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But as lovely as she looked, there were dark shadows under those big eyes. There was also a taut, drawn look to her face. He suddenly remembered the costume designer’s two assistants working all night because Zara’s outfits had to be taken in again before the shoot next morning.
“There’s the audio release party and a couple more events that we have to attend together anyway,” she said casually.
Of course, they’d continue this charade until the release of the biopic. He always forgot how efficiently she could manage this weird melding of their professional and personal lives. How effortless and easy she made it for him to indulge in this with her, with barely any demands on him.
But then, Zara never asked you for anything even back then, a voice whispered in his ear.
“Is that what you meant just now?” he taunted her, shutting away the disquiet in his own mind. He was forever pushing her. Forever wanting to see her vulnerable with him. Forever asking her for more than he was willing to give.
As if it was a toll she had to pay again and again for her past actions.
God, he was so unforgiving.
But if he thought she’d back down or hide away behind excuses, he was wrong once again. The more he challenged his own conceptions, the lines between them and what he demanded of her—with some strange need to see her back down from this, from them—the more Zara pushed back without balking, without even blinking an eyelid.
He wanted to see how far he could push her before she backed away.
“No,” she said, her gaze steady. “Yes, there are some social events we’d have to smile and laugh and coo over each other at. But I meant that I want to come see you. Outside of the drama we’re enacting. Outside of the biopic’s demands.
“At your flat. My bungalow. Wherever possible.”
He wanted to say some cold and awful thing like, “I might have moved on by then,” or “I can’t give you any guarantee that I’ll still want you,” or some such nonsense. Instead, his heart raced and desire twisted his belly into tight knots. His fingers tightened over her calf and his other hand cupped her hip, and the ever-present current of heat between them filled his skin with a restless hum.
He traced his fingers wordlessly over her belly, tucking them under the loose band of her shorts. Raising his gaze to hers, he stilled his hand there, seeking her answer.
Color scoured her cheeks, filling the pale canvas of her skin. “Yes.”
One word. But it rang between them like a clanging bell. Like some unchangeable truth. He wanted to ask how many more times or for how much longer she’d keep saying yes to him.
But in the face of the open desire in her eyes, his rational questions lost out. His seeking fingers pushed inside her soft cotton shorts. A groan ripped from him when he found her velvet folds damp and ready for him. Hips tilting up, Zara dug her teeth into her lower lip. Neck thrown back, eyes closed, breasts falling and rising, she looked achingly beautiful.
Within moments, Virat disposed of her flimsy shorts and filled his greedy hands with the soft skin of her thighs.
“Open your eyes, Zara,” he said, playing with her intimate flesh the way he knew she liked.
Dark, desire-smudged eyes held his. “What do you want,shahzadi?” he asked, needing to know. Always needing to know with her. Always needing to hear her desire given voice on those lips.
“You. This. Now.”
“Then come closer,” he whispered, bending his head and pressing a soft kiss to the skin right above her knee.
Her breath hitched. “Closer?” she whispered, pink seeping up her neck now.
“Yes,” Virat said, letting her see his desire in his eyes. “I want to put my mouth on you, Zara. I want the taste of you on my lips. Can I?”
The moment suspended between them—an agony of hope and desire and something else passing like shadows on her face. He cupped her knee and pressed another soft kiss to her calf. “Only if you want it,shahzadi. No rules between—”
“Lovers. Only pleasure,” she finished for him.
Her shoulders jutting out, she propped herself up on her elbows. A bead of sweat dripped down her temple into the valley between her breasts. “Will I be allowed to return the pleasure?” the minx demanded, swiping the tip of her tongue over her lower lip.
His erection twitched against his upper belly, demanding release. To take what she was offering so boldly. When the very idea of either of them doing this very thing had made her shy away from him once upon a time. But there was something about this intimacy between them—something that was raw and honest and incredibly fulfilling—that Virat was beginning to fear and crave at the same time. “It’s not a transaction, Zara.”
Scooting down on the sofa, she raised her head just enough to reach his mouth. Her lips and tongue were eager and warm and soft and tasted like honey. Her little pants when he let them breathe and her mewl of pleasure when he nipped her lower lip ignited pockets of pleasure all over his body. The kiss was a taking. Rough and fast, it sizzled right down to his bones. “Ten years have meant nothing when it is you, Virat. Do you still doubt me? Doubt this?”
Her eyes shone with a glittering resolve. “I want all the pleasure you can give me this time around. And I want to be the adventurous, bold lover I couldn’t be ten years ago.”
There it was. Virat wrapped his fingers around her neck and held her to him. He nuzzled into her cheek, that tenderness overflowing within him. “Zara, you were perfect then. Why would you think—”
