𝟔. 𝐉𝐚𝐚𝐧

"Now where will you run, Cariño?" He asked.

But composing myself, I place my hand on his chest and pushed him and rushed inside the car.

The door clicked shut behind me, sealing the air — too thick, too heavy, too him.

Leather and smoke. Power and danger.

It was intoxicating.

I reached for the seatbelt, pretending my hands weren’t trembling.

The belt slipped once… twice.

My fingers refused to obey.

And before I could try again, his voice came — a low growl near my ear.

“Can’t even buckle yourself, cariño?”

My heart skipped. I didn’t dare look up — but he didn’t wait for permission.

He leaned in, one hand brushing past mine, his fingers ghosting over my wrist as he pulled the belt from my grip.

Every movement was unhurried. Intentional.

The buckle clicked into place, but neither of us moved away.

His breath fanned across my cheek — warm, dangerously close.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“See?” he murmured, his lips almost touching my skin. “You just needed me… a little closer.”

I finally looked at him — a mistake I didn’t regret.

His eyes were molten, unreadable, like a storm that had chosen me as its center.

“Aap hamesha esa karte ho?” I whispered, my voice betraying me.

(Do you always do this?)

He tilted his head, a cruel, knowing smirk ghosting his lips.

“Only when the prey pretends to have claws.”

My pulse hammered against my throat.

I tried to lean back, but his hand pressed lightly against the headrest beside me — not touching, yet trapping.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” I lied.

He chuckled darkly — the sound sin and silk all at once.

“Liar” he said softly, his eyes dipping to my lips.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face — slow, deliberate, dangerous.

And then — just when the world seemed to stop — he leaned closer, his voice dark enough to crawl under my skin.

“Oneday, Roop…” he whispered, lips barely a breath away, “Oneday, I will....”

He left his words incomplete and pulled back with a smirk, turned the key — and the car roared to life.

But it wasn’t the engine that burned.

It was the silence between us — alive, trembling, electric.

*********

The drive was silent, yet neither of them made an attempt to shatter it.

The quiet between them was not uncomfortable—it was taut, charged, as if the very air in the car trembled with unspoken tension.

The vehicle rolled to a stop in front of the mansion.

The sun had long surrendered to the night, and the moon remained hidden behind thick, brooding clouds.

The sky threatened rain, the faint scent of wet earth already teasing the senses.

Before Roop could summon the courage to step out, he was already ahead of her—swift, precise.

The door opened under his hand, and he stepped out first. With effortless grace, he reached for her, offering his hand like a silent promise, an anchor in the chill of the evening.

She shivered as the cold night air brushed against her skin, yet the warmth radiating from his hand seeped into her, grounding her, igniting something unexpected within.

Together, they moved toward the grand entrance. To her astonishment, his entire family waited there, the faint glow from the mansion illuminating their expectant faces.

Love shone in their eyes, and each embrace, each smile, overwhelmed her in a flood of warmth and belonging.

Through it all, he remained a silent observer. Every flicker of her expression, every subtle shift in her emotions, was etched into his gaze with meticulous attention.

His eyes, dark and unwavering, held a quiet intensity—an unspoken claim, a dangerous devotion.

__________

While the family indulged in light-hearted chatter, Roop found herself completely immersed in the warmth of their company.

Laughter echoed around her, stories bounced from one corner to another, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt truly at ease—cherished, welcomed, and part of something beautiful.

Deva, however, remained quietly observant, his attention sharp and unyielding.

But a sudden call broke the rhythm of the evening, and it was one he could not ignore. With a polite but brief nod, he excused himself and stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, leaving Roop amidst the familial warmth.

As she settled into the lively conversations of the younger cousins, her curiosity found a new avenue. Their voices, eager and teasing, carried little glimpses of him she had never known.

“Bhabhi, bhaiya was such a hero back in college,”

Sahil, his cousin, reminisced, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

“And honestly… he wasn’t nearly as intimidating back then!”

Roop’s ears perked up, her mind devouring every word. She hung on to each anecdote, each subtle remark, trying to piece together the man behind the intensity she had witnessed.

Every detail seemed to reveal a side of Deva she hadn’t yet encountered, a layer beneath the storm of his gaze.

But their playful curiosity was cut short by Vineetha Rathore’s melodic voice calling them to dinner.

Plates were set, the clatter of cutlery mingling with the scent of spices and simmering warmth, and soon the family gathered around the table.

Deva rejoined them, his presence grounding yet commanding, and the dinner unfolded like a cozy, chaotic symphony of love and laughter.

Roop reveled in it, laughing freely, sharing stories, and stealing glances at Deva, who observed her every movement with a meticulous intensity.

She sensed the quiet satisfaction in his eyes—he had seen her blend seamlessly with his family, seen her comfort and ease, and it pleased him more than she could ever imagine.

