This chapter contains mature and sexual themes-please proceed only if you're comfortable. It's my first time exploring smut, so I'd genuinely appreciate your thoughts and feedback in the comments. Do let me know if anything can be improved. Also, this is one of the few smut pieces where the focus is on slow, tender lovemaking.
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Late into the night, Trayambak unlocked the door to a house that didn't quite feel like home. The silence was thick - unsettling. No sound of footsteps, no scent of perfume, no soft humming. Just stillness.
He walked into the bedroom - and froze.
There she was. Dhimahi. On the floor.
Curled up, fragile, still - like someone had drained the life out of her. The food she had lovingly prepared lay splattered on the floor nearby, untouched. The smell of the food still hung faintly in the air.
Something inside him clenched - a tight, sharp guilt he didn't expect.
Without thinking, he rushed to her, cradled her gently in his arms, and carried her to the bed. She didn't stir. Her body, usually so full of life, was now soft and limp like a fallen doll.
He lay beside her, carefully positioning her head on his chest. One hand stroked her hair with a tenderness that almost surprised him. A soft kiss landed on her forehead - hesitant, unfamiliar.
His fingers traced the deep brown mehendi on her palm. Her bangles clinked faintly. Each little sound was a painful reminder - she was his now. His wife. His responsibility.
And yet he had hurt her. Shattered her, barely hours into their marriage.
A flicker of regret passed through him. Real, heavy.
But just as quickly, it disappeared - pushed out by something darker. That gnawing, unspoken thing he never voiced. That objective - deep and twisted - that Dhimahi knew nothing about.
His calm started to crack. His breathing quickened. The same violent storm brewed inside again.
The gentle fingers caressing her palm suddenly turned harsh. He pressed down. She hissed and flinched awake.
Her eyes fluttered open in confusion - then fear. Her gaze landed on him. Trayambak. Holding her close. His heartbeat thudding in her ear.
For a fleeting moment, she felt safe.
But then the memory rushed back. The cruel words, the cold eyes, the way he had pushed her, thrashed and humiliated her - everything slammed into her like a tidal wave.
She panicked and tried to get up.
But he was faster. He held her down, firm, steady, unrelenting.
"Kaha jaa rahi ho jaaneman, pati itne der baad aaya hai aur tumhe jaane ki padi hail?"
["Where are you going, sweetheart? Your husband has come home after so long and you're already thinking of leaving?"]
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat was dry. Her eyes searched his, trying to recognize the man she once loved.
He gently placed her head back on his chest and resumed stroking her hair. The same hands that had yanked it hours ago now tried to soothe her.
She trembled beneath his touch.
"Subah se kuch nahi khaya hai maine, shayad tumne bhi nahi khaya hoga. Chalo khaana lagao, bohot bhook lagi hai."
["I haven't eaten anything since morning, maybe you haven't either. Come on, serve the food - I'm starving."]
He spoke casually. As if nothing had happened.
Dhimahi didn't speak. She simply got up, wrapped herself in her silence, and went to the kitchen. Her hands shook as she reheated the food, straightened the plates.
Trayambak sat at the dining table, watching her. "Idhar aao biwi."
["Come here, wife."]
She walked over - hesitant, wary. Before she could react, he pulled her onto his lap. She gasped, startled, tried to get up.
But one sharp glance from him - and she stopped moving.
He held a spoonful of food up to her lips. "Khao jaan, tumhe bhook lagi hogi."
["Eat, love. You must be hungry."]
She didn't know what to feel. Her mind was chaos. But she opened her mouth, obedient, like a child being fed by a parent. He fed her, and himself, in turns. The room was too quiet. Too normal. It was terrifying.
After dinner, she went to wash the dishes - clinging to the routine like a thread keeping her from unraveling.
Then, suddenly, arms circled around her waist. She stilled. Her breath caught.
But it was him. Trayambak. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck. His beard brushed against her skin - familiar, grounding. She used to love that sensation. It used to comfort her.
