All Yash had wanted was to get it over with. All she’d wanted was to get it over with too.

She didn’t want this to be over.

Vansh. His name made every muscle in her body clench with need, and pleasure. And freedom.

He didn’t reply, but his body responded. It hardened even as she felt him swallow a gasp.

Her face pressed into his shoulder, seeking out that smell, that warm touch of his skin. Her hips moved. The groan that shuddered in his chest was her name ripped up and scattered into breath. He didn’t move, not away, not closer. Didn’t make it easier. Not harder. Tremors traveled through him, taut muscles tightening, his body hardening impossibly against hers.

Naina. He pushed out the word.

Please don’t stop me. Don’t stop this.

Her hips took on a rhythm, thrusting back and forth, undulating against him with a languid force that gripped her core and fused it against him, pressing, then dragging, pressing, then dragging. Breath shuddered from her, her moans shameless, loud, and wretched as they broke free from her lungs.

Everything turned to one thing: him and her and the place where their bodies fused together. The place where their flesh kissed and rubbed. Friction building and building too fast. The explosion came faster than she wanted, not fast enough, and when it peaked and crashed it splintered her, the convulsion so violent and sharp she choked on her own gasp, trembled from it, toes curling, nails digging, lip bitten so hard she tasted her own blood.

Tears streamed from her eyes, saliva wet her lips, throbbing slickness gathered in the aching space between her legs. She was drenched, soaked to her bones. Liquid. Sweat and joy and shame. She didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Her release was too great, her body too satisfied, and it knocked everything else askew.

Somewhere outside her, he said her name again.

Somewhere inside her a voice tried to tell her something, but she couldn’t hear it. Not when satisfaction screamed in her ears. Not when her heartbeat pounded through her limbs. Clutching the cotton of his shirt in her fingers, the silk of his pants between her bare thighs, she let herself fall, deep into the release that continued to convulse through her in quivering aftershocks.

When oblivion followed, she gave herself up to it, claiming what felt like the first breath of peace she’d ever known.

Chapter Twelve

Vansh was going to spend all of today—forever to be remembered as the Day After the Thigh Incident—trying not to look at his phone every two seconds.

Naina was not going to call or text. She was probably never going to speak to him again. Ever. The thought made him want to shake out his arms.