01-03-2026, 03:02 PM
The hallway was quiet, the distant hum of the resort’s air conditioning providing a low, steady heartbeat to the silence between them. Anjana stared at Vicky’s lips, momentarily deaf to the words he was saying. They were mesmerizing—soft, full, and shaped with a masculine precision that seemed unfair. Despite every ounce of her better judgment, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering into dangerous territory, wondering exactly how those lips would feel against her own.
She couldn't wrap her head around it. This resort was crawling with the elite—supermodels with legs that went on for days, rising Bollywood starlets with millions of followers, and socialites who had spent thousands to be in his orbit. Yet here was Vicky, the man whose face graced every billboard from Mumbai to New York, content to stand in a dimly lit corridor listening to her ramble about her childhood.
Maybe he has some kind of undiagnosed brain damage, she thought wildly. It was the only explanation that made a lick of sense. Why else would he choose her?
As she chattered on—mostly out of a desperate need to fill the space—they had drifted closer. The air between them was charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sharp, oaky tang of the Old Monk. When Vicky shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his bare forearm brushed against hers.
A jolt, sharp and sudden as a live wire, sang through her. It wasn't just a touch; it was an electric shock that left her entire body buzzing, her skin humming where he had made contact. Anjana froze, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked up to see if he had felt the same lightning strike. He had.
Vicky didn’t pull away. Instead, his face began to descend toward hers, slow and deliberate. His arms slipped around her waist, his touch firm and possessive. Anjana felt herself melting, her resolve dissolving like sugar in tea against the radiating heat of his hard, athletic frame.
Before his lips met hers, Vicky paused. He raised a hand, grazing his fingertips along the side of her face. It was a feather-light touch, delicate as a butterfly’s kiss. It was the kind of tenderness you would never expect from a man built like a beast, a man whose screen persona was defined by raw power and violence.
Vicky knew the timing of things. He knew that roughness had its place, but in this moment, he was almost afraid. Despite his strength, he felt as though this woman—this girl who looked at him with such earnest worship—might vanish into thin air if he forced the moment too quickly.
A shivery thrill raced down Anjana's spine. Those fingertip trails felt like lines of liquid fire on her skin. Involuntarily, her eyes fluttered shut. She gave herself up to him, leaning into the heat of his body.
When his lips finally claimed hers, it wasn't just a kiss; it was a reclaiming. Anjana’s world sparked into a delicious, terrifying fire. She was a woman who had lived a quiet, disciplined life, but this touch threatened to incinerate every value she held dear. Every goal her parents had set for her, every societal expectation of an "unmarried woman of good character," felt like ash in the wind.
His lips were better than her wildest teenage fantasies—warm, velvety, and hungry. He nipped playfully at her lower lip with sharp teeth, his tongue flicking greedily to taste the cherry-flavored gloss she’d applied so carefully three hours ago.
Anjana wasn’t prepared for the sheer speed of her body’s betrayal. No one had made her feel this hot, this fast, since... well, never.
While his mouth held her captive, Vicky’s fingers found the clip holding her hair. With a deft flick, he freed the dark, heavy waves. Her hair tumbled down in a golden-brown cascade over her shoulders. His powerful fingers wove into the strands, gently tipping her head back to expose the line of her throat.
He moved his mouth away from her lips, trailing kisses down to her chin before nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck. He alternated between soft nibbles and slow, agonizing licks that made her burn and shiver simultaneously.
The Old Monk left a sharp, clean bite of citrus on her tongue as their breaths mingled. Anjana pushed up onto her tiptoes, seeking more, crushing her soft curves against the unyielding wall of his chest. Her fingers tangled in the thick, soft mass of his hair, pulling him closer as if she could pull him inside her soul.
His tongue dove deep, playing a rhythmic, demanding game against hers until her heart hammered like a trapped bird. Her skin felt too tight for her body; every nerve was alive, quivering for his attention, reacting to every breath he exhaled against her skin.
Each touch of his powerful hands sent her a little higher, stoking a rage of desire that left her lightheaded. Perhaps it was the unaccustomed alcohol, or perhaps it was the sheer starvation of her own senses after years of being "the good girl," but she couldn't remember ever feeling this way.
