Talab - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

With trembling fingers, John gently unhooked Arohi's bra, his touch feather-light against her bare back. A soft sigh escaped her lips—not from discomfort, but from surrender.
A sigh of trust. Of letting go.
He laid back slowly, guiding her to sit on his chest. Her hands nervously clutched the hem of her shirt before he helped her remove it. The room was dark, the lights switched off, but the moonlight from the window was enough—soft silver touching her skin like the gentle brush of a painter's hand.
She blushed deeply and hid her face in the crook of his neck, her body melting into him. The shyness made him smile.
With a gentle motion, he flipped her beneath him, his shirt now discarded somewhere in the shadows of the room. The heat between them rose like the midsummer night.
His voice came low, husky, reverent.
"Wife... will you let me worship your body and soul?"
She couldn't speak. So she hugged him instead. And her bare skin pressed against his chest—two hearts beating in rhythm, two souls slowly blending.
He kissed her forehead. Her cheeks. The tip of her nose. Each kiss was gentle and full of care.
His hand slowly massaged her breast, taking his time, never rushing. Arohi moaned softly—her hand tightening in his hair, the other tracing patterns on his back. He moved to her neck, kissing, sucking lightly, marking her not with lust—but with love.
"You're perfect," he whispered as he looked at her.
"So beautiful... all mine."
Her shy smile gave him permission, and he teasingly flicked his tongue over her nipple. Her soft gasp told him all he needed to know.
She buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. He kissed, sucked, and licked her breasts with patient adoration, soothing every gasp with tenderness.
She was overwhelmed, trembling, but never afraid.
Then suddenly, he stopped.
Arohi's eyes flickered with confusion. Did he not find her beautiful? Did she do something wrong?
Before the insecurities could cloud her again, he lifted her gently in his arms.
"Ahh, Ji... where are we—"
"Shhh. Just trust me," he said, smiling and kissing her nose.
⸻
Shower of Comfort
He carried her to the bathroom and turned on the warm shower. The water hit them like silk. He stood behind her, and in the soft silence, he asked,
"Will you bathe me, sweetheart?"
Her eyes widened in surprise and excitement. She nodded shyly and removed both their trousers, leaving them bare yet hidden in shadows and warmth.
She lathered the loofah with her chocolate-scented gel and began to wash his back, then his chest. As she moved, her breasts brushed against him, swaying freely with each motion.
Unable to resist, he gently held one breast and massaged it. A soft moan escaped her again.
"Wife... this is heaven."
He pulled her closer, and slowly turned her to face the wall, his lips now on her shoulder. Every inch of her body was kissed, worshipped.
His hand traveled lower, finding the lace of her black panty. He looked into her eyes, smirking playfully, and kissed her nose again.
Then, his hand pressed against her center—over the fabric—sending her trembling. She gripped the wall, her knees weak. His hand moved gently, his lips kissing the back of her neck, her shoulder, her spine.
Their clothed arousal rubbed against one another, the heat unbearable, deliciously aching.
"Ahh, John... I—" she whimpered.
He paused.
"Say it, sweetheart. What do you want?"
Her face was flushed, her lips trembling.
"Pl–please... I don't know... just... touch me... please..."
He nodded, understanding her even in broken words. He began again—slow, focused, gentle. His thumb caressed her over her panty until her legs trembled uncontrollably.
"John... something is... happening..."
He kissed her temple and whispered,
"Let go, sweetheart. I'm here."
And she did.
Her first release overwhelmed her body like a crashing wave. She trembled, her breath shattered, and fell into his waiting arms.
He held her tightly, kissed her damp forehead, and whispered,
"You're safe. Always."
⸻
Aftercare
He carried her back to the room, wrapped her in a towel, and laid her gently on the bed.
Within minutes, he returned—fresh, dressed, holding a tray of cut fruit.
He helped her into soft, fresh clothes and turned off the lights again, respecting her comfort. He cleaned her up carefully, with quiet love. No rush. No pressure.
"You must feel tired," he whispered.
"Let me feed you."
He fed her strawberries one by one. Her eyes were glassy, but peaceful.
"We don't need to rush. We have a lifetime," he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"When you're ready... I'll give you all of me."
⸻
John's Thoughts:
It's hard to stop. But she's more important than any desire. She's my heart, not my conquest. Her healing is my purpose.
⸻
As they drifted to sleep, the soft hum of her favorite song played from the speakers:
"Aise na mujhe tum dekho,
Seene se laga loonga...
Tumko main chura loonga tumse,
Dil mein chhupa loonga..."
And that night, under the twinkling light of the Eiffel Tower, John didn't take her body.
He held her soul.