He slams his lips again, grounding my thoughts. The kiss is something else. It’s desperate. Hungry. Like he’s been waiting years to do this again. Like he needs me.
And maybe I need him just as much.
His hands thread into my hair; mine grip his shirt tightly. I feel like I’ll fall apart if I let go. His mouth is hot and urgent, and the scrape of his stubble against my skin grounds me more than anything else ever could. I gasp when his teeth tug at my lower lip, and his hand drops to my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.
The ding of the elevator barely registers before we’re stumbling into the hallway. Laughing between kisses, fumbling for keys, never once breaking contact. His mouth moves to my jaw, then my neck, and I feel like the floor could disappear beneath me and I wouldn’t care as long as he keeps touching me like this.
I manage to pull the keys out of my bag with shaking hands.
His arms come around me from behind, still kissing, still breathless.
"Door," I murmur between kisses.
"Trying," he chuckles against my neck as I struggle to get the key in.
Finally, the lock gives. The door swings open, and we crash into the apartment like it’s oxygen. Like it's a sanctuary.
He shuts it behind us, and suddenly I’m pressed against the wall. His hands find mine, pinning them gently above my head. His body against mine feels like safety and fire, all at once. Every part of me wants this. Him. Us.
I slide my hands under his shirt, fingers curling at his warm skin, and I try to pull it off.
But his hands stop mine.
I blink up at him. His chest is rising fast, his lips parted, and his pupils blown wide.
"What's wrong?" I ask softly. I'm breathless, flushed. But his expression stops me cold.
He looks away and swallows hard. “I haven’t had sex in a long time, Aditi.”
I nod slowly, grounding myself, registering the fact. “Okay. Do you not want to?”
I want him to be completely comfortable and open with me. “I do,” he says quickly, sitting down on the couch behind him. His voice is tight, careful. “I do, I want to. But... I’m afraid.”
That word. It grips me.
I kneel in front of him, placing my hands gently on his thighs. I want to see his eyes. “Why?” I whisper.
He hesitates. His fingers curl into fists.
I wait. I don’t rush him. I just let him know, with my presence, with my breath, that I’m not going anywhere.
“You remember I told you about the punishment room?” His voice is so low I barely hear it.
My heart pounds.
He still doesn’t meet my eyes. “The sisters there… they used to…” His voice cracks.
“They used to…” He stills. My hand tightens around his.
“You don’t have to share anything, Abhimaan,” I whisper, throat tight.
But he finally looks at me. And there’s something so raw in his gaze that it cuts me clean.
“But I have to,” he says, barely audible. “I have never told anyone this.” He sighs. "It’s embarrassing,"
I smile. “Nothing you do or went through is embarrassing for me,” I assure him.
“They used to rape the boys there.” Everything in me stills as he utters the words. I blink. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. He was—he was just a kid. I feel the gasp escape me before I can stop it. My heart breaks, and the fury inside me is unimaginable.
