Chapter 27 Seriously, in Public? #2
zero interest in me.
The pace at which I second-guess scenarios needs to be studied.
When he finally speaks, I want to burrow a hole through the wood and the sand below. “Anything else?”
Excuse me?
I grit my teeth. “What else do you want me to say?”
Rudra smirks, and the sudden motion pulls my attention to his lips, so full I can’t help but look at them, admire their shape.
“I don’t want you to say anything else, Krishna.” He leans closer, and I automatically mimic the motion, until we’re a hairbreadth
away from each other.
My eyes are half closed. I’m fully ready to give in. Rudra brings his hand up and knots his fingers in my hair, bunching it
up at the nape of my neck. He could pull away or pull me in at this point. “I just want you to kiss me,” he whispers, his
warm breath tickling my mouth.
Our lips brush, gently. And then he does it.
He tightens his grip on my hair and draws me toward him, seizing my lips fully. The fire spreads from my stomach to my chest
and then it’s in my head, my lips, touching his.
Kissing his.
At first, my lips barely move because I have no clue what to do. This is my first kiss, ever, and it’s with someone I never
imagined I would be kissing until a few days ago. My brain practically erupts at the thought that this is happening, utterly
failing to comprehend it.
But Rudra moves his mouth, and his lips are so soft I nearly melt into his arms, and it all starts to feel real. Too real to be true, if that even makes sense. His fingers splay against my neck, and he tilts his head sideways, my lips parting fully underneath his.
His movements aren’t rough but slow and gentle, so it doesn’t feel like he’s being pushy or too demanding. He gives me the
space to breathe, to figure out how our lips fit together.
And not for the first time this summer, my conscience is sent packing on a vacation—I start kissing him back. Tugging at his
lips the way he does mine, bringing my hands up to his shoulders, his neck, and his cheeks, so I’m clasping his face between
my palms. His cheeks and chin are lined with the slightest of stubble, and it scrapes my face as he kisses me, eliciting a
sound from the back of my throat that could almost be a moan but is much rougher.
I don’t know who breaks the kiss first, but my body is so hot I think I might be running a fever. I’m incapable of thinking
of anything but him, the stark lines and angles of his face accentuated by the flashing purple and pink lights from inside the bar. He looks
so good, I want to kiss him again.
I haven’t had enough. I don’t think I could ever have enough with him.
Rudra gazes back at me with unwavering intensity, and before my embarrassment has the chance to come creeping back, his hands
catch my waist. In one quick motion, he whisks me onto his lap.
I gasp, legs flailing around him and sandals hooking into the material of his jeans. My skirt slides farther up, baring my
legs, and his ravenous eyes drop to them. He drags his hands from my waist down to my thighs, his movements unbearably slow,
and digs his fingers into my flesh, pulling me even closer. That sends a heady flutter pirouetting up my body.
It wracks me, wrecks me.
Rudra tilts his head up, captures my lips with his, and kisses me again.
While our previous kisses were dry and slow, this one’s rough. Our mouths are open and we’re making out with such aggression
that it numbs my mind. He tastes like beer, and for a moment it feels like I’m getting drunk on it, drunk on him. Whatever preconceived notion I had about French kissing, I was wrong. Done like this, eased into, it feels intense, in a
good way.
My hands are around his neck, fingers weaving into his silken hair I’ve been longing to touch. I’m wrapped around him like
a koala bear, and my hold on him is the anchor that’s grounding me, keeping me in this reality, which feels like it’s fracturing
like a kaleidoscope, pieces breaking away chip by chip.
There’s a friction in my lower body because my legs are pried apart, pressed against his sides, and he has a solid grip on
my thighs that he uses to direct my body to move on him. My breaths are harsh, ragged, and quick, and this is wild, because we’re in public, visible for everyone to see. But then, it’s Goa, and this probably is the least scandalous thing
to happen here.
Rudra’s breathing hastens, and he breaks our kiss to bury his face in the crook of my neck, eyes shut tightly. I’m here, on
his lap, holding on to him for dear life, but I’m also three feet above, separate from my body. Staring down at us. At what’s
happening.
“Krishna,” Rudra whispers into my neck, his hands settling against my lower back, fingers spreading and flat on my spine.
“You don’t know how long—”
“What the actual fuck?”
Rudra and I tear apart as if we’ve been burnt.
I jump off his lap and scramble away from him, landing butt-first on the sofa.
The sudden movement disorients me so much I have to prop my hand against the back of the couch to steady myself.
My thoughts zip through my head at lightning speed, a dizzying mess.
Priti stands in front of the glass table, staring down at us, absolute, unbidden rage on her face.
Rudra straightens his hair, his outfit, and grabs a pillow from the couch and places it on his lap. It takes me a second to
realize why, and when I do, my eyes widen. After that, I can’t look at him. My lips are swollen with the kiss, and blood pulses through my body so loudly I’m sure everyone in Calangute
can hear it.
Priti doesn’t say anything for ten whole seconds, just stares and seethes. Then she spins on her heel and walks out of the
bar.