Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

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तुझ से ही हर ख़ुशी है
तेरे दम से आशिक़ी है, जान ले

मिल जाए हम तो
सब कुछ सही है
फिर इस तरह क्यों, हैं अजनबी

तुम में हम हैं
हम में तुम हो
तुम से हम हैं
हम से तुम हो

क़िस्मतों से मिलते हैं दो दिल यहाँ
हर किसी को नहीं मिलता
यहाँ प्यार ज़िंदगी में (x2)

हाँ किसी को ही है मिलता ये ज़िंदगी में
ख़ुशनसीब हैं जो हमें मिला ज़िंदगी में (x2)

वो हो...

तू मोहब्बत है, इश्क़ है मेरा
इक इबादत है, साथ ये तेरा (x2)

जब दिल से दिल मिले हैं
फिर क्यों ये फ़ासले हैं, इस तरह

आ बोल दे तू, या बोल दूं मैं
कब तक छुपाएँ ये बेक़ुदी

तुम में हम हैं
हम में तुम हो
तुम से हम हैं
हम से तुम हो

क़िस्मतों से मिलते हैं दो दिल यहाँ
हर किसी को नहीं मिलता
यहाँ प्यार ज़िंदगी में

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The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them inside the quiet of their room. The night still hummed outside, but within these walls, there was only a warmth that neither of them was ready to step away from. Noor's fingers were still laced with his, her grip light, hesitant, as if he wasn't ready to let go just yet.

She was still under the haze of everything that had unfolded-his words, his touch, the weight of his presence. It lingered on her skin, in her breath, in the way her heart refused to slow down. And yet, she felt light. Special. Like something inside her had been touched so delicately, so deeply, that she wanted to stay in this feeling for just a little longer.

Her gaze lifted to him, and without thinking, she smiled. Small, soft, unguarded. A silent whisper of everything she couldn't put into words.

Sidharth's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before they softened. His lips curved, mirroring her smile, and then, without hesitation, he leaned down. The kiss he pressed against her temple was gentle, lingering, his breath warm against her skin. It was an unspoken promise-of something deeper, something constant.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching hers as he spoke, his voice a quiet command wrapped in tenderness.

"Aap change kar lijiye, Noor."

(You should change, Noor.)

Noor blinked, her smile fading just a little as something shifted in her thoughts. There was a flicker of something, a quiet storm of emotions running inside her. She shook her head, barely noticeable but firm.

"Nahi, aap change kar lijiye pehle."

(No, you change first.)

For a moment, Sidharth just stood there, his eyes holding hers as if searching for something unsaid. But he didn't question her. He only gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, before turning toward the washroom.

As the door closed behind him, Noor let out a quiet breath, her eyes landing in the small Almirah placed in the room.

Noor's fingers brushed over the wooden surface of the Almira, her heart still warm from the lingering presence of Sidharth. But as her eyes fell on the familiar corner, something pulled at her-a soft whisper from the past. Her feet moved before she could think, drawn by an invisible thread of memories. With careful hands, she opened the door, reaching inside with the kind of tenderness reserved for something precious.

Her fingers found the small compartment, the one where she had once hidden away a piece of her heart. She pulled out the bag, the fabric worn with time, and slowly, she untied it. Inside, resting like a forgotten dream was the brooch.

Noor lifted it gently, holding it between her fingers. A rush of emotions flooded her, an ache so sweet that it made her breath hitch. She had made this-stitched & fixed it with her own hands and poured her feelings into every thread, stone and design. It was not grand, not something made of gold or diamonds, but it held something far more precious-her love, her devotion, the tender emotions of a girl who had just gotten engaged, just learned to whisper his name with a shy kind of wonder.

She had wanted to give it to him on their wedding night.

But that night, he had turned away. Unintentionally, unknowingly, he had left her standing in the quiet, her heart fragile and trembling. That night, she had tucked the brooch away, believing that perhaps it was never meant for him. Perhaps she had been foolish to think that a piece of her heart, woven into silk and thread with some stones, would ever reach him.

Yet today-today was different.

