"Politics isn't merely about power; it's about wielding influence with finesse, orchestrating the dance of nations on the world stage."
•••
Welcome to a tale that echoes through the luxurious enclaves of the capital to its very downtrodden streets.
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Trayaksh stood there watching her closely, his eyes dark and smoldering as he tried to assess her emotions.
How long is she going to stay angry?
Ananya, on the other hand, had her mind busy with a bigger turmoil than him leaving the city. Her worry of spending the night with him—the very first one—was like a lightening bolt.
She swallowed, trying to hold onto her rapidly unraveling composure. "You said... you're leaving tomorrow, right?"
Her abrupt question bewildered him. Where did that come from?
Then, he began to realize where she was headed. Is she worried about me staying here tonight?
A thrill of dark amusement shot through his bloodstream.
Trayaksh took a step forward, his presence filling the space as he closed the distance between them, looming over her. He reached out, his knuckle brushing against her cheek, trailing down to her jaw in a gentle, yet possessive caress. "Tomorrow. Not tonight."
Ananya's throat went dry.
Her mouth still ached from the weight of his touch and the remnants of his wild kisses lingered on her lips. The intimacy of it all clung to her skin like sweat, hot and suffocating, and the realization that he wasn't going anywhere only deepened the burning knot inside her chest.
Decide first if you want him to leave or stay. Her inner voice piped.
Ananya had difficulty holding his gaze.
"You thought I would leave after tonight?" His voice was low, husky, dripping with mirth.
His words sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Before she could muster a response, he bent down, his breath fanning over her ear as he whispered in a voice filled with dark intent, "Uh-huh, I'll be staying right here. With you."
Her breath hitched but she didn't trust herself to speak.
And also, wasn't she angry?
You're suppose to be mad at him!
Her mind screamed for her to protest, to push him away, to hold on to the last thread of defiance she had left, but her body betrayed her, melting into the warmth of his touch. She hated the way his proximity made her feel—weak, vulnerable, and worst of all, wanting.
He was too close now, his chest brushing against hers, his breath hot and heavy on her neck. His knuckle skimmed over her cheek moving closer to her mouth, before his thumb grazed her lower lip, teasingly slow, as though he was savoring every second of her torment.
