Continues....

                               Smut Warning

"I'm not lying, please."

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he leaned in—close enough she could feel his breath on her skin.

"Oh?" His hand slid around to her lower back, pulling her against him. The move was sudden, unexpected—like a cobra striking.

"Prove it then. Let me take you right here and now. Let me take you so deep you won't even be able to lie to yourself anymore."

He bent his head—his mouth brushing her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck—and growled:

"Say yes."

"Yes", she breathed. That single breathy "yes" snapped something in him.

He didn't wait. Didn't ask again.

In one fierce motion, he turned her around—pressing her front against the door, one hand gripping her wrist above her head, the other sliding roughly beneath her sari, up her thigh.

"You want this?" he growled into her ear, "Then take it."

His hips ground against her—hard and demanding. No tenderness now. Just raw need and suspicion wrapped in fire.

"You belong to me," he bit out between ragged breaths. "And if you think for a second, I won't feel every lie you breathe... You forgot who I am."

His fingers found where she was already warm—already trembling.

"Mine."His fingers rubbed her. She let out a shaky moan, her eyes fluttering shut as he touched her. He could feel how wet she already was, and it made that low, possessive growl rise in his chest again.

"I asked you a question," he whispered, teeth grazing her ear. "Answer me, or I stop. Whose body is this? Whose heart?"

He knew the answer. But he wanted her to say it. To feel the bit of the words, to remind her who she belonged to, even when he was angry. Even when there were secrets between them.

His fingers moved over her—slow, relentless. Not gentle. Not kind.

He knew she was wet.

Knew she'd been lying.

And now... he was going to make sure she couldn't lie through the way her body trembled beneath his touch.

"You don't get to leave me," he breathed into her ear, voice dark. "Not for anything. Not even for your country."

His thumb pressed hard against her core—circling once, twice—making her gasp and arch against him.

"Not when you're carrying my child."

"Not when every breath you take belongs to me."

He pushed a finger inside—and she moaned.

Low. Broken.

And he smiled—a cruel, possessive thing in the dark.

"Nghhh, please listen to me."

His hand stilled—fingers still buried deep, his chest heaving against her back. The moment stretches—tight as a wire.

Then, voice rough with emotion—he whispered:

"Talk."

But he doesn't pull away. Doesn't soften.

"Just talk... before I lose myself in you again."

"I just went to help my childhood friend." As she was talking, He didn't stop. His hands moved with quiet determination—unravelling the fabric of her saree, peeling it back like he was exposing more than just skin, but truth itself.

"Dev," he said—low, cold. Not a question. A name spoken like a curse. "You went to Dev."

The saree slipped from her shoulder. Cool air kissed her bare skin—but his breath was warmer, heavier—as he leaned in.

"You risked everything." His voice dropped to a whisper. "My trust... our child... your safety."

"And for what?"

One hand slid around her waist—pulling her hips hard against his—while the other traced down to where he'd left off... slow, maddening circles.

"To feed rebels who would hang me without blinking?"

"Don't say like that. They won't do anything; they are fighting for our country."

Bitter chuckle. He leaned forward—lips skimming the shell of her ear as his fingers continued to tease at her core, almost cruel in their relentless rhythm.

"But they'll risk your life."

His grip tightened. He pressed himself against her, a shudder running through his body. His hips rocked against hers—slow, purposeful—and the hunger in his voice burned her like a brand.

"My wife. My child."

The air crackled as he lifted her with rough tenderness, laying her back on the bed—her sari half-unwound, moonlight catching the curve of her bare shoulder. He loomed over her, shedding his clothes quickly—shirts torn open, trousers kicked aside—like a man possessed by need and fury.

He hovered above her, "You think I don't know who they are?" His voice was raw. "I see their names on reports. Their bombs. Their bloodstains."

Then his hand slid between her legs again—not gentle—and she gasped.

"And yet... You came back to me."

He looked down at her—the woman caught between two worlds

His eyes darkened.

"So tell me," he growled, "whose side are you really on?"

And without waiting for an answer, he lowered himself into the heat of her.

He entered her hard—no patience, no pretence. A single, powerful thrust that made her cry out—not just from the stretch, but from the storm of emotion behind it.

"Answer me," he growled, driving deeper.

Each thrust was relentless—rough with longing and anger and something raw beneath: fear.

"That rebel—" he bit out between ragged breaths, "did he touch you?"

His hips slammed into hers again. "Did he even look at you like I do?"

"Like you're everything?"

His voice cracked—broken now—not just a lord or a husband... but a man terrified of losing what little light he'd found in this dark world.