The rain was pouring down heavily and because of that the Rathore's didn't allow Roop to leave and they even informed her family .

Roop thought that her mom will appose but surprisingly, she agreed and it was finalized that Roop will be staying in the Rathore mansion today.

And as the meal drew to a close, the youngsters, brimming with energy, hatched a plan to watch a movie.

Excitement sparkled in their eyes as they turned to Deva, hoping to entice him into their plan.

“Bhaiya, please! Come watch with us! It’ll be fun!” Shanaya, the youngest, pleaded, her voice bubbling with anticipation.

“Yeah, bhaiya, it’s been ages since we had a movie night together,” Ananya chimed in, nudging Sahir and Sahil, the twins, who nodded eagerly.

But Deva’s response was calm, firm, almost cold in its simplicity. “No. I’m not interested.”

The siblings exchanged glances, their disappointment palpable, yet their eyes eventually fell on Roop.

“Bhabhi, you convince him,” they whispered conspiratorially, pleading silently with her.

Roop froze, caught between loyalty to the family’s playful wishes and the weight of Deva’s silent authority.

She hesitated, heart hammering, realizing she had no choice. With a soft exhale, she nodded reluctantly.

“Alright… I’ll try,” she murmured, and with gentle guidance from the youngsters, she followed them down the hallway, each step bringing her closer to his room—and deeper into the tension that always seemed to coil around him like smoke.

**********

I had barely stepped into my room before a faint smirk tugged at my lips.

I knew them too well—my siblings would never give up easily, and they would certainly send her to do their bidding.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Even before she knocked, I could feel her there. Her hesitant presence lingered beyond the door, quiet yet powerful, like the calm before a storm.

I could almost picture her standing there, torn between courage and restraint, her thoughts warring with each other.

I didn’t like the idea of her overthinking. My babygirl had a habit of letting her fears win battles that hadn’t even begun.

So, before she could retreat, I opened the door myself.

She flinched—just slightly—but enough for me to notice.

“Aapka hi kamrah hai,” I said, my tone edged with teasing calm. “Andar aane ke liye itni jhijhak kyu?”

(It's your room too, why are you so hesitant to get in?)

Her eyes darted up to mine. “Aap… please humare saath movie dekhne aa jaaiye,” she said softly.

("You please join us to watch a movie")

The words trembled out of her, barely above a whisper. That quiet nervousness in her voice stirred something dark and restless inside me.

Her pleading—so politely, so uncertainly—did something to me.

I didn’t want her to sound small in front of me. I wanted to see the spark in her eyes, the strength I knew she hid behind that gentleness.

I want her to command, to order , to dominate me. I want her to plead only in my bed, only when she is under me, under my mercy.

But not now. Not yet.

I don't want to lose my control, I don't want my little kitten to get scared.

So not trusting my mouth, I simply nodded. My throat felt tight, the weight of unspoken words pressing hard against restraint.

And then I saw it—her face lighting up, pure relief and delight flooding her features.

That unguarded joy struck deeper than I expected. For a moment, the world stilled, and I realized I could give up everythinh just to see that look again.

Before I could even blink, she turned and hurried off down the hallway to inform the 'trouble gang' of our house about my participation, her laughter trailing softly behind her.

I watched her go, the faintest curve of a smile ghosting across my lips.

********

The home theatre had been transformed into a cozy haven.

The youngsters had meticulously arranged everything—snacks, beverages, and quilts strewn across the floor like a blanket of warmth.

Excitement and laughter lingered in the air as they began the movie, Aashiqui 2, immersing themselves in its world of longing and heartbreak.

After a few minutes, Deva finally appeared, and without hesitation, he chose the seat beside her. He sat with his arms over her head on the sofa.

The moment she realized his presence, her body tensed instinctively. Her hands clenched around the quilt draped over her, a fragile barrier between them.

He moved ever so slightly closer, his elbow brushing against her head. She wasn’t fully leaning on him—yet—but the proximity was undeniable.

She tried to focus on the screen, to lose herself in the movie’s melody of love and despair. But it was impossible.

His gaze was a weight on her, searing and unrelenting, fixed entirely on her face as if she were the only thing in existence.

She resisted, forcing herself to pay attention, but a magnetic pull betrayed her.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, she leaned into him. Her head rested lightly against his chest, and though she maintained her concentration on the screen, she felt the undeniable connection between them.

Deva, on the other hand, his body went rigid. Every fiber of him ached to draw her closer, to feel the warmth of her entire being pressed against him.

His hands itched to curl around her, to claim her in ways words could never describe.

But a sliver of restraint held him back—the fear of crossing a line, the fear of losing control, fear of shattering the fragile trust in the little kitten who trusted him so completely.

