The moment Rajbeer caught sight of her trembling in the rain, a cold fire ignited in his chest. He didn't hesitate. His long strides closed the distance between them in seconds, and before she could react, he had her pressed against his hard frame. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm roaring inside him—sharp, hungry, ruthless.

His hands gripped her arms firmly, pulling her up, steadying her quivering body. "Get a grip," he commanded, voice low and rough like gravel scraping steel. "You're not going to fall apart on me."

Aroohi's breath hitched, eyes wide with fear and confusion, but the raw strength behind his words rooted her to the moment. Rajbeer's gaze burned into hers, dark and unforgiving, stripping away any pretense of weakness.

"Look at me," he growled, fingers tightening just enough to remind her who was in control.

Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I'm scared," she whispered, voice fragile beneath the storm in his.

Rajbeer's jaw clenched. "Good. You should be. Scared is what keeps you alive. Keeps you mine."

She whimpered softly as he picked her up, her legs limp, her arms wrapping loosely around his neck, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

Her lips brushed against his collarbone, a ghost of heat and breath.

He swore under his breath.

"Fuck."

Every inch of her body radiated warmth—unnatural warmth, the kind that soaked into his skin like fire. She shifted, unconsciously rubbing against him, her thigh grazing dangerously close to his groin.

He carried her to the backseat of the car and laid her down as gently as a man like him could. But the moment her back hit the leather, she let out a soft, helpless moan—his name, or maybe not, but it didn't matter.

It was the sound.

That fucking sound.

His fists clenched on either side of her, breath ragged, chest heaving.

She turned her face toward him, eyes half-lidded and hazy, lips wet and parted. Aroohi— the name hit like a shot of whiskey down his throat, burning and addicting.

"You don't even know what you're doing to me," he murmured, voice low, hoarse.

Her hand reached out again, brushing his chest blindly. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling and seeking him and needing him. Whether by drug or desire, he didn't know.

He closed his eyes, but it didn't help.

He could still see her, the way her body arched involuntarily, the small sounds she made, the way she licked her lips—like she was starving for something sinful.

His knuckles turned white from gripping the seat above her head.

He wanted to devour her.
To taste the sounds on her tongue.
To push her open and drown in everything she didn't even know she had.

But she wasn't his. Not yet.

He leaned down, his face close to hers, just enough to feel her breath.

"I could take you right now," he whispered, eyes burning.
"And you'd beg me for more. But I won't. Because when you come to me... you'll be aware of every filthy thing I do to you."

She let out a soft whine, her head tipping back, her body writhing on the back seat.

He turned away sharply, hand raking through his hair, veins bulging in restraint.

He took a deep breath, then pulled off his coat and gently covered her with it, wrapping her in his scent.

"Drive," he barked at the driver, sliding into the passenger seat without looking back.

As the car moved, he stared out the window, hands trembling, jaw clenched.

She was the girl who broke the curse.
The one who stirred his dead body awake.

And now he'd tasted what it meant to lose control.

He wasn't letting her go.

The drive had barely begun when he saw her hand again—light, unintentional, brushing against the driver's arm from the back seat. Then firmer. Gripping. Fingertips curling into his bicep like she was anchoring herself to him.

He glanced back once.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, lips parted in a soft plea, and she whimpered something incoherent. It wasn't his name—he didn't think she even knew where she was—but the ache that tore through his chest was sharp, almost unbearable.

"Rajbeer, sir?" the driver asked from the driver's seat, eyeing the rearview mirror. He'd stayed as calm as possible.

Rajbeer's voice came low, tight.
"Stop the car."

The tires skidded slightly as they pulled over on the empty road.

He got out, inhaled the cool night air like it might douse the fire under his skin, then yanked the back door open and slid in beside her.

Her head lolled onto his shoulder the moment he was near. Her fingers fumbled along the front of his shirt, gripping and loosening again, like a child lost in a dream—but the heat in her touch, the way her body pressed closer—it wasn't innocent.

"Hey..." he whispered, voice husky. "Easy."

She moaned softly.

His heart hammered.
Her thigh brushed against his.
Her hand moved to his chest again, palm flattening right over his heart.

"Warm..." she mumbled, burying her face into the crook of his neck, licking.
Then, almost tearfully, "Don't go..."

Something inside him cracked.

She wasn't just any girl.
She wasn't a woman he could forget tomorrow.

She was a storm. A temptation wrapped in fragility. A dream is trying to become his sin.

"Aroohi..." he murmured her name like a curse. Or a prayer.

Her lips were near his jaw now.
So close. Too close.