Today, she had no doubts. Because inonr month, she had seen the depth of his love, felt the weight of his devotion in every touch, every word, every gaze that held her like she was the most precious thing in his world. He had shown her that he was the man she had always prayed for, the one her heart had chosen long before she even understood love.

A small smile curved her lips as she traced the delicate design, memories flashing before her eyes-

Midnight hours, her fingers threading through fabric, trying to make each stitch perfect and a dream that he'll wear it proudly.

A soft glow of a lamp, her heart whispering dreams of a future with him.

The quiet hum of love, so new, so raw, so pure.

A warmth filled her chest, nostalgia kissing her skin like a gentle breeze. Just then, the soft creak of the door pulled her back to the present.

The sight before her made her breath catch.

Sidharth stood there, leaning against the doorway, dressed in nothing but sweatpants. His bare chest glowed under the soft light, the sharp lines of his body familiar yet always breathtaking. His hair was slightly damp, his gaze locked onto her with an unreadable intensity.

Noor blinked, her cheeks heating, but she did not look away. She was habitual of this now.Still, something about him always left her breathless.

His eyes flickered to the brooch in her hand, then back to her face. He smiled-slow, warm, knowing.

And she couldn't wait any longer.

Her feet moved before she could think. She rushed toward him, excitement bubbling in her chest. She reached him in seconds, her hands finding his, holding them tightly.

"Noor-" he started, but she didn't let him finish. She pulled him toward the one-seater sofa, gently pushing him to sit down. He let her, amusement flickering in his gaze as he watched her, curious, patient.

Noor quickly turned, stepping toward the closet. She opened it and pulled out a shirt. When she turned back, she was smiling so brightly it felt as if her entire soul was glowing.

She held out the shirt to him.

"Isko pehniye."
(Wear this.)

Siddharth raised a brow, his lips twitching almont teasing.

"Kyun?"
(Why?)

Her grip tightened on the fabric, her excitement battling with nervousness. "Bas pehniye na."

(Just wear it.)

There was confidence in her now, a quiet certainty that he would accept this, that he would understand what this meant. But there was also the fluttering nervousness of a girl about to give a piece of her heart once more.

And this time, she knew-he would take it with a proud smile.

Sidharth exhaled, his gaze flickering between her and the shirt. And then, with a slow nod, he took it from her hands, slipping it over his shoulders.

Noor's heart was thudding in her chest, excitement bubbling in her veins as she nodded eagerly at Sidharth's words.

"Aab Khush?"

(Happy now?)

he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

She nodded again, her eyes sparkling. Just as she was about to do something, Sidharth lifted his hand, his fingers wrapping gently around hers. Before she could register his touch, he pulled her down in one swift motion, and she landed right on his lap. A gasp escaped her lips, but before she could move, his arms encircled her waist, locking her in place.

"Aab kahiye."
(Now, speak.)

Noor, caught between her excitement and his closeness, momentarily forgot that she was sitting on his lap. Her mind was too full, too overwhelmed with the moment she had been waiting for. Smiling brightly, she opened her palm and forwarded it toward him.

A small yet beautifully crafted brooch lay there, shimmering under the soft light. The metal gleamed with subtle hints of pastel colors, its delicate stones reflecting Noor's feelings, and her emotions woven into each intricate detail. It was simple, yet elegant. Not grand, but something far more precious-something made with love.

Sidharth looked down at the brooch, then at Noor, and then back at the brooch again. His brows furrowed slightly, a silent question in his eyes.

"Ye humne banaya tha. Aapke liye."
(I made this for you.)

Her words hit him like a wave, knocking the air out of his lungs. His heart skipped a beat, his throat tightening. Slowly, he removed one hand from her waist and reached for the brooch. As his fingers touched it, he felt its weight-not just the physical weight, but the weight of her effort, of her love, of every moment she had spent crafting it for him.

He stared at it, his fingers gently running over the details, his heart swelling with something indescribable.

"Kaisa hai ye?"
(How is it?)

Noor asked, her voice filled with pure joy.

Sidharth looked up at her, his expression unreadable for a moment, as if he was trying to process the depth of what she had just given him. Then, his lips parted, and his voice came out softer than usual.

"Bahut... Bahut sunder."
(Very... very beautiful.)

