Chapter 65 :

Anvaya's POV

The silence wasn't empty. It pressed against my skin like a held breath, thick enough to taste.

He leaned in and sucked my lower lip between his teeth. Not gentle. A claim. The pull of his mouth on that tender flesh sent a hot pulse straight down between my legs, and my pussy clenched around nothing, already slick with the first thread of wetness. I answered by catching his upper lip and sucking back - harder than I meant to. My fingers twisted into his hair, yanking him closer, because if I didn't feel his weight against me right now I was going to lose my mind.

Locked. Both of us pulling, neither yielding.

He broke the stalemate. Two fingers tucked under my chin, tilting my head back until my throat was bared to him. He kissed me again - deeper, slower, like he was tasting something he'd been denied for years. As if he didn't steal every to steal a kiss from me.

I shoved my tongue into his mouth.

It was a bold move. Very uncharacteristic of me.

Usually he set the pace and I followed, but right then I wanted to crawl inside him. He smirked against my lips - a vibration I felt in my teeth - and the sound of it made my nipples tighten painfully against my shirt.

Then he bit my lower lip. Sharp. A sting that made me hiss, and in the half-second my mouth opened, his tongue swept in.

Dominant. Possessive.

He licked into me like he was memorizing the inside of my mouth, and I moaned - a raw, throaty sound I didn't recognize as my own.

My panties were soaked now. I could feel the slickness coating my pussy, the damp cotton clinging to my folds, and all he'd done was kiss me.

His arms locked around my waist. He pulled me against him and I felt it - the hard ridge of his cock through his trousers, pressing into my hip; my breath hitched knowing the effect I had on him.

It both felt like a victory and excitement to bring out more reactions from this man.

The friction of cotton and wool between us was a specific kind of torture. I ground against him once, involuntary, and he made a sound low in his chest that I felt in my sternum.

My lungs burned. I pulled back, gasping. Foreheads pressed against each other, our breath mixing - hot and damp, tasting of each other.

He laid me down on the sheets. They were cool against my back, shocking after the heat of him.

"How long are we here?" My voice came out wrecked - hoarse, desperate.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The drag of his fingertip along the shell of it made me shiver.

"Till next morning." His voice was a rumble I felt in my stomach. "And don't worry about anyone or anything. I've taken care of it all."

The room went quiet. But it was the kind of quiet that knows it's about to be broken.

I lay beside Kaaryaksh in the gold lamplight. Still half-dressed - shirt, trousers, bra, panties - four layers between his skin and mine that felt like four hundred. He wasn't touching me anymore. His hand rested on the mattress a fingernail's width from mine, and the heat coming off his skin was a summons.

He was simply watching me now, leaving me wrecked from just his kisses.

My pulse hammered in my throat, my wrists, my cunt.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He didn't answer. His eyes moved over my body with the slow precision of someone reading a document he intended to annotate. He looked at my mouth, my throat, the buttons of my shirt, my hips. He looked at me like he already owned every inch and was just deciding where to start.

"Because you're trying to pretend you're not waiting."

My next breath snagged in my chest.

He shifted. The mattress dipped, rolling my body toward his. His fingers found the cuff of my shirt and traced the seam up my arm - over my wrist, my forearm, the inside of my elbow. Barely touching. But every hair on my body stood up.

"Kaaryaksh..."

"If you want me to stop, say it clearly."

I couldn't say it. I couldn't say anything.

And it's not like I was saying it anyway.

He rolled on top of me in one motion. His weight settled between my thighs and I could feel him - the thick press of his cock through both our trousers, right against my cunt. I bucked up without meaning to, grinding my wet heat against the hard ridge of him, again. It was almost an involuntary reaction, as if my own body has crossed every level of embarrassment just to show how desperate it was to have him inside me.

He didn't move, just held himself there, letting me feel exactly what I was asking for.

His hands slid up my arms and pinned my wrists above my head.

"What are you doing?" The tremor in my voice answered the question for me.

He reached behind him - never breaking eye contact - and pulled a silk tie from his pocket. Black. I hadn't seen it. Had he been carrying it all night?

"Trust me."

The silk was cool. It circled my left wrist, then my right, then the space between - not tight enough to hurt, but firm. He checked the tension with his thumb, stroking the thin skin over my pulse point. That small act - the care inside the restraint - made my pussy clench hard enough that I gasped, a fresh pulse of wetness soaking my panties.