And he—he was holding back by a thread. Every cell in his body screamed to give in. To let her come apart in his arms.

But she wasn't herself.
Not fully.
And for a man like him, control was the only line he couldn't afford to cross.

He held her wrist gently, stilling her wandering hand.

"Not like this," he whispered.

She blinked at him, dazed. Her lips trembled. Her breath hitched, and she curled into his chest like a child needing comfort.

So he wrapped his arms around her and simply held her, feeling every ragged breath she took echo in his ribs. She was grinding on his thighs, trying to relieve herself of the burn setting inside her.

He could feel the heat radiating from her core on his thigh. He put his hands on her hips to stop her.

This—this was worse than torture.

Not because he didn't want her.
But because he wanted her too much.

And when the time came—when she stood in front of him fully awake, fully aware—he knew:

He wouldn't hold back

The silence in the car was almost deafening.

Aroohi clung to him like he was her only anchor to the world — flushed, breathless, intoxicated not by alcohol but something darker. Her body shivered, not from cold but from a heat that was not her own doing. Her soft moans and occasional whimpers clawed at his restraint, threatening to unravel every thread of control he had left.

He didn't ask the driver to go to the hospital.

He didn't call the police.

He only said one word:

"Home."

He barely registered the driver's confused glances as he ordered a silent retreat to the privacy of his penthouse.

And the car moved.

⸻

Rajbeer's Penthouse – Midnight

He carried her into the penthouse in his arms, soft, warm, utterly unaware of the beast carrying her.

The doors shut behind them with a soft hiss. The city lights outside painted shadows on the marble floor, and the air conditioning hummed softly.

She stirred against his chest, murmuring his name.

No. Not his name. Just... a plea.

"Don't leave me..."

Rajbeer didn't speak. He moved swiftly into the guest bathroom, setting her down carefully against the cold granite counter. She leaned into his chest again, her fingers tangled in his shirt, trying to rip every barrier between them, her breath hot against his neck.

His jaw clenched.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, fighting the growing desire curling low in his gut. "Why you?"

Why her?

Why did this one girl — who danced barefoot in the rain with orphans — ignite a hunger that felt like it might eat him alive?

He turned on the cold shower.

Water gushed down, hissing loudly, echoing off the tiled walls. He half-carried her under the spray. She gasped at the temperature, blinking rapidly.

"W-What...?" Her voice was faint, confused.

He supported her with one hand as the other held her wrist under the icy stream. "You've been drugged," he said roughly, avoiding her wide eyes. "This will help snap you out of it."

She shivered violently now, more aware, her teeth chattering. Her dress clung to her body, soaked through, and he had to avert his gaze or risk losing control entirely.

She turned to look at him, eyes full of dazed tears, confusion, and something dangerously close to trust.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He could've lied. But he didn't.

"Your worst mistake," he murmured hoarsely.

And yet, he stayed. Kept her upright. Brushed wet strands of hair from her face. Held her like she was breakable.

Because she was.

Because she was already breaking him.

The icy stream pelted down on her, sharp needles that should have jolted her out of her haze—but she clung tighter.

Aroohi was trembling, lips parted, breathless—her soaked clothes clinging to every curve, body trying to press shamelessly against his as though she were seeking to crawl inside his skin. She didn't know what she was doing. That much was clear.

But he did.

Rajbeer's jaw clenched, muscles drawn taut beneath his wet shirt. His hands gripped her waist too hard. He could feel her softness pressed into his hardness, the maddening friction of her body writhing without reason.

She didn't even know his name... and yet she was wrecking him.

"Stop," he whispered hoarsely—more to himself than to her. "Don't do this to me..."

But she looked up at him with dazed eyes, pupils blown wide, a drunken, innocent longing on her face.

"I feel... strange," she whispered, hands sliding up his chest. "Make it go away..."

Something cracked inside him.

A shiver raced down his spine—not from the cold, but from the torment.

She didn't know the chaos she was causing. She didn't know that this man, who hadn't felt anything in years—who had lived untouched by desire, by warmth—was falling apart just because she touched him.

Because she smiled in the rain.

Because she had looked like she belonged to him.

Now here she was. Shaking in his arms. Whispering desperate pleas. Moaning soft, breathless words that sent him hurtling toward madness.

His forehead dropped against hers, eyes squeezing shut.

"This isn't you," he murmured, voice guttural, breaking. "This is the drug. You'll hate me if I give in."

But her hands wouldn't stop. Her breath wouldn't stop. And neither did the ache in his soul that screamed he would never survive this moment without falling deeper.