He kissed her neck, slowly, deliberately. The contrast of his warm lips on her cold skin sent shivers through her. His hands slid down to her waist, then over her arms - reaching for the dishes in her hands. He helped her rinse them, from behind, his lips still pressed to her skin.
Once they were done, he turned her to face him.Then, he kissed her hands.
"Thank you khaane ke liye. Bohot acha bana tha"
["Thank you for the food today. It was really good."]
Dhimahi didn't know how to respond. Her heart ached with confusion. Because he wasn't apologizing.
He was pretending nothing was broken.
And somehow... that hurt even more.
He kissed her hands like they were made of rose petals-slowly, with a devotion that made her toes curl. His lips didn't just touch her skin, they lingered, memorizing her. As he trailed upwards, brushing over her wrists to her arms and up to her shoulder, her breath turned uneven. When his lips finally met the curve of her clothed chest, her back arched instinctively.
"Tumhari khushboo... pagal kar deti hai mujhe," he whispered against her skin.
["Your scent... it drives me crazy."]
He buried his face between her breasts, rubbing against her softness, the friction of his beard making her shiver. His hands gripped her waist as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses through the fabric. Dhimahi clenched the edge of the kitchen counter behind her, her knees wobbling, the sound of her own moan surprising her.
"Trayambak..." she breathed, her voice barely audible.
"Haan bolo, jaan," he murmured, not stopping.
["Yes, say it, love."]
His lips found her neck, his tongue flicking against her sensitive skin just below her ear. Her whimper was involuntary. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to steady herself, but he was relentless. The pace of his kisses quickened. His hands slid behind her, untying her dori with a single pull.
"Sambhal ke... mai gir jaungi," she whispered, breathless.
["Careful... I'll fall."]
"Main hoon na, pakadne ke liye," he replied with a smirk.
["I'm here... to catch you."]
He lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. As he laid her down gently on the bed, he paused to look at her, really look at her-her flushed cheeks, trembling lips, eyes filled with desire and hesitation. He reached out and slowly slid the pallu from her shoulder. The saree pooled at her waist, baring her blouse and her trembling belly.
"Tumhari har saans meri deewangi badha deti hai," he said, voice husky.
["Every breath you take feeds my madness."]
Her blouse came undone, one hook at a time, each one met with a kiss that burned her skin. When it finally fell away, he paused-his gaze full of reverence and hunger. Then he leaned in, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure. Dhimahi cried out, clutching his head, her legs trembling beneath him.
"Trayambak... ah... dheere..." she pleaded.
["Trayambak... ah... slowly..."]
But he was lost in her-kissing, licking, biting gently. His hand teased her other breast, flicking her nipple until it pebbled under his fingers. His mouth trailed kisses down her stomach, his tongue leaving a warm, wet path behind. When he reached the waistband of her underskirt, he looked up.
"Ijazat hai?" he asked, voice dark and velvet-smooth.
["Do I have your permission?"]
She nodded, lips parted, heart racing. He pulled the string slowly, letting the fabric fall away inch by inch. Now bare before him, she shivered-not from cold, but from the weight of his gaze.
"Tum meri ho. Sirf meri," he growled, spreading her thighs gently.
["You're mine. Only mine."]
His lips met her inner thigh, his tongue teasing her skin. She gasped when his mouth finally found her core-licking, sucking, his tongue moving in lazy circles at first, then faster, deeper, sending electric shocks through her spine. She writhed, moaned, her body surrendering completely.
"Trayambak... mai... mai..." she couldn't finish.
["Trayambak... I... I..."]
"Chup. Mehsoos karo," he murmured.
["Shhh. Just feel."]
Her climax hit her like a wave-hot, wet, intense. He drank her in, not letting up until her body shook beneath him. When he finally moved up to kiss her, his lips were slick with her pleasure.
"Taste yourself, jaan," he whispered, kissing her deeply.
["Taste yourself, love."]