His eyes kept shifting between her and the brooch. It wasn't just an accessory. It was a symbol of something so deeply personal that it made his heart ache in the most beautiful way.

No one had ever done something like this for him before. No one had ever put in such effort, just for him.

And here his wife made this. Isn't he the luckiest man alive?

He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the brooch. He felt warm, almost overwhelmed by the emotions rushing through him.

"K-Kab banaya aapne?"
(W-When did you make it?)

he asked, his voice carrying a rare unsteadiness.

Noor's smile grew softer, more nostalgic.

"Hmari sagai ke baad."
(After our engagement.)

Sidharth felt his breath hitch. After their engagement. That time when everything had been new, when their bond had still been undefined, when she had just stepped into his world with hesitant yet eager footsteps. Where he wasn't with her. Even back then, she had been thinking about him. Even back then, she had wanted to do something for him.

He exhaled slowly, the realization sinking in like waves washing over the shore. His Noor, his delicate yet strong Noor, had spent nights crafting this for him, weaving her emotions into each curve of the design, pouring her heart into something she had never even been sure he would receive.

And now, after everything, after all the confessions, all the moments they had shared, she was finally giving it to him.

Something in him melted.

He lifted his gaze to hers, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around her waist, as if grounding himself in the moment. She was still smiling, still waiting for his reaction, unaware of the storm she had just created inside him.

Sidharth looked at the brooch again, then back at Noor, his heart whispering something he couldn't quite put into words yet.

She had loved him from the very beginning.

And today, she had made him feel it in a way that no words ever could.

.
.
.
.
.

His fingers curled around my waist, warm and firm, grounding me in the moment. My heart knew this touch, this quiet strength that had slowly become my home. And yet, as I sat on his lap, offering him the brooch I had crafted with my own hands, I couldn't ignore the flicker of past wounds tingling a little.

"Ye hum aapki apni shaadi ki raat ko dena chahte the... par..."

(I wanted to give this to you on our wedding night... but...)

My voice faltered, a shadow of that night pressing against my heart. I hadn't forgotten.

Neither had he.

His grip on my waist tightened, the warmth of his palm spreading through the bare waist He remembered. Of course, he did.

But I don't want to. I don't want us to remember the bad memories when we have made tons of new ones.

"Par ab-" before I can divert the topic, he cut me off.
(But now-)

"Par maine aapko ignore kiya."
(But I ignored you.)

His voice was quiet, yet it held the weight of something real, something unshaken. Not just regret-understanding.

A soft, almost sorrowful curve touched his lips, and in that moment, I saw a man who wasn't just acknowledging his mistakes-he was carrying them, feeling them, letting them settle into his bones.

I lifted my hands, cradling his face between my palms, fingers brushing against the slight stubble on his jaw. He was about to say something, but I stopped him, my thumbs stroking the warmth of his cheeks.

"Koi baat nahi..."
(It's okay...)

But Sidharth ji-didn't let me finish.

"Nahi, Cherry, baat hai."

(No, Cherry, it matters.)

His eyes held mine, dark pools of quiet storms, and before I could respond, he leaned into my touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if gathering the strength to say what he needed to.

And then, in a voice so raw it made my breath hitch, he whispered,

"I just realized I never asked forgiveness from you... for the cruelty I did to you, for the disrespect I showed you. I realized how much of a bastard I have been to you from the very start of our wedding."

My chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath my ribs.

I had felt every bit of his indifference, every unspoken rejection, every moment where my love for him had felt like a flower blooming in the midst of a storm, uncertain if it would ever be seen, ever be cherished.

But the man before me now wasn't the same man who once overlooked the love I had carried in my palms like an offering.

This Sidharth was different. This Siddharth had seen me. Had learned me. Had chosen me.

And love-real love-wasn't about pretending pain never existed. It was about knowing it did and still choosing to stay.

I shook my head, trying to tell him no, trying to tell him he was wrong about himself. But before I could, he lifted his finger and gently placed it against my lips, silencing me with nothing but his touch.

"I'm sorry, Cherry," he whispered, voice thick with something unspoken. "For all the stupidity."

