Dil Beparwah | ✔

twenty seven

||CHAPTER 27||
《¤》

┊A R V I K A┊

Spur of the fùçķìñg moment.

Invading my privacy, standing so close that it played with my mind, breathing in his scent, feeling it against my skin, wobbling on eggshells till we both fell-but what I succumbed to was hardly just an accident. We were still barely for a second. It was scarcely a mistake.

Because what had been aimed as a distraction, was clearly messing with my mind too. Between the erratic breathing and the scruff of his beard against my palm, it was his wedged thigh between my legs that I kept shamelessly grinding on, the skirt of my dress riding up with each stroke of his tongue mashing mine-fùçķ, the man could kiss.

Tilting my head to the side, my hand wandered on their own accord, sliding down his collar, the tease of his warm, hard chest peaking out and all of a sudden, I wasn't breathing; it was his scent that fogged up my senses-his deodorant, his ashtray. Muzzled, frenzied pull of our bodies, pushing into the table behind me. While I clung onto his teal shirt, my thumb smoothening down the stripe of button, his maintained their hold around my throat and hip, pulling me further into him. Varun inclined our lips, molding them together, teasing the seams with his tongue and then downright sucking mine.

So upturned, that I wouldn't have felt the tiny phone vibrate in my palm again, had the voices in the corridor not cut through us. In a jerk, I released him, strangely unwilling, senses heightened, hair disheveled. My breasts were heaving in panic and excitement, but I couldn't tell if it had a similar effect on him. Tucking his palms back into his trouser pockets, he backed away a few steps. Jaws clenching, gaze fùçķìng electrifying, lips slightly swollen and visibly reddened by mine. My heart wasn't just in my throat-it was beating in my stomach.

"...in your bed in fifteen minutes. Beena aunty jo bol rahi hai suno, Krish. Stop scaring your brother." And that's how Gayatri discovered us, breathing heavily and pushed to the opposite walls. Though her stern tone was probably directed at one of her sons with whom she had been speaking on the phone every half an hour, her curiosity darted between the two of us. "...is everything okay?"

Another buzz of the tiny phone in my hand made sure she didn't have to repeat. "Yes, of course. We were just discussing the-"

"-Bagchi Organization's latest donators," Varun jumped in. "She does speak very kindly of you and your husband. Bringing a difference in the lives of seven kids by being their benefactors, that's noble."

They what now? Sure, Gayatri was the one who took care of image matters, their marriage working as a pivot for extra boost in Samyak's favor, but seven was not a small number and taking responsibility for the education and overall well-being of seven children was way more than charity. Samyak loved spoiling me with his time, but she was a fashion designer and the last time we met, she was busy dressing up Parisian models. Though her fashion label was just a patronizing investment on our part, a gifting shell for jaded negotiations, she was not just one of the bored housewives in our circuit.

The jewels dotting the border of her sari shone with her well-versed response. "Yes, of course. The kids we've met are bright and deserve a better future. That's the least we can do to help."

The awkward lull in the conversation forced me to ask, "You sounded kind of... anxious. Is Krish in some trouble?"

"Causing," she corrected, narrowing her eyes at the screen. "Second nanny this month. He's a troublemaker. I didn't mean to interrupt your... conversation. Andar signal nahi hai, so calls karne yaha anaa padta hai."