Aanchal
Coming down now. Don’t leave.
Daksh
How can I?
She emerges from the lift, toting a laptop bag, lugging a suitcase. I run to help her.
‘I’m glad you didn’t leave,’ she says, a smile on her face, sweat on her brow.
We get into the check-out line. We are fourth. As we step forward, she steps closer to me. The proximity of her body to mine makes my throat dry. There are things I want to tell her, but words swirl around in my mind, making it impossible for me to construct a sentence.
She’s no longer Vicky’s. She could be . . . mine? Her body could be . . . mine?
I watch the rise and fall of her chest, her lips parting and closing. And a deep desire for her unfurls inside of me. As the line moves forward, I tap her waist to make her move, but I cannot take my hand away. I let it rest on her back. She looks up, blinks and lets it rest there.
Fuck.
My hand against her waist, only a flimsy T-shirt separating us. From a touch, I ever so slightly press my fingers against her waist. She catches my eye and says nothing.
Either stop me now or don’t stop me at all.
She steps closer to me, her leg brushes against mine, her eyes meet mine in affirmation.
We move another spot ahead in the line. She moves even closer to me. My hand moves to the far side of her waist. She pushes into me, her soft body against mine. When she looks up, we are breathing the same air. Another spot moves up. We are at the counter. The front desk person asks for a key.
She turns to me. ‘It’s in my back pocket,’ she says softly.
No.
I take my hand off her waist and push it down the back pocket of her jeans. She pushes her ass out to meet my hand. I slowly take out the key. I can barely hear the front desk girl over my own laboured breathing.
‘The hotel transport is waiting outside,’ the girl says.
As we move out of the line, I take my hand off her. I’m no longer touching her and it makes me furious. How dare her body not be touching mine?
‘Mezzanine floor,’ I tell her.
‘Take me.’
23.
Daksh Dey
I walk towards the lift. She follows. She presses the lift button. A stream of people exits. We enter the lift and slam the close button.
It’s justus.
She turns, I march towards her. Our bodies meet with the fever of a thousand suns. I hold her by the neck. Her eyes are pure thirst.
