Part Two: Behind the Counter

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Sharvani’s back was pressed against Ishaan’s chest, his hand still over her mouth, but now… her breathing had changed. No longer from panic.

He felt it.

Her breaths were shallow, erratic. Her thighs clenched over his lap, and her hips shifted—just slightly—but enough to make him groan low into her neck.

“You’re not pushing me away,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear.

She whimpered behind his hand.

He slid it away slowly.

“You want it to stop?” he asked, voice deep, fingers trailing the edge of her jaw.

“No,” she whispered. “I… don’t want to stop.”

That was all he needed.

He turned her around on his lap, gripping her hips as she straddled him in the dark, her night suit sliding up her thighs. Her breath caught as their faces aligned—barely inches between them.

“Ishaan…” she breathed, fingertips resting on his shoulders.

He didn’t answer.

He kissed her.

Hard.

His lips crashed against hers like he’d been starving for it—like every night since the engagement, he’d imagined this exact moment. Her hands gripped his hair, and she moaned into his mouth when his hands gripped her hips tighter, grinding her against the hardness under his joggers.

“I think about you every damn night,” he muttered between kisses, dragging his mouth along her jaw, down to her neck. “You come into my dreams wearing this... and now you’re actually on my lap like this—f**.*”

She gasped as he bit softly into her collarbone.

“Ishaan—someone might come.”

“Let them. I’ll pull you into my room and lock the door.”

His hand slid beneath her kurti, rough palm splaying across the smooth skin of her waist. He lifted the fabric just enough to kiss along her belly, tasting her skin like he’d die if he didn’t.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, looking up at her. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to mark you right now? Not just as my fiancée—but mine.”

His words made her head spin.

Her hips moved on their own.

He slid his hand up, slowly, reaching the underside of her breast—thumb brushing over her hardened nipple through the thin fabric of her inner camisole.

She arched, a soft moan escaping before she could stop it.

His free hand came up to cover her mouth again.

“Shh... not so loud, jaan. Someone will hear.”

That word—jaan—wrecked her.

She melted against him.

“I can’t stop here,” he breathed. “But I swear, when we get married—I’ll ruin you in every room of this house.”

She buried her face in his neck, trembling.