On Her Majesty's Secret Service ✔️

Prologue

Raman
Raman Kumar Bhalla was a frustrated man. A seething heaving mess of frustrations.

It had been exactly one month since he had confessed his love to his Ishita. One month since they had consummated that love during their weekend away, after he had kidnapped her from her office.

He still remembered every moment and every second of that weekend.

His confession to her in the Tandon Farmhouse, Ishita shyly acknowledging that she loved him too.

Their first ever kiss in the temple of Kama, a passionate fiery kiss after they had made vows of everlasting love to each other.

And then that night in his cottage, when the fires of passion had burst and consumed them both. His wife had been shy at first, but then ... A groan escaped him, as he remembered the night, and the feel of her soft warm body in his arms. After that first shyness, she had been a willing participant in his desires, had shown that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

That night had been a heady mixture of tenderness and ferocity, their first exploration of each other, their introduction to the pleasures the other could give. He had taken the lead, but she had been an incredible pupil. Their lovemaking, her responses, had blown his mind, had left him utterly and irrevocably beguiled by his wife, and he believed, he knew, she felt the same about him.

She had been shy the next morning when she woke up in his arms, pulling the bed sheet around herself, escaping into the bathroom, not meeting his eyes. He had followed her around as she rushed about, tidying up the cottage, making tea, avoiding his gaze, blushing furiously whenever they did lock eyes.

But then he had managed to get her to stop, had wrapped his arms tenderly but firmly around her, whispered to her that he loved her, and she had finally lifted her shy gaze and her pliant lips to his. That first morning after kiss had been so sweet, so tender, so right, and he had known that he was addicted to her, that he could not live without her love now.

Later that morning, as they drove back home, he could not remember how many times he had stopped the car, as if compelled to take her into his arms, to kiss those luscious lips, swollen and bruised by his sensuous onslaught of the day before, over and over again. He had left her gasping and she had left him besotted with need.

But that alas, had been it.

For when they returned home, it was to find that his mother's brother, his mamaji, had come to Delhi for some medical treatment, which was going to take approximately six weeks or so. Mamaji had settled himself comfortably in Ruhi's room and would stay there for the duration. And so their little Ruhi had moved into her papa and Ishima's room, and that had put paid to all his wild imaginings about what he wanted, no needed, to do to his wife...

His crestfallen face when he had entered the house, having been texted by his sister the news of Mamaji's arrival and the transfer of his daughter into the marital bedroom, had immediately led his family to assume that the weekend away had not been a roaring success. Piqued beyond belief by this new turn of events, he had not done anything to disabuse anyone of that notion, and Ishita had followed his lead.

He had answered all queries as to their weekend away with a curt "Everything's fine now" delivered in the CEO voice that brokered no further discussion, and that offered no insight into the passion that they had shared that weekend.

As far as everyone knew, they had gone back to their friendly equation- the secrets of their weekend were theirs alone.

Work had been busy as always, of course, and his new project had meant that he had been out on location most days, including weekends. So lunches with Ishita were also out of the question. Evenings he usually arrived home very late, and mornings had been spent with Adi on his community service.

He could have sought someone's help, he supposed, someone like Mihir, to try and organise some hours alone with Ishita, but dammit, their feelings and emotions were still so new and so tender, that he was damned if he wanted to have some sort of Bhalla Iyer cheering squad sending him off on a romantic date with his own wife!!!!

So now, here he was, a month later, and he was a very very frustrated man. Mama ji was still happily ensconced in Ruhi's room, and Ruhi was still happily sleeping with her parents, in between them, her little frame a veritable gulf separating them.

So apart from holding his Ishita's hand across Ruhi's sleeping form at night, and some stolen kisses at the dining table, when he returned home late, and she was waiting to have dinner with him, he had been forced back into his monastic life. And that just wasn't acceptable any more.

Something had to be done. And it had to be done now.

Ishita
Ishita's condition was very much the same as her husbands.

She had been wallowing silently in her grief at his deceit when he had kidnapped her and spirited her away that unforgettable weekend a month ago.

She still blushed every time she remembered their antics that weekend. He had been so unbelievably tender and caring, had won her over with his avowals of love, his displays of devotion, and his affection.

And their lovemaking ... she stopped in the middle of arranging her surgery instruments, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She had had no idea that their intimacy would give her such intense pleasure, such a feeling of belonging and completion. He had been so tender at first, but then as she had eagerly responded to him, that tenderness had been replaced by a ferocious passion that had overwhelmed her.

That first glimpse of passion had turned Ishita's world upside down - she had discovered new facets to her personality, her being,  that she had never known about, had experienced delights that she had not known her body was capable of feeling. He had taken her to heaven and she had never felt more alive.

She had been so eager to continue on that journey of discovery with her Raavan Kumar...but alas, they had come home to the reality of mamaji's arrival, and all her sensuous imaginings had remained firmly in her imagination.

He had growled at the family when they had questioned him about the weekend, and so she too had hidden the secrets of their passionate dalliance within her heart. She had even lied to Mihika, chiding her for buying such revealing lingerie for her, telling her sister that there was no such feeling between her husband and her, that the lingerie, and the thought behind it, was misplaced and misconceived.

If only Mihika knew the truth.... the way that her silky satin slip had turned him on, the abandonment with which he had taken it off her, his shaking hands and trembling lips branding her as the fabric slid off, and the ecstasy, the delicious pain and triumphant surrender, that had followed....

But that night was just a memory now. Raman had become so busy at work and with Adi, that the only moments they could find for themselves was at night at the dining table. But even then, the fact that they were in a houseful of people held them back, their hastily stolen kisses only increasing their frustration, their longing.

A week ago, desperate, they had resorted to sneaking into the bathroom after the household was asleep, grabbing at each other frantically, kissing each other hungrily. But alas, their passion had been so desperate that they had knocked over all the bottles from the shower rack, and she had then had to hide as he tried to explain himself from the door to his alarmed and wide awake family. So that had put paid to that.

"What can I do..." she murmured to herself now. "And how..."

She craved her husbands touch, and much more, but this facet of their relationship was still so new, so tentative, that she wanted its existence to be their delightful secret. She did not want to ask anyone for help, to suffer through knowing glances and good natured taunts, as their family tried to organize some privacy for them.

But then how was she ever going to get time with him alone... Her thoughts were interrupted by the incessant ringing of her phone. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw his name on the display - the telephone had been their only friend and saviour this month, had stopped them from going insane with their unfulfilled desires...

He always called her from his car, on his way to one location, meeting or the other. That was their time, when they could murmur sweet endearments to each other, when they could verbalise their need and their sweet torments at the forced distances between them.

She picked up her phone...