10-08-2026, 09:14 PM
As Aditya embraced a boneless, contented Ayesha, his heart stumbled
around his chest like a drunken man.
That hadn’t been practice fucking for a practice relationship or pro bono
fucking to prove he was better than his dad.
He’d fucked hundreds of women, but he’d never been so in tune with one
woman’s body. He’d never been so desperate to please or so elated when she
cried his name and came for him again and again and again.
He didn’t know what that had been, but it sure as hell hadn’t been fucking.
She hugged him tighter, pressed sloppy kisses to his shoulder and neck,
and grinned up at him. She clawed her fingers on his chest—apparently
this was not always a bad sign—and it tickled like hell.
He flattened her fingers against his heart to still their tapping and tried to
put himself in a professional state of mind. “Look at you. I’m expecting
another five-star review.”
“Six stars.” Her grin widened, and chocolate eyes shone at him and forgot
to dart away, letting him really look at her for the first time that morning. It
made him feel like he’d won something priceless, kicked the breath straight
out of his lungs.
“You’re bad for my ego. It’s big enough as it is,” he made himself say in a
light tone.
“You don’t act egotistical. You’re very modest but confident. It’s one of
the many things I love about you.”
Love?
Sharpness panged inside his chest.
She could never love him. He felt the certainty with every fiber of himself.
Love required trust, and only a fool would trust him. He was his father’s son.
But he could prove he was more if he did this right. That was all he could
ask for.
He glanced at the clock and was amazed to see it wasn’t even ten yet.
The events of the morning had felt life-changing, but they’d only been awake
for two hours.
“I’m starving, and I need coffee,” he said. “I also need to get my car. All
of my clean clothes are in there.”
Mostly, he needed some space. She was getting too close, and he needed to
put distance between them. He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, fully
aware of his audience’s appreciative gaze.
He felt a little ridiculous about it, but maybe he did it slowly. Maybe he flexed his abs and biceps as he zipped his fly and buttoned his pants. Because really, putting on pants required a lot of muscle.
“Hurry up and get ready, Ayesha.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“We’re going shopping. Couples do that on Sundays.”
• • •
Ayesha pursed her lips as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Aditya had just opened up an entire new branch of apparel to her.
Yoga clothes.
In particular, yoga pants.
She was very possibly in heaven. The pants didn’t itch at all, and they
were tight. She loved clothes that hugged her. Even better, they made her legs
and butt look outstanding. She looked like a dancer. Or a yogi. Or some
hybridized version of the two.
“Come out so I can see,” Aditya said from outside the changing room.
Biting her lip to hide her smile, she opened the door and stepped out.
His crooked grin came out in full force, and his rare dimple winked.
“Knew it.”
“Do you like it?” She smoothed a hand over her tummy and turned in a
slow circle.
He stood up from the waiting chair and approached her, running
appraising eyes over her curves.
He slid a hand down the length of her neck to
her shoulder and across the tight-fitting long sleeve so he
could interlace their fingers.
“I love it.”
“I’m sexy in this.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her near.
“Very sexy.”
He brushed his lips over hers and tickled his way to her ear and neck, making her squirm and bite back giggles that would have been decidedly unsexy.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a shopgirl watching her with open
envy. The girl mouthed the words So lucky, and Ayesha grinned even though
she had mixed feelings. None of this was real. She was paying for it. Not that
she minded the expense. Aditya was worth every penny.
“I assume you’re going to buy them?”
“One of every color.”
“I have to put my foot down. Not the fluorescent orange with yellow spots.
It hurts me,” he said with a wince.
“No fluorescent orange and yellow, got it. Oh, they have dresses.” Her
eyes rounded at the possibilities.
When they stopped for lunch at a bakery in the Taj, three enormous bags of apparel took up the space by their feet. He insisted they had the best sandwiches in Mumbai,
As light afternoon shopper traffic passed by and the sun shone down
through the trees, Ayesha decided she might want to do this again.
Her regular Sunday schedule was shot, but she was open to developing a new weekend routine. She was adaptable, especially when things involved Aditya.
Dressed in casual khakis and a white button-down open at the collar and
rolled up to his elbows, he looked magazine delicious—as usual. It occurred
to her they’d spent the entire morning shopping for her. How selfish and self-
absorbed of her.
“Do you want to look at men’s attire?” She considered the shops around
them, wondering if any of them appealed to him.
He shook his head with a funny smile. “No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? Would you let me get you something?” When his
expression went uncomfortable, her heartbeat picked up, and she tried to
make light of the situation by adding, “Since you won’t let me get you a
Ferrari.”
He sent her a searching look. “Would you really get me a Ferrari if I
wanted it?”
