Page 65 of His Arranged Wife
She was crying now—from sensation, from emotion, from everything.
"Come," he ordered. "Come for me. Show me you're mine."
Her orgasm ripped through her violently, her body clenching around him as she screamed his name.
He followed seconds later, burying himself as deep as possible, spilling into her with a groan that sounded like her name.
For a moment, they stayed locked together, both trembling.
Then he pulled out.
She collapsed onto the bed, curling into herself, tears streaming silently down her face.
He should comfort her. Hold her. Something.
Instead, he buttoned his pants and stepped back.
"This is all we are, Nimisha," he said, his voice cold despite the way his chest ached. "Accept it."
He turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Her voice was small, broken.
"I have work."
"On our anniversary?"
"It's just a date on a calendar. Nothing more."
He left.
For the first time in their year of marriage, he left her alone in their bed after sex.
He heard her sobs as he walked down the hallway.
Ignored them.
Went to his office.
Poured a whiskey.
And tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing.
Master Bedroom - Midnight
Nimisha lay alone in the bed, the sheets still carrying his scent, her body aching from his roughness.
The candles had burned down to nothing.
The music had long since stopped.
And she finally let herself break completely.
Not quietly. Not carefully.
She sobbed into the pillow, her whole body shaking with the force of it.
One year.