So he held her. Not with lust—but with worship.

He pressed her against the tiled wall and kissed her forehead, trembling with restraint. His hands wrapped around her face as if she would disappear. Her name was a prayer on his lips, an ache he couldn't exorcise.

And when she whimpered and buried her face in his throat, he finally allowed himself to whisper:

"You'll never know what you've done to me."

She gasped as the water continued to hit her, drenching her clothes, plastering them to her body, curves taut, skin trembling. She fisted her shirt to remove it from her skin, but her mind was all foggy. She desperately clawed at her, on him, anything to relieve herself.

Rajbeer should've looked away.

He couldn't.

Not now. Not when she was in pain. Not when her body writhed and her lips begged wordlessly for something—anything.

He stepped towards her under the shower, fully clothed, grabbing her arms.

"I'm here. I've got you," he said, voice rough, desperate. "Stay with me. Just—don't slip away."

She blinked up at him, dazed. Her fingers clutched his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Help... it hurts..."

The next moment, she stumbled into his arms, drenched and trembling, and something inside Rajbeer shattered.

He wasn't a man used to losing control — not over business, not over people, especially not over a woman he barely knew.

But there she was. Fragile and wild at once. Her breath uneven, eyes half-lidded, skin slick with water and something else — a dangerous softness that set his blood on fire.

He eased her onto the cold marble floor, heart pounding a frantic rhythm as her fingers grazed his chest like desperate flames.

Her lips parted — as if trying to speak, but no words came. Instead, she reached, stumbling forward to press her body against his, seeking something he wasn't sure he could give.

And then—

Control snapped.

He caught her wrist before she could reach his face, yanking her close, heat crashing between them like a storm.

His voice was low, rough, a rasp from the depths of his obsession:
"Don't—" but she didn't listen. She tried to kiss him anyway, lips brushing his jawline, fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands shook as he tangled with her, not out of restraint, but out of desperate need.

He knew it was wrong.

He knew she was vulnerable—drugged.

But his mind spiralled deeper, caught in the pull of wanting to consume, to claim, never to let go.

He could feel his breath hitch as she pressed closer, his hands roaming despite the chaos of his rational mind screaming to stop.

Aroohi's eyes fluttered open and closed, a faint smile touching her lips like she was lost between reality and a dream. She murmured a plea, barely audible, but it was enough to ignite a fire beneath his skin that no darkness could smother.

For a terrifying moment, he saw himself losing everything to her—the last bastion of control slipping through trembling fingers.

He held her tight, whispering to himself, She's mine. Only mine. And I'll drown in this if I have to.

The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken desires and raw, desperate need. Rajbeer's fingers trembled as they traced the contours of her drenched skin, the heat of her body burning through his control. His breaths came faster, ragged, as if every inhale pulled him deeper into a storm he was powerless to resist.

Aroohi's eyes fluttered open, glassy but clear, locking onto his with a fragile trust that sent a jolt through his soul. She didn't speak; she didn't have to. Every trembling motion, every soft sigh, every stolen glance was an invitation, a plea.

He pressed his forehead against hers, the ache inside him clawing for release—not just of lust, but of something far more profound. This wasn't mere possession; it was obsession wrapped in tenderness and torment.

His lips found the curve of her neck, gentle at first, then harder as the craving inside him surged like wildfire. She whimpered, clutching at his shirt, anchoring him, reminding him that beneath all the madness, she was real—fragile, alive.

In that room, drenched in shadows, Rajbeer lost himself. Every touch was a promise and a threat, every breath shared a confession of his unravelling mind.

He wasn't just breaking the boundaries of control—he was surrendering to the darkness she stirred in him, willingly, desperately, with no thought for the chaos it might bring.

And in that surrender, he found a twisted kind of salvation

The cold water cascaded over her trembling body, but the fire in her wouldn't fade. Her eyes, half-lidded and wild, locked onto him with desperate hunger — a need so primal it stripped him of all logic.

He had dragged her under the shower, fully clothed, hoping it would tame the storm brewing in her veins... in his. But the moment he touched her — her skin slick and soft under his fingertips — something inside him snapped.

She whimpered his name — not knowing it, yet knowing it. That was what shattered him.

"Aroohi..." he whispered, as if the syllables themselves would anchor him. They didn't. They only made the ache worse.

Her hands found their way to his chest, tugging at his soaked shirt, clinging. Her lips brushed his jaw, and then his neck. He should've stopped her. He didn't.

He was drowning — not in water, but in her.

