Her arms went around his neck, holding him there, kissing him deeper, as if she needed to feel him closer. When their bodies aligned fully, Karan’s hands came up to her face again, cradling her as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he had held back into it.
He had meant to take it slow. To savour this moment. But her taste was intoxicating. The instant she let his tongue graze against hers, his breath turned uneven, and his body ached for more. Her soft moans in between the kiss only made it all worse.He wanted to memorise her, possess her, to run his lips over every damn inch of her, making it impossible for her to forget.
Without breaking the kiss, his hands moved from her face, sliding down along her neck, over her trembling pulse, to the soft curves of her breasts, before stopping at the first button on her shirt. His fingers hovered there, hesitant, aware of the line he was about to cross.
That was when she slowed the kiss. It was subtle, but he felt her hesitation, and a quiet fear of what might come next. Instantly, Karan pulled his hands away, broke the kiss gently, and stepped back just enough.
They stood there, breathing hard, looking at each other, both fully aware of what they wanted. But Karan took another step behind. It was instinct more than intention, not wanting to cross the line. He had wronged her deeply, and despite the confession of his regret and apology, he did not want to demand her love. He had no rights. Not anymore.
For a moment, Karan looked away from her. His hands dropped to his sides, fingers curling slightly as if he were holding himself in place.
Not because he did not want her.
Because he wanted her too much. And he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to.
Mishti saw the restraint in his form, the way he was forcing space between them, the way he was bracing himself, curbing his desires.
She stepped forward, and the distance he had created between them vanished in a heartbeat. She pressed her palms against his chest, right over his heart, feeling how fast it was beating beneath her hand.
Karan looked at her. She did not look uncertain. She did not look afraid.
“Here it comes,” she mocked. “Karan Wadhwa’s favourite habit. Giving hope… and then walking away.”
Karan didn’t like that. Not one bit. He cupped her face firmly, making her look at him as he replied, “No. It’s not that. I’m not walking away because I want to hurt you. I’m stepping back because I don’t want you to think I don’t deserve you yet.”
Mishti then understood the fear beneath his control. The doubt he carried about himself was only because she hadn’t forgiven him yet.
Instead of retreating, she moved closer. “I’ve spent months teaching myself how to unlove you, and I couldn’t. I loved you even when you gave me nothing, Karan. So tonight…” Her fingers tightened against his shirt, grounding herself in him. “Don’t hold back. Make me feel chosen. Just this once. Make me feel like I am yours.”
His throat worked as he swallowed, processing what she just demanded. Before he could respond, she rose onto her toes and pressed a slow kiss to his cheek. Right where his stubble was roughest.
The contact of her lips lingered there, soft against the scrape of his skin, as if she were claiming a sensation she had been denied for too long. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching at his sides, his control thinning.
She moved to his other cheek, kissed him there too, just as slowly.
That was all it took.
His restraint collapsed.
Karan’s hands came up, framing her face. He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, when he finally spoke.
“You already are mine,” he murmured. “You always were.”
He kissed her right then, deep and consuming, as if sealing that truth, that he had allowed himself to say aloud. His handsslid into her hair, loosening it further, anchoring her to him as he kissed her with everything he had.
She responded without hesitation, her fingers curling into his shoulders, her body fitting against his.
When they finally broke apart to breathe again, Karan turned her within the circle of his arms, until her back rested against his chest. She did not understand why he did it at first. Then his lips returned to her skin. They traced a slow, lingering path along her jaw, down her neck, and further, leaving warm, unhurried kisses in their wake. His nose brushed against her skin as he went, familiar and maddening all at once.
Mishti drifted somewhere far away. Her eyes slid shut. One arm lifted instinctively, fingers sinking into his hair behind her, while the other rested over the arm he had locked around her waist. She leaned back into him without thinking, giving him silent permission to claim her the way he clearly wanted to.
When he paused and murmured against her ear, “Look ahead,” she did not understand what he meant. Not until she opened her eyes.
They were standing before the dressing mirror.
Their intimate reflection stared back at her. His body curved around hers, his presence overwhelming even in reflection. He lowered his mouth to her collarbone again, pressing another kiss there before speaking softly. “I want you to look when I do this to you.”
Then his teeth grazed her neck. A sharp, unexpected nip tore a gasp from her throat. Before the sting could linger, he soothed it instantly, his mouth closing over the spot, easing it by sucking there slowly.
