The silk sheets felt like a cage. Beside her, Rajesh slept soundly, his deep, even breaths a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of her own heart. The scent of him, of sandalwood and their recent, fervent coupling of the night clung to the air, a perfume of her betrayal. Anurag. His name was a ghost in the room, a cold specter watching from the shadows. Every touch from her new husband, every gasp of pleasure she’d stifled into the pillow, felt like a fresh stab of disloyalty. The weight of her wedding bangles felt like manacles.

Durga slipped from the bed, the cool marble floor a shock against her heated skin. Wrapping a shawl around her bare shoulders, she moved like a phantom through the silent, palatial home, her destination clear the old quarters where jadibudi the old lady resided who was like her grandmother.

She found the old woman awake, sitting by a small oil lamp, her fingers slowly turning the pages of a well-worn religious text. She looked up, her eyes, clouded with age but sharp with perception, taking in Durga’s disheveled hair and troubled expression.

“The new bride does not look like she has found peace in her groom’s arms,” Jadibudi said, her voice a dry rustle of leaves.

The words unleashed a torrent. Durga fell to her knees, burying her face in the old woman’s lap. “I can’t, Bai,” she wept, her voice muffled by the simple cotton sari. “Every time Rajesh touches me, I see anurag. I feel… I feel so guilty. This marriage, it feels like a beautiful sin.”

Jadibudi gnarled hand came to rest on Durga’s head, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Child, look at me.” Durga lifted her tear-streaked face. “You are dwelling in a river that has already flowed past. Anurag is the past. Rajesh is your present. He is your dharma now. Your destiny.” She cupped Durga’s chin, her gaze unwavering. “This guilt is a poison you drink yourself. Spit it out.”

“But how?”

“By acceptance. By surrender. Rajesh is your husband. Your lord. Your pleasure lies in his pleasure. Your duty, and your path to peace, is to serve him. To welcome him. To let him do whatever he wishes with you, without question, without this resistance in your heart. Offer yourself to him, completely. That is your penance. That is your freedom from this pain.”

The words landed not as a burden, but as a key. A permission slip to silence the ghost. To embrace the man whose ring she wore. A strange, warm calm began to seep into her bones, replacing the icy dread. Serve him. The thought was no longer a chain, but a purpose.

Durga returned to the rajesh houwith a new resolve. Rajesh was awake, propped on an elbow, his brow furrowed with concern. “Durga? Where did you go? Is everything alright?”

Instead of answering, she let her shawl drop to the floor. The lamplight caressed the curves of her body, the deep red of her wedding-night sari pooled at her feet. She saw his eyes darken, his breath catch. This time, she didn’t look away.

“Everything is perfect, my husband,” she said, her voice steady now, filled with a new, low heat. She walked to the bed, her hips swaying with an intention that had been absent before. “I am here. Yours.”

She climbed onto the bed, straddling him, not as a hesitant bride, but as a woman claiming her right. She leaned down, her long, unbound hair curtaining their faces, and captured his mouth in a deep, searching kiss. It was not the timid peck of their wedding ceremony, but a raw, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of promise and possession. He groaned into her mouth, his hands coming up to grip her hips, his surprise melting into pure, unadulterated desire.

She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down his neck, her tongue tasting the salt of his skin. “Do whatever you wish with me, Rajesh,” she whispered against his pounding pulse, echoing jadibudi wisdom, making it her own vow. “I am your vessel. My pleasure is your pleasure.”

A growl rumbled in his chest. He flipped her onto her back with a strength that made her gasp, the silk sheets whispering beneath her. The look in his eyes was feral, hungry, thrilled by her sudden surrender. He didn’t question it; he consumed it.

His mouth found her breast, his tongue laving a taut nipple until she cried out, her back arching off the bed. The guilt was gone, burned away by this new, searing need to please and be pleased. Every flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth, was not a betrayal, but a worship she was finally allowing herself to feel.

Rajesh moved lower, his hands pushing her thighs apart. She didn’t tense. Durga opened for him, a flower to the sun. His breath was hot on her inner thigh, then on her very core. She moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue found her. It was an intimate assault, a devouring. He licked and sucked with a relentless focus that shattered her thoughts, leaving only sensation. This is my duty, she thought wildly, this incredible, pulsing, climbing pleasure. Her hips began to move against his face, meeting each stroke, each delicate flick that coiled the tension tight, tighter, until it snapped.

She came with a broken sob, her body convulsing around his relentless tongue. He didn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder, every last pulse, until she was boneless beneath him, gasping for air.

He rose above her, his own need evident, pressing against her thigh. He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips. The intimacy was profound, binding. He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, seeking one final, silent confirmation.

Durga wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice husky with spent passion and unwavering consent. “Yes.”

He sheathed himself inside her in one smooth, powerful thrust. She cried out, not in pain, but in overwhelming fullness. This was different. There was no room for ghosts here, only the two of them, bodies joined, sweat-slicked. He set a demanding pace, each deep stroke hitting a place inside her that made her see stars. She met him thrust for thrust, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, her moans matching his guttural grunts.

The world narrowed to the smell of their sex, the sound of skin meeting skin, the sight of raw ecstasy on his face. She felt another climax building, deeper, more consuming than the first. She was his, completely. And in that surrender, she found a power she never knew she had.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice thick.

Her eyes fluttered open. She saw his awe, his possession, his own unraveling. It pushed her over the edge. Her climax ripped through her, a silent scream forming on her lips as her inner muscles clenched around him, milking his own release. He shouted her name, pouring himself into her, his body shuddering with the force of it.