Chapter 3: Patterns of Possession

Dawn gilded the Desai storeroom as Anaya stirred in Jim’s arms, silk bolts rumpled beneath them like a conquered battlefield. His seed still slicked her thighs, a sticky reminder of the night’s frenzy—her screams echoing his roars, bodies locked in savage rhythm. Her petite frame nestled against his broad chest, and she traced his jaw with tentative fingers, smoky black eyes soft in the afterglow.

Fallen, she admitted silently, heart aching with more than lust. This duke had unraveled her deeper than any contract. Yet control lingered: tonight’s “lesson” had bound him tighter, his awestruck gaze proof of that.

Jim stirred, blue eyes opening to devour her anew, hand sliding possessively over her hip. “Morning, temptress.” His voice emerged gravel-rough as he rolled her beneath him, cock twitching half-hard against her belly.

Anaya arched instinctively, nipples grazing his chest, but pushed at his shoulders with playful steel. “Lessons end at dawn, my lord. Discretion, remember?”

She slipped free, sari reclaiming her curves like armor, though her core clenched emptily at his groan.

Jim dressed reluctantly, stealing kisses that deepened to tongue-lashing heat, hands roaming until she swatted them away.

“Tonight,” he said, hunger lacing his command. “My hotel suite—private, after the preview dinner. Bring samples.”

She nodded, smoky gaze promising more, pulse racing at the risk. Bind him fully, her plan whispered, but love murmured keep him.

The exhibition preview buzzed that evening: colonial elites in starched finery mingling with Indian merchants, air humming with champagne and veiled barbs. Jim cut a dashing figure in tails, Ned at his elbow, but his eyes scanned ceaselessly for Anaya.

She arrived late, sapphire silk shimmering, turning heads—petite beauty magnetic, smoky eyes locking on his across the room like a lance.

Then a rival appeared: Rajesh Kapoor, sleek Bombay investor in his mid-thirties, all polished charm.

“Miss Desai, your designs dazzle.” His hand lingered on her arm, gaze dipping boldly to her cleavage. “London? Let me sponsor—exclusive, with perks.”

Jim’s blood boiled, jaw clenching as jealousy stabbed—raw, irrational. Mine, a primal urge roared, fists balling. He strode over, Ned hissing behind him, “Restrain yourself!”

“Kapoor.” Jim’s voice emerged iced silk, his arm brushing Anaya’s possessively. “The Ravenswood contract is signed—Miss Desai’s oversight secured.”

She leaned into it subtly, thrill sparking at his fire, but parried coolly. “Lord Ravenswood exaggerates. Business remains ... fluid.”

Kapoor smirked. “Fluid indeed. Good evening.” He sauntered off.

Jim’s hand gripped her elbow, steering her to a shadowed alcove, bodies inches apart amid the oblivious chatter.

“Mine,” Jim growled low, backing her against the tapestry-hung wall, his thigh wedging between hers.

Anaya gasped, heat pooling as his erection pressed her belly, smoky eyes darkening. “Jealous, my lord? Over a merchant?” The tease edged her voice, but her hands clutched his lapels, nipples peaking visibly through silk.

“I claimed you last night—every scream, every clench.” His mouth moved to her ear, teeth nipping her lobe. She shivered, slickness soaking her petticoat. “Tonight, you direct. But you’re mine.”

The promise thrummed between them, conquest cracking to devotion.

Anaya’s control surged—opportunity seized. “Prove it. Suite. Eleven.” She slipped free, leaving him rigid and aching.

His hotel suite loomed opulent: four-poster bed swathed in mosquito netting, balcony overlooking the monsoon-threatened night. Jim paced shirtless, trousers tented, when she arrived—cloaked, then unveiled to reveal an ivory negligee sheer as sin, henna trails vanishing beneath the hem.

Smoky eyes commanded: “Undress me. Slowly.”

He knelt, reverent, lips trailing up her calves as silk pooled around her feet. Bare now, her petite nudity glowed—small firm breasts peaked, trimmed mound glistening.

“Touch.” She guided his hands: palms cupping her breasts, thumbs circling nipples until she moaned, then down, fingers parting slick folds, stroking her clit in tight circles she dictated. “Faster ... there.”

Jim obeyed, mesmerized, cock leaking as she writhed, directing his every movement.

“Tongue now.”

Face buried between her thighs, he lapped ravenously—her taste musky-sweet, clit sucked until her hips bucked.

“Inside—fuck me with it.”

His tongue plunged deep, nose grinding her pearl. Anaya shattered, crying his name, juices flooding his chin.

She yanked him up, shoving his trousers down to free his thick length. “Lie back.”

On the bed’s edge, she mounted him in reverse—petite arse grinding as she sank down, velvet heat engulfing inch by inch.

“Hands on my hips—watch.”