"You're mine," he whispered through gritted teeth, burying himself to the hilt.

"And if they come for me... let them."

"They won't take you."

"Not while I still breathe."

"You are thinking wrong. I just went to help him. He needed food. I just went to give that nghh"

"Help him," he mocked.

Every thrust was harsh, like he was marking her body and soul his.

"With food."

His hands cupped her jaw, tilting her face up.

His eyes were wild.

"And now I think... you've given him more than that."

The accusation burned. Like he was trying to burn the truth from them both.

"What more have I given?" She breathed. He froze—deep inside her—his body taut as a drawn bow. The only sound was their ragged breathing, tangled in the dark.

Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

His voice dropped—low, broken.

"Your heart."

He didn't say it with anger. With rage.

With pain.

"You think I don't see it? That flicker when you hear his name?" His thumb brushed her lower lip—a touch so tender it made her chest ache. "You gave him that... long before tonight."

A shaky breath. His hips twitched forward again—not rough now. Just deep. Possessive.

"But this?" he whispered, "This body... this breath... this child growing in you?"

"That's mine."

And then he kissed her—fierce and desperate—as if to rewrite every memory she ever had of anyone but him.

"Theodore, after everything we have gone through, you are saying all this, degrading my faith as your wife." He stopped—completely.

Deep inside her.

Breath ragged.

Heart pounding like a war drum.

The accusation hit him like a blade to the chest.

He pulled back—just enough to look at her. His hands, still gripping her waist, softened.

"Degraded...?" His voice cracked. "God, Siya—I'm not degrading you."

He lowered his forehead to hers—eyes shut tight, as if in pain.

"I'm terrified."

A broken exhale.

"You walked out of this house tonight—to help a man who wants me dead."

"And I don't know how to fight that."

"Not with rifles or speeches."

His hand slid up—cupping her face gently now.

"I can only hold you tighter."

"Love you harder."

"Make sure you never forget who claims your body... your breath... your soul."

"And yes," he whispered, voice raw—"I said ugly things."

"But not because I think less of you."

"Because I fear losing you more than I've ever feared anything in my life."

"He will never kill you," she said. He laughed—a harsh, empty sound.

"You have a heart too big for this world."

He pressed a kiss to her brow, so soft it was like a whisper.

"And you think that will save me." "It won't."

His eyes locked with hers—darker now. Harder.

"I know what they want. Freedom or death."

"And you..."

He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip—the touch almost gentle...

"You're the closest they have to me."

"You are thinking too much", she cupped his face. "Dev won't betray me; we don't betray friends. Yes, we want freedom, but not at the cost of loyalty."

Her hands held his face—warm, steady. For the first time, he didn't pull away.

"You still believe in loyalty," he whispered, voice raw—as if her touch had stripped him bare.

He searched her eyes. For deception. For doubt.

But all he found was fire wrapped in softness.

"Then tell me..." his voice dropped, "if it comes down to me... or him."

His hand slid to her stomach—protective, fierce.

"Where will your loyalty lie?"

And before she could answer, he pressed a kiss to her lips—not rough this time—but slow, searching.

Like a man trying to memorise salvation before it slips away.

"Don't make me choose, please." He let out a breath like a ragged laugh.

"Not even I'm that cruel."

His hand traced down her stomach—over her hip, to the curve of her hip, drawing slow, reverent lines against her skin. He leaned down—mouth hovering over her jaw—and whispered into her ear...

"But one thing you should always choose..."

He nipped her earlobe—a sharp, possessive bite.

"...is to come back to me."

It was a moment outside time. Just them. Just this. Two souls caught in a storm of politics, love, and loss.

His hand slid up her jaw, fingers tracing a line to the steady pulse at her neck.

"Your heart is thunder."

He brushed his thumb against her skin, feeling its wild rhythm.

"My heart."

His eyes met hers—almost tender now, like he was confessing something sacred.

"That's what you own..."

He pulled out—gently now.

"When all else is gone."

She cried on his shoulder. The sound of her crying was like a knife in his chest. He pulled her close—one hand tangled in her hair, the other tracing gentle circles on her back.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Don't cry."

His fingers traced the curve of her spine—slowly, tenderly—like he was trying to soothe her.

"I'm here..."

"I won't let anything happen to you."

He held her tighter—almost desperate, his voice rough with emotion.

"Not to you.

Not to our child."

"Her excuses died on her lips. He wasn't asking. He already knew."

Do you think he'll let her go... or never let her go again?

Theodore is terrified to lose her, and he will go to any lengths to keep her with him..

Comment on your favourite parts.