Her body arched against him with every shiver. Her breath was a mix of need and innocence, and it tore at his soul. She had no idea what she was doing to him... or maybe she did. Maybe some part of her recognized his darkness and wasn't afraid.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing and carried her out of the shower. Drops of water traced down her neck like silver rivulets. Her skin glowed, flushed with fever, pupils blown wide with unspoken desire.

He flipped her onto the bed, but there was nothing gentle in the storm raging inside him.

She reached for him again — breathless, trembling, whispering his name like a prayer. And he caved.

Their mouths met — not in a kiss, but in a crash of worlds. His hands roamed over her curves like a man starved, memorizing each gasp, every shudder. Her responses were pure instinct, unfiltered, as if her soul had always belonged to him and was just now remembering.

When he buried his face against her throat, inhaling her like salvation, she moaned his name, and he saw stars.

It wasn't just lust. It was possession. Obsession. A storm that had waited lifetimes to break.

"You're mine," he breathed against her skin, his voice hoarse with restraint. "I'll never let you go."

And when her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, when she whispered the word "please" with such need, it made his chest ache — that was when he lost the last of his control.

Rajbeer's fingers trembled as they traced the delicate curve of her jaw, pulling her face closer until his lips brushed hers — hesitant at first, like the fragile flutter of a butterfly's wings, then deepening with a hunger that had been simmering too long. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, overwhelmed his senses, flooding his mind with memories of desperate nights and hollow emptiness he'd long buried.

Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaping as his tongue gently coaxed, exploring the tender heat beneath her skin. She melted against him, her small frame trembling like a flickering flame caught in a fierce wind. It was intoxicating — the way she surrendered, how every breath she drew seemed to tether him closer to madness.

His hands roamed with both reverence and fire, mapping the softness beneath thin fabric — the smooth curve of her waist, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Every touch was a silent confession, a violent prayer whispered in the dark. He wanted to consume her, to lose himself entirely in the fragile warmth she offered.

Her hands sought him out, clutching at his shirt as if afraid he might disappear. "Don't stop," she whispered, voice trembling between fear and need. The words tore through his resolve like a blade.

He lowered his mouth to the centre of her ribs, hollow of her stomach, tasting the salty sweetness there, each kiss sending shivers racing down her spine. She gasped, pressing closer, her body arching into his touch as if craving something she didn't fully understand. The desperation in her eyes mirrored his own — raw, unguarded, and utterly consuming.

Rajbeer's control snapped like a brittle thread. He tore away the fabric that separated them, skin against skin, igniting a blaze that consumed reason and time. Her warmth was electrifying, a fire that seared through his veins and left him aching with a need that words could never contain.

He moved slowly, reverently, feeling every shiver, every tremble as if memorizing a sacred language spoken without sound. Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed as she gave herself over to the moment—to him. The weight of her trust pressed on him, both a blessing and a torment.

She trembled in his arms, fragile yet fierce, like a wounded animal desperate for shelter. Each movement was a whispered promise, each sigh a silent prayer. And then, with a shuddering gasp, she shattered — breaking open and folding around him in a fragile surrender that set his soul ablaze.

Her whispered pleas mingled with the pounding of his heart. "More... please..." she begged, voice raw and trembling.

He obeyed, letting go of every last restraint, plunging into the depths of the darkness that clung to him — a darkness now illuminated by her fragile light.

The cold droplets slid down her skin, but inside Rajbeer's arms, Aroohi burned with a heat that seemed to consume everything around them. His hands slide down her as they trace the curves of her back, pulling her closer, as if trying to merge their bodies into one. Every breath she took was shallow, every soft sigh a silent plea he couldn't deny.

His heart pounded—not just with desire, but with something darker: an ache born from years of control unravelling before this fragile, intoxicating woman. Her scent—wild, raw—wrapped around him, unravelling the tight grip he always kept on his emotions.

His lips hovered near her collarbone, brushing against the sensitive skin there, igniting a fire that spread through him. She didn't resist; instead, she leaned into him, her fingers clutching his shoulders, her body moulding perfectly against his. It was as if she belonged there—inside his chaotic world—and he was desperate to keep her.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of rain outside fading into silence. His touch grew firmer, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation. But all he found was trust—a—fragile, trembling surrender that shattered every wall he'd built.

They moved together like a dark dance, each moment laced with a tension so thick it almost hurt. His breath caught as her lips brushed his jaw, then her own parted slightly, inviting him closer. He kissed her then, slow and deep, tasting the sweetness and the storm inside her.