A quiver deep within her warned her of the coming storm. She knew where this was headed. If he moved his hands to her breasts, if he pressed the hard, steel evidence of his arousal against her one more time, her clothes would be coming off. And the most terrifying part? She knew she wouldn't say "no." She wouldn't even try to stop the scenes which used to give her wet dreams as a teenager.
She couldn't wrap her head around it. This resort was crawling with the elite—supermodels with legs that went on for days, rising Bollywood starlets with millions of followers, and socialites who had spent thousands to be in his orbit. Yet here was Vicky, the man whose face graced every billboard from Mumbai to New York, content to stand in a dimly lit corridor listening to her ramble about her childhood.
Maybe he has some kind of undiagnosed brain damage, she thought wildly. It was the only explanation that made a lick of sense. Why else would he choose her?
As she chattered on—mostly out of a desperate need to fill the space—they had drifted closer. The air between them was charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sharp, oaky tang of the Old Monk. When Vicky shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his bare forearm brushed against hers.
A jolt, sharp and sudden as a live wire, sang through her. It wasn't just a touch; it was an electric shock that left her entire body buzzing, her skin humming where he had made contact. Anjana froze, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked up to see if he had felt the same lightning strike. He had.
Vicky didn’t pull away. Instead, his face began to descend toward hers, slow and deliberate. His arms slipped around her waist, his touch firm and possessive. Anjana felt herself melting, her resolve dissolving like sugar in tea against the radiating heat of his hard, athletic frame.
Before his lips met hers, Vicky paused. He raised a hand, grazing his fingertips along the side of her face. It was a feather-light touch, delicate as a butterfly’s kiss. It was the kind of tenderness you would never expect from a man built like a beast, a man whose screen persona was defined by raw power and violence.
Vicky knew the timing of things. He knew that roughness had its place, but in this moment, he was almost afraid. Despite his strength, he felt as though this woman—this girl who looked at him with such earnest worship—might vanish into thin air if he forced the moment too quickly.
A shivery thrill raced down Anjana's spine. Those fingertip trails felt like lines of liquid fire on her skin. Involuntarily, her eyes fluttered shut. She gave herself up to him, leaning into the heat of his body.
When his lips finally claimed hers, it wasn't just a kiss; it was a reclaiming. Anjana’s world sparked into a delicious, terrifying fire. She was a woman who had lived a quiet, disciplined life, but this touch threatened to incinerate every value she held dear. Every goal her parents had set for her, every societal expectation of an "unmarried woman of good character," felt like ash in the wind.
His lips were better than her wildest teenage fantasies—warm, velvety, and hungry. He nipped playfully at her lower lip with sharp teeth, his tongue flicking greedily to taste the cherry-flavored gloss she’d applied so carefully three hours ago.
Anjana wasn’t prepared for the sheer speed of her body’s betrayal. No one had made her feel this hot, this fast, since... well, never.
While his mouth held her captive, Vicky’s fingers found the clip holding her hair. With a deft flick, he freed the dark, heavy waves. Her hair tumbled down in a golden-brown cascade over her shoulders. His powerful fingers wove into the strands, gently tipping her head back to expose the line of her throat.
He moved his mouth away from her lips, trailing kisses down to her chin before nuzzling the sensitive skin of her neck. He alternated between soft nibbles and slow, agonizing licks that made her burn and shiver simultaneously.
The Old Monk left a sharp, clean bite of citrus on her tongue as their breaths mingled. Anjana pushed up onto her tiptoes, seeking more, crushing her soft curves against the unyielding wall of his chest. Her fingers tangled in the thick, soft mass of his hair, pulling him closer as if she could pull him inside her soul.
His tongue dove deep, playing a rhythmic, demanding game against hers until her heart hammered like a trapped bird. Her skin felt too tight for her body; every nerve was alive, quivering for his attention, reacting to every breath he exhaled against her skin.
Each touch of his powerful hands sent her a little higher, stoking a rage of desire that left her lightheaded. Perhaps it was the unaccustomed alcohol, or perhaps it was the sheer starvation of her own senses after years of being "the good girl," but she couldn't remember ever feeling this way.
A quiver deep within her warned her of the coming storm. She knew where this was headed. If he moved his hands to her breasts, if he pressed the hard, steel evidence of his arousal against her one more time, her clothes would be coming off. And the most terrifying part? She knew she wouldn't say "no." She wouldn't even try to stop the scenes which used to give her wet dreams as a teenager.
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