The silk cords were gone, but the marks of his possession remained—a faint pink tracing on her wrists, the deep, satisfying ache between her thighs. Durga lay boneless beside him, her breathing just beginning to settle into a steady rhythm. The early morning sun, now a little higher, painted golden stripes across their tangled limbs and the rumpled wedding sheets. She felt a curious emptiness, a space waiting to be filled again by the man whose sheer physical presence seemed to suck all the air from the room.

Rajesh watched her. His dark, intense gaze was a physical weight, tracing the curve of her hip, the lush swell of her breast, the damp tendrils of hair sticking to her glistening neck. He saw not just a woman, but his woman. A prize claimed, a challenge met, and a well of untapped fire he was only just beginning to explore. The softness of the moment after her climax was a blanket he was ready to throw off. Tenderness had its place, but now, he needed to stake his claim in a different, more primal language.