Bootie and the Beast

by Falguni Kothari

  “Krish, wait,” she gasped against his mouth, twisted a hand around the front of his shirt. “Just wait.”

  He didn’t want to wait. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to hear any more confessions that might send shock waves through his body. He wanted her as off-balance as he felt. So, he scooped her up into his arms and stood up—carefully, as he didn’t want to throw his back or drop her—making her giggle in delight.

  “Such a Rhett Butler move. You’re not playing fair,” she purred, giving him a Scarlett-like pout.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to carry her far or up a grand staircase—that would’ve tested his resolve. Four quick steps, and he set her down on the edge of the bed and slowly got to his feet.

  She seemed a little stunned then, a little dazed, as if she could not believe what was happening. Tenderness pooled inside the cavern of his heart, and he smoothed her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. He wanted to assure her of—he frowned, he had no clue what. Yet she seemed to understand what he was asking.

  With a quick nod, she began to peel her clothes off. Leather jacket went first, then shoes, and then belt. He should help her, but her slow striptease had robbed him of breath.

  God, she was stunning.

  Condoms. Condoms. Condoms. The word puffed out like smoke signals in his brain.

  Were they really doing this? Zero to a hundred in one evening?

  Fuck. It seemed like they were.

  It was his turn to rein in caution. “Wait! Are you sure about this?” He needed a verbal agreement.

  Her mouth kicked up in a saucy siren’s smile. Hooking her fingers in the loops of his jeans, she pulled him close. “I want this. I want you.”

  Krish let out a deep, shuddering breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He cupped her heart-shaped face in his hands and simply looked at her. Diya’s bone structure was so fine and yet so strong. Beautiful. He would never tire of looking at her.

  Her face had been his obsession once. An obsession he’d thought he’d cured himself of.

  He dropped to his knees in the V of her legs, and unable to resist, he took her mouth again. She let out a moan that had him nearly crossing his eyes. And it got rough fast. Teeth gnashed and nipped; lips teased and appeased. He kissed his way to her collarbone and sucked hard. A sudden, unholy urge came over him to mark her creamy-white skin with a tattoo. His brand. God, he wanted to mark her everywhere. He was greedy. Selfish. Possessive. He was a beast, but she knew that already. She made a sound deep in her throat and threw her head back, giving him unfettered access to the spot joining her neck to her shoulder.

  She pulled on his T-shirt, tugging, stretching. He didn’t know if she wanted the shirt off or him closer.

  He was half out of his mind already. Maybe she was, too. He moved, his hips pushing into hers, and he groaned into her neck. Heaven. It resided there, right then, right between them. Mewling, she pulled his head up for another scorching kiss. Fused from mouth to crotch, he began to press forward until she was lying flat on the bed. Spread like a feast for him—only him. So, he set about to gorge himself on every bedroom fantasy he’d ever had of Diya Mathur.

  With shaking hands, he uncovered her layer by layer until all that remained on her were two scraps of black lace.

  “Damn.” He raked his eyes over miles of delicious skin. He’d seen it countless times in magazines, in photos, on beaches, at home. But not like this. Never like this. And it was his to do with as he pleased for tonight.

  Forever.

  No! Just tonight.

  She went pink wherever his gaze landed, and her skin was fire beneath his hands. She began to unbutton his polo. Her fingers were clumsy, shaking. He held his glasses in place with a finger as she tugged his polo over his head.

  It was strange, being half-naked in front of her. It didn’t matter that they’d seen each other in bathing suits before or that they’d walked in on each other while the other was changing clothes or preparing for bed. He knew every square inch of her body—he’d studied it for years—and yet it felt as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

  “Not my jeans,” he said gruffly when she skimmed her hands down his chest and tugged on the zipper on his jeans. He took her hands in each of his, linked them palm-to-palm, and pressed them flat on either side of her head. “Not yet.” Not when the condoms were in the other room.

  Diya didn’t use any oral or insertable birth control because the hormones didn’t suit her. They’d have to be careful.

