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“I’ll make sure you think of me and only me until you respect my opinions, trust my decisions, and meet my demands, just like you expect me to follow yours.No-Questions-Asked.”

His eyes blaze, his body rigid with tension.

“I’m going to try every trick I can think of to make sure you agree to this.” I lean closer, watching his eyes darken. “Imagine this: you’re stuck in those endless boring political meetings, and I’m sending you selfies that will drive you crazy. Until I’m the only thing you can think about. Until every other duty, every other responsibility fades away, and it’s just me, me and me.”

“Simran...” It’s a warning, but I’ve never been good at heeding those.

“I’ll send you pictures of all the sarees I try on, asking for your opinion.” My fingers play with his collar. “Or maybe just itsy-bitsy hints of what’s underneath...” I don’t know what made me say that, but it just slips out of my mouth, and I see the last thread of his self-control snap.

In a swift move, his hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him as his mouth crashes down on mine. The heat between us is instant, and every argument melts away in the intensity of the moment. I barely register when or how our heated clash transformed into this explosive kiss—one second, we were fighting about control, and the next, we’re both losing it completely. His kiss is demanding, dominant, trying to prove a point, and I meet him with equal force, refusing to back away. Neither of us is willing to concede.

But somewhere between his hands gripping my waist and my fingers tangling in his hair, the power play melts into raw need. His touch trails fire across my bare back, and I arch into him, gasping against his mouth as his fingers glide down my spine. The thin straps of my blouse suddenly feel non-existent, and the thought sends liquid heat through my veins.

Without breaking the kiss, Vishnu walks me backwards until my lower back hits the edge of the small table. In one fluid motion, his hands drop to my hips, and he effortlessly hoists me onto it, stepping between my legs. The position makes my saree hitch slightly, revealing more of my legs, and he takes full advantage. His hands slide beneath the fabric, his strong fingers kneading my thighs, making me whimper into his mouth.

The kiss deepens, growing more sensual as his tongue explores mine with slow, thorough strokes, enough to make my toes curl. One of his hands travels up my side and his thumb grazes the side of my breast through the thin blouse, while the other squeezes my thigh possessively. I run my hands down his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my palms, before sliding them around to grip his broad shoulders.

We break apart only when breathing becomes absolutely necessary, but his lips are instantly back again on my neck, trailing hot kisses down my collarbone. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, my fingers tangling in his hair. His teeth nip a particularly sensitive spot, making me gasp out his name.

“Vishnu...” I breathe, the sound coming out as half-moan, half-warning, because we’re still in the trial room, and Sarah could return at any moment.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark with desire. Our breaths are coming in shallow gasps, his hands still beneath my saree, burning against my skin. I can feel the barely restrained power in his grip. The way he’s looking at me—like he wants to devour me whole—makes me feel simultaneously powerful and helpless.

His thumb makes slow, deliberate circles on my inner thigh, making it hard to think straight.

“I don’t know about the rest...” he murmurs against my lips, “but every argument we have hereon is going to lead to this.” The promise in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I want to challenge his assumption, maintain some semblance of the upper hand, but my body betrays me. The flush spreading across my cheeks and down my neck tells him everything he needs to know. Deep down, I can’t disagree—there’s something intoxicating about the way our fights transform into this explosive passion.

Just then, a sharp knock at the door makes us both freeze.

“Simran? I’ve got Mr. Walia’s outfits for the trial,” Sarah says from outside.

Reality crashes back in. I slide down from the table, painfully aware of Vishnu’s hands reluctantly releasing their grip on my thighs. I reach up to smooth my dishevelled hair, feeling a bit unsteady. The saree needs some arranging too—the pallu has slipped dangerously low, and the pleats are completely askew.

“Just... just a moment, Sarah,” I call out, proud that my voice sounds almost normal.

Vishnu doesn’t move to help. He just leans against the table where moments ago... I push that thought away before I blush even harder. His eyes follow my every move as I adjust the saree, tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears, and try to cool my heated cheeks. There’s something deeply intimate about him watching me put myself back together, knowing he’s the reason I’m in this state.

I catch my reflection in the mirror—my lips are swollen from his kisses, and there’s a faint mark forming just below my collarbone, barely hidden by the saree. Vishnu’s reflection smirks behind me, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Stop looking so smug,” I mutter, shooting him a glare.

He pushes off the table and steps closer behind me, his breath tickling my ear.

“I can’t help it when you look like this,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “And I still stand by my words. You are not wearing this on our wedding day.”

What? Seriously?Before I can respond, he places a feather-light kiss on my shoulder that nearly undoes all my efforts to compose myself.

Sarah knocks again, asking if she should come back later.

“Come in, Sarah!” I call out, taking a steadying breath and smoothing down the front of my saree one final time.

Some battles, it seems, are destined to end in sweet surrender—not that I’ll ever admit that to him.

CHAPTER 24

VISHNU