"You're trembling."

"Maybe you should untie me then."

His mouth hovered a breath above mine. "Not a chance."

Then he began.

He kissed my jaw first. Not my mouth - he was saving that. His lips dragged along the bone to the soft place beneath my ear, and his tongue flicked out to taste the skin there.

Salt. Heat.

The sound of his mouth opening against me was wet and obscene.

My hips lifted off the bed, grinding against nothing, desperate for pressure. My head was spinning now, from the way his lips didn't leave a single sensitive corner not kissed. A low buzz in my head was all that I felt now.

Because he was busy ruining me with an agonisingly slow pace.

He hummed in approval and started on the buttons of my shirt.

One.

His mouth followed his fingers, pressing heat into each new inch of skin.

Two.

Cool air hit my sternum, then his tongue.

Three.

The lace of my bra, the swell of my breasts above the cups, his stubble grazing the tender skin - everything was felt in the moment of exposure.

Four. Five. He peeled the shirt open and sat back to look at me.

"You have no idea what you look like right now."

But I knew I did. I was Bound. Flushed.

My chest heaved, nipples hard and visible through the lace. Bra and trousers still on, shirt hanging open like an invitation.

His hands mapped the shape of me through the fabric. Palms dragging over my bra, thumbs circling my nipples through the lace until they ached. Then down - over my ribs, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. He pressed his hand flat against my belly, fingers pointing downward, and just held it there, so close to where I needed him that I could feel the heat of his palm through the cotton of my trousers.

"Kaaryaksh..." Not a word. A sound I made because I couldn't not.

He looked at me. Hair fallen across his forehead, eyes black with want. There was no smile. No smirk. Just the blankness of lust and desire.

"You're completely undone. And I've barely touched you."

Then he kissed me. Finally. But it was measured - a kiss that meant to dismantle, not destroy. His lips sucked at mine with a pressure that felt like he was pulling something out of me I hadn't known I was keeping. His tongue curled against mine, slow and deliberate, while his hips pinned me to the mattress, the thick length of his cock pressing against my thigh through the wool of his trousers.

Bound, I had nothing to anchor myself. I arched. Twisted. Tried to find friction.

His hand slid to the waistband of my trousers. One finger slipped beneath the elastic. My stomach hollowed.

"Tell me if you want this."

"Yes." The word tore out of me. "I want you. God, I want you."

Something in him cracked. I felt it - the shift in the air, the way his breathing went ragged, the new pressure of his cock against my thigh.

He hovered above me, not touching. Making me wait. His gaze traveled from my face to the exposed skin of my chest, pausing at my breasts, then lower - to where his hand rested at my waistband.

"You're breathing too fast."

"Because you're staring."

"You like when I stare."
Not a question.

His fingers trailed up to the silk around my wrists. One tug. A reminder. A shudder ran through my whole body.

Then his mouth was on mine again - not hungry but patient, exploratory. He tilted his head and kissed me like he was learning the shape of my lips by heart. His tongue swept against mine in a rhythm that mimicked what his body would do to me later: claim, retreat, claim again.

He pulled back an inch. "You melt too easily."

"Then stop."

He didn't.

His mouth moved to my jaw, then the spot beneath my ear. He paused there, breath hot and damp, before his teeth closed on my earlobe. I gasped - back arching off the bed - and he did it again, harder, then soothed the sting with his tongue, sucking the flesh into his mouth. The sensation shot down my spine and straight to my clit. It throbbed, swollen and aching. I was so wet now the fabric of my panties was slick against me, and I knew he'd feel it the moment he touched me there.

He worked his way down the side of my neck, sucking at the skin - not a kiss, a pull - until the blood rose beneath the surface. Marking me. He did it slowly enough that I could feel each individual press of his lips, each flick of his tongue, the wet sound of his mouth releasing my skin.

One hand pinned my hip. The other kept hold of the silk tie, tugging now and then, reminding my body who was in charge.

I pulled against the restraints. Not to escape - because the pleasure had nowhere to go and my body needed to do something with it. My head rolled back into the pillow.

"You don't want to be free." His voice vibrated against my collarbone.

"You're very sure of yourself by keeping on the edge like this." I mocked, glaring at him only to earn a chuckle.

