⚠ Trigger / Content Warning
This chapter contains 16+ steamy romantic scenes with detailed intimacy.
Intended for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is advised.
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11:00 AM
Vikram and Tara are home alone.
The house was quiet, too quiet — like even the walls were listening.
Tara moved softly around the room, her brows furrowed in guilt. She kept glancing at Vikram, who was sprawled on the bed, holding his back with a faint grimace.
And the guilt? It was eating her alive.
If she hadn't kicked him that day... if she hadn't fallen on him by accident... maybe his back wouldn't be hurting this bad. Maybe he wouldn't be lying here like this.
But what she didn't know was—Vikram's pain was already gone. The spray had worked. He just hadn't told her.
Why? Because the way Tara was caring for him—soft, attentive, a little worried—it was something he didn't want to let go of.
Not yet.
"Do you need anything?" she asked gently, standing by the bed.
Vikram turned his face away to hide the sly smile threatening to escape. "Water," he said weakly.
"I'll help you sit up," Tara said quickly. She slipped one hand under his arm and the other around his shoulder to support him.
Vikram played along, breathing heavier than needed. But the moment her fingers brushed his arm, his lips curled into a secret grin. She didn't notice. Her focus was fixed on his comfort.
"Here, drink slowly," she said, holding the glass to his lips. "And sit properly—I'll place some pillows behind you."
She quickly arranged three, maybe four pillows behind him, adjusting them with care as if he was a fragile patient.
Vikram thought, She's fussing like I'm made of glass. Damn, she's so serious. And I'm just... enjoying the hell out of this.
Tara hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "I still think we should call a doctor."
"No, really," Vikram cut in. "No need. I'll be fine. Just need rest."
"If you say so," she replied. "Rest a while—I'll be back."
As she walked out, Vikram sank deeper into the pillow pile and muttered under his breath, "God, I'm the worst liar... but how do I stop when she's this sweet?"
Ten minutes later, Tara returned with something in her hand.
"Open your buttons," she said plainly.
Vikram blinked.
"…Really, Tara?" he asked, tone laced with surprise—and a hint of mischief.
"Yes," she said, not even looking up. "Or I'll do it myself."
His heart did a little backflip.
Before he could make a clever comment, she pulled out a small tube of gel.
"Wait—this is about the gel?" Vikram asked, trying to mask his disappointment.
"Yes," she replied simply. "The spray didn't work, so I thought we'd try this. I can't apply it over your shirt, can I?"
Oh.
The romance music in Vikram's head abruptly paused.
Still, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, lying flat on his stomach.
Tara opened the gel and squeezed a small amount onto her fingers. She felt the coolness settle on her skin, then placed her hand gently on Vikram's lower back.
His breath caught.
It was the first time her bare fingers had touched his skin — no fabric, no barrier.
Soft. Guilt-driven. Unaware.
But the effect? Intense.
She began moving in slow, circular motions. Each time her fingertips passed over the curve of his spine, Vikram's eyes fluttered shut. Every stroke hummed like a melody down his back.
"Tara… uhh… it's hurting a little higher up too. Can you apply it there?"
"But I thought the pain was in your lower back?"
"Now it's spread," Vikram replied, barely containing the hopeful tone in his voice.
She didn't question him.
She simply added more gel and moved her hands upward. Her thumb brushed near his shoulder blade, the gel now slightly colder in that spot.
Vikram flinched subtly.
"Tara… that's… cold."
"Sorry!" she said quickly. "Almost done."
She leaned in to reach properly, and her hair brushed softly against the side of his neck.
Goosebumps surged across Vikram's entire back.
He shut his eyes tightly, his breathing heavier now. He was dangerously close to losing control—not because of desire, but because of the closeness, the sincerity, the sheer care in her touch.
Tara, what are you doing to me…? he thought.
Tara, meanwhile, was completely immersed in guilt.
Because of me… he's in this pain. I'm so careless. He even fell because of me. God, I'm the worst.
She asked softly, "Feeling any better now?"
Vikram, trying hard to mask the storm in his chest, nodded. "Yeah. A bit."
No, Tara. Not because of the gel. Because of you.
She got up from the bed to go fetch something.
"Where are you going?" Vikram asked quickly.
"I'll get a hot water bag. Maybe that'll help too."
Vikram groaned inwardly.
This pain was gone ages ago… now I'm stuck in my own lie. I've become a victim of my own fake injury.
"Tara, seriously—it's not needed."