At the same time, she expected him to close the distance, to pull her entirely into him—but he remained still, a silent storm contained.

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, though she never looked at him, pretending to remain absorbed in the movie.

The youngsters, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the film, soon drifted into their dreams. Their soft breathing filled the room, blending with the movie’s melancholic soundtrack.

Roop remained awake for a while longer, her head still resting lightly against him. Slowly, inevitability claimed her, and her eyelids grew heavy.

The warmth radiating from him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, was a lullaby far sweeter than any melody on the screen.

Deva watched her surrender to sleep, a powerful ache settling deep in his chest. In that moment, he wanted to freeze time—to capture the serenity, the fragility, the intimacy of it all—and never let go.

Carefully, with deliberate tenderness, he finally pulled her closer, his hands settling on her waist.

And even in sleep, she responded instinctively, snuggling deeper into his hold. The subtle pressure she gave him made his grip tighten imperceptibly, claiming her without need for words.

Finally, she was entirely in his arms, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the storm she stirred within him.

A dark, dangerous smirk curved his lips, an expression that held both satisfaction and hunger.

He had waited for this moment for so long—to feel her, to hold her close, to claim a fragment of her completely.

And now, as he enveloped her in his embrace, Deva felt both invincible and utterly powerless.

The paradox of having her so near yet knowing the depths of his own restraint made him the most powerful—and simultaneously the weakest—man in the world.

"After watching her for,

Four years, eight months and 25 fucking days, finally she is here, in my arms and I'm never letting this go" , his voice spilling with possession, obsession and something so dark to be felt.

**********

I barely slept.

I am a man who thrives on control, a man whose presence can spread fear like wildfire.

Yet here I was, holding a petite, sleeping woman in my arms who stirred emotions I didn’t even know existed.

Every small movement she made—her fingers curling, shifting slightly, nuzzling closer—made my heart swell in ways I couldn’t fully comprehend.

She was asleep, yet she dominated me more completely than any awake woman ever could.

And a flicker of fear gnawed at me: what if I dozed off and she disappeared? No… I could never let that happen. I could not miss watching her wake up.

So I stayed still, barely moving, scrolling lightly on my phone with one hand, making sure not to disturb her delicate rest.

But she had a way of complicating even my careful restraint. Each time she shifted in her sleep, nestling deeper into me, my chest tightened, my pulse racing in a heady mix of possessiveness and adoration.

I wanted to speak, to pour a fraction of what I felt into words, even if she could not hear them.

Leaning closer, I whispered softly into her ear:

“Aap humari jaan ban gaye.”

(“You’ve become my life.”)

The words left my lips barely above a breath, yet they seemed to hang in the air, heavy and intimate.

I expected nothing in return—but then she did something that made my blood freeze and my breath catch.

“Dev,” she murmured, still lost in dreams.

That single nickname, uttered by her sleepy voice, struck me deeper than anything else ever could.

Twenty-seven years of self-control, carefully honed and guarded, crumbling in an instant.

And I—whose very presence demanded fear and respect—found myself undone, utterly, irrevocably Turned On by the softness of her sleepy voice, the tender intimacy of that one syllable.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just her—the rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the sound of her voice calling me in her sleep.

Desire and devotion warred within me, each more intoxicating than the last, and I realized, with both awe and dread, that she had claimed me completely, without even trying.

********

The sun was out for long time and

He had still not slept—not truly. How could he? His peace, his chaos, his sin was breathing in his arms.

And then her eyes opened.

They were heavy-lidded, clouded with dreams, yet luminous, arresting. For a heartbeat, she didn’t seem to recognize where she was.

Then, slowly, her gaze met mine—and something raw and fragile flashed there: surprise, trust, and a vulnerability that made my chest tighten unbearably.

Her morning face, glowing naturally in the dark theatre room was looking so serene.

And he simply leaned closer, letting the weight of my presence press into her.

The warmth of her body against me, the faint scent of her hair, the gentle curl of her fingers around the quilt—it all struck him like fire.

“Good morning, meri jaan,” he murmured, low and dark, the words brushing against her ear like a promise—and a warning.

(“Good morning, my life.”)

She shivered. Her body tensed, a fleeting reflex, yet she did not pull away.

Her hands found his chest, delicate and uncertain, but the gesture alone ignited a wildfire inside him.

Desire, possession, protectiveness—they all collided in a tempest he could neither deny nor control.

He could feel her heartbeat, rapid and soft, and it made his own pulse spike.

Carefully, deliberately, he curved his arm around her, pressing

her closer without forcing her—letting her feel his gravity, letting her succumb just a fraction.

Her breath hitched faintly, betraying her composure, and he let a dark, satisfied smirk curl his lips.

But her next question made him freeze,

"How can you get so close with a girl, you met just a day before?"

__________________________