The taste, the touch, the sensation-it made her whimper into his mouth, clinging to him. He reached between them, rubbed her gently, then slid two fingers inside her. She gasped sharply.
"Ahh... Trayambak... bas kariye..." she moaned.
["Trayambak... please stop..."]
He curled his fingers inside her, finding that perfect spot, watching her lose control all over again. She came undone on his fingers.
Taking his fingers, he smeared her arousal on his tip, and positioned himself at her entrance. He didn't wait. With one deep thrust, he was inside her.
"Aahh!" she cried, the stretch sharp, then glorious.
He stilled, letting her adjust, their eyes locked in something deeper than lust. Then he began to move-slow at first, savoring the way her body clenched around him.
"Tum itni pyaari kyu ho, haan?" he whispered.
["Why are you so damn sweet, hmm?"]
He kissed her lips, her forehead, her nose, even her closed eyelids. Each thrust was a confession, each moan a prayer. Faster now, deeper. He held her hips, pulled her into him with each stroke.
Her nails dragged down his back, her cries mixing with his grunts.
"Trayambak, mujhe... aa raha hai..."
["Trayambak, I'm... coming..."]
"Roko mat. Mujhe mehsoos karo apne andar, jaan..."
["Don't stop. Let me feel you, love..."]
With a few more intense thrusts, her body clenched around him and she came with a cry. Moments later, he grunted her name into her ear, burying himself deep as he released inside her-hot, thick, overwhelming.
His seeds dripping out of her core.
For a few seconds, neither moved. Just panting, tangled limbs, skin on skin.
Then suddenly, reality crept in.
Dhimahi's voice was soft, hesitant. "Trayambak... aap ne... andar..."
["Trayambak... you... inside..."]
He turned to her with a calm, half-smile. "Haan, andar."
["Yes, inside."]
"Par... protection?" she asked, still breathless.
["But... protection?"]
"We're married now baby. Aur waise bhi, tum fertile nahi ho abhi. Don't worry."
["We're married now baby. And anyway, you're not fertile right now."]
"Aapko kaise pata?" she asked, frowning.
["How do you know?"]
He kissed her cheek. "Main tumhara cycle yaad rakhta hoon. Tum meri zimmedaari ho."
["I keep track of your cycle. You're my responsibility."]
She blinked in disbelief. "Par humein risk nahi lena chahiye... abhi bahut jaldi hai."
["But we shouldn't take the risk... it's too early."]
"Kal pills le aunga. Aaj bas... control nahi ho paya," he murmured, burying his face into her neck.
["I'll get the pills tomorrow. I just... couldn't control myself today.]
She exhaled, unsure whether to be worried or touched.
He pulled her close again. "Lekin raat abhi khatam nahi hui..."
["But the night isn't over yet..."]
Before she could respond, he rolled her over, gripping her hips firmly.
"Abhi to bus shuru hua hai. Puri raat I'll be inside you my jaan.]
["The night has just started. I'll be inside you the whole night baby"]
Raising her hips with firm hands, he positioned her on all fours
"On you fours now" he whispered darkly, lips brushing her shoulder.
She whimpered, but not from fear.
"Trayambak..." she breathed, eyes fluttering closed.
"Chup," he growled. "Bas mehsoos karo."
["Silent. Just feel."]
And with one thrust he claimed her-completely, hungrily, worshipfully.
In his arms, Dhimahi felt safe-for now.
But deep in her chest, a soft flutter of fear stirred beneath the warmth.
"I love you," she whispered, almost afraid.
He didn't respond. Just pulled her into his chest, kissing her head as he held her tighter.
She wanted to ask him questions-questions that had stolen her peace, that gnawed at her soul. Questions about what had changed so suddenly, why he had behaved the way he did. But she chose silence. Because the moment they were sharing now was too precious, too peaceful to be shattered by the storm of words she carried within.
Sh didn't know yet-what darkness still lurked in him. But in this moment, under his touch, she felt safe.
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