"For all the disrespect. Ho sake to apne Aarth ko maaf kar dijeaga"

(If possible, please forgive your Aarthl

I shook my head again, my throat closing with emotions too big to name.

"Maine bohot pehle maaf kar diya tha," I murmured, my voice soft, but sure.

(I forgave you long ago.)

His gaze flickered with something unreadable before his lips curved into the smallest, most heartbreakingly tender smile. He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe me, as if he didn't think he deserved such forgiveness.

Then, he straightened, moving closer, his presence wrapping around me like a quiet promise. His fingers brushed against my cheek, and with a voice that made my heart stutter, he whispered,

"Itni pyaari kyu hai aap, Noor?"

(Why are you so precious, Noor?)

Heat bloomed across my cheeks, my heart stumbling over itself as I looked away, shaking my head.

"Acha, chhodiye,"

(Alright, leave it,)

I mumbled, trying to mask my flustered state. "Yeh pehen ke dikhaiye na?"

(Wear this and show me.)

A smile ghosted over his lips as he lifted the brooch between his fingers, the weight of it no longer just metal and stone, but something deeper-something heavier with meaning.

"Banaya aapne hai, toh pehnayengi bhi aap hi."

(You made it, so you will be the one to pin it on me.)

His words sent a thrill down my spine, and as I reached out to clip the brooch onto his shirt. Unmatched but perfect. My hands trembled-not with fear, but with the overwhelming knowledge that I had loved him even when he hadn't seen it.

I pulled back slightly, my fingers lingering on the fabric of his shirt as I admired my work. "Ho gaya."
(It's done).

My voice was soft, a whisper carried by the warmth between us.

Sidharth ji smiled, the kind of smile that was rare, the kind that showed his teeth and lit up his entire face. "Kaisa lag raha hoon?"
(How do I look?)

His eyes held a mischief, but there was something else-something softer, something that made my heart clench. Excitement bubbled up inside me, and I nodded eagerly. "Bahut acche."
(Very handsome).

And he was-he always was, but there was something special about this moment. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, as if my hands had woven something more than just a brooch onto his chest. Maybe it was the simple fact that my gift mattered to him, that it meant something.

His eyes twinkled as he suddenly moved. Before I could register what was happening, his arms slid under my knees and around my back, lifting me effortlessly as he stood. A surprised gasp left my lips, followed by a laugh that bubbled up from my chest.

"Sidharth ji!" I chided, though my arms instinctively wound around his neck. He held me securely, his warmth enveloping me, making my heart flutter wildly.

He carried me to the mirror, his gaze playful yet filled with something deeper as he looked at our reflection. "Dekhu toh," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "Meri biwi ne jo mere liye banaya hai, usme kaisa lagta hoon?"

(Let me see how I look in what my wife has made for me).

A giggle escaped my lips as I watched him admire himself, and then-just for a moment-his expression shifted. His eyes darkened, his smile lingering, but there was something distant in his gaze, as though his mind had wandered somewhere else, somewhere I couldn't reach.

My laughter faded, replaced by an ache I couldn't name. Without thinking, I cupped his cheeks, letting my fingers trace the warmth of his skin.

"Sidharth ji?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

At my touch, he blinked as if snapping out of his thoughts. His eyes refocused on me, and in that heartbeat of stillness, he tilted his head slightly, pressing the softest kiss to my lips. A fleeting touch-warm, grounding, real.

And then, in a sudden movement, he twirled me in his arms. A surprised squeal left me as he spun me twice before lowering me onto the bed. I collapsed into laughter, breathless and dizzy with joy.

Kneeling before me, he took both my hands in his, his lips pressing a kiss over my palms, one after the other. His touch sent a shiver down my spine, warmth blooming in my chest. And when he looked up, his eyes held something different-something intense, something raw.

"Thank you,cherry" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for putting this much effort into me when I was nothing but a bastard to you."

My heart clenched. "Kya kya bolte hai aap?"
(What are you saying?)

I shook my head, frowning at his words. I don't like when be abuses himself. My husband is perfect. Not some bastard.

A small chuckle escaped him at my reaction, but it held no mockery-only fondness. "Acha, sorry."
(Okay, sorry.)

