WIDOW

The scent of jasmine and sandalwood hung heavy in the air, but it couldn’t mask the metallic tang of blood. Priya’s white bridal lehenga was torn at the shoulder, her henna-adorned hands trembling as she stared at her husband’s lifeless body sprawled across the flower-strewn bed. One moment he was kissing her neck, whispering filthy promises of the night ahead. The next—his eyes rolled back, a gurgle, then silence. Suhaag raat. Her wedding night. And she was a widow before she even became a wife. A broken sob escaped her throat. “No… no, this can’t be happening.” The village drums outside had stopped. Footsteps approached. Society’s chains were already tightening. But before the door could burst open, the shadows in the corner of the room thickened. A tall, powerful figure stepped out from the darkness. Damian. His presence sucked the air from the room. Broad shoulders strained against a black shirt, eyes glowing like molten amber in the dim lantern light. An aura of raw, dangerous power radiated from him—something ancient, something feral. Not entirely human. The temperature dropped. Priya’s skin prickled with fear and an unwanted, shameful heat. “You…” she whispered, voice hoarse. He tilted his head, a predatory smile curving his lips. “They always call for me on nights like this, little widow. When desire meets death.” Priya backed against the wall, heart hammering. She should scream. She should run. Instead, her body betrayed her, thighs pressing together as a forbidden pulse started low in her belly. Damian closed the distance in two strides. His large hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look up into those dangerous eyes. “Your husband couldn’t satisfy you. I can feel it—the hunger burning inside you. Untouched. Starving.” His thumb brushed her lower lip. Priya shivered. “Who are you?” “Yours,” he growled, voice low and filthy. “Tonight, at least.” Before she could protest, his mouth crashed down on hers. The kiss was brutal, claiming. His tongue invaded, tasting her tears and innocence. Priya moaned into his mouth, hating herself for how wet she was becoming. Damian’s hand slid down, roughly palming her breast through the thin fabric. “These t**s have been waiting to be sucked properly,” he muttered against her lips. “Spread your legs, widow.” She obeyed, shame and lust twisting inside her. His fingers pushed aside her lehenga, finding her soaked core. Two thick fingers plunged inside without warning. Priya cried out, back arching. “f**k, so tight,” Damian groaned, pumping his fingers deep and fast. “Your dead husband never touched this greedy little cunt, did he? It’s clenching around me like it wants to milk my c**k dry.” The dirty words sent sparks through her body. She rocked against his hand, desperate. His thumb circled her swollen c**t with expert pressure. “Look at me,” he commanded. Priya’s eyes locked with his glowing ones. The dangerous aura around him intensified—shadows seemed to writhe, dark energy licking at her skin like invisible tongues. He dropped to his knees, shoved her legs wider, and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue was merciless—lapping, sucking, f*****g her with long strokes while his fingers continued their assault. Priya grabbed his hair, hips bucking wildly. “Yes… oh god… please…” “Come for me, little widow. Come on a stranger’s tongue on your wedding night.” The orgasm hit her like lightning. She screamed, body convulsing, juices flooding his mouth. Damian drank every drop, growling like a beast. He rose, lips glistening, and freed his massive, throbbing c**k. It was thick, veined, and terrifyingly beautiful. “Now you’re going to take every inch.” Priya reached for him, broken and burning— The door slammed open. A mysterious woman stood there—tall, veiled in black, eyes burning with otherworldly fire. Her voice was a silken whip. “Damian. You dare touch what is mine to claim?” Damian froze, a dark laugh escaping him. “Sister… you’re late.” Priya’s world spun. The woman’s gaze locked on her, hungry and possessive. To be continued