He wasn't thinking—couldn't think. All that existed was the ache, the craving, the desperate need to claim her in a way that was both possessive and tender. His hands slid lower, exploring the curve of her waist, the soft planes of her hips. She shivered beneath his touch, a delicious tremble that sent shockwaves through him.

Even as desire surged through him, there was something fragile about her—something that made his grip gentle, his movements careful. This wasn't just physical; it was something raw and unspoken, a connection that both terrified and consumed him.

His mind raced with dark thoughts—how she could be his salvation or his ruin, how this moment could unravel everything he'd built. But none of that mattered now. Right now, all he wanted was her—her skin, her breath, her fragile trust.

The storm inside him finally broke as he held her tight, both of them lost in the electric heat of their closeness, neither willing to let go.

The stars danced behind their eyes, but their bodies continued to move in a slow, fierce rhythm — an unspoken dance of need and salvation. It wasn't just physical; it was a collision of two broken souls desperate for healing, for possession, for a connection so deep it defied everything they knew.

Every touch, every gasp, every tremor was a vow — a binding neither could escape.

Rajbeer's lips continued to trace a path down her neck, each kiss a searing brand that left her trembling beneath his touch. He tasted the salt of her skin mingled with the faintest trace of her breath, and in that moment, everything around them faded to a muted hush. She was fragile and fierce all at once — a paradox that pulled at him, unravelling his last threads of restraint.

With every soft sigh she gave, she shattered — a delicate porcelain breaking over and over, yet somehow rebuilding herself anew in his arms. Her vulnerability wasn't weakness; it was a flame, a raw openness that called to the darkest parts of him, begging to be claimed, to be held with both fire and care.

Her voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as she begged, "More... please... don't stop..." The words were fragile but insistent, a plea wrapped in trust and desire. Rajbeer's breath hitched. The battle for control waged fiercely within him, but it was a war he no longer wished to fight. His defences crumbled like dust in the wind.

Their bodies moved closer, an unspoken promise folding between them, thick with yearning and quiet desperation. He guided her gently, reverently — not as a conqueror, but as a man who had waited for something, or someone, to finally unlock the walls around his soul.

As their union deepened, it was less a physical act and more a sacred ritual — a merging of broken pieces, a binding of fates. Every touch, every sigh, every shared heartbeat was a silent vow whispered in the darkness: you are mine, and I am yours.

She trembled against him, a storm of emotions swirling in her eyes — fear, hope, surrender, and an aching hunger that mirrored his own. With slow, deliberate care, Rajbeer became the keeper of many of her firsts, the guardian of her trust, and the witness to her awakening.

Time stretched and blurred. Their breaths mingled, skin pressed close, hearts pounding in raw rhythm. It was a dance of shadows and light — pain and pleasure, loss and finding — where two fractured souls fused into one.

When the moment finally broke, it left them both shivering — not from cold, but from the electric shock of having crossed a threshold neither had dared approach before. She clung to him, her small hands trembling on his chest, and in her eyes, he saw a reflection of his unravelling — a dark, beautiful chaos from which nothing would ever be the same again.

And in that fragile silence, as rain whispered against the windows and the world outside faded away, Rajbeer knew he had claimed more than just her body. He had taken a piece of her soul — and in return, given her a fragment of his own.

He claimed her. Slowly. Worshipfully. Desperately.

Their bodies moved in rhythm — not just to chase pleasure, but to merge something deeper, older, more haunting.

At the end, she stared at him, eyes glossed, lashes fluttering... and then her body finally gave out.

Exhaustion claimed her.

She collapsed into him, boneless, her head resting against his shoulder, breath slowing.

He held her tightly, protectively, like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. And just as her breathing evened out, just as sleep took her fully—

She whispered, barely audible:

"...Rajbeer..."

His name on her lips as she slipped into unconsciousness.

And that shattered what little was left of him.

⸻

He didn't sleep that night.

In that moment, there was no city. No threats. No power struggles.

He sat at the edge of the bed, watching her.

Addicted.

Obsessed.

Ruined.

Marked by a girl he hadn't even f**ked yet.

And when morning came, he knew something with deadly certainty:

He would never let her go.

Just her.

The girl who danced in the rain.

The girl who didn't think she'd shattered his curse with a smile.

And him — the devil she unknowingly craved.
______________________
Hey lovelies....
This the tamed version of the chapter...
The detailed chapter is under "Strictly 18+", just in case you miss it...
Feelings and emotions are harder to write when you have to make it PG rated...
Anyways, thanks for the patience...
Enjoy reading...
Share your thoughts...
Do like, comment and share... it means a lot to me❤️❤️❤️