Later, tangled in damp sheets, Kiara traced the hard line of Abhimaan's jaw. He caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Turn over," he murmured, his voice rough velvet. She rolled onto her stomach, the sheets cool against her heated skin.

His weight settled over her hips, his hands sliding beneath to cup her breasts. He entered her slowly this time, a deep, claiming thrust that drew a moan from her lips. His pace was languid, sensual, each movement deliberate, drawing out every sensation.