Chapter 20 #2
“Didn’t mean what?” His voice was quieter now. But each word was razor-sharp. “Didn’t mean to make me feel things I didn’t want to feel? Didn’t mean to make me care? Or didn’t mean to leave… without saying goodbye?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
No excuse.
No explanation.
Only the unbearable ache of everything I’d tried to bury.
His words hit me like tiny explosions in my chest—echoing truths I wasn’t brave enough to face until now.
“Manav…” My voice cracked like glass under pressure. I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t even look at him.
My eyes squeezed shut. If I looked at him now, I would fall. Completely.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
It wasn’t a command.
It wasn’t a plea.
It was both.
His hand cupped my cheek, warm and steady. His thumb stroked the curve of my jaw, anchoring me, pulling me gently from the edge of the spiral I was barely holding off.
“Kiara,” he said again, leaning in.
His forehead touched mine, and his breath ghosted against my skin, soft and uneven. I could feel the way he was holding himself together, just barely.
“Open your eyes… please.”
So I did.
And there he was.
His face was barely inches from mine.
His eyes—dark, open, and aching.
“I didn’t want to leave like that,” I whispered, the tears finally slipping free.
His brows pinched slightly, but he didn’t pull back.
“I’ve been running from everything—my past, my mistakes, my heart…” I met his gaze fully now, even as my voice trembled. “But then I met you… And it got harder to run.”
His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek, slow and gentle. “Then don’t.”
Fake relationships were supposed to come with boundaries. Rules. Some kind of damn instruction manual. But this? This was him. This wasn’t fiction. This was chaos with a jawline.
His thumb continued its lazy, unconscious strokes against my cheekbone, the soft yet maddening touch making it impossible to think straight.
His eyes—deep, intense, and unreadable—locked onto mine as though daring me to look away.
I felt every nerve in my body ignite when I pulled up the strap that had slipped down my shoulder.
Manav’s gaze followed the movement like a magnet, and then his husky voice broke the charged silence.
“Cheeseball,” he murmured, his tone low and rough, “You need to stop walking around like a lingerie model.”
My breath hitched as his finger brushed lightly against the line of my neck, tracing an invisible path down to my collarbone before stopping. His eyes dropped briefly to my lips. I was suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of my body.
My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to ground myself, but it was futile. My hands were itching to move—itching to slip around his neck and pull him closer, to let myself fall into the inevitable.
His mouth hovered dangerously close to my jaw, his breaths deep and uneven. His fingers, warm and slightly trembling, slid to the side of my neck, igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched. I stepped closer, and his lips were now just inches from mine.
His eyes were half-lidded, and watching him come undone like this was far too intoxicating. The control, the restraint he always carried, was slipping through him. And I was enjoying it far too much.
His fingers tighten slightly against my neck. His lips were so close now that I could feel his breath mingling with mine. My fingers lightly traced circles on his chest. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement I needed. My fingers drifted down to rest against his exposed chest.
“Kiara…” his breaths were uneven, and his eyes were trying to read something in my eyes as my fingers trailed down to the first button of his shirt.
Without breaking eye contact, I unbuttoned it slowly, savoring the way his breathing hitched.
Then, emboldened by his reaction, I reached for the next.
Before I could go further, his hand gently but firmly caught my wrist. For a moment, the world seemed to stop as he held my hand against his chest, the wild thrum of his heart beneath my fingers betraying the calm facade he was trying to maintain.
And then, with a swift but careful move, he pinned me against the counter, his forehead resting against mine.
“Don’t test my patience…” He growled, his breath hot and ragged against my lips. “I have none left.”
His eyes bore into mine. His hands trembled slightly, hovering just shy of my waist, like he was fighting every instinct to touch me the way he wanted to.
Forget every version of Manav Oberoi I’d encountered before—this one was my favorite. Intense, unguarded, teetering on the edge of control. His eyes—dark, hungry—held me captive. His breath was sharp and uneven. His heartbeat thudded against mine.
His hands shifted slightly, his thumbs gently brushing my cheeks as our foreheads stayed connected, our breaths mingling in a rhythm that felt too intimate to bear.
His lips brushed the corner of mine, so softly it was almost a tease.
