Rajeev hadn't moved.

He sat frozen in his study chair, every muscle tight, every breath clipped. The towel had hit the floor five seconds ago. And Avni, in all her youth and audacity, had walked away — bare, slow, hips swaying like she owned the air he breathed.

And God help him, she did.

He didn't know what broke first — the silence, his self-control, or the flicker of a smirk she gave him over her shoulder as she turned the hallway corner.

But something snapped.

He was on his feet in seconds, moving faster than he had in years. His pulse roared in his ears, louder than any reason.

She hadn't expected him to follow — not like this.

Halfway up the stairs, her bare feet padded softly, unaware of the storm behind her. Then came the sound. Heavy footsteps. A sharp inhale. And a firm hand wrapping around her wrist.

She gasped.

"Rajeev—" she turned, breath hitching.

He didn't speak. Just bent, lifted her like she weighed nothing, her gasp melting into a soft yelp as she found herself thrown over his shoulder. Skin to skin, fire to fire.

She kicked gently. Not to resist. To provoke.

"Put me down!" she protested, breathless.

He did — but only once they were back in the study. The door slammed shut behind them, and he placed her down against the edge of the desk, his hands still wrapped around her hips.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

"Are you going to yell at me again?" she whispered, lips curling.

Rajeev's voice was low, rough, gravel dragged over fire.

"No," he said. "I'm done talking."

Then he kissed her.

Hard. Deep. Like a man who had starved for days and was finally allowed to taste. His hands slid from her waist to her thighs, gripping with the kind of pressure that made her legs tremble. She moaned into his mouth, pressing herself closer, tilting her head to take more — give more.

She was soft. Warm. Willing.

And he was done pretending he didn't want her.

His mouth moved down her neck, tongue tracing the slope of her shoulder, lips dragging heat across her collarbone. She tilted her head back, arching against him, her fingers already threading into his hair.

"Rajeev..." she breathed, voice barely a whisper.

He looked up, eyes dark, dangerous.

"I told you not to play with me."

"And I didn't listen," she replied, panting.

"No," he growled. "You didn't."

His hand slid between her thighs, parting them gently. She gasped as his fingers teased — not rushed, but deliberate. Controlled. The kind of touch that made her entire body ache.

She was already soaked.

"Look at you," he murmured, lips at her ear. "Teasing me for days... and now you're dripping."

Her breath hitched. She didn't deny it.

His fingers dipped lower, stroking her with maddening precision, watching her writhe against the desk. Her hands flew back, gripping the edge, knuckles white.

"Please," she whispered, eyes wide, begging without shame.

He kissed her again — slower this time, deeper. His tongue moved with rhythm, claiming her mouth as his fingers claimed her body.

She cried out, soft and sharp, when he curled his fingers just right.

"More," she begged.

He chuckled against her skin.

"You don't get to beg yet."

He dropped to his knees in front of her.

Her heart stopped.

"Rajeev—" her voice cracked.

But he was already there — between her thighs, tongue flicking, lips pressing, licking her open like she was the only flavor he'd ever want.

Her fingers flew to his hair, anchoring herself as the first wave of pleasure slammed through her. His grip on her thighs tightened, pulling her closer, devouring her like a man lost in worship.

Every moan made him go deeper.

Every gasp made him hungrier.

She tried to speak — to warn him, to tell him she was close — but the words dissolved into a moan so desperate, it made him smile against her skin.

Then she shattered.

Her back arched. Her thighs clenched. Her cry echoed through the room.

And still, he didn't stop. Not until she trembled, not until her legs gave in and she collapsed into his arms.

He stood slowly, lifting her like she weighed nothing.

"I told you," he whispered against her lips, "you'd push me too far."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice barely audible.

"I wanted you to."

He carried her to the couch, laying her down gently, brushing hair from her face.

Her lips were swollen. Her cheeks flushed. Her body boneless.

But her eyes — they sparkled with something dangerous. A hunger not yet satisfied.

And so, he leaned in.

"I'm not done," he said.