  Then, out of the blue, an image of Diya pregnant and round with his child flashed into his head, and a different kind of fire began to rage in his veins.

  One thing at a time, man. One night at a time.

  He rolled them until they were both stretched out in the middle of the bed. He was still on top, and she felt amazing beneath him, surrounding him with her arms and legs and giggles. He’d been a goddamn fool to deny them this for all these years.

  He pulled the black lacy cups of her bra down with his teeth and nuzzled her perfect mouthfuls until she was squirming. Not enough. He covered one breast with his mouth and began to suck, softly first then hard.

  Her back bowed off the bed, her hands slapping against the headboard. “Oh God, Krish!”

  Soon, she was panting, gasping, thrashing beneath him. They were both burning up, mindless to everything but feeling.

  “Please, Krish. I need … I need …”

  He cupped a hand over the triangle of lace that covered the apex of her legs, squeezing, rubbing, while his mouth continued its assault.

  “No, no. Harder.” Her thighs clamped together, trapping his hand there.

  So, he gave her harder, and within seconds, she began to climax in a series of shivers and sobs. He wanted to prolong her pleasure with teeth, tongue, the curl of his fingers, but he also wanted to watch her come apart. He freed her breast from his mouth with a pop and pushed up on one forearm.

  She was magnificent as she claimed her pleasure with the same abandon that she did everything else. Head thrashing, hair exploding all around it. Body shuddering. Her mouth was twisted as if in pain, but the sounds coming out of it, the delirious sounds she made as she curved her body into his, splintered the last of his control. He ground himself against the side of her hips again and again, and like an overeager teenager who was granted permission to go to third base at last, he shot off inside his jeans.

  Jesus, God!

  Spent, Krish rolled onto his back, breathing hard, wondering when was the last time—if ever—he’d lost his mind like that. He’d almost had an out-of-body experience.

  “So, you do desire me?” Diya asked after a while. After their souls had crept back into their bodies and their chests were no longer heaving.

  Krish snorted without opening his eyes. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I can’t read your mind.” A pause and then, “Do you love me, Krish?”

  Even through the drowsiness that was claiming his satiated senses, her voice sounded wobbly, fearful, like she wasn’t sure he’d answer. Like she was afraid of his answer.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. Then, he admitted a truth he’d never planned on voicing out loud ever. “Yes, Diya. I do.”

  She started sobbing again.

  * * *

  Diya woke up the next morning to a familiar feeling of heaviness in her womb and pinpricks of pain across her abdomen and lower back. She rolled into a ball on the bed and moaned. Gah! The only bright spot about getting her period was no more weepiness, bloating, and headaches for a while. But no more hanky-panky for a week.

  She stilled as her memory returned in one fell swoop, and suddenly, her cramps were relegated to the backstage.

  She pried an eye halfway open and looked about for signs of alien life in her bed. No alien life was present in the room—human or feline.

  Dread swelled in her heart. Krish had bailed, just as she’d predicted.

&n
bsp; She sat up. Maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing up, as usual.

  Nope, she hadn’t. Her body felt weird and tingled in strange places. She looked down and took stock. Love bites. Beard burns. She was naked, but for the panties—which were ruined now because of her period. Crap. The sheets needed to be washed.

  Diya scooted out of bed. Well, first things first. She cleaned up in the bathroom and got dressed in comfy, warm clothes. She went back into the bedroom to take care of the bedsheets, but when she stripped them off, out bounced a baby bootie from under the pillow.

  For several seconds, she simply stood there, blinking at the bootie, wondering how it had gotten on the bed.

  That’s right. She smacked her forehead. She’d tucked it under her pillow yesterday and wished on it, if she remembered correctly. Wished for a baby daddy, and last night had happened. Whoa! The bootie had turned out to be a pretty powerful talisman.

  Gingerly, she picked it up and stashed it back into the bottom of the trunk.

  O-M-jeez! What had she done? What had they done? And why had Krish slunk out of bed like that without waking her? More importantly, why had he been in her bed in the first place?

