Kiara Mehta never expected her final year at university to turn into a whirlwind of temptation and desire. When the dangerously charming Agastya Agarwal steps in as an intern professor, he becomes the center of every whispered conversation and stole...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The night stretched on, the party pulsing with energy. Kiara had let herself relax just a little. A drink in hand, Aisha dragging her onto the makeshift dance floor in the backyard, laughter bubbling in her throat.
She wasn’t thinking about classes. She wasn’t thinking about him.
Until she felt his gaze.
From across the garden, Agastya stood near the bar, a whiskey glass in hand. He wasn’t watching the crowd, he was watching her.
Something in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
A challenge. A warning. A dare.
Kiara tipped her head back, finishing the rest of her drink before turning to Aisha. "I need some air."
Aisha barely acknowledged her as she twirled to the music. "Don’t disappear for too long!"
Kiara stepped inside the house, slipping past groups of people until she reached the staircase. The noise of the party dulled as she ascended, reaching the dimly lit hallway.
She had just reached an empty room when she heard footsteps behind her.
Her breath hitched.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
"Running away, Ms. Mehta?"
His voice was smooth, low.
She turned, leaning against the doorframe. "I could ask you the same, sir."
Agastya smirked, stepping closer. The dim light caught the sharp lines of his face, the tension coiled in his shoulders.
"You’re drunk."
"So are you."
He hummed, tilting his head. "And yet, you’re still reckless enough to be alone with me in an empty room."
Kiara’s pulse pounded. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the heat between them, but she didn’t move when he reached past her, pushing the door open.
"Inside," he murmured.
A warning. A temptation.
She stepped in.
The door shut behind them, locking them away from the world outside. The only sound was the faint bass of the party downstairs, muffled and distant.
Agastya leaned against the door, watching her like a predator waiting for his prey to move.
"We shouldn’t be here," he muttered.
Kiara took a step closer. "Then leave."
His jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.
But he didn’t leave.
Instead, he reached for her.
The moment his fingers brushed her wrist, a jolt of electricity shot through her.
She gasped, but before she could think, before she could stop herself...
His lips crashed against hers.
A low, hungry groan rumbled from his chest as he backed her against the wall, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him.
It was fire. Heat. A dangerous, reckless blaze consuming them both.
Kiara’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him impossibly closer. He responded with a growl, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding up her sides, his thumb grazing the bare skin beneath her top.
"This is a mistake," he muttered against her lips, but he didn’t stop.
Kiara smirked, breathless. "Then stop."
His grip tightened. His mouth found her jaw, her throat, his teeth grazing her skin.
"Don’t test me, Kiara." His voice was strained, thick with restraint.
She shivered.
"And if I want to?"
Agastya exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers.
"Then we’re both screwed."
And yet, neither of them moved away.
Neither of them stopped.
Because in that moment, nothing else mattered.
Nothing except the fire between them—
And the fact that neither of them wanted to put it out.
