God, they did.
He reached around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. The dual stimulation—his cock pounding into her from behind, his fingers working her clit—was too much.
"Samarth," she gasped. "I can't—I'm going to—"
"Come," he ordered. "Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to."
She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with devastating force. She cried out his name, her body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
He followed seconds later, his own release violent and possessive as he buried himself deep and spilled inside her.
For a moment, they stayed locked together, both breathing hard.
Then he pulled out, rolled away, and stood.
She heard water running in the bathroom. He returned with a warm cloth and cleaned her with surprising gentleness before tossing it aside.
She thought he might leave. Return to his office like he usually did.
Instead, he lay down beside her and pulled her against his chest.
The gesture was so unexpected, so unlike their usual routine, that she froze.
"Don't romanticize what we are, Nimisha," he said quietly, his hand stroking her hair. "This is just sex. Incredible sex, but just sex."
Her heart cracked a little more, but she nodded against his chest.
"I know."
He was asleep within minutes, his breathing deep and even.
But Nimisha lay awake, staring into the darkness, feeling the warmth of his body against hers and knowing it didn't mean what she desperately wanted it to mean.
It was just sex.
It would always be just sex.
No matter how much her traitorous heart wanted more.
CHAPTER 6
Elysium - 11:47 PM
The building stood unassuming from the outside—just another expensive establishment in Mumbai's elite Nariman Point area. But those who knew,knew. Elysium wasn't listed in any directory, didn't advertise, and didn't welcome walk-ins.
Membership was by invitation only.
And the man who controlled those invitations ruled the city's underworld.
Samarth Ranawat moved through the upper floor of his club with the confidence of a king surveying his kingdom. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light over leather furniture and imported liquor. Well-dressed men and women occupied the private booths, their laughter and conversation a symphony of wealth and power.
This was the legitimate face of Elysium—the exclusive gentleman's club where Mumbai's elite came to network, to be seen, to pretend they were different from the masses outside.
But Samarth wasn't here for them.
He moved past the main bar, through a door marked "Private," and descended the stairs that led to Elysium's true purpose.
The basement was a different world entirely. No soft lighting here—just harsh fluorescents that revealed every detail. No expensive furniture—just metal chairs and reinforced tables. No laughter—just the cold efficiency of business conducted in shadows.
