Aarav
I found her on the dance floor, owning the rhythm like she was born of it.
Her body moved with a kind of quiet authority, sensual but not performative. She didn't care who watched. She wasn't performing.
And that made it all the more lethal.
Yuri and Omar were somewhere behind her, a chaotic blur of limbs and laughter. Karan had a woman pressed close, one hand already sliding into her hair. The lights pulsed violet and blue, bass dropping low and slow.
But I saw only her.
Meera.
Her back arched as her hips rolled, a slow curve of movement that made it feel like time had bent around her. She caught me watching.
And smirked.
That's it, I thought. That's the last of my restraint.
I stepped behind her. Hands low, not quite touching. My body an inch from hers.
"Dance with me," she whispered without turning around.
I didn't answer.
I just let my hands slide to her waist.
She leaned back into me, eyes fluttering closed for one beat—then moving, grinding against me with enough friction to scorch. I matched her rhythm, my palms on her hips, my mouth grazing the line of her jaw.
"I hate how good you smell," she murmured.
"I hate how you look at me like you're not about to beg."
She turned then—fast. Wrapped her arms around my neck. Pulled me flush against her.
"You wish."
"No," I breathed, "I know."
And then it was just breath and music and heat—her mouth dangerously close, her leg sliding between mine. She wasn't dancing anymore. She was testing me. Daring me.
So I passed the test.
I took her hand, laced our fingers, and without a word, I led her off the floor.
Down a narrow hall. Past pulsing lights and a confused bouncer. Out through the side exit into a quiet alley.
She didn't protest.
Didn't ask.
She shoved me against the brick wall the second the door clicked shut.
And kissed me like she wanted to bruise my soul.
It was fire.
Uncoiled and hungry.
Her mouth devoured mine, biting my lower lip until I growled, gripping her hips like she might slip through my fingers. She pressed against me, all heat and sharp edges, hands sliding under my shirt, fingernails dragging up my chest.
"You drive me insane," she hissed.
I pushed her back against the opposite wall, hands braced on either side of her head.
"Good."
My mouth was on her throat, her shoulder, the line of her collarbone. Her head fell back with a gasp.
"I don't do this," she breathed.
"I don't care."
Our mouths crashed again, deeper, hotter—tasting each other like punishment and reward. My hand slipped beneath her thigh, hiked her leg up around my hip. Her nails scraped down my spine and I nearly lost it.
"I want you," I whispered into her mouth.
Her answer was a kiss that swallowed the words.
We made it back to the club only when someone texted: "Party's heading to yours. Grab Meera or she'll get swept into Yuri's tequila chaos."
Later…
We burst into the penthouse sometime after 2AM. I don't even remember unlocking the door. Just Meera's laughter pressed against my back and the sound of Karan raiding my liquor stash like it was his birthright.
Yuri was dancing on the plush white rug with Omar, both barefoot, singing off-key to something I'd already tuned out.
And Meera…
She curled into the oversized couch in my shirt and her own satisfaction, sipped wine, and smiled like the storm had passed through her instead of the sky.
I didn't sleep much that night.
Now…
Sunlight was a knife against the curtains.
I groaned and rolled over.
The bed smelled like her.
And when I opened one eye, there she was—hair a tangle across the pillow, mouth slightly open, wearing one of my faded T-shirts and nothing else.
She was on my side of the bed.
But I wasn't even mad.
She blinked awake slowly. Looked around. Then down at herself.
"…Shit."
I grinned.
"You're in my bed."
"You're in your own bed."
"I'm also shirtless," I said, voice still hoarse, "so technically we're both trespassing in each other's space."
She narrowed her eyes, then looked at the expanse of my back.
"You sleep on your front?"
"Helps the dreams stay quiet."
She was quiet for a moment. Then whispered, "I like that."
And I, still half-asleep, murmured, "I like you."
Too quiet.
Too true.