it is a part of me, Raina. And it responds to your touch. To your presence."
He explained, his voice patient, his words painting vivid pictures. He spoke of blood rushing, of desire, of the body's natural response to arousal. He demystified the act, stripping away the shame and replacing it with understanding, with the promise of shared pleasure. He was not just teaching her about sex; he was teaching her about herself, about her own capacity for sensation and joy.
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In a valley untouched by shame, desire is not hidden — it is law. For generations, the people have lived by one unbroken truth: marriage does not bind two bodies, it binds a bloodline. A bride does not belong to a man — she belongs to the House. When Ishin, heir to the most powerful lineage in the village, chooses Urvashi as his bride, the temple bells do not ring in celebration — they ring in preparation. Urvashi was raised for this moment. She has watched brides before her walk through torchlit courtyards, unveiled and unafraid. She knows what comes before vows are spoken — the rites of initiation, the ceremonial sharing, the long nights where desire is not private but witnessed. Ishin, disciplined and unshaken, stands ready to prove his strength not by possession, but by restraint. jealousy is weakness. Pride is measured by how confidently a man allows his bride to be desired by others. Before marriage, Urvashi must pass through the House — welcomed by its men and women alike. During the wedding rites, she will stand at the center of the village’s hunger. And after marriage, she will not retreat into privacy — she will rise as the living symbol of Sacred Sex itself. There is no rebellion here. No guilt. No rescue. Only tradition. Only firelight. Only bodies moving in rhythm with law older than memory. And when Urvashi finally stands where other brides once stood — calm, adorned, and claimed by the House — she will remain Love is fleeting. But sex is eternal.
She isn’t untouchable. She touches. She guides hands. She corrects posture. She presses her palm to a racing chest and slows it down. She stands close enough for breath to mix, close enough for restraint to feel like torture. But she has one rule. No crossing the final line. No claiming. No being claimed. Men leave her studio shaken, satisfied, and never fully fulfilled — because what she gives is controlled. Measured. Curated. And Armaan doesn’t want curated. He wants her undone. TROPES Power Play / Control vs Surrender Femdom Energy (Psychological, Not Cruel) Touch but Don’t Cross the Line Strategic Seduction Obsession Turns Into Love Emotional Denial Pleasure as Power Weaponized Intimacy Therapist/Client Dynamics
When Rajveer Singh Rathore, the royal prince of Udaipur, was left by his wife, his world shattered overnight. His newborn son's cries echoed through the palace - cries no one could calm. Not his mother, not the royal doctors, not even the most experienced nannies in Rajasthan. Until she came. Ananya Sharma, a simple, kind-hearted girl from a small town, walks into the palace expecting nothing but a job. Yet the moment she holds the crying prince in her arms, silence fills the room - and something inside Rajveer begins to breathe again. She brings laughter back into the palace, warmth into the cold marble halls, and light into Rajveer's guarded heart. But as walls begin to crumble and hearts begin to heal, a question lingers - Can a girl with nothing to her name become the warmth that a broken prince and his son had been waiting for all along? Anyone can read this book . This has nothing explicit and is fit for all ages #Royal romance #single dad
A collection of stories mostly a one or two chapter story but some maybe of 5 to 10 chapter depending on storyline. This book mainly contains smut and 18+content so read at your own risk 🔞🔞🔞🔞 If anyone wants to give suggestion for the plot you are more than welcome Author smriti
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