The Imprint of Desire

Morning Sun, Heated Walls

The golden rays of the morning sun filtered through the sheer white curtains of the Rathore Mansion’s bedroom. Poornima stirred awake, still feeling the weight of the previous night — his protective embrace, that intense kiss at the hospital… the silence that wrapped around it all.

She quietly slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up.

Wrapped in a towel, hair damp, she stepped out to pick her saree.

But before she could even take a step toward the wardrobe—

A hand gripped her waist.

Firm. Possessive. Heated.

She gasped slightly as Veeresh pushed her gently against the wall, his body closing in, his eyes dark with something raw.

> “Call me when I don’t pick up,” he said, voice low and deep, his lips brushing her ear.

She couldn’t respond. Her breath caught when his fingers slid across her bare waist, circling her navel slowly, teasing her skin. It wasn’t just physical — it was claiming.

He turned her around — slowly — and looked into her eyes.

Then came a kiss.

Deep. Demanding. Raw.

He tasted her slowly, pulling her in, and whispered against her lips—

> “Kiss me back.”

And she did.

No hesitation.

No filter.

Only fire and surrender.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him back, matching his intensity — as if this was the only way to communicate the whirlpool of emotions he stirred in her.

When he finally broke the kiss, she stood breathless, heart racing, lips swollen from the passion.

Veeresh smirked — “Good girl,” he said softly, and walked into the shower, steam already rising.

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Reality and Reflection

Poornima stood there for a moment, touching her lips.

Then she shook her head and whispered to herself with a shy smile—

> “Poornima… control your thoughts.”

She picked out a navy blue suit — the one he looked the best in, according to her — and placed it on the bed. Her eyes still sparkled with mischief.

She headed to the kitchen, tied her hair into a bun, and prepared his favorite — poha and masala chai.

Breakfast with Tension in the Air

Veeresh came out, fully dressed, hair still damp, clean-shaven — his presence commanding as always.

He walked to the table and she served him without a word, a soft smile on her face.

He noticed the smile. He noticed everything.

> “Take care,” he said casually, but his hand brushed her waist briefly — where his imprint from earlier still lingered.

She smiled again and nodded.

He left, back to his world of chaos,dealings, and bloodshed.

She watched him go, heart full.

The Hidden Smile

Later that afternoon, as Poornima changed into her work saree in the clinic’s changing room, she looked at herself in the mirror…

… and saw the faint red imprint of his hand still on her waist.

She touched it gently, eyes softening.

> “He doesn’t say much… but the way he touches me… it speaks.”

And she smiled.

A real, deep, and content smile.

.