She stared down at the crumbs on her sandwich wrapper and nodded. “I
can afford it, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t really know how to talk
about money matters, but I make a lot, and there aren’t many things I want to
spend it on. I would love to get you a car. Especially if—” She cut herself off
before she could say something that would make him angry.
“If what?”
“I’d rather not say. I’m pretty sure it’s not appropriate.”
He tilted his head to the side, and his expression grew shuttered. “I’d like
to hear it.”
“I was going to say . . .” She took an uncomfortable breath. “Especially if
another woman got you the one you have.”
He focused on folding his sandwich wrapper into a neat square. “Are you
asking if the car was a gift?”
She was pretty sure it was, and it infuriated her. “Yes.”
“It was, actually.”
“From the woman from the club.”
His brow wrinkled. “How do you know that?”
“She’s the client who won’t leave you alone.” The memory of the woman
kissing him flashed in her mind. Not only that, but
he’d had sex with her—probably multiple times. She dug her nails into the
glass surface of the table as her breathing went fast and bitter.
He settled a hand on top of hers, and her heart rate eased. “I don’t like
getting those kinds of gifts. Please don’t, okay?”
“Okay.” But she couldn’t help feeling he kept the gift because he liked the
woman who’d given it to him. Wasn’t that what you did when someone meant
something to you? You kept the things they gave you?
She wanted him to keep something from her. The fact that he wasn’t
allowing her to give him anything made her feel almost desperate.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you if you’re going to start getting
jealous of my past clients, Ayesha,” he said, his eyes level and his voice
somber, like his escorting was a sad reality they had to accept.
Question after question piled on her tongue. If he didn’t like it, why did he
do it? He was so talented with clothes. Why didn’t he make more of it instead
of dry cleaning and altering it? What did he use his escorting money on?
Did he have some secret addiction? Was he in danger?
Why couldn’t he be hers for real?
He was hers for now, though.
As they finished up with lunch, the question from before persisted in the
back of her mind.
Why couldn’t he be hers for real?
There was only one plausible reason she could think of: He didn’t want her
back.
Things like that weren’t written in stone, though. At the beginning of all of
this, she’d been prepared to learn skills that would aid her in seducing a man
—possibly Hameed Mirza. But why should she settle for Hameed when maybe she could have Aditya? Could she use what he taught her . . . on him? Could she seduce her escort?
around his chest like a drunken man.
That hadn’t been practice fucking for a practice relationship or pro bono
fucking to prove he was better than his dad.
He’d fucked hundreds of women, but he’d never been so in tune with one
woman’s body. He’d never been so desperate to please or so elated when she
cried his name and came for him again and again and again.
He didn’t know what that had been, but it sure as hell hadn’t been fucking.
She hugged him tighter, pressed sloppy kisses to his shoulder and neck,
and grinned up at him. She clawed her fingers on his chest—apparently
this was not always a bad sign—and it tickled like hell.
He flattened her fingers against his heart to still their tapping and tried to
put himself in a professional state of mind. “Look at you. I’m expecting
another five-star review.”
“Six stars.” Her grin widened, and chocolate eyes shone at him and forgot
to dart away, letting him really look at her for the first time that morning. It
made him feel like he’d won something priceless, kicked the breath straight
out of his lungs.
“You’re bad for my ego. It’s big enough as it is,” he made himself say in a
light tone.
“You don’t act egotistical. You’re very modest but confident. It’s one of
the many things I love about you.”
Love?
Sharpness panged inside his chest.
She could never love him. He felt the certainty with every fiber of himself.
Love required trust, and only a fool would trust him. He was his father’s son.
But he could prove he was more if he did this right. That was all he could
ask for.
He glanced at the clock and was amazed to see it wasn’t even ten yet.
The events of the morning had felt life-changing, but they’d only been awake
for two hours.
“I’m starving, and I need coffee,” he said. “I also need to get my car. All
of my clean clothes are in there.”
Mostly, he needed some space. She was getting too close, and he needed to
put distance between them. He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, fully
aware of his audience’s appreciative gaze.
He felt a little ridiculous about it, but maybe he did it slowly. Maybe he flexed his abs and biceps as he zipped his fly and buttoned his pants. Because really, putting on pants required a lot of muscle.
“Hurry up and get ready, Ayesha.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“We’re going shopping. Couples do that on Sundays.”
• • •
Ayesha pursed her lips as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Aditya had just opened up an entire new branch of apparel to her.
Yoga clothes.
In particular, yoga pants.
She was very possibly in heaven. The pants didn’t itch at all, and they
were tight. She loved clothes that hugged her. Even better, they made her legs
and butt look outstanding. She looked like a dancer. Or a yogi. Or some
hybridized version of the two.
