Rain drummed against the windows of Rael Valtor's office like a warning. The sky outside was gray, but inside — the tension between Ananya and Rael flared electric. The door shut behind her with a soft click, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
She was soaked from the downpour, long black hair plastered to her skin, dark eyes gleaming with something between defiance and invitation. Her hoodie clung to her figure, revealing the soft curve of her breasts beneath damp fabric. She didn't flinch under his gaze — she never did. That's what drove him mad.
Rael stood slowly, his movements precise, measured — the way predators move when they've finally decided to hunt.
"You came here alone," he said.
She stepped closer. "Maybe I wanted to see if you'd do something about it."
His jaw clenched. "You shouldn't be here."
"Tell me to leave."
He didn't.
Instead, he crossed the distance between them and stopped inches from her. He raised a hand, brushing wet strands of hair from her cheek. Her skin tingled where he touched it.
"This isn't a game, Ananya."
"No," she whispered. "It's worse. It's real."
He kissed her.
Not like a teacher. Not like a man in control. Like someone unraveling. It was hungry and deep, his mouth devouring hers as though he had waited years. Her fingers tugged at his shirt, yanking him closer, her back arching as he walked her toward his desk.
He lifted her easily, settling her onto the surface, lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, to the hollow of her throat. She gasped, head falling back, fingers threading through his dark hair.
His voice was hoarse. "Do you want this?"
"Yes. With you. Only you."
Their movements became breathless and fevered. Her shirt slipped off her shoulders. His hands explored her skin with reverence and hunger, tracing every curve. She felt his control crack with every kiss, every touch — the man known for emotional detachment now lost in her.
Ananya's breath hitched as his lips ghosted over her chest, her stomach, her hipbones. He whispered things into her skin — raw, beautiful, unrepeatable — like she was a secret he never wanted anyone else to know.
When their bodies finally came together, it was slow. Intimate. The kind of closeness that didn't beg to be fast — it demanded to be felt. She clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands anchoring her like she might disappear.
Every gasp, every shudder, every whispered name between clenched teeth told a story — one of obsession, power, surrender, and something terrifyingly close to love.
Time blurred.
They stayed tangled long after, his forehead resting against hers, their bodies slick with sweat, hearts beating out of sync.
She whispered, "Now you're in me. Not just like this… but deeper. And you know it."
He didn't respond. Not with words.
But he didn't let go either.
And that, she knew, was its own confession.