He stood, rounding the desk, and before she could process what was happening, his hands were on her waist, lifting her out of the chair.
"Samarth—"
He sat in the chair himself and settled her on his lap.
"There," he said, reaching for the plate. "Better."
She went still, hyperaware of his chest against her back, his arm around her waist, the solid warmth of him.
"What are you doing?"
"Having dinner." He picked up a piece of roti, tearing off a small piece. "Open."
She stared at him. "I'm not—"
"Open your mouth, Nimisha."
The quiet authority in his voice made her obey before she'd consciously decided to.
He fed her, then took a bite himself. Back and forth, easy and unhurried, like they'd done this a thousand times.
Like this was normal.
"You need to eat too," he said when she tried to redirect the food entirely to him.
"I already ate."
"Then you can eat again." His arm tightened around her waist. "You're too thin."
"I'm exactly the same size I've always been."
"You've been too thin since the beginning. I just never paid enough attention." His jaw tightened slightly, as if the admission cost him something. "I'm paying attention now."
Her throat tightened.
They ate in comfortable silence—or she thought it was silence until she realized she was humming quietly, a habit she had when she was relaxed.
She stopped immediately.
"Don't," he said. "I like it."
She looked at him over her shoulder. "You like my humming?"
"I like all the sounds you make." His eyes were dark, warm. "The humming. The little laugh you do when something genuinely surprises you. The way you talk to Bruno like he's going to argue back." He paused. "The sounds you make when I'm inside you."
Heat flooded through her. "Samarth—"
"Read to me," he said.
"What?"
"Your writing." His hand moved to her back, fingers spreading warm and possessive. "Read to me. Whatever you're working on."
"You want me to read you my romance novel while sitting on your lap?"
"Yes."
"That's—"