I cupped his cheeks again, my thumbs grazing his skin as I leaned closer, our foreheads meeting.

"Tab bhi aur ab bhi, aap mere the aur hain."

(Then and now, you were and still are mine.)

My voice softened as I continued, "Ye sab maine apne Aarth ke liye kiya. Ab khud ko galiya dena band kariye."

(I did all of this for my Aarth. Now stop blaming yourself.)

A slow exhale left him, his breath mingling with mine. His eyes softened, his hands tightening around mine.

"Jaise meri Cherry bolengi."

(As my Cherry say.)

His voice was quiet, a promise wrapped in devotion.

And in that moment, as his warmth surrounded me, as his hands held mine like they were something precious, I knew-Sidharth ji had always been my Aarth. And no matter how many storms had passed, no matter how many more would come, my roots would always belong to him.
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.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The cool air from the shower still clung to my skin as I stood before the mirror, running my fingers through my damp hair. My kurti, loose and featherlight, brushed against me as I reached for the lotion. My body ached-a telltale sign that my periods were near-but more than that, I felt... aware. Aware of the way the fabric draped over me, the absence of bra, the way my skin prickled under the soft glow of the room.

I swallowed, shaking my head at my own thoughts. It's just the hormones, Noor.

Lifting my hands, I smoothed the lotion over my arms, my collarbone, my stomach. The moment my fingers brushed against my navel, a warm breath ghosted over the back of my neck. A presence. A familiar presence.

And then-I feel it.

The shift in the air. The weight of his presence.

I don't turn. I don't need to. I know it's him. I always know.

My Aarth

A soft breath fan against my nape before I feel the gentle brush of fingertips near my waist, just beneath the slit of my kurti. The warmth of his touch spreads across my skin, a silent claim, a whisper of possession. My breath catches, my fingers faltering over my wrist as his palm slides further, pressing flat against my stomach.
"Sidharth ji..."

The words barely leave my lips, a breathless murmur, but I don't stop him. I never stop him. His embrace tightens, his body molding to mine, bare skin pressing into my back, heat seeping through the thin barrier of my clothes. He is shirtless, and I can feel the firm planes of his chest, the way his warmth seeps into me, steady, unrelenting. His lips find the curve of my neck, pressing a lingering kiss there, slow and deliberate, like he knows I'm blushing even before I do.

My gaze flickers up to the mirror, just for a second, and that's when I see it.
The way he looks at me.

Dark eyes, heavy-lidded, watching-watching me react to him, waiting, knowing. The way his lips hover just behind my ear, barely touching, teasing, his gaze never straying from mine. A shiver ripples down my spine, a slow descent into something deeper, something dangerous.

"Kuch kaha tha maine subha aapko, Noor."
(I said something to you Noor)

His voice is quiet, but the weight of his words presses against me, his statement a reminder of something unfinished, something he never let me forget.

A promise.

A warning.

My fingers curl against the edge of the dresser, the cool wood grounding me as heat pools low in my stomach.
I know what he means.

A soft gasp leaves me as his hand shifts, fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles around my navel before pressing his thumb into the center, firm, possessive. The sensation sparks something inside me, something unfamiliar yet intoxicating, making my knees weaken. My thighs press together instinctively, and his chuckle is low, deep, a sound that only makes my pulse race faster.

In a swift movement, I'm turned, my back now against the dresser, caged between him and the wood, his presence overwhelming, his dominance effortless. His hand moves higher beneath my kurti, skimming over the curve of my waist, fingers splaying, mapping, and memorizing.

I feel my breath shudder, feel my heart pounding against my ribs as he leans in, our foreheads touching, his gaze unyielding.

"Ab bataiye."
(Now say)

A command wrapped in a question, or maybe a question wrapped in a command. I can't tell.

I look up at him, and the way his expression softens even as his grip remains firm, at the way his eyes hold something raw, something unspoken. He makes me nervous. Not in fear. Never in fear. But in the way he looks at me like he knows every thought, every hesitation, every desire, I barely understand myself.

I love it when he is close. I love his touch, his voice, his presence. I love the way he makes me feel special.

