[FEATURED IN WATTPAD INDIA PROFILE]
❝Pioneering the art of constructing love, my Kanmani.❞
Xavier teased her skin, slowly caressing her cheeks and her lips trembled.
❝You don't dare!❞
And he kissed her.
------
When he had compromised his dreams and...
♬ dard tumhara badan mein mere, zeher ki tarah utar raha hai...
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He knew exactly what Subhadra had hinted to Satya, but he hadn't thought she'd show up this fast. Now, standing right in front of him, her chin raised defiantly, dark curls spilling around her shoulders with that same audacious air—she was as devastatingly beautiful as she'd been in every cursed dream.
"Won't you invite me in?" she taunted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or are you planning to throw me out?"
He forced himself not to gape at her like a love-struck teenager. "Oh, welcome to my humble abode!" he retorted, matching her sarcasm.
He noticed everything. Every damn thing about her, like his senses had been on standby, waiting for her to fill the space around him again. It amazed him how she hid her own reactions beneath that cool exterior. Beneath the calm, he could see the faint tremor in her breathing as she stared him down like she hadn't noticed he was bare-chested.
You haven't changed at all.
Her words echoed in his mind, mocking him. He forced himself to play it cool, to match her act, the two of them standing on this razor-thin edge, knowing that any moment, they'd fall through.
She sashayed her way into the house, her fingers waking a melody over walls and furniture. His urge to pull her for a kiss and stop himself from doing it, both, were on a battlefield. And it was pure torture for him to observe as her fingers slowly grazed over the sofa silently.
"And you haven't even brought me a glass of water yet," she said as she sank onto the sofa, crossing her legs leisurely. "Your hospitality sucks."
"Losers don't make the best hosts, now, do they?" he bit back, watching the faint flicker of anger cross her face. He stood over her, his gaze locked on the little mole just above the valley of her breasts. He remembered kissing that spot a thousand times, drawing sounds from her that he hadn't forgotten. Not for a single day.
Why the hell am I doing this?
Closing his eyes, he huffed and turned around to get her some water.
At the sink, he filled a glass and mentally berated himself, urging himself to stop the damn daydreams and focus on what he needed—answers, closure, and a way out of this mess for good. That's all this was. She was his past, and that's all she should ever be.
But she had been an addiction. She'd owned him, twisted his life into knots, and he'd barely survived. He didn't want to go back to that. He was done with the agony of it all, done with how much he hated even the idea of hating her.
