228. OS 11. An Uncomplicated Wife (Parts 17-18)

Link to my new short story: Taking Care of You


“I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you," he said.

 “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “I could have been anybody. A thief even.”

He smiled wearily. “I don’t know many thieves who would look at me with anxious eyes and then cry because I was sick,” he mumbled.

Is it possible for love to bloom, sight unseen? Juhi and Abhay are strangers who know each other better than they know themselves. One night changes the equation and the even tenor of their lives and puts all their doubts and fears to rest.

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-taking-care-you

Link to my first e-novel; A Home for Meenakshi

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-home-meenakshi

"I love the way you love, Meenu," he whispered, his eyes on hers. "Such loyalty, such passion..."

Meenakshi Sharma, an orphan, lives in Varanasi with her uncle, a chronic bachelor who wants her to become a professional musician. She unwillingly relocates to Delhi to study under a renowned musician for eight months. Staying for rent in the outhouse of the Agrawals, she meets Aditya Agrawal, an attractive young man brooding over the memories of his horrendous past. Pulled between her uncle's expectations of her and Aditya's love for her, Meenakshi struggles with her feelings. How can she disappoint her uncle who had devoted his entire life to her upbringing? How can she pretend to be blind to Aditya's feelings for her? A romance that moves between the alleys of the holy city of Varanasi and the modern city of Delhi.

A blog for my VMs:

http://smitarsvms.blogspot.in/

Part 17

He looked at her image in the mirror, her eyes trained on the towel around his waist. Glad laughter bubbled up inside him, but he took pains to maintain a straight face.

There was much he wanted to do, but there was a wedding next door in an hour or so.

“Khushi,” he called.

Her eyes jumped and reluctantly left his towel to move up to meet his.

“Do you want my towel?” he asked softly.

Her mouth went dry. “No,” she mumbled.

“I can remove it and give it to you if you need it,” he teased with an expressionless face. His hands moved to the knot of the flimsy piece of cloth around his waist.

Khushi got up in a hurry, knocking down the low stool on which she had been sitting. Desiring to spy on him shedding the towel was one thing and having him do a striptease looking into her dazed eyes were two different propositions.

“Hum chalte hein,” she mumbled as she rushed out of the room.

Arnav chuckled soundlessly, his shoulders shaking. Life was fun.

                                                 ***

Arnav looked at Khushi as she served him halwa poori. She deftly avoided meeting his eyes, his open challenge standing between them.

“Sit down by your pati parmeswar, Parmeswari!” Buaji exhorted. “Eat fast and go to Preetho’s house. If you move at your normal pace, Hai Re Nandkisore, you will reach there only in time for Preetho’s first child’s naamkaran!”

All chuckled while Khushi pouted. “I am not so late normally, buaji,” she tried to protest even as she sat down by Arnav.

“Suno, bitwaa,” buaji told Arnav. “Count yourself lucky she reached the mandap on time to marry you. Uski bas chalti na, to you would have remained a bachelor all your life, Nandkisore.”

All laughed.

Khushi stole one cross glance at her husband’s twinkling eyes and smiling lips intending to convey her displeasure through her eyes. But the sight of his sinful lips so distracted her that she lost track of the conversation and her discomfiture. His lips—those delicious lips had touched hers...Her own lips tingled and she parted them.

His eyes lost their laughter and heated up.

“O sanka devi, show mercy on us and eat the halwa poori on your plate,” buaji exclaimed. “Why are you glaring at your husband?”

Khushi and Arnav looked at the family members sitting around the table and flushed slightly.

They quickly finished their repast and joined the rest of the family as they walked to Preetho’s house.

                                                  ***

Khushi looked at Preetho who looked beautiful in her red and green lehenga, sitting by Vikas in his rose-coloured sherwani. Fond memories of their childhood rushed through her head. Khushi smiled as Preetho’s father did her kanyadaan, blinking to clear her eyes of the heart-felt tears that had crept into them.

Arnav held out his stiff, white hanky.

Khushi lifted her head to look at him, her eyes conveying her gratitude. She took it and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Arnav asked softly, his lips touching the strands of hair at her ear.

Khushi drew in a tear-laden breath and whispered back, “I was thinking of how happy we were.”

“Acha?” he breathed.

Khushi gulped down her tears to explain, “Mishraji scolded me for talking in class and said that a monkey had done my homework because the writing was so illegible.” She drew in a deep breath. “He made me stand up in class for 3 hours. My legs hurt soooo, lekin hum kya kar sakte the? Preetho was so angry with him. She...she...” Her voice dissolved in tears.

Arnav waited.

“She climbed the gauva tree on the way from school to Mishraji’s house and sat waiting till he passed the tree. Then she threw a stone at his bald head. He bled all over his white kurta,” Khushi said simply.