I loved the way he touched me-gentle yet firm - knowing yet patient. I loved the way his eyes darkened, how they made me feel something I couldn't name

His lips brush mine-not gentle, not hesitant, but claiming. A kiss that steals the air from my lungs, leaving me grasping for something solid. My fingers press into his shoulders, holding on, surrendering, as he deepens the kiss, as he takes what he wants and gives back just as fiercely.

Raw. Intense.

Sidharth pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, breath mingling with hers in the quiet air between them. His fingers traced the side of her face, lingering as if he wanted to memorize every inch of her skin. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken.

Noor's lashes fluttered, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it against his chest. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Sidharth's eyes darkened as he studied her, his gaze dipping to her lips before trailing down, lower.

Before she could gather her thoughts, she felt him move. Her breath hitched as she felt the shift in weight, his hands sliding down her sides as he sank to his knees before her. Heat flooded her cheeks as realization hit. He was kneeling. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, unsure if she should stop him or let him do what he wanted. But she knew-he never did anything she didn't want. He never asked, yet he always knew.

The air in the room grew heavier as she felt the slow, deliberate touch of his fingers gripping the hem of her kurti. Her lips parted in a quiet gasp when he lifted it, just enough to slip underneath. Her stomach quivered as she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin before his lips pressed against the soft dip just above her navel.

"A-Arth..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he didn't stop.

Another kiss. This time, lingering. His fingers, firm yet gentle, gripped her waist, grounding her as his mouth traveled lower, pressing a second, a third kiss, each one hotter than the last. Noor's head tilted back, breathless, her hands scrambling for something-anything-to hold onto. Her fingers found his hair, gripping through the fabric of her kurti, the only thing keeping her from sinking into the intensity of his touch.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears as he dragged his lips up, his mouth leaving a trail of heat, the sensation almost too much, and yet not enough. And then-her breath caught-he stilled. A realization flickered in his gaze as he moved higher, his hands splaying against her ribs, thumbs grazing the softness of her skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and as his hands moved up, he realized-she wasn't wearing a bra.

Noor's face burned, her nails digging into his scalp as she tried to look anywhere but at him. "It's not the first time..." she thought, dazed. But every time he touched her, every time his eyes devoured her like this, it felt like the first. Like he was discovering her all over again.

A shiver ran through her as his hands cupped her, his fingers pressing, molding her softness into his palms. A deep sound rumbled in his chest, sending a fresh wave of heat down her spine. He squeezed, slow and deliberate, his touch both reverent and possessive. And all the while, his lips never left her stomach, pressing against her navel, lingering there, as if he were lost in her.

Noor felt like she was drowning, her body betraying her as it arched into his touch, seeking more despite the shyness clawing at her throat. Her breath trembled as he lifted his head, his lips brushing against her skin before he met her gaze once more, eyes dark and unreadable.

She didn't need words to understand what he was saying.

He was obsessed. And she was his.

Sidharth's breath was warm against her skin, hidden within the loose folds of her kurti. The fabric clung to him, tightening as he moved, pressing her chest against his face. Noor's breath hitched. Her fingers trembled as they curled into the soft cotton of her dress.

She didn't move-she couldn't.
The first touch was slow, deliberate. A firm grip over her soft flesh. Noor's lips parted, her heartbeat stuttering as she felt his palm press against her, his fingers curling, exploring, claiming. Heat pooled in her cheeks, burning her ears.

Then, the press of his lips. A gentle kiss over her sensitive skin, feather-light yet burning. Noor sucked in a sharp breath, her body reacting before she could process the sensation. Her knees weakened, and she instinctively clutched his shoulder for balance, fingers trembling against his bare skin.

Sidharth stilled for a moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he let his tongue flicker against her skin. Noor gasped, the sensation sending a shiver through her spine.

Her body betrayed her, pressing closer, drawn to the heat of his mouth as he moved, slow and unhurried. She felt the way his lips wrapped around her sensitive skin, his mouth warm and firm, his touch both reverent and possessive.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her mind dizzy with the overwhelming sensations.
And then-

A bite.

Just a light nip. Just enough to make her moan, soft and breathless. "Ahh, Sidharth..."

