Five Weeks by Shruti Omar (any book recommendations .txt) 📕

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Anahita Maurya is the modern image of independent, liberated girl with an equally modern family background. Despite this, she is betrothed to her father's best friend's son, Yuvraaj, who knows nothing but to get under her skin. She clearly despised his presence in her life and adamantly employs all the devices to get out of his vice clasp. Even if this means getting a boyfriend and defiant her family. Now, she has successfully involved herself in a relationship and Yuvraaj has chosen the exact moment to turn her world upside down. From persuasion to rebellion, all the measures have been plied. Finally, headstrong and ball breaking Anahita decides to elope on the eve of her wedding. Except, her boyfriend never turns up.

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Author: Shruti Omar

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“This is the last time you've raised your hand upon me because if this happens again – rather if you think about this again, I will kill you.” He warned her in menacing voice and pinched her waist hard. She stifled the cry that was going to spurt out when he tweaked on her skin roughly. She smiled at him through her watery gaze and shook her head, “I am sorry.”

“I am sorry too,” He whispered softly, wiping her wet eyelid and kissed her tenderly. He stroked the side of her waist where her skin was going to turn red, “I didn’t mean to do this.”

She didn’t reply and cradled his face in her palms. Yuvraaj immediately pulled her for another kiss which led to more kisses. His wandering lips traveled a path to her neck and dropped hickeys on her collarbone while she was drowning in the ocean of happiness, having him again for herself. She wanted to win him in a way that none can ever claim him.

“Why’s your dress drenched?” Yuvraaj asked, finally noticing her in upper innerwear and sticky slacks. His eyes narrowed in fear, “Did you try suicide, idiot?”

“No, I didn’t.” Anahita grinned, rolling her eyes and gasped as his large palm grabbed her left bosom, “Was…resting on the beach.”

“Get out of it,” he rasped, already sailing his expert fingers on the back to work the hooks and fumbled with them. Anahita slapped his hands away, grumbling, “Can’t you work the hooks?” She moved her hands behind her back to unclasp the fix and he forbade her, “Forget it, show me your tattoo.”

He demanded, smoothing his fingers on her slacks and crooked a finger in the waistband to slide it down. Anahita cooperated wordlessly, lifting her waxed legs and using her toes to pull it off her ankle. She was about to flop on her back when she recalled about the latest ink on her shoulder and she pushed him slightly to sit on her folded knees.

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