Arnav’s wide eyes rushed to gaze at the warrior princess who was simpering at Vikas.

“Then when Bunty stole Pinky’s pencil box and said it was me, she cornered Bunty during lunch break and punched his nose till it started to bleed,” Khushi whispered earnestly. “She is that good a friend. I will miss her sooo,” Khushi sobbed delicately.

“Looks like I need to offer my condolences to Vikas than my congratulations,” Arnav muttered. “Khushi, Vikas does not live in Delhi, does he?” he asked, worried.

“No,” she replied, frowning. “Why?”

“I don’t want a bloodthirsty Preetho throwing stones at my head each time you sneez when HP does his dusting ritual,” he confessed.

Khushi burst out laughing. “Aap bhi na,” she shook her head ruefully.

“Mein bhi kya?’ he asked, his voice low, his eyes on her lips.

“N..n..n..nothing,” she mumbled.

“Sure?” he asked, his nose touching her dangling earring.

She nodded rapidly.

                                                 ***

Khushi sat by Arnav to have her lunch. She looked at her plate filled with delicacies and yawned, last night’s strenuous exercise and loss of sleep taking its toll.

Arnav looked at Khushi who was trying to hide her yawn behind her hand and his heart leaped, his eyes flashed fire.

Khushi felt his eyes burning the skin on her face and turned to look at him. What she saw in his eyes made her tremble, her mouth go dry. Her eyes slipped down to his lips and her brain went up in smoke.

As she watched, his lips moved. She saw the curves move, she really did, but she couldn’t hear him. Her entire attention, her whole being was focused on the slight movement of those delicious lips.

Buaji leaned forward and spoke to Arnav, “Do you have to go today, bitwaa?” Her voice and expression were wistful as she said, “It would be nice if you both could stay for one more day.”

“Only one more day, buaji?’ he asked, his eyes still on Khushi’s dazed eyes. “I was thinking we could stay a week. Khushi can show me how beautiful...” his eyes flashed meaningfully at his wife, “...Lucknow is.”

Buaji’s face flushed with joy. “Damadji, you are so good. I can’t tell you how happy you have made us, Nandkisore,” buaji gushed.

“I am happy too, buaji,” he said, his eyes teasing Khushi. “Khushi has been... taking good care of me.”

Khushi blushed at the meaning only she could understand.

Buaji beamed. “Titliya is a good, sanskaari girl...when she remembers to be one, Nandkisore. Khussi, take good care of our damadji, suna tumne? He should return to Delhi with good memories of Lucknow and his samdhi.”

Khushi choked on the morsel she had placed in her mouth.

“Kya hua, Khushi?” Arnav asked, all concern. He rubbed her back, his fingers playing with her dori and the bare skin revealed by the almost non-existent back of her choli.

“I am fine, Arnavji,” Khushi croaked, squirming to get his hand off her back. There was no saying what she would do if the temptation got out of hand. She trembled, trying to hold herself back from leaping on him.

“But I am not,” Arnav sighed.

Khushi and buaji looked at him, their eyes wide. If he were any better, then she would have to take permanent residence inside the fridge to cool her fried senses, Khushi thought.

“Kya hua, bitwaa?” buaji was all concern.

“A headache, buaji,” he sighed.

“You travelled all the way from Delhi to Lucknow yesterday and we made you attend the wedding today, Nandkisore!” buaji was aghast. “Khussi, take damadji to your room. Give him medicine for his headache. Lower all the blinds and sit by him till he recovers,” she ordered.

Khushi could only nod. The devious businessman she had married had a solution to every problem, she thought in admiration.

With buaji’s blessings, the couple slipped out of Preetho’s house into Khushi’s house.

Part 18

“Arnavji, don’t lock the front door,” Khushi hissed urgently. “Or we will have to come down to let the others in.”

Arnav obediently shut the door without locking it and holding Khushi’s hand, marched up the steps to their bedroom on urgent feet.

Khushi locked the door of their bedroom and turned to find herself trapped in her husband’s arms. He pulled her as close as he could, crushing her softness against his hardness and took charge of her lips.

A few moments later, he lifted his head, his eyes eating her up.

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this,” he muttered.

She had a fair idea, her own head being filled with similar ideas.

Her eyes slipped to his lips, hoping he would stop talking and kiss her some more.

“Don’t look at me like that, Khushi,” he gave fair warning, his eyes burning with desire.

“Kya kar lenge aap?” she challenged him, her voice husky, hopeful.

He drew her succulent lower lip between his and sent every thought flying from her head. His fingers rubbed her scalp through her silky hair and moved down her graceful neck to hold her in place for his heady kiss.

Khushi wanted more.

She tried to undo his kurta with shaking fingers as soon as his lips left hers.

“You want me to remove my kurta, Khushi?” he asked, his husky voice shaking and all the more seductive for it.

She nodded.

“All you have to do is ask,” he informed her, quickly undoing his buttons and throwing the tunic over his head to fall somewhere.

Khushi stared raptly at the clean lines of his bare chest, the muscles of his arms, his washboard stomach...

“What do you want to do now, Khushi?” the devil asked, flexing his arms.

Khushi swallowed dryly at the ripple of his muscles. With dazed eyes, she looked longingly at his chest.

“Do you want to touch my chest, Khushi?” he asked, offering her what her heart longed for and her body burned for.

She nodded.

He waited.

“Yes,” she murmured.

He trapped one hand in his and slowly lifted it to rest on his heart.

Her fingers felt scalded at the heat emanating from his body. Her hand trembled.

He waited for her to get used to the feel of his bare body, his heart galloping, his pulse throbbing.

Soon her hand began to move on his chest, caressing the rise and dip of his muscles, running over his strong shoulders and down his arms. Then she moved down to test the sculpted muscles of his stomach.

He shuddered.

She drew in a deep breath of delight. So her touch had an effect on him. She could fell him with her touch just as he could floor her with his?

She put her new knowledge to good effect, touching him as she willed, pressing herself against his still form as she ran her hands up and down his back.

“Khushi,” he whispered.

She looked at him, her eyes dark like a siren’s, beckoning him to abandon all restraints and follow her into the world that only she could create with her magic.

“I so wanted you to drop the towel today morning,” she sighed her confession.

“I know,” he groaned.

She frowned. “How did you know?” she asked. “It was a thought that ran through my head.”

“I could read it in your eyes, Khushi,” he told her simply. “Your eyes darken when you want me, your lips tremble, you start breathing harder, the pulse at your throat throbs...as they are doing now.”

He rained kisses on her face, neck, shoulders and below, throwing away the pink Paithani silk saree and untying the doris that held the choli together.

He lifted her in his strong arms and carried her to bed, his eyes hot on hers.

He laid her on the bed, taking care to rest her head on her pillow. He captured her head with trembling hands and savoured the soft satin of her neck.

Khushi giggled slightly, the sound beginning as a giggle and ending as a moan.

“Feeling amused?” he asked softly.

Khushi gasped at the touch of his wandering fingers.

“Let me see if I can amuse you more,” he whispered against her heart.

                                            ***

They lay comfortably together, Khushi lying on him, their fingers linked companionably. Their bodies had cooled and Arnav had pulled a light sheet to cover their nakedness.

“You will really stay here for a week, Arnavji?” Khushi asked softly.

“Yes,” he replied, feeling sated, contented with life.

“Your work...,” she began.

“Even ASR is entitled to a honeymoon,” he smiled, “every year.”

She lifted her head to look into his smiling eyes.

“One honeymoon per year?” she asked in astonishment. “I thought people went on one honeymoon in their lives.”

“We are not, by any standards, ordinary people,” he claimed with a lofty look. “If we want to have a honeymoon every month, we can.”

Khushi opened her mouth to reply and then shut it. A long moment later, she said slowly, “Your office?”

“My office won’t collapse if I am away from it for a few days,” the ASR claimed, who till his marriage had been summoning employees to work even on Sundays.

“Yeh aap keh rahe ho?” she teased. “You who married an uncomplicated wife so that you could work?”

“After marrying you, my life became complicated, Khushi. It is not every bride who can boast of coming into her husband’s life like a typhoon. A murder attempt, hiding in the forest, the bike ride, getting rid of Shyam...I am afraid I have grown to like a complicated life, Khushi. Now I want my life and wife to be complicated,” he rubbed her nose with his, making her giggle.

“Amanji?” Khushi asked.

“He will be delighted,” Arnav declared. “We can go wherever you want, Khushi. Anywhere under the sun.”

She looked at him.

“In fact, we can set out now if you want to spend this week elsewhere. Is there any place you want to see, Khushi?” he asked.

She looked down into his eyes for a long moment.

Then she tightened her arms around him, burrowed her head into the crook of his neck and said, “Nowhere. I am happy here. There is nothing more I want from life than what I am holding in my arms now.”

He swallowed hard.

“As long as we are together, Arnavji,” she whispered, “nothing matters.”

“Hamesha, Khushi,” he promised. “Arnav and Khushi forever.”

Khushi wound her body tightly around his.

Slowly he ran his fingers down the long line of her bare back. She shivered, lifted her head and looked at him.

His eyes shimmered with love and need.

Her eyes moved down to his lips.

“Don’t,” he warned.

She quirked a brow.

“You won’t like it when I ravish you,” he growled.

“Can’t you tell?” she asked. “I am afraid I like it too much to do without,” she whispered against his eager lips.

The End

Next story in August (if I can hold out so long!)