109. Shower Scene Rewritten

Shower Scene (Rewritten)

How dare she? Ogling a film actor? What if he had muscles and could dance? She was HIS wife, dammit!

All his muscles clenched in fury as he washed himself down in his lush shower cubicle, the water she had turned on after his namrata poorvak request pouring over him like a waterfall.

He could hear her shouting outside the bathroom door to be let in. He would show her what he was made of. He was not ASR for nothing. Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada wouldn't know what hit her!

She was in a hurry, was she? Good. So that meant he didn't have the time to dress. Good again. She could take him without his T. Let us see if she likes that. She and her poster of a naked man...likes his muscles, does she? He would show her muscles. Real ones.

He quit the shower, and without bothering to dry himself, slung his towel around his neck and walked towards the door, his feet sinking into the pile of soft, luxurious rug covering the floor of his designer bathroom.

He threw open the door and rushed into the bedroom, making a beeline for her. She had her back towards him, still counting the seconds on her fingers. Arnav's feet covered the distance to his wife in tandem with her counting.

"Six...Five...Four...Three...Two...One..", she screamed, and turned around, planning to charge at the bathroom door.

He stood, topless with just a towel around his neck and a loose pants around his hips, just a heartbeat away from her.

She stumbled, falling on to him. The chest, the sight of which had sent her brain into permanent deep freeze, was now pressed against her nose.

Her breath stopped.

Her dhak dhak blinded and deafened her to everything except his hard body and his heart beat.

Her hands were pressed against his chest. The muscles beneath her palms rippled, sending heat waves across her body. The molten brown, chocolatey eyes looking into hers were hotter than hell fire. His arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against that sinful chest. His eyes seemed closer to hers, if that was possible. Her palms, following an agenda of their own, slowly slid up his chest, dislodging the towel around his neck. It fell to the ground, unnoticed by the pair.

Her arms crept around his strong neck, caressing and enjoying the hard, strong feel of him. Everything about him spoke of strength and passion. His eyes that could make her forget the world, his jutting cheekbones, his stubborn chin, his naughty hair flopping on his forehead, his firm neck and shoulders, his muscular arms that had cradled her to his heart numerous times, his firm waist, taut stomach...

A drop of water dripped from his wet hair onto her lips.

He watched the drop tremble as her lips trembled at the tiny but cold touch. Slowly, her warm, pink tongue tip emerged to lick that drop, her eyes still caught in the heat of his eyes.

He swallowed hard. He pulled her tight against him, his arms binding her to him so that even air could not pass between them. The possessive husband looked into the mesmerised eyes of his willing wife.

"Get rid of that ...poster. I..I don't like it...", he said gruffly.

"P..poster? What... poster? W..which p..poster?", she asked, her dream-filled eyes caught by his fiery ones.

"The film star's." he growled.

"Whose?", asked Arnav Singh Raizada's dazed wife, a tiny frown creasing her temple.


Pumping iron, jogging, doing push ups, punishing his body for years...All of it was worth it if his body could drive the thought of her hero out of her mind.

He smirked.