Chapters (74)
- Dedication
- CONTENTS
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- Damien
- Aaliya
- Damien
- EXCERPT – BEYOND THE TRUTH
- ALSO BY SAPNA BHOG
- FIND ME HERE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- About the Author
- Don't miss out!
Lowering his head, he takes my mouth in a slow kiss, licking my lips and playing with my tongue like he has all the time in the world. My pulse speeds and I try to push closer into him, but his hands at my nape and waist hold me just the way he wishes.
I’m panting for breath when he finally releases me. His eyes rake over my face and he gives me a smug smile, caressing my lips with his index finger.
“So, how about food? You want to go out?” he asks.
“Actually, why don’t I cook us breakfast?”
“You can cook?” he asks in surprise.
I laugh. “Of course, I can cook. I make the best Chicken Biryani, remember?”
“I’d like to be the judge of that one day.”
“One day, perhaps you will. Well if I can cook that, then the rest is easy.”
Damien sits at the counter reading the newspaper while I chop onions and mushrooms. I make us omelets and toast and sauté some tomatoes and mushrooms.
“This was quite good,” he compliments, once he’s done and is sipping his coffee.
“I’m immensely talented you know,” I remark, waving my fork at him.
“And I’m learning that.” He toasts me with his mug.
I pick up my plate and head over to the sink. Damien brings his own vessels over and we wash them together. He washes while I dry. The routine is so normal because it’s something we’ve done together many times.
“So Aaliya, tell me more about Aaliya Singh,” he says once we are snuggled together on the cozy L-shaped sofa in the drawing room.
I rest my head on his shoulder, my legs spread out next to his. I suck in a breath, my mind rewinding to five years ago to a similar moment when I’d first told him about myself. I link my hand with his as I start talking. “I’m a single child, not that it makes a difference because I have a huge family of relatives and cousins. It’s crazy, chaotic and sometimes taxing, especially since most of them live in Mumbai and everyone tends to interfere in every else’s business. But on the whole, it’s quite fun. My father was a pilot in the Indian Air Force. He loved to fly and he flew quite a few high-tech jets.”