Chapter Five #2
"Advika," he murmured, his voice rough. "Are you awake?"
She could pretend to be asleep. Could roll away and deny him this. But her traitorous body was already responding, heat pooling low in her belly at just his touch.
"Yes," she whispered.
He pulled her back against his chest, his arm wrapping around her waist. She could feel him, already hard against her back, and her breath hitched.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, his mouth finding the curve of her neck. "All day in meetings, all I could think about was this. You."
The words should have made her happy. Instead, they just made her angry.
"Funny," she said, her voice tight. "During the day, you act like I'm invisible."
His hand stilled on her hip. "Advika—"
"No." She tried to pull away, but his arm tightened. "You don't get to ignore me for eighteen hours and then show up at night expecting me to just—"
He rolled her onto her back, looming over her in the darkness. His eyes gleamed amber in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
"Expecting you to what?" His voice was dangerous, low. "Want me? Respond to me?" His hand slid up her thigh, pushing her nightgown higher. "But you do, don't you? Even when you hate me, you want me."
"That's not fair—"
"Nothing about this is fair." His fingers found her center, stroking through the fabric of her panties. She was already wet, and they both knew it. "But it's honest. This is the only honest thing between us."
He was right, and that made it worse. This—sex, physical connection—was the only place they were real with each other.
"I hate you," she whispered, even as her hips arched into his touch.
"I know." He pushed her panties aside, his fingers sliding inside her. "But you want me anyway."
She did. God help her, she did.
Advika reached up, pulling him down into a kiss that was more anger than passion. She bit his lower lip hard enough to make him groan, and he responded by adding another finger, working her with skilled precision.
"Is this what you want?" he asked against her mouth, his thumb finding her clit. "To fight me? To hate me while I make you come?"
"Yes," she gasped, too far gone to lie.
"Then come," he commanded. "Come for me, Advika. Show me how much you hate me."
The orgasm crashed through her, pleasure and frustration and confusion all tangled together. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders, and he swallowed the sound with another bruising kiss.
Before she could catch her breath, he was pushing inside her, filling her completely. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming, exactly what she needed.
They moved together with practiced synchronicity now, their bodies having learned each other over the past months. He knew how she liked it—hard and fast, with his hand fisted in her hair, his teeth on her neck, his voice in her ear telling her she was his.
And she knew how to drive him crazy—nails down his back, teeth on his shoulder, her legs wrapped around his waist as she met him thrust for thrust.
"Say it," he growled, his hips snapping against hers. "Say you're mine."
"Only if you admit you're mine too," she shot back, breathless.
His rhythm faltered for just a second. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or fear.
Then he was moving again, faster, harder, chasing release for both of them.
"Together," he said, his forehead pressed to hers. "Come with me."
It was the closest thing to intimacy they had. This moment, right before climax, when their guards were completely down and there was nothing between them but heat and need and something that felt dangerously like connection.
They fell apart together, her name on his lips, his name on hers, their bodies locked in perfect synchronicity.
For exactly thirty seconds, he held her. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his face buried in her neck, his heart racing against hers.
Then, like clockwork, he pulled away.
"Sidharth," she said, her hand catching his wrist. "Stay. Just once, stay."
He looked down at where she held him, then at her face. In the darkness, she couldn't read his expression.
"I can't," he said finally, pulling free of her grip.
"Can't or won't?"
He didn't answer. Just headed to the bathroom, and she heard the shower start moments later.
When he emerged, dressed in fresh clothes, he paused at the door. His hand rested on the doorframe, his back to her.
"The macarons were good," he said quietly. "The lavender honey ones. They were my favorite."
Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.
Advika lay in the dark, her body still humming with pleasure, her heart aching with a pain that was becoming far too familiar.
He'd eaten her macarons. He'd noticed. He'd cared enough to tell her.
But he still wouldn't stay.
She was caught in a trap of her own making—hating him for his distance, craving him for the moments when the distance disappeared. Falling deeper and deeper into feelings she couldn't afford while he remained safely behind his walls.
This couldn't go on. Something had to change.
But as Advika drifted off to sleep in the empty bed, she had no idea how to make it stop.