The icy stream of water cascading down wasn’t enough to cool the fire simmering in that small bathroom of Suryavansh Haveli. If anything, the cold only amplified the heat—intensified the storm building under two sweat-slicked skins, pressed too close for sanity.
Tanay stood with his chest arched against the marble wall, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling in wild rhythm. Behind him, Ridhan’s soaked body molded perfectly to his, like a shadow that refused to leave. The air between them vibrated with suppressed hunger. Every drop of water that trickled over their skin only deepened the ache instead of washing it away.
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