"I think you should stop being so mean to me, Zahed."
"Why would I ever do that?"
Aryan grins, a bright, wicked thing.
"Because I kiss you like this."
•
Mira Zahed and Aryan Shankar are at war.
When her best friend and his cousin decide to fall in...
sexually explicit content warning for this entire chapter PLEASE i beg SKIP if you're underage or uncomfortable with this type of content you will not miss any plot points if you skip
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♥ ♥ ♥
ALL I SEE IS HIS ARROGANT LITTLE GRIN before my mouth is on his.
Aryan laughs, a single amused sound that vibrates past his chest, his lips a carved, self-satisfied smile against mine. Then, he's kissing me back.
And I want him. In every twisted definition of the word.
The moon stands sentient in the sky, aglow, and yet I pay it no mind. Moonlight has nothing on him.
My back presses into the car door, Aryan's warmth blazing against my front, chest to chest. I lose myself in the race of his heart.
Some small voice at the back of my head is screaming at me.
What the fuck are you doing, Mira?
But I ignore it. My self-control snapped somewhere between the cool marble of the pool table's edge and the flickering firelight along his cheekbones. It's basically nonexistent right now. Ash lost on the wind. Salt dissolved in the sea. The sea, swallowing the sun whole come evening, making way for that watchful moon above our heads. And even that's barely real.
What's real is the hammer of my heart and his hair between my fingers and the hard contours of his torso pressed to mine and his lips. Whatever air I get as he pulls away lightly is gone again, stolen. He kisses like a bandit. Fuck. He kisses like the devil come to claim his due.
Wicked lips curve against mine, then I'm off my feet, legs clutching him instinctively. This motion is familiar to me, familiar to us and our little dances, except Aryan wanders in this particular waltz, hands drifting away from holding me up by the backs of my thighs. His hands slide ceaselessly up my legs to rest plainly on the curve of my ass. All I get is a little grin against my lips before he clutches me hard, fingers digging past my dress, right into flesh and sending a rocket of warmth through me.
I may have made a sound but it's lost on his lips, lost on my legs digging into his sides, skin against denim and the leather of his belt, lost on the hard press of metal behind me and the hard press of Aryan in front of me.
He wants me too. In every aching definition of the word.
Aryan slips a hand over my ass, right down my thigh, past the hem of my dress, onto the bare skin of my leg, goosebumps in his wake. He stays his hand on my knee momentarily before dropping it entirely, his other hand squeezing my ass once more before that too leaves.
