Raat ka wo toofan ab tham chuka tha. Morning ki taazi, thandi hawa ke jhonke khandhar ki tooti khidkiyon se andar aa rahe the. Sooraj ki pehli kiranen Nishtha ke chehre par pad rahi thin.
Nishtha abhi bhi gehri neend mein thi, uska sar Atharv ke mazboot seene par tika tha. Atharv jaag raha tha. Usne apni black shirt dheele dhang se pehen li thi, lekin uske buttons khule the. Uska ek hath abhi bhi Nishtha ki kamar par tha, jaise wo neend mein bhi use khud se door nahi hone dena chahta tha.
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30 sal ke professor aur 19 saal ki ladki ki hai yah kahani
Samrat had Vaidehi pinned between himself and the wall. There was no softness in his grip-only a dangerous kind of intensity that felt more like possession than love. He kept kissing her again and again, as if he had completely lost control over himself.
P-President… I’m in so much pain…” she whispered breathlessly. “Please… choose someone else. I can’t do this… please let me go.” Intoxicated, Vidyut Jindal leaned closer to her collarbone and spoke in a slow, heavy voice— “Impossible. Right now, I need you. Can’t you see who I am? I’m your President. I’ve been given a high dose of drugs… and I need you. I can give you loads of money if you want. But you’re staying here.” Jiya cried softly. “Give the money to someone else… not me… I’m not that kind of girl. Please don’t drag me into this… please…” But no one was listening. Vidyut grabbed her white shirt in anger and tore it apart. Jiya didn’t even get a chance to scream—his harsh lips crushed against hers, silencing her completely. The room was small. Suffocating. Her broken sobs echoed off the walls. The pain was unbearable. “Please… it hurts so much… get away from me… why are you doing this to me… please let me go…”
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