  Diya pressed a hand to her stomach that seemed to have an army of fire ants doing drills inside it. She needed breakfast and her pain meds, pronto. But, for that, she needed to leave the room.

  Gah! How was she supposed to face Krish with any kind of sangfroid after last night? She’d screamed at him, then blubbered all over him, and then fallen asleep on top of him … after experiencing the most amazing, incredible, glorious orgasm of her life.

  Several orgasms, she now recalled in shock. They’d all burst out of her, one after the other without stopping. And all he’d done was touch her through her panties and suck her boobs. Wow. She wanted to crawl back in bed and demand that he repeat the performance. But she could only do that if she got over the bajillion gallons of embarrassment she was feeling.

  She also feared his morning-after reaction. He was going to pretend like it had never happened. Or he’d say something horrible like it had been a mistake and he’d been drunk. If he tried to get out of what had happened or apologized to her, she would kill him for real today.

  Point to be considered was, nothing had happened. They hadn’t made love—not fully. She would’ve remembered the pain—lust haze or not. And she’d be sore. And he would’ve surely brought the house down, bellowing about false advertising, once her untouched state was revealed. No, nothing crazy had happened last night. No irreparable or irrevocable damage done to her heart or her hymen.

  Bolstered by the thought, Diya marched out of the room. She’d sworn to be bold, and that was what she’d be today. She’d sworn to get over him … and she would as soon as he told her why he’d done what he’d done and then run off while she slept.

  She strutted into the kitchen and found it empty.

  Great. She would be bold after breakfast.

  Fortified by a cup of hot oatmeal and a mug full of chamomile tea, she was popping her painkillers into her mouth when Krish wandered into the kitchen. He was rambling into his cell phone in Malayalam, which meant he was chatting with his mother or Vallima. Possibly even some elderly aunt or uncle from Kerala.

  “Amma says hi,” he said, solving the mystery of the mystery caller. He slipped his phone into his pants pocket and poured himself a mug of black coffee before looking at her.

  Diya temporarily forgot to be mortified and full of dread and went straight for bold.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, taking in his stylish form lounging by the coffee machine. He wore a light-gray office suit, a striped blue shirt, and no tie. “Knaves are not allowed to leave the castle without their lady’s express permission.”

  She slid off the barstool and placed her hands on her hips. Assuming Aya Ahuja had been telling the truth, Krish was still in negotiations with Wisco. He hadn’t yet agreed to work for them. So, where was he off to? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he was going to accept the deal or not and whether he was moving to Wisconsin. But, if she asked him about his work—and they ended up arguing again—she’d never be able to ask him about last night.

  Her cheeks warmed as she thought about the feel of his hands on her. His mouth—God, his mouth had done such wicked things to her.

  “Do you love me, Krish?” she had asked him last night.

  “Yes, Diya. I do,” he had replied.

  But what kind of love was he talking about? Romantic or familial?

  “I like you flushed.” Krish’s beastly eyes gleamed with—was it laughter?—over the rim of his coffee mug.

  Diya was sure her whole face was scarlet in color. In fact, her whole body felt feverish. Goodness gracious. She wanted to fan herself. Was she menopausal already? Why was it so freaking hot in the kitchen?

  Krish prowled forward until he backed her up against the countertop. Without her heels, she was three inches shorter than him, and she had to tilt her head up to glare at him.

  “Good morning,” he said and tenderly kissed her on her nose. “Cramps are bad?”

  There really was no room left for embarrassment when a man knew her intimately enough to know how terribly she suffered on the first day of her menstrual cycle. For couture’s sake, this was Krish! She could order him to go out and buy her a box of tampons if needed. That wasn’t necessary anymore since Pree had made her and Leesha switch to using doctor-approved organic tampons, and Diya always carried a supply with her.

  And would wonders never cease? Krish wasn’t avoiding her like the plague this morning or making ugly excuses about last night. The tight wad of tension in her belly loosened a bit.