He lifted his head. Dark eyes locked on mine. "I'm very sure of you."

He kept going. Open-mouthed kisses down my chest, his teeth grazing now and then - never breaking skin, just enough to make me gasp and arch. He found every spot that made me flinch and lingered there. The hollow of my throat. The place where my ribs ended. The soft skin just above the waistband of my trousers, where he pressed his tongue flat and licked a long stripe.

"Tell me to stop."

I couldn't speak.

He undressed me slowly. Trousers first - he hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged them down, taking my panties with them. Cool air hit my pussy and I felt how wet I was, the slickness already cooling on my inner thighs, a thin thread of it stretching from my folds to the fabric as it peeled away. He made a sound when he saw it - a low, rough noise in his chest.

"Look at you. Soaking through your panties before I've even touched you."

Then my bra. He unclasped it with one hand and pulled it away. My breasts fell free, nipples tight and dark, already beading with milk, and his gaze dropped to them with an intensity that made them ache.

He removed his own clothes. His shirt first - the broad shoulders, the lean muscle of his chest, the ink curling down one arm - everything visible now, making me lose my sanity.

There wasn't much left. But somehow, i still lost it whenever I saw him like this.

Then his trousers along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the head already slick with pre-cum, a clear bead glistening at the slit. My mouth went dry.

And he leaned in, letting our skin touch each other. Finally. The heat of his body against mine felt like a burn I wanted to sink into. He kissed me again - deeper now, urgent - one hand cradling my jaw, the other sliding under my lower back to arch me into him. His cock pressed against my thigh, hot and heavy, and I could feel it twitch against my skin.

He pulled back and reached into the bedside drawer. The tear of the foil wrapper was loud in the quiet room. He rolled the condom on with quick, efficient movements, the latex sheathing the length of him, then turned back to me.

A pillow. He slid it beneath my hips, tilting my pelvis up. Then he knelt between my thighs and just looked at me - bound, flushed, legs spread, pussy wet and exposed, my folds slick and parted, my clit swollen and glistening.

"Still with me?"

"Yes." It came out broken. "Please. Now."

He smirked. Then he moved up and lowered his mouth to my breast.

Soft kisses first - feather-light on the aching swell, avoiding my nipple entirely. I squirmed beneath him. A gasping moan left me when his lips finally brushed the tight peak - just barely, just enough to make me buck.

His mouth closed around my nipple and sucked.

Hard. A deep pull that I felt in my womb. Milk beaded at the tip, a white pearl that swelled and broke, and he lapped it up with his tongue before sucking again, drinking from me in long, greedy pulls. The groan he made vibrated through my breast and straight down to my clit, which throbbed in answer. My toes curled. My pussy leaked onto the pillow beneath me, a slick warmth spreading under my hips.

He moved to the other breast - same treatment. Slow, thorough, loud. The wet sounds of his mouth on my skin filled the room, the soft suck and swallow of him drawing the milk out of me. He sucked until my nipples were swollen and aching, until my hips were grinding against nothing, until I was making sounds I couldn't control.

When he pulled back, a string of milk and saliva connected his lower lip to my nipple, catching the lamplight before it broke.

His fingers traced the sides of my breasts, feather-light, making every hair stand up. I watched his hands - watched him do whatever he wanted to my body.

Then he grabbed both breasts. Hard. His fingers dug into the soft flesh, squeezing until the ache became sharp, until milk beaded and dripped from my nipples onto my belly.

"Ah - it hurts, Kaaryaksh."

"It should." He kissed me, swallowing my whimper. Then he shifted his weight.

I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance. Hot. Blunt. Slick with my own wetness. He dragged it through my folds once - up, circling my clit, the ridge of the head catching on the swollen bud - and I cried out, my hips jerking. Then down, positioning himself at my opening, the head nudging against me.

"Look at me."

I did.

And before I was even ready, he pushed in.

Just the head at first. The stretch made my mouth fall open - a burn that was almost too much, but not quite. I moaned loudly, one a mix of both pain and pleasure.

My pussy gripped him, tight, the walls clenching around the fat head as I tried to adjust to the width of him. He paused there, letting me feel it, watching my face as I took him in.

"Breathe."

