Back Beneath the Lies
Chapters (74)
  1. Dedication
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Aaliya
  4. Damien
  5. Aaliya
  6. Damien
  7. Aaliya
  8. Damien
  9. Aaliya
  10. Damien
  11. Aaliya
  12. Damien
  13. Aaliya
  14. Damien
  15. Aaliya
  16. Damien
  17. Aaliya
  18. Damien
  19. Aaliya
  20. Damien
  21. Aaliya
  22. Damien
  23. Damien
  24. Aaliya
  25. Damien
  26. Aaliya
  27. Damien
  28. Damien
  29. Aaliya
  30. Damien
  31. Aaliya
  32. Damien
  33. Aaliya
  34. Damien
  35. Aaliya
  36. Aaliya
  37. Damien
  38. Aaliya
  39. Damien
  40. Aaliya
  41. Damien
  42. Aaliya
  43. Damien
  44. Aaliya
  45. Damien
  46. Aaliya
  47. Aaliya
  48. Damien
  49. Aaliya
  50. Damien
  51. Aaliya
  52. Damien
  53. Aaliya
  54. Damien
  55. Aaliya
  56. Damien
  57. Aaliya
  58. Damien
  59. Damien
  60. Aaliya
  61. Damien
  62. Aaliya
  63. Damien
  64. Aaliya
  65. Damien
  66. Damien
  67. Aaliya
  68. Damien
  69. EXCERPT – BEYOND THE TRUTH
  70. ALSO BY SAPNA BHOG
  71. FIND ME HERE
  72. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  73. About the Author
  74. 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.”