Asra lay completely spent beneath him, her small body shaking with aftershocks. Tears continued to slip silently down her flushed cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. Every inch of her felt used, sore, and claimed.
Ather stayed buried deep inside her for a long moment, his powerful body caging hers. He slowly pulled out, watching her wince at the movement. Instead of pulling away or getting up like usual, he rolled onto his side and turned her toward him.
For several long seconds, he simply looked at her.
His stormy grey-green eyes roamed over her tear-streaked face, swollen lips, messy hair, and the fresh marks he had left on her neck and breasts. There was no softness in his gaze — only dark possession and something deeper, something almost obsessive. He studied her like she was the only thing in his cold, ruthless world that truly belonged to him.
Asra sniffled, still crying quietly, too exhausted to speak or move away. Her big, watery eyes met his for a brief second before she looked down, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense stare.
Then, without a word, Ather leaned in.
He pressed a slow, surprisingly gentle kiss to her wet left cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. He lingered there for a moment. Then he moved to her right cheek, kissing it with the same deliberate care, his lips warm against her skin.
Asra’s breath hitched. The contrast between his earlier brutality and these soft kisses made her heart clench painfully. More tears slipped free.
Ather pulled back just enough to look at her again. His large hand came up to cup her face, thumb gently wiping away the fresh tears. He didn’t say anything. No apologies. No explanations. Just that heavy, unreadable stare and the rare tenderness of his kisses on her tear-stained cheeks.
He kissed her left cheek once more, then her right, slower this time, almost reverently. His breath fanned across her skin as he stayed close, forehead nearly touching hers.
Asra’s small hand hesitantly came up to clutch his shirt, unsure whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.
“Sir…” she whispered brokenly, voice barely audible.
Ather didn’t reply. He simply kissed her cheeks again — left, then right — as if sealing his claim in the gentlest way he knew how. His darkness still surrounded her like a cage, but in that quiet moment, it felt almost like protection.
He finally pulled her against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around her tiny frame, one hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles while she cried softly into his neck.
No words were spoken.
But his kisses on her cheeks said enough.
She was his wife.
His to ruin.
His to comfort.
His.
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