  She nodded into the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled of aftershave and coffee and Krish—her favorite scent.

  “It’s bad, but I just took my meds, so I should be better soon.” She peeked at him from beneath her eyelashes. “How did you know?”

  “The sheets when I woke up this morning,” he disclosed and eradicated another fear. He’d stayed with her the whole night.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” She tangled her fingers in his hair and felt her heart burst open and happiness waltz around the kitchen. She’d never dreamed she would stand with Krish like this, talk to him like this.

  “I thought you’d want to sleep in.” His mouth slanted up in a wolfish grin, and he winked at her. “And, bonus for me, I got to skip boot camp.”

  Diya dropped one hand to his belly and patted it. “Cheating is not the way to get an eight-pack.”

  “Eight-pack? Isn’t it a six-pack?” He caught her roving hand before it reached the naughty bits and pressed it over his heart, which had a nice, happy rhythm going.

  “Not any longer. Guys can develop an eight-pack now.” She imagined Krish with an eight-pack and razor-sharp hip bones and felt her knees wobble. O-M-jeez. How many super-gorgeous male models had she seen naked? Hundreds. Where was her backbone? “Evening session will be two hours long. I want an eight-pack on you.”

  He lightly bit her nose. “Don’t be shallow. Looks aren’t everything.”

  “True. But they are the first impression, which counts for a whole helluva lot. You think so, too. Have you ever met a woman and thought, Oh, gross, but I’ll chat her up anyway?”

  Not that the term applied to the Beast with his tall and dark looks that he grossly underplayed. On second thought, since his rugged personality and sexy smarts were enough to turn her brains to mush, it was a good thing he wasn’t classically handsome as well.

  Diya unearthed her backbone. “Exercise is not just about looking great; it is about health and vigor. You do want to remain vigorous in your old age, don’t you, Krishu aann?”

  “Any more vigorous, and you would’ve passed out last night,” he said dryly and moved away to set his mug in the sink.

  “Ha! Only because Neil had primed me up already. You hardly had to put any effort into the seduction; I was so ready to explode.” She tut-t
utted, sauntering over to the fridge. “Poor Neil. He worked so hard all evening, and you stole his reward.”

  Everything had changed between them. And yet, everything felt the same.

  “You’re just begging for it, aren’t you?” he growled from behind her, his hand curving around her hip. Squeezing.

  Diya’s butt cheek tingled at the threat, but she stuck it up in the air even more while she drew the essentials for a mud mask out of the fridge.

  She wasn’t going to overthink Krish’s inexplicable change of heart; it probably had something to do with his early midlife crisis. Instead, she was going to be thankful for her many outstanding blessings and enjoy his attention while she had it. She wasn’t that big of a fool to think that their bonhomie was going to last forever.

  She swung about, puckering her lips. “I’ve been begging for it for a long, long time, Beast. At the rate you’re going, I think we’ll both have osteoporosis by the time you give me what I deserve.”

  Krish snorted, his eyes dropping to her pouty mouth. “Oh, you’re going to get your wish, Diya. You’re going to get exactly what you’ve been begging for. And, this time, you’re not allowed to change your mind.”

  He kissed her then, another slow, thorough invasion of her orifice that had her atoms exploding like fireworks. Finally, after an eternity, he released her and walked out the back door without looking back.

  “Oh, honey, will you come home for lunch?” she sang out like she used to while playing house as a child.

  Her imaginary husband didn’t bother to answer. Typical.

  Glazed with happiness, Diya sat down on the barstool and gave it a whirl until Krish’s last, ominous words came back to haunt her. She stopped spinning, abruptly queasy.

  What had they started exactly?

  Chapter 12

  Once Krish had decided marriage was the only sensible option, he saw no reason to procrastinate in garnering the family’s approval. His mother and Kamal Uncle had been overjoyed by the news and given their wholehearted blessings to the match. Krish had asked them to keep it a secret though until he formally proposed to Diya. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes he’d made the last time.