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...
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Days had passed since the charged encounter between Kiara and Agastya, and both had settled into a strained routine of avoidance. Their interactions remained meticulously professional, yet an undercurrent of unresolved tension lingered.
One afternoon, Kiara joined her friend Rohan at the campus café. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with shared anecdotes and light hearted banter. As they laughed over a particularly amusing memory, Rohan's hand brushed against hers while reaching for his cup. The casual touch was innocent, yet it elicited a fleeting moment of awareness between them.
Unbeknownst to them, Agastya entered the café, intending to grab a coffee before his next lecture. His attention was drawn to the sound of Kiara's laughter, a melody he hadn't realized he missed. Observing her animated interaction with Rohan, he felt a pang of something he couldn't quite define Was it longing, regret, or merely the sting of professional boundaries?
He dismissed the thought, reminding himself of the roles they occupied. Yet, as he waited for his order, his gaze involuntarily drifted back to Kiara, noting the ease of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.
Later:
Kiara had no idea why she was walking toward Agastya’s office so late in the evening. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that ever since their night of drunken recklessness, neither of them had acknowledged what had happened.
Or maybe it was the way he had been watching her earlier that day, his eyes darkening when he saw Rohan lean just a little too close, laughing at something she said.
Whatever the reason, her feet carried her to his door before she could change her mind.
She knocked softly.
"Come in," came his voice, deep and unreadable.
Taking a breath, she pushed open the door.
Agastya was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, glasses on, surrounded by papers. The warm glow of the lamp made him look even more impossibly attractive. An image of controlled power and quiet intensity.
His gaze flicked up, slightly surprised to see her. "Ms. Mehta. What brings you here at this hour?"
She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. "I was walking and saw your light on. Thought I'd check if you were still alive under all that paperwork."
One corner of his mouth twitched. "As you can see, I’m still breathing." He leaned back, watching her with interest. "Is that all?"
Kiara exhaled, shifting her weight. "I wanted to make sure that... everything is normal between us. After that night."
His jaw tightened slightly. "That night was a mistake."
The words stung more than they should have.
She crossed her arms. "Funny. You didn’t seem to think so when you had me against the wall."
Agastya’s eyes darkened instantly. "Kiara." It was a warning.
A shiver ran down her spine.
She knew she shouldn’t provoke him. Shouldn’t play with fire. But damn it, he had been driving her insane, acting like nothing had happened when she could still feel his lips on her skin.
She stepped closer. "Tell me, Professor… Do you regret it?"
He was silent for a beat too long.
Then, with a slow exhale, he stood.
The air in the room thickened.
Agastya walked around the desk, stopping right in front of her. He was close....too close. Close enough that she could smell the faint hint of his cologne, something dark and intoxicating.
"You think I don’t remember?" His voice was low, dangerous. "You think I don’t still feel it?"
Kiara swallowed, pulse racing.
"But it can’t happen again," he murmured, fingers brushing against her wrist.
A breath hitched in her throat.
He was going to walk away.
She could see it, the way he was already fighting himself, already trying to retreat.
Screw that.
Before she could overthink, she grabbed his tie and yanked him down. Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that was nothing short of wildfire.
Agastya let out a low groan, and just like that, whatever restraint he had snapped.
His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him. The desk dug into her back as he deepened the kiss, lips demanding, rough, desperate.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He shivered against her, gripping her hips harder.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against her lips.
She gasped as he trailed kisses down her jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.
"I won’t."
His hands slid down, fingers pressing into the curve of her thigh as he lifted her onto the desk.
"Kiara," he groaned when she bit his lip, her legs wrapping around his waist.
His grip tightened. She could feel the tension in his body the war between wanting her and knowing he shouldn’t.
She pulled back just enough to look at him. His breathing was uneven, his pupils blown.
"This is a bad idea," he muttered.
She smirked. "Then why aren’t you stopping?"
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Because you’re impossible to resist."
With that, his lips crashed back onto hers, and for that moment, nothing else mattered.