I breathed. He pushed another inch deeper. My fingers curled against the silk bindings. Another inch, and I felt impossibly full - stretched around his cock in a way that bordered on pain but opened into something else entirely. Pleasure so deep it was almost an ache. My pussy was drenched, slick enough that he slid in with a wet sound, my walls parting for him.

He bottomed out. Held still. My pussy fluttered around him, clenching and releasing, adjusting to the size of him, milking him even in stillness.

"There you go," he murmured. "Taking all of me."

He gave me time. He always did. His thumb found my clit - just resting there, not moving, a pressure that made me gasp - while my body learned to accommodate him.

Then he moved.

Slow. Controlled. He pulled out until just the head remained inside me, and I felt the drag of him against my walls - every ridge, every vein, the slick slide of my own wetness coating him. Then back in, one long, deep stroke that filled me completely, the head of his cock kissing the deepest part of me. My moan was swallowed by his mouth on mine.

He built a rhythm. Not frantic - deliberate. Each thrust aimed, intentional, hitting a spot inside me that made my vision blur at the edges. His hips rolled against mine, and the sound of our bodies meeting - wet, rhythmic, obscene, the slap of his pelvis against my thighs - was louder than my breathing.

"Kaaryaksh..."

"You feel that?" His voice was rough now. "The way your pussy is gripping my cock?"

I couldn't answer. I could only feel - the thick slide of him inside me, the way my walls clenched around him with every stroke, the pressure building low in my belly, the way my clit throbbed every time his pelvis ground against it.

His pace quickened. Deeper. Harder. The headboard tapped the wall. His breathing went ragged against my throat. My bound wrists strained at the silk, and the wet sounds of him driving into me filled the room.

"You're so fucking tight. Every time-" He groaned, thrusting harder, the head of his cock slamming against my cervix. "Every time it's like you were made for me."

The coil inside me was winding tighter and tighter. I could feel the orgasm building - a pressure at the base of my spine, a heat that spread outward through my thighs and stomach and chest, my pussy clenching around him with every stroke.

He dropped his mouth to my breast again, sucking hard as he fucked into me, drawing more milk from the aching nipple. Milk and sweat and the taste of my own skin on his tongue. His hand gripped my hip - hard enough to bruise.

"I'm so close..."

"Then come for me, sweetheart." He groaned it against my nipple, teeth grazing the peak. "Come on my cock."

The coil snapped.

With a loud moan, the loudest on i could give from the high shot of pleasure shooting inside me, my back arched off the bed. The silk bit into my wrists. Heat tore through me - sharp, blinding, absolute - my pussy clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that I couldn't stop, gripping and milking his cock. I heard myself cry out again, a raw sound that didn't sound like my voice. The orgasm rolled through me in waves - one cresting into the next - and through it all he kept thrusting, drawing it out, his cock dragging against my spasming walls.

I felt the hot rush of my cum coating him, slicking his cock, trickling down between my thighs and onto the pillow beneath me.

He followed a heartbeat later - a guttural groan torn from his chest, his face buried in my neck. His body went rigid above me, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside me as he emptied himself, the heat of him flooding the condom. I felt each throb, each spasm, and my pussy milked him through it, clenching and releasing around him until he went still.

For a long while, neither of us moved.

The room smelled of sex and sweat and the faint sweetness of milk. The sheets were damp beneath us. My thighs were sticky with cum. And I couldn't bring myself to care about any of it.

He lifted himself carefully and untied my wrists. His thumbs rubbed the faint red marks the silk had left behind - slow circles, almost apologetic. His touch was softer now. Reverent.

He pulled me against his chest, wrapping one arm around my waist, holding me like he was afraid I'd dissolve.

"You trusted me." His voice was quiet, rough at the edges.

I laid my cheek against his chest. His heart was still hammering. "You made it impossible not to."

I was so tired I could barely form the words. Every muscle in my body was loose, spent, heavy.

His arms tightened around me. No more words. Just the steady drum of his heartbeat beneath my ear and the warmth of his skin against mine.

Sleep pulled at me. My skin still hummed with the memory of his mouth. The ache between my legs was a pleasant, deep throb - a reminder.

Something had shifted. It wasn't just desire, and it wasn't just a shared night. It was something forged in the vulnerability of being bound and the trust of being held afterward. Something that time and distance wouldn't undo.