Hello ladies, I was given the honor to post on behalf of our beloved Smitar. No introduction needed yeah? 😉
(A million thanx, Supriya, my aniyathi, for the banner)
“Arnavji, kya kar rahein he aap?” Khushi asked her husband anxiously, turning her head to throw a worried look at his and her relations dancing wildly on Nanheji and Aartiji’s roka.
“Let’s go.” His eyes shone with determination as he dragged her along.
“Sab log neeche…”
“Let them stay there.”
He took her to their bedroom and after locking the door, lead her to a corner of their garden and made her stand against the wall.
Arnav looked at her—the unbound silky hair, her big, expressive eyes lined with kajal, the red and pink lehenga he had picked for her, the short sleeves revealing her slim arms, the sweetheart neckline revealing the bounty of her soft, full breasts, the curve of her waist and her navel exposed by her short choli…
“Arnavji,” she whimpered, feeling his eyes touch her.
“Hhhmmm?” he asked, his gaze running over the diamond maangtikka he had gifted her last week, the heavy diamond earrings di had forced on her the month before, the diamond and ruby choker he had gifted her on her birthday….
He frowned. Her dupatta was obstructing his view. Deft fingers unpinned the dupatta and threw it away.
It fell on a potted shrub.
Khushi gasped. “Kya kar rahein he aap?” she asked, scandalised.
“Tumhein dekh raha hoon,” he drawled, speaking nothing but the truth.
“Kyonki I didn’t get to see you today. Poora din, samjhi tum. You went to the temple, to Aarti’s house, to the shops and to the caterers in the morning. I returned home early from office and you were stuck in the kitchen making jalebi for the hordes. I thought you would be free in the evening, but that idiot NK popped a button in his sherwani.” ASR looked skywards in exasperation.
“NK breaks a button and who should sew it back on?” he asked furiously. “You, his favourite bhabi. I, your husband, waited all day for you, lekin you had time only for others. I didn’t get to see you all of today. To tumhe ache se dekh raha hoon ab.”
“Arnavji, there is a function at home,” Khushi tried to hush him.
“I don’t give a damn,” he thundered. He cupped her cheeks with his large, warm palms. “Khushi, I don’t want HP to cook or serve my food. I don’t want HP to make tea for me. HP is not my wife, you are, Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada. I don’t want to eat alone. I don’t want to sit in our room alone. I want you, Khushi, near me.”
She blushed. “Woh, Arnavji, we were so busy that—Arnavji, it is just for one day.” She looked away from him bashfully. “We should go down. They will be looking for us. Arnavji, chaliye na?”
“No,” he declared. “They took you away from me all day. The evening is mine…and the night.”
“Arnavji, aap bhi na,” she flushed.
“Mein bhi kya?” he asked, bending his head to touch her plump, rosy cheek with his warm, hard lips.
Her breath caught in her chest. Khushi jumped; her heart picked up its beat.
Trapping her eyes with his, he lowered his head, aiming for the other cheek lest it feel neglected.
“Arnavji, woh di aa jayegi,” she managed to breathe.
“Aane do.” He kissed her cheek soundly.
“Naniji aa jayegi.”
“Aane do.” His lips touched her chin.
“Buaji,” she said hoarsely.
“Aane do.” His nose rubbed against hers.
“Amanji ka phone aa gaya to?” She had no idea what she was saying.
“Aane do.” He rubbed his stubbled cheek against hers.
“Laxmiji aa gayi to?” His sandalwood fragrance overpowered her; his touch destroyed all her defences as if they had never been.
“Aane do.” His lips caressed her throat.
“Hari Prakashji…” It was a helpless moan.
“Aane do.” His lips savoured the mad throb of her pulse at the base of her neck.
He waited for more protests, but none were forthcoming.
He gave her a couple of seconds to object so that she wouldn’t complain later that he had captivated her unfairly with his eyes and his lips and his kisses and his husky voice and his touch as she always did later—much later.
He lowered his lips to hers, capturing the tempting, plump curves with his harder ones.
She fell against him, her hands rising to clutch his hair. Khushiji, the bhabi became Khushi, ASR’s passionate wife.
He lifted his lips from hers.
She moaned in protest, her ardent body writhing against his eager self.
He lifted her in his arms, his avid fingers loving the bare skin exposed by her backless choli. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her aroused body closer.