“Come out so I can see,” Aditya said from outside the changing room.
Biting her lip to hide her smile, she opened the door and stepped out.
His crooked grin came out in full force, and his rare dimple winked.
“Knew it.”
“Do you like it?” She smoothed a hand over her tummy and turned in a
slow circle.
He stood up from the waiting chair and approached her, running
appraising eyes over her curves.
He slid a hand down the length of her neck to
her shoulder and across the tight-fitting long sleeve so he
could interlace their fingers.
“I love it.”
“I’m sexy in this.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her near.
“Very sexy.”
He brushed his lips over hers and tickled his way to her ear and neck, making her squirm and bite back giggles that would have been decidedly unsexy.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a shopgirl watching her with open
envy. The girl mouthed the words So lucky, and Ayesha grinned even though
she had mixed feelings. None of this was real. She was paying for it. Not that
she minded the expense. Aditya was worth every penny.
“I assume you’re going to buy them?”
“One of every color.”
“I have to put my foot down. Not the fluorescent orange with yellow spots.
It hurts me,” he said with a wince.
“No fluorescent orange and yellow, got it. Oh, they have dresses.” Her
eyes rounded at the possibilities.
When they stopped for lunch at a bakery in the Taj, three enormous bags of apparel took up the space by their feet. He insisted they had the best sandwiches in Mumbai,
As light afternoon shopper traffic passed by and the sun shone down
through the trees, Ayesha decided she might want to do this again.
Her regular Sunday schedule was shot, but she was open to developing a new weekend routine. She was adaptable, especially when things involved Aditya.
Dressed in casual khakis and a white button-down open at the collar and
rolled up to his elbows, he looked magazine delicious—as usual. It occurred
to her they’d spent the entire morning shopping for her. How selfish and self-
absorbed of her.
“Do you want to look at men’s attire?” She considered the shops around
them, wondering if any of them appealed to him.
He shook his head with a funny smile. “No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? Would you let me get you something?” When his
expression went uncomfortable, her heartbeat picked up, and she tried to
make light of the situation by adding, “Since you won’t let me get you a
Ferrari.”
He sent her a searching look. “Would you really get me a Ferrari if I
wanted it?”
She stared down at the crumbs on her sandwich wrapper and nodded. “I
can afford it, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t really know how to talk
about money matters, but I make a lot, and there aren’t many things I want to
spend it on. I would love to get you a car. Especially if—” She cut herself off
before she could say something that would make him angry.
“If what?”
“I’d rather not say. I’m pretty sure it’s not appropriate.”
He tilted his head to the side, and his expression grew shuttered. “I’d like
to hear it.”
“I was going to say . . .” She took an uncomfortable breath. “Especially if
another woman got you the one you have.”
He focused on folding his sandwich wrapper into a neat square. “Are you
asking if the car was a gift?”
She was pretty sure it was, and it infuriated her. “Yes.”
“It was, actually.”
“From the woman from the club.”
His brow wrinkled. “How do you know that?”
“She’s the client who won’t leave you alone.” The memory of the woman
kissing him flashed in her mind. Not only that, but
he’d had sex with her—probably multiple times. She dug her nails into the
glass surface of the table as her breathing went fast and bitter.
He settled a hand on top of hers, and her heart rate eased. “I don’t like
getting those kinds of gifts. Please don’t, okay?”
“Okay.” But she couldn’t help feeling he kept the gift because he liked the
woman who’d given it to him. Wasn’t that what you did when someone meant
something to you? You kept the things they gave you?
She wanted him to keep something from her. The fact that he wasn’t
allowing her to give him anything made her feel almost desperate.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you if you’re going to start getting
jealous of my past clients, Ayesha,” he said, his eyes level and his voice
somber, like his escorting was a sad reality they had to accept.
Question after question piled on her tongue. If he didn’t like it, why did he
do it? He was so talented with clothes. Why didn’t he make more of it instead
of dry cleaning and altering it? What did he use his escorting money on?
Did he have some secret addiction? Was he in danger?
Why couldn’t he be hers for real?
He was hers for now, though.
As they finished up with lunch, the question from before persisted in the
back of her mind.
Why couldn’t he be hers for real?
There was only one plausible reason she could think of: He didn’t want her
back.
Things like that weren’t written in stone, though. At the beginning of all of
this, she’d been prepared to learn skills that would aid her in seducing a man
—possibly Hameed Mirza. But why should she settle for Hameed when maybe she could have Aditya? Could she use what he taught her . . . on him? Could she seduce her escort?
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