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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The air in Agastya’s office was thick with the remnants of what they had done. The scent of heated skin, the crumpled papers on the floor, the distant hum of the university outside, none of it mattered.
Kiara lay beneath him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as reality crept in through the cracks of their reckless indulgence. Her fingers still clung to his shirt, her legs still tangled around his waist, but the weight of what they had done pressed against them, unspoken.
Agastya’s forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven. His hands still gripped her waist, holding onto her like he was afraid to let go. Or maybe afraid of what would happen if he did.
A part of her expected him to move away, to push her off, to regret everything in the next second. Instead, his grip on her tightened. His fingers traced slow, lingering patterns along her skin, as if memorizing every inch of her.
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "What now?"
Agastya let out a breath that sounded almost pained. His lips hovered close to hers, but he didn’t kiss her again. "I don’t know."
That was the dangerous part.
Because if he didn’t stop now, if she didn’t stop now, there would be no going back.
Kiara’s fingers traced the line of his jaw. "You’re thinking too much."
A humorless chuckle escaped him. "And you’re not thinking enough."
She smirked. "That’s the difference between us."
Agastya closed his eyes for a moment, his hands gripping her thighs before he pulled away slightly. The loss of his warmth made her shiver. He leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his already tousled hair.
"I should regret this," he muttered.
"But you don’t," she challenged, sitting up, her bare skin brushing against his.
His jaw clenched. "No." His fingers found her wrist, his grip firm. "And that’s the problem, Kiara."
A slow smile spread across her lips. "Then let it be a problem."
His dark eyes locked onto hers, a storm brewing in their depths. "You think it’s that simple?"
"Why does it have to be complicated?" she countered.
"Because I’m your professor," he said, his voice low but edged with frustration. "Because this..." his fingers trailed down her arm before he pulled them away forcefully, "...should never have happened."
Kiara tilted her head. "And yet, you still want it to happen again."
Agastya’s hand shot out, gripping the back of her neck, pulling her close again. His lips hovered over hers, a whisper away, his breath ragged.
"That’s what terrifies me," he admitted.
She exhaled softly, her fingers tracing over the fabric of his shirt. "So what do we do?"
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, Agastya released a slow breath and ran his fingers through her hair, his touch gentler this time.
"You’re playing with fire, Kiara," he warned.
She leaned in, brushing her lips lightly against his. "Then burn with me."
His restraint shattered once more.
Their lips met again, desperate, hungry, as if they were making a decision neither of them wanted to take back. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her onto his lap, and she gasped as his mouth traveled down her throat.
Whatever consequences awaited them outside this room, outside this moment, neither of them cared.
Because right now, they weren’t professor and student.
They were just Agastya and Kiara.
And this was just the beginning.
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To Be Continued...
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