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Light filtered through the sheer curtains. Her body ached in the most delicious ways.

Wrist par dupatte ka halka nishaan. Gaal pe kiss ke red marks. Between her thighs? Soreness and satisfaction.

She turned slowly, only to find Aarav sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, sipping chai... smirking.

“Uthi jaag gayi meri pyaari bandi?” he teased, voice heavy with mischief.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, pulling the sheet up.

He chuckled darkly, “Abhi toh raat bhar ‘aur do, please’ keh rahi thi... ab sheet ke peeche?”

Her cheeks flamed. “Tu pagal hai.”

He stood and walked toward her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.

“Main pagal hoon... sirf tumhare liye,” he whispered, pulling the sheet down slowly.

“Main fresh ho kar aati hoon,” she tried to escape.

But he grabbed her waist from behind as she stood, dragging her in front of the mirror.

“Apne aap ko dekho,” he said huskily, nuzzling her neck. “Dekho kya haal kiya tumhara.”

Her lips parted as she stared — messy hair, swollen lips, hickeys dotting her collarbone and chest. And him—bare-chested, eyes dark, already hard behind her.

“Main tumhe subah bhi bhool jaane dunga kya?”

He bent her slightly, his palm flat on her back. The mirror gave her a full view—his hand trailing down her stomach, fingers slipping between her legs again.

“You’re already wet, baby,” he growled. “Subah ka gift dogi mujhe?”

She gasped. “Aarav... abhi? Fir se?”

“Raat bhar maine tumhari har ichha poori ki,” he whispered, brushing her folds, “ab meri baari hai.”

He slid into her from behind, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her throat gently from the front—not tight, just enough to control.

“Kya tum sirf meri ho?” he asked against her ear, thrusting hard.

“Haan... haan!” she moaned, body trembling.

“Zor se bol,” he demanded.

“Main sirf tumhari hoon!”

He groaned, thrusting deeper, watching her face twist in the mirror with every stroke. He tugged her hair back, exposing her throat.

“Sundar lagti ho jab meri control mein hoti ho.”

He didn't stop—over and over, harder, faster. Her legs gave out, but he held her up.

She cried out, body clenching around him again.

He didn’t pull out immediately—he leaned forward, kissed her shoulder, and whispered, “Ab tumhe nahlata hoon. Phir shower mein... round two.”

---

In the bathroom, he pushed her against the cold tiles, the water cascading over their bodies as he lifted her up and took her again—this time slow, intimate, eye contact locked. She begged, sobbed, clawed his back, but he held her tight, whispering how much she belonged to him.

They didn’t leave the house the entire day.

Because when Aarav said “Raat bhar,”

He meant — “Subah tak, aur uske baad bhi.”

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