The moment the sound escaped her, she felt his grip tighten. A deep, low hum vibrated against her skin, sending another wave of heat through her body. He didn't pull away. He didn't let go. Instead, she felt his face shift, still pressed against her, his breath hot and heavy as he turned toward her other side.

And then, he did it again.

Noor felt herself trembling, her mind blank, lost in the heat of his touch, the intensity of his presence. Every kiss, every flicker of his tongue, every press of his lips-she felt it everywhere.
And she knew-this was only the beginning.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of their breaths. Noor's heart pounded against her ribcage, her fingers twisting the fabric of her kurti as Siddharth pressed closer. His lips, warm and insistent, over her breast. A sharp gasp slipped past her lips as his mouth latched onto her, his hunger evident.

A shiver coursed through her, her body stiff at first, but the sharp pang dulled as he sucked-slow and deep, his lips molding against her skin. Instinctively, her hand found his head, fingers pressing through the fabric of her kurti, pulling him closer. Sidharth groaned, the sound reverberating against her skin, and then he sucked harder, dragging another gasp from her parted lips. Her breath hitched, shallow and trembling as she tilted her head back, her mouth falling open to draw in air.

And then-

A sharp bite.

Noor whimpered, a delicious ache sparking through her veins. The vibration of his growl against her breast sent a deep pulse to her core, making her knees weak. She clenched her thighs together, the heat unbearable, but just as she lost herself in it, Siddharth suddenly stopped.

His jaw was tight, his blue eyes dark and filled with something deep-something he was holding back. He swallowed hard, breathing through his nose as if reining himself in, then, his voice rough, he asked,

"Aap theek hai?

(Are you okay?)

Noor's breath stuttered. A small, barely audible, "Ji..." escaped her trembling lips.

His gaze didn't waver. "Noor... Can I take this kurta off?"

She blinked, her mind fogged with sensation, her body still buzzing from his touch. Slowly, she nodded.

Siddharth wasted no time. He pulled the fabric over her head, his hands firm but careful, treating her like something precious. The kurta was gone, tossed somewhere in the room, and the cool air kissed her exposed skin. A deep, shaky breath left her lips at the foreign sensation of bare skin meeting bare skin.

Sidharth's hands found her waist, his grip strong yet reverent as he pulled her flush against him. The heat of his body, the solid planes of his chest pressing against her softness-it made her shudder.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a whisper of a kiss, comforting yet filled with unspoken desire. Then, he trailed lower, pressing a soft kiss against the small mole near her chin, making her shiver. His hands cupped her face gently, his thumbs stroking over her burning cheeks as he murmured,

"Cherry... aap comfortable ho na?"

(You're comfortable, right?)

Noor, overwhelmed by everything-The light on, her standing but more than that-the heat, the weight of his touch, the way he looked at her as if she was his world-could only stare into his eyes. They were dark, turbulent, filled with restrained passion. She trembled, her voice barely a whisper as she answered,

"I trust you."

That was all Sidharth needed.

A sigh of relief left him, his grip tightening just slightly before he pressed a lingering kiss against her cheek.

"Main aapka bharosa kabhi nahi todunga."

(I will never break your trust.)

And then, his lips were back on hers, deep yet unhurried, a silent promise of devotion.

His mouth moved lower, capturing her nipple between his teeth in a gentle bite. Noor gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as a whimper left her lips. She looked down, only to see him, his mouth hot and firm around her, his eyes locked onto hers as he sucked greedily. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in her belly. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, her breath coming in sharp, shallow pants.

"D-don't bite... dard hai..."
(It hurts...)

Sidharth stilled, his lips parting as he looked up at her. His expression softened, the rough edge of desire momentarily tamed by concern. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice husky. Then, instead of resuming his earlier intensity, he flicked his tongue over the sensitive peak, coaxing rather than demanding.

But Noor barely had time to breathe before she felt it-his hand on her hip, fingers firm, possessive. The other, dangerously close to the waistband of her pajama.

Her breath hitched.

Sidharth stood to his full height, towering over her, his hand reaching for her chin. He tilted her face up, forcing her dazed eyes to meet his. His voice was deep, rough, and filled with something dark and consuming.

"Can I?"

___________________________________
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