"The way I treat you," he repeated, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "You mean like this?"
He kissed her, hard and claiming. She shoved at his chest, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head with one large hand.
"Or like this?" His free hand slid down her side, over her hip, pulling her against him. She could feel him, hard and ready, and her traitorous body responded despite her anger.
"I hate you," she gasped against his mouth.
"Liar." He bit her lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You just said you love me."
"I take it back."
"Too late." He released her wrists only to spin her around, pressing her against the wall face-first. His body was a line of heat behind her. "You love me. Admit it."
"Never."
His hand fisted in her hair, gentle but firm, tilting her head back. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
"You're mine," he growled against her throat. "Say it."
"You don't get to—ah!" His other hand had found the zipper of her saree blouse, dragging it down in one smooth motion.
"Don't get to what?" He pushed the fabric off her shoulders, his hands mapping her skin with possessive touches. "Don't get to claim what's already mine? Don't get to make you admit what we both know is true?"
She should fight this. Should maintain her anger and her dignity. But when his fingers found her breast, thumb teasing her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra, she melted.
"Sidharth," she breathed.
"That's right. My name." He unhooked her bra, his hands cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she was gasping. "Who makes you feel like this? Who touches you like this?"
"You," she admitted, hating herself for it.
"And who do you love?" His hand slid down, beneath the waistband of her saree, finding her wet and ready. "Say it, Advika. Say you love me."
"I—" The words stuck in her throat, pride and fear warring with need.
He withdrew his hand, leaving her aching and empty. "Say it, or I stop."
"That's not fair—"
"Nothing about this is fair." He spun her around, backing her toward the bathroom. "But I need to hear it. Need you to admit it."
They reached the bathroom, and he lifted her onto the counter, settling between her legs. The mirror behind her reflected their image—her saree disheveled, his hands dark against her skin, both of them flushed with desire and anger.
"Look," he commanded, turning her head so she had to watch their reflection. "Look at us."
His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her saree higher. He hooked his fingers in her panties, dragging them down and off. Then his hand was between her legs, fingers sliding through her wetness.
"Watch," he ordered, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror as he pushed two fingers inside her.
Advika whimpered, her hands bracing on the sink. In the mirror, she could see everything—the way her body responded to his touch, the way her back arched, the way her lips parted on a moan.
"You see this?" His voice was rough in her ear, his eyes locked on hers in the reflection. "You see how perfect you are? How beautiful you are when you let yourself feel?"
His fingers moved inside her, thumb circling her clit, and she was already close, wound too tight from months of tension and emotion.
"Say it," he demanded. "Tell me you love me, Advika. Let me hear it."
"I love you," the words burst out of her, half sob, half moan. "God help me, I love you."
