Nikita stood by the glass, arms crossed, watching the monsoon unfold over Mumbai’s skyline. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something else—anticipation.
Behind her, Salim leaned against the doorframe, silently watching her. Her silhouette, outlined by the lightning outside, looked like a scene torn from his most dangerous daydreams. She hadn’t spoken much since they arrived—just gestures, glances, silences louder than words.
He finally broke it. “You always get quiet when it rains.”
She didn’t turn. “It brings back too much. And stirs up more.”
Salim stepped closer, his shoes soundless on the marble floor. “Is that a warning?”
She smiled faintly, her eyes still lost in the storm. “It’s an invitation.”
Salim’s heart thrummed against his ribs. He’d never been good at hiding things around her. Not the way his breath caught when she tilted her head. Not the way his voice dropped every time she said his name. And definitely not the way his world slowed when she stepped closer.
He moved beside her, barely a breath between them now. She didn’t step back.
“Do you know what you do to me, Nikita?” he asked, voice low, rough like velvet dragged across skin.
She turned, finally, eyes gleaming like the storm outside. “Probably the same thing you do to me.”
Their stare held. The room felt smaller. The air hotter.
Salim brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her cheek with deliberate care. “You’re dangerous.”
“So are you,” she whispered. “But that’s never stopped us.”
It was true. They’d danced around each other for months—words like veils, touches like fireflies. Never quite crossing the line, but always stepping just close enough to feel the burn.
“I shouldn’t want this,” he said, even as his hand moved to her waist.
“But you do,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly. Her lips hovered near his—close enough to feel his breath, but not enough to claim it.
“Tell me to stop.”
“I won’t.”
That was all it took.
Their mouths met like thunder cracking open the sky—soft at first, as if testing the storm, then deeper, hungrier. Her hands slipped into his shirt, fingers tracing the lines of his chest as if she’d memorized them in dreams.
He pulled her closer, their bodies aligning like a puzzle long overdue. His hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb brushing her jaw as their kiss deepened, filled with all the things they never said out loud.
The rain outside roared. Inside, it was a different kind of storm.
She pulled away just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against his. “What are we doing, Salim?”
“Exactly what we’ve wanted to do since the first time we met.”
She laughed, low and breathless. “You were wearing that ridiculous leather jacket.”
“And you spilled wine on it.”
“On purpose,” she admitted, biting her lip. “You were too cocky.”
“And now?”
“Still cocky. Just… irrisistibly so.”
His hand slid down her back, drawing her in again. “Come here.”
“No,” she teased, stepping back, eyes dancing. “Make me.”
God, she was going to ruin him.
He caught her hand, spun her gently into him. Her laugh rang out like mischief and moonlight. Their lips brushed again, slower this time—tasting, exploring, savoring. Not rushed. Not desperate.
Just… right.
She whispered against his mouth, “This doesn’t end tonight.”
He smiled. “It never really started until now.”
Lightning cracked the sky, casting their shadows across the wall—two figures tangled in the quiet war between want and restraint. Neither winning. Neither wanting to.
Nikita kissed his neck softly, just below his ear. “You feel like trouble.”
“So do you,” he murmured, letting his hand rest just above her hip, fingers splayed like he was afraid to let go. “The best kind.”
Another moment passed before she spoke, softer this time. “Stay tonight.”
He didn’t answer with words. Just lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it—slow, deliberate, reverent. A promise.
Outside, the rain fell harder.
Inside, two hearts finally stopped pretending.