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She hurls her stilettoes at the door with such force that one unexpectedly sails through the air, straight toward my face. I duck just in time, the shoe narrowly missing me and landing with a dull thud somewhere behind. It’s obvious she’s furious. Completely consumed by her ranting and venting her frustration, she’s blissfully unaware that her flying stiletto nearly took me out.

Next, her hands move to the zipper of her dress, and my breath catches in my throat. Slowly, inch by inch, she tugs it down, revealing the creamy expanse of her back to my hungry gaze. But my visual feast is cut short when the zipper gets stuck halfway, refusing to budge, much to her mounting frustration.

“Ugh, perfect!” she groans. “Just perfect! It’s stuck—just like my life! Everything’s stuck because of him!” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “And what do I do? Hand him my heart on a silver platter, only for him to trample all over it! Brilliant, Simran, just brilliant!”

She’s venting, her emotions pouring out in a way she rarely allows herself. It’s… endearing. Her fingers tug at the zip again, and she curses under her breath, muttering, “I told him about my past relationships today. I told him that I hadn’t wanted anyone else since he came into my life. And what did he say? Nothing! Eighteen months since that night, and what do I know about his feelings? Goddamn nothing!!” she screams in anger.

I can’t hold back anymore. Her vulnerability, her passion, her beauty—it’s all too hard to resist. The tension between us has been simmering all day, and now it’s bubbling over. I replay the scene at the restaurant, my outburst, and Simran’s fiery response as I watch her pacing, muttering under her breath. She’s clearly still fuming about the way I handled things tonight. Yet, amid her ramblings, all I can focus on is the way her dress clings to her body, and the way her hair has come loose in soft waves after the rushed drive home. She’s breathtaking, even when she’s mad at me.

I move silently across the room, closing the space between us until I’m right behind her. She doesn’t notice me until my fingers graze the cool metal of the zip, and her whole body tenses at my touch.

Her gaze shoots to the mirror in front of us, her wide, startled eyes locking with mine through the reflection. I see the exact moment realisation dawns on her, evident from the soft blush spreading from her neck to her cheeks.

I remain silent, my fingers toying with the stubborn zip as I lower it a fraction more. The warmth of her skin against my knuckles is electrifying. Simran shivers under my touch and her breathing quickens, but she doesn’t move away.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been affected?” I murmur, my gaze steady on hers in the mirror. “The only one who’s been stuck in their head for the past eighteen months?”

I ease the zip down further. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. I let my fingers trail up her back, grazing the smooth expanse of her skin, and she trembles.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve thought about that one night, Simran?” I continue, my voice lower now, rougher. “How many times I’ve replayed it in my head, wondering if I should have stayed? If I should have fought for you back then instead of walking away? That night has been playing in my head like a constant loop. Every detail. Every touch. Every sound you made is still so vivid in my mind.”

Her breathing hitches as I lean closer.

“I haven’t been with anyone else either,” I murmur, my lips brushing against the crook of her neck. She smells intoxicating as usual. “Not in these eighteen months. Not since you.”

I don’t even realise it until my lips part, and I press a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the delicate curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Vishnu…” she whispers again, her voice shaky.

“Do you know how maddening it is?” I whisper against her skin between soft kisses. “You’ve been in my head—every damn day, every damn night. I can’t focus, I can’t think straight—and it’s all because of you.”

My hands slide to her waist, holding her steady as she sways slightly.

“You drive me crazy, Simran,” I confess, my lips trailing up her neck. “Your stubbornness. Your fire. The way you challenge me.”

In the mirror, I see her eyes flutter shut as I pull her closer against me. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, Simran,” I breathe against her ear. “Never needed anyone the way I need you.”

Her fingers find mine at her waist and laces them together. Her pulse jumps beneath my lips as I continue my exploration of her neck. I feel her lean back into me, surrendering to the moment, her body melting into mine. The fire between us that’s been smouldering all evening finally ignites, and all our earlier arguments fade away in the heat of our shared desire.

I turn her slightly so I can see her face more clearly. Her lips tremble and she looks at me as if searching for answers, reassurance, or maybe both.

“You’ve ruined me,” I admit, my hands tightening around her waist. “And I hate it… almost as much as I need it.”

My lips find the soft curve of her shoulder blade. I nuzzle against her skin before trailing heated kisses along its path. With deliberate slowness, I use my teeth to slide the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders, feeling her fingers grip my shirt sleeves for support. The fabric of her dress threatens to fall soon, promising to reveal her beauty to my starved gaze.

Her control falters as my lips travel upwards, finding the hollow behind her ear, and her body softens against mine. Tentatively, her fingers slide beneath my shirt, skimming over my skin, leaving a scorching trail in their wake. I hadn’t realised just how much I needed her to touch me, to show me that she feels this pull just as strongly as I do.

Growing bolder, her hands move to my chest and then slide down to undo the buttons of my shirt. She pushes the fabric off my shoulders with practiced ease, letting it fall to the floor. A low, guttural sound escapes me as her palms glide across my chest, stoking a hunger so fierce it threatens to consume every ounce of my restraint.

Unable to control any further, my rough palms slide down to cup her hips, squeezing firmly as I pull her against my hardened length. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me, every nerve alight with the need to claim her as mine.

“Simran…” I whisper, finally leaning in to capture her lips, desperate to taste her.

But she surprises me by leaning back just enough to halt my approach. Her head tilts slightly, and her eyes lock with mine. The fire in them isn’t passion—it’s anger and defiance. All the events from today at the hotel seem to have built up to this moment of rebellion.

I give her a questioning look, my hands still possessively gripping her curves.

“I’m not in the mood,” she says calmly before her hands find mine, and she pushes them away from her body with surprising strength.