✨ Abhimaan Maheshwari ( ML)
A Delhi based ,28 year old businesses man . Luxury Chain of hotels and restaurant , owner of many automobile companies and many more Who is also the mafia boss of the underworld . Handsome , tall , most eligible bache...
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Shravya pov:-
I meticulously prepare myself as per my beloved husband’s request. Tonight, we’re gracing the reception party of his friend. While donning a rejuvenating face sheet mask, I delicately paint my nails. Following this, I shall proceed with my makeup and hairstyling, saving the final touch of slipping into my attire for last. Abhi mentioned engaging a makeup artist, but I graciously declined; oftentimes, they tend to overdo it, leaving me feeling as though my face carries an excess burden. I prefer to handle it myself.
As I concentrate on my task, the door to my chamber creaks open, and in strides my husband, clad in casual attire, having worked from his home office. “Kuch help chahiye , aapko mohtrama ” The way he addresses me as “aap” sends shivers down my spine, utterly captivating my soul in that moment.
“Haan . could you kindly help with applying the nail polish?” I inquire, for the task proves more challenging on my non-dominant hand. With finesse, he takes the brush, settling nearby, and tenderly holds my hand, expertly painting each nail without a single stroke straying onto my skin. His concentration is akin to that of a seasoned nail artist.
As he proceeds to attend to my other hand, he lowers himself onto the rug, taking my foot in his hand. “Don’t,” I protest, though his touch is not unfamiliar, there are certain moments I prefer he not kneel, save for those special occasions, like when he dines upon me.
“Just focus on your preparations, and allow me to attend to mine,” he insists, planting a tender kiss upon my foot. Though his touch elicits a ticklish sensation, I cannot resist his gentle insistence. Removing my face mask, I mention my discomfort because of the tickle, prompting him to cease the motion and focus on painting my toenails, as I resume with my makeup routine. It proves challenging to deter my husband when he’s set on a task.
Completing my makeup and hair, I retreat into the walk-in closet to change, allowing Abhi to emerge first . Adorned in his perennial black tuxedo, he exudes an aura reminiscent of a Greek deity , as always.
A/N: kissi ne iss greek god ko buddha kaha tha kbhi 🤧
Upon emerging in my ensemble—a black slit gown embellished with silver accents—I catch my husband in a state of awe, his mouth agape, vulnerable to the intrusion of a fly. “Close your mouth,” I jest, drawing nearer. He swiftly pulls me closer by the waist, whispering against my lips, “Let’s forgo tonight’s plans.”