But she was already climbing off the bed—and just then, her foot caught the edge of the table.
She tripped slightly, about to fall—
Vikram reached out in an instant, catching her by the waist and pulling her close to him.
Their eyes locked.
Tara, breathless: "Are you really okay?"
Vikram (softly): "The spray worked."
Tara took a step back. "You're lying again. I've been feeling horrible all day."
He didn't reply.
Instead, he stood, walked to the door, and quietly clicked the lock.
Her eyes widened. "Why did you lock the door?"
He turned slowly, voice low: "So you don't run away."
She stepped back instinctively. "Vikram... please... don't come near me..."
He smiled, taking a step forward. "Then don't move away."
Her back hit the wall.
He placed his palm beside her head, caging her gently.
He leaned in, his fingers brushing along her cheek. Her breath hitched. Her lashes lowered. But she didn't move away.
He kissed her—soft, slow, deliberate.
Then again. Deeper this time, confident.
After the kiss, he rested his forehead on hers.
Vikram (whispering): "Tara... are you okay?"
She didn't answer with words.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face shyly in his chest.
He smiled, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
Tara: "Vikram! Put me down!"
Vikram: "Not happening."
He laid her gently on the bed. The house was quiet. The air was thick with unsaid things and rapid heartbeats.
He hovered just above her, his breath warm against her flushed cheeks. His fingers grazed down her arms—a soft, intentional touch that made her shiver.
his lips brushing hers.
Tara gave a breathless smile.
She turned slightly, holding a pillow between them like a shield. "I mean... well..."
"Tara..." He gently pulled the pillow away, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "I don't want to compete with a pillow for your attention."
She laughed softly, then turned her face to hide her blush. "You're impossible."
He tilted her chin, making her face him. "Say it again."
Her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her kurti. "I'm... a little nervous."
He kissed her forehead tenderly. "That's okay, Tara. We'll only go where you're comfortable."
She nodded, whispering, "I'm ready... just... a little scared."
He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm right here. Just look at me."
She looked up at him. "Don't stop."
Her words melted something in him.
Vikram wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Tara's hands gripped the back of his shirt tightly, her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat — fast, strong, almost matching hers.
Slowly, Vikram touched the side of her dupatta and slid it off.
Vikram kissed her again, his hand brushing up her back under the fabric. Tara's breath hitched. He looked at her.
"You want to stop?" he asked seriously.
She shook her head. "No."
Vikram slid her kurta up and off. She was in her inners now — breathing heavy, not covering, just holding onto him.She wasn't resisting. Just trembling slightly.
Vikram kissed her bare shoulder and then looked into her eyes again, asking for unspoken permission. She touched his cheek in response, pulling him closer.
Vikram slid off his own shirt and held her again. Their bodies touched completely for the first time, skin against skin. Tara was breathing heavily, her hands resting on his chest.
They pressed closer, her skin against his chest.
Tara closed her eyes, her hand sliding around his neck. "
I want to feel you. All of you. Not just physically... every part of you, Tara."
She looked into his eyes. There was no rush, no greed.
Only something close to reverence.
She nodded.
Her hands found the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss.
This one deeper, hotter, open, unafraid. careful but hungry.
His hand moved behind her back to unhook her bra —his lips kissing her chest with a reverent gentleness that made her gasp.
Tara arched slightly into him, responding instinctively, not out of knowledge but pure feeling.
Tara his voice was low, a careful murmur, "…you know now what happens next… right?"
Her lips curved, soft and sure. "Yes… and I trust you. I know you'll never hurt me."
He whispered against her skin, "You're mine."
His hand moved to her salwar tie, slowly loosening it. She tensed slightly, but didn't stop him. Her lips met his again, harder this time — hunger and surrender both.
And Just when the moment became too raw, too perfect to exist,
RING
They both froze.
It rang — loud, persistent.
Tara giggled breathlessly. "Your phone..."
Vikram groaned, kissing her again, deeper. "Ignore it..."
"It might be important..."
His lips moved to her neck. "Right now, nothing is more important than this."
Another ring.
She giggled again.
Vikram finally pulled away, dramatically: "Whoever it is... they just lost their job."
Tara laughed, hiding her face.
"You're laughing?" he narrowed his eyes, amused.
"Sorry, sorry," she said between soft laughs.
Vikram sighed, picked up the phone with one hand, the other still around her.
She rested her head on his bare shoulder. and saw the name...