Piyali Mukherjee

48%
Flag icon
Her body would be the best kind of body: the kind that had borne children. Breasts that had nursed. Legs that had run after misbehaving little ones. He could love that body. The sudden hardness between his legs held no threat, only infinite love and acceptance, a Husband’s love.
The Bread We Eat in Dreams
Rate this book
Clear rating
Open Preview