Shaved Secrets

Chapter 1: Razor's Edge

The bathroom door clicked shut behind me, sealing me in with the sharp scent of shaving cream and the cold glint of the razor in my hand. I sat on the cool tile floor, spreading the cream over my skin, my heart thudding with a mix of dread and anticipation. My husband, Vikram, had just returned from Mumbai, his latest escapades with that degenerate Tiwari no doubt filling his head with wild ideas. Drinking was one thing, but marijuana? I shuddered, knowing how unpredictable he could be under the influence. If he found even a hint of stubble down there, I’d pay for it. I’ve learned my lessons the hard way.

The razor glided over my skin, each stroke deliberate, careful. I washed it clean, took a quick shower, and rubbed oil into my winter-dry skin, the slickness making me feel oddly vulnerable. Slipping into a sheer gown, I perched on the edge of the bed, the distant blare of the TV filtering through the walls. Vikram hadn’t come in yet, but memories of our wedding night—five years ago now—clawed their way to the surface. My mother’s naive advice, the convent upbringing, the sheltered innocence… none of it prepared me for him. That first night, he hadn’t caressed or whispered sweet nothings. No, he’d demanded, taken, and left me trembling.

The door creaked open, and there he was, eyes glassy, a smirk playing on his lips as the faint scent of smoke clung to him. ‘Well, damn, Neha,’ he drawled, his gaze raking over me like I was a prize he’d just won. ‘You look like you’ve been waiting to be unwrapped.’

I straightened, my jaw tight, refusing to shrink under his stare. ‘I’m not a gift, Vikram. I’m your wife. Maybe try acting like a husband for once.’ My voice was sharp, a blade of its own, honed by years of navigating his moods.

He chuckled, low and dangerous, stepping closer. ‘Oh, I’ll be your husband tonight, alright. Let’s see if you’ve kept things nice and smooth for me.’ His fingers brushed the hem of my gown, teasing the fabric up my thigh. I slapped his hand away, my eyes narrowing.

‘Don’t play games,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve done what you like. Now, are we talking, or are you just here to paw at me like some animal?’

His smirk widened, unfazed. ‘Feisty tonight, huh? I like that. Makes it more fun.’ He leaned in, his breath hot against my neck, whispering, ‘Bet you’re already wet under there, aren’t you? Thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.’

I pushed against his chest, my nails digging in just enough to make a point. ‘You don’t get to assume anything about me. If you want something, earn it. I’m not your toy.’ My words were a challenge, my body tense but electric, a part of me—damn it—craving the heat of his touch despite everything.

Vikram’s eyes darkened, a predator’s gleam. ‘Oh, I’ll earn it, Neha. I’ll have you panting for me.’ He grabbed my wrists, pulling me flush against him, his hardness pressing insistently through his jeans. ‘Feel that? That’s all for you, baby. Hard as hell already.’

My breath hitched, but I held his gaze, refusing to buckle. ‘Then stop talking and show me,’ I shot back, my voice dripping with defiance. ‘Or are you all bark and no bite tonight?’

His grip tightened, a growl rumbling in his throat as he pushed me back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under our weight. My gown rode up, exposing the smooth, oiled skin of my thighs, and his eyes devoured the sight. ‘Fuck, you’re perfect,’ he muttered, his hands sliding up, fingers brushing the edge of my pussy, already slick despite my protests. ‘Dripping for me, just like I knew you’d be.’

I arched an eyebrow, my voice cutting through the haze of lust. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’m horny, not desperate. Make it worth my while, Vikram.’ My words were a dare, and as his fingers teased, promising more, I felt the heat building, my body betraying my resolve. Sweat beaded on his brow, his breathing ragged, and I knew we were teetering on the edge of something explosive—something I’d fight and crave all at once.