He carried her into their bedroom lit only by the fairy lights from their garden. He lowered her to stand against him and shed his coat, his hands trembling.
“Arnavji, if we are missing from the party—Arnavji, what will Nanheji think?” she whispered at this late date.
“Only about Aarti if he has the brains of a fly,” ASR replied, his fingers sneaking under the fall of her hair to find her dori.
“Besharam kahin ka,” she whispered, shivering in excitement.
“I am besharam?” he asked, one brow cocked.
“Who bit my shoulder last night? Me? Wait, let me think. It was a girl who,” he began, his fingers still seeking the dori.
Khushi hit him on his chest with a clenched fist. “What else could I do when you,” she paused, red colour spreading across her face and neck.
“When I?” he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. He pulled the top dori and untied it.
“Badtameez,” she panted.
“A tameezwala husband is no fun,” he whispered, his lips on the lowermost cut of the neckline.
“Really?” she tried to imitate him even though her dhak dhak was killing her and her neck arched, giving him further and free access to her body that was shaking wildly.
“He wouldn’t do this,” Arnav whispered against her lips, crushing the curves under his eager ones, sucking and laving them.
He bit her earlobe. She jerked. “Arnavji,” she cried fervently.
He murmured, “He wouldn’t do this.”
His fingers untied the second dori, breathing, “Never this.”
He slipped the sleeves of her blouse down her arms and tasted her shoulders. “Never this.”
Khushi caught his face, lifted it to hers and attacked his lips wildly.
He lowered her arms. His fingers slid the choli off her and crushed her warm softness against his hot and hard body.
“Aaa,” she moaned.
“Kya hua, Khushi?” he asked, his voice huskier than normal.
“The buttons on your jacket,” she complained. “They hurt.”
He tore his jacket open and threw it away.
Her eager fingers joined his and rid him of all his clothes that were hindering their enjoyment of each other.
A long time later Khushi opened her eyes, panting. She was lying on him, their hearts racing in tandem.
Arnav whispered in her ear, “If I am badtameez, what are you?”
“Insatiable, wild, passionate, voracious, fiery, a tigress,” he whispered.
Khushi buried her face in the crook of his neck.
A knock sounded on the door of their bedroom.
“Chotey, Chotey?” Anjali called.
Khushi almost fell off the bed.
“Arnavji,” she whispered in panic.
Arnav caught her close to his warm body. “Sshh,” he whispered, his hand rubbing her bare back to calm her.
“Di, is bhai there?” Akash asked.
Khushi drew in a deep breath of trepidation.
Arnav held her closer.
“Pata nahi, Akash. The room is dark,” Anjali replied wih a frown.
“Di, Payalji was looking for Khushiji. She is missing too. Maybe she is with bhai,” Akash informed her.
Anjali’s face cleared.
“Akash, Chotey’s face was like a rain-bearing cloud all day because Khushi bhabi was busy. His anger must have reached sathve aasman by evening and he must have shot daggers at that poor wife of his. You know how unbearable and unreasonable he can be at times. She must have gone to placate him,” Anjali surmised.
Akash nodded with a smile. “Payalji looked everywhere. They aren’t in RM, di.”
“Acha he. Chotey must have take her out for a ride, Akash,” Anjali said with a smile. “Chalo, let’s go down.”
Their footfalls faded away.
“He Devi Maiyya, raksha karna,” Khushi whispered. She tried to clamber out of bed, but Arnav pulled her back into his arms.
“Arnavji, chodiye,” she hissed.
“No way,” he replied. “We are safe till morning, Khushi.”
“Arnavji, phir bhi,” she protested half-heartedly. “It is Nanheji’s roka.”
“We have eight hours, Khushi,” he whispered, his nose rubbing against hers, his molten eyes gazing into hers. “Eight glorious hours to be as badtameez as we want to be.” His husky voice killed her and destroyed her noble intentions.
She looked at him, laughter and desire glinting in her beautiful eyes.
“Want to go on a long ride?” he asked hoarsely, caught in a desire that had been a spark before their shaadi and was now an inferno that could burn his body, his mind, his Haridwar-honed brains and his common sense.
He smiled. His clothes too. Heck, it was worth the broken buttons and the ripped sleeves.
“How long?” she asked, a loving finger tracing the line of his nose.
“Verrrry looooong,” he breathed against her eager lips.