[FEATURED IN WATTPAD INDIA PROFILE]
❝Pioneering the art of constructing love, my Kanmani.❞
Xavier teased her skin, slowly caressing her cheeks and her lips trembled.
❝You don't dare!❞
And he kissed her.
------
When he had compromised his dreams and...
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Sighing, Krithika replied, "Okay, okay. I just don't like being kept in the dark, and this is happening in the most literal sense right now."
He grinned at her statement. "Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Nothing."
"Are you laughing at me? What the fuck, Xavier?" she fumed, her voice rising.
He kissed her pouting lips, silencing her. "Nothing."
"If you hadn't handcuffed me like some wannabe magician, I'd have ripped this blindfold off to catch your stupid grin," she fumed, wriggling against his chest. "I can feel it—no, I know for a fact you're grinning like a fo—"
A high-pitched squeal escaped her as he swept her into his arms. "Fucking hell! Don't you ever do that again! Why are my feet defying gravity?! You could've just asked me to walk like a normal human being and guided me! Instead, here I am floating like a confused balloon!" Her voice climbed an octave. "Muruga! Why did I trust you!?"
He walked silently through the corridor of his guesthouse, his smile unwavering as she launched into a tirade about how irresponsible her decision was. She accused him of being a millionaire who lured women to their doom, of how she might vanish without a trace, of how no one back home would ever know if she disappeared into thin air.
Normally, such accusations might have offended him, but Krithika's mind was a treasure trove of slasher movie scenarios, and she had a knack for imagining the most outlandish possibilities, building escape plans for all those fictional scenarios.
Once, when he'd held her tiny, lean fingers in his hands, she'd poked his palm and declared, "Every sharp object can kill, which is why I keep my nails like this. Rawrr..." She had flashed her long nails, roaring playfully. He had imagined a very different purpose for those nails—and that had been one of those nights where he'd needed a cold shower.
It amazed him how she swung effortlessly between being an adorable goofball and a woman of intriguing depth. One minute, she'd be crying over Coco and the next, dissecting gore-filled classics like Halloween. She didn't just watch movies—she devoured them, dissected their entrails, and stitched them back together.
And books? Don't get him started. From romance to dystopian thrillers, she read everything. Oh, and let's not forget her encyclopedic knowledge of Tamil songs. She could recall lyrics with the precision of a jukebox that had somehow learned sarcasm.
