It was the closest he'd come to saying he loved her. Maybe as close as he could get right now.
"I wasn't flirting with him," she said quietly. "I was being professional. He offered me a job."
"I know."
"And I'm going to take it."
His jaw clenched, but he nodded. "I know."
"You have to trust me," she continued. "Not just with the big things, but with the small stuff too. Trust that when a man talks to me, I'm not going to throw myself at him. Trust that I can handle a business conversation without you intervening."
"I'm working on it." His hands slid from her face to her neck, thumbs brushing along her jaw. "But when I see other men looking at you, touching you, making you laugh... something in me just snaps."
"Good," she said, surprising him. "I like knowing you care enough to be jealous. But you have to learn to control it. To trust me."
"I do trust you." His voice dropped. "It's them I don't trust."
Before she could respond, he was kissing her—desperate, claiming, all the jealousy and possession and need he couldn't voice translated into touch.
Advika melted into it, her hands fisting in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The confined space of the car made every movement feel more intense, more necessary.
"You're mine," he growled against her lips. "Say it."
"I'm yours," she gasped as his mouth moved to her neck. "But you're mine too. Say it, Sidharth. Say you're mine."
His hands found the zipper of her gown, dragging it down. "I'm yours. Only yours. No one else's."
The admission sent heat pooling through her. She fumbled with his belt, his pants, needing to touch him, needing him inside her.
He pushed her dress up, bunching the expensive fabric around her waist. His hand wrapped gently around her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, possessive and erotic.
"Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your eyes when I take you."
She met his gaze as he pushed inside her, both of them groaning at the sensation. The city lights outside cast moving shadows across their bodies, creating an intimate cocoon in the backseat.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, his hips moving in slow, deep thrusts. "For me to admit you're mine? That I need you?"
"Yes," she moaned, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
"Say I'm yours," he demanded, his hand tightening fractionally on her throat. "Say it, Advika."
"You're mine," she gasped. "My husband. My lover. Mine."
"And who do you belong to?"
"You. Only you." She could feel her orgasm building, pleasure coiling tight in her core. "Sidharth, please—"
"Please what?" His free hand slid between them, finding her clit. "Tell me what you need."
"You. I need you. Only you, not anyone else, just you—"
The words seemed to break something in him. His thrusts became harder, faster, the car rocking with their movement. His hand stayed on her throat, a constant reminder of his claim, while his other hand worked her clit with practiced precision.
"Come for me," he ordered. "Come while I'm inside you, while my hand is on your throat, while you remember who you belong to."
She shattered, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through her. He followed moments later, her name a prayer and a curse on his lips.
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, bodies pressed together, the windows fogged from their exertion.