The sensation was electric, powerful enough to send a shockwave through my entire body.
My knees threatened to buckle, but his strong arms kept me anchored, holding me firmly against him.
And then he kissed me.
Again.
Manav Oberoi kissed me like his life depended on it.
His lips moved against mine with a precision laced with desperation. When his fingers brushed the skin just below my collarbone, a soft whimper escaped my lips, and he smiled against my mouth—a smile that was both knowing and devastatingly sweet.
My body was flush against his as his hands roamed gently but purposefully, grounding me and yet setting me ablaze.
And in that moment… it hit me like a punch to the chest.
I’m in love with Manav Oberoi.
God help me.
____________
As I lay on the bed in the guest room, staring at the ceiling with my heart racing like I’d just run a marathon, my thoughts refused to calm. My lips still tingled from his touch, and my entire body felt like it was on fire.
He was breathless.
His eyes were shut, and his forehead touched mine.
His voice, so husky, echoed in my mind.
“Stop me, Kiara… go back to your room.”
Why’d he have to be so gentle, so careful, when all I wanted was for him to lose control? He wanted me—every kiss, every touch screamed that much—but he still held back. Now I was left here—alone, restless, and completely unravelled.
My fingers unconsciously brushed my lips, swollen from his passionate assault. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? The heat, the fire, the sheer inability to think of anything else but the way he made me feel? All my novels, all my imagination—they didn’t even come close to this.
I tried to focus on my breathing, to center myself, but every time I closed my eyes, I was back there in his arms. The way his leg had slipped between mine, his heartbeat wild and erratic, matching my own.
Oh God, this wasn’t going to work. I was a mess, a completely undone mess.
Was this what love felt like? Or was it just the aftermath of a kiss that had turned my entire world upside down?
No. It was more than that.
I wanted him.
I wanted Manav Oberoi to be unfiltered.
____________
“I can’t sleep there…” I stood at the entrance of Manav’s room, clutching my cushion tightly. His hair was damp, strands falling over his forehead, and his brows were furrowed so deeply it looked like they might just fall off his face. Midnight showers?
I’d tried my best to sleep in my room, convincing myself I needed rest to deal with the chaotic storm of social media the next day.
But what I hadn’t factored in was Nancy—sweet, helpful Nancy—snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
So, I grabbed my cushion and wrapped my shrug around me, and now here I was, standing at Manav’s door in the middle of the night.
And no, it had nothing to do with his ridiculously hot and mind-numbing kisses earlier. Absolutely not.
It was Nancy’s snoring. Just Nancy’s snoring.
Manav seemed lost in thought, staring off into the distance as if debating whether to donate all his hair or keep brooding. I reached out and poked his chest gently to make sure he wasn’t sleepwalking.
“Sorry, what?” His voice was distracted, as if I’d interrupted something monumental.
“I said, I can’t sleep with Nancy… she snores,” I repeated.
He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, shaking his head as though I’d just announced I wanted to move the moon closer to Earth. “Kiara…”
“I won’t disturb you, I promise.”
He opened the door wider without a word, rubbing the back of his neck like he was debating whether to let me in or pull me straight into his arms. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was deciding the structural integrity of the next skyscraper on Jupiter.
And then, without a word, he moved aside, making way for me to enter.
But he still looked distant, somehow far away in his thoughts.
I slipped into the room, wearing my red lacy sleepwear—short, cute, and (I’d like to think) a little stunning.
As I passed the long mirror, I caught sight of the dark circles under my eyes.
My feet seemed to move on their own, drawing me closer until I was standing there, staring at my reflection—sleepy, weary, puffed eyes.
I lightly touched the skin beneath them, sighing when I noticed Manav’s reflection in the mirror, his gaze fixed on me.
I murmured. “I look like a panda…”
He took a few slow steps toward me, stopping just behind me, confusion etched across his features. “No, you don’t,” he said softly.
I let out a breath, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “My body doesn’t handle stress well, I guess. It makes me look… animalistic.”
His hands slid to my neck—warm, steady—and before I could protest (or even think), he began massaging the tense muscles there with gentle pressure. The sensation was so blissful that I let out a sound suspiciously close to a porn star.