sexually explicit content warning for this entire chapter
PLEASE i beg SKIP if you're underage or uncomfortable with this type of content
you will not miss any plot points if you skip
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ALL I SEE IS HIS ARROGANT LITTLE GRIN before my mouth is on his.
Aryan laughs, a single amused sound that vibrates past his chest, his lips a carved, self-satisfied smile against mine. Then, he's kissing me back.
And I want him. In every twisted definition of the word.
The moon stands sentient in the sky, aglow, and yet I pay it no mind. Moonlight has nothing on him.
My back presses into the car door, Aryan's warmth blazing against my front, chest to chest. I lose myself in the race of his heart.
Some small voice at the back of my head is screaming at me.
What the fuck are you doing, Mira?
But I ignore it. My self-control snapped somewhere between the cool marble of the pool table's edge and the flickering firelight along his cheekbones. It's basically nonexistent right now. Ash lost on the wind. Salt dissolved in the sea. The sea, swallowing the sun whole come evening, making way for that watchful moon above our heads. And even that's barely real.
What's real is the hammer of my heart and his hair between my fingers and the hard contours of his torso pressed to mine and his lips. Whatever air I get as he pulls away lightly is gone again, stolen. He kisses like a bandit. Fuck. He kisses like the devil come to claim his due.
Wicked lips curve against mine, then I'm off my feet, legs clutching him instinctively. This motion is familiar to me, familiar to us and our little dances, except Aryan wanders in this particular waltz, hands drifting away from holding me up by the backs of my thighs. His hands slide ceaselessly up my legs to rest plainly on the curve of my ass. All I get is a little grin against my lips before he clutches me hard, fingers digging past my dress, right into flesh and sending a rocket of warmth through me.
I may have made a sound but it's lost on his lips, lost on my legs digging into his sides, skin against denim and the leather of his belt, lost on the hard press of metal behind me and the hard press of Aryan in front of me.
He wants me too. In every aching definition of the word.
Aryan slips a hand over my ass, right down my thigh, past the hem of my dress, onto the bare skin of my leg, goosebumps in his wake. He stays his hand on my knee momentarily before dropping it entirely, his other hand squeezing my ass once more before that too leaves.
I hear the jangle of keys and the click of doors unlocking, the flash of the lights.
We pull apart, his hands gone, the kiss broken. Well, almost. I open my eyes, lashes fluttering, to find his staring right back. We're eye to eye and I've caught his lower lip gently between my teeth, yet to let go.
The devil has to get her due too, after all.
Our gazes dance over one another. It's the heat of his that makes me let go.
Still flush against me, Aryan gives me a single shake of his head, licking his lower lip accusingly.
He presses his palms to the glass on either side of my head, then tilts his chin back and stares at the sky for a quick second like he's pleading with the universe or something. I wonder what for.
But then he looks back down, eyes like pitch, and kisses me again, a rush of a kiss. He pulls away sooner than I want, lips falling to my ear. His hand on the glass lowers, thumb brushing a strand of hair away from my ear as he talks to me like I'm the universe now, telling me sweetly, "You're such a fucking brat."
Why was that hot? My legs clutch his sides harder and my heart scrambles to do a marathon in my chest. He's so sweet, so full of nice words. Just like fucking honey.
It's my turn to talk to the universe now. I tilt my head back against the window and tell the moon all the things I would do to this man, this man who's more gasoline than honey, who makes me feel like I'm on fire every time he looks at me.
And when I decide once again that the moon has nothing on Aryan fucking Shankar, I look back down, feeling his gaze on me. I slide a hand down from his hair to the line of his jaw. I lean forward and mimic him, lips at his ear.
Shamelessly, I whisper back, honeyed, poisoned, "Fuck it out of me then."
Aryan doesn't falter one bit. His heart might've picked up against mine. Or maybe that was mine.
But his reply comes quick, "Why do you think I unlocked the car door, Zahed?"
I grin and let him go. We reach for the door handle at the same time, his hand curling over mine. Aryan returns my grin, eyes like sparking coals, and yanks it open.
I tumble right past the door, leather seats kissing my legs as I land. I barely have time to shift backwards along the seat, back hitting the upholstered opposite door, legs splayed across the leather, eyes noting on the logo emblazoned onto the tan headrests above me, before Aryan slides into the car, the door shutting behind him. The Porsche logo stares at me but I've quickly forgotten it, eyes flying to Aryan.
He tosses the keys onto the front seat of Charles Ross' Porsche and neatly curls his fingers around my left ankle, tugging me down.
Straight to hell, I guess.
My elbows hit the seats and Aryan's eyes spark at me across the car interior, the overhead light pale gold on his cheeks, the moonlight silver in his hair. I can only watch, heart hammering, as he hoists my leg right onto his shoulder. He doesn't loosen his hold of my ankle, eyes flickering from me to my shoe dangling off his shoulder. His other hand reaches up and tugs down the little gold zipper. He taps my ankle before pulling off my heel. "You don't need these, do you?"
I don't answer him. He shakes his head. I catch the small flash of a smile as he drops the shoe somewhere onto the floor and tugs my other ankle, pulling off the other shoe. It joins its companion on the floor and his eyes return to me, brows lifted. "What else don't you need?"
You, I want to spit back, just because I want to wipe that little arrogant smirk right off his face. Legs splayed, one dangling off his shoulder, he has an unadulterated view past my bundled up dress, yet his eyes stay on mine.
The smirk only widens at my silence and Aryan pulls away from me. He disappears between the front seats and I sit up on my elbows, immediately wanting him back. But like hell would I tell him that.
Instead, I snap at him as he twists the keys, bringing the car to life with a hum, the radio filtering on and out blaring pop and the cool air conditioner blasting air against my legs. "What's the matter, Shankar?" His lips twitch. "Scared someone hears you screaming my name?"
Aryan cuts his stare to me over the glovebox. Then, he twists the volume knob all the way down until the music is just dull background noise. He presses a palm to his heart. "Absolutely not."
"How brave of you," I shoot back as he descends from the front seat, right back to me.
Aryan leers over me, his lashes tickling my cheeks as his eyes trace my lips. "You don't scare me, Zahed."
"Oh?"
He smiles then he answers me with his lips