel. He leaned in, gently kissing her soft skin.

He then let his tongue flick out, tracing the curve of her navel, tasting her sweetness. He heard her whimper in her sleep, the sound sending a jolt through him.

He lifted his head again, looking at her face. She was still asleep, her expression still and peaceful.

He couldn't help but feel a stirring of desire in the pit of his stomach. He lay his head back on her belly, the sensation of her skin against him still sending a thrill through him.

He closed his eyes again, his hand gently tracing circles on her skin.

He could feel himself becoming more and more intoxicated by her presence, his desire growing stronger with each passing moment. He let his beard graze against her sensitive belly, her skin soft against the roughness of his facial hair.

He could feel her body reacting to his touch, goosebumps prickling across her skin.

He continued to graze his face against her belly, savouring the feeling of her soft skin beneath him.

To be continued...

"His heart had sworn to resist her... yet it beat only louder when she returned."

Should her return change him, or is he still the same sadistic slave of his desires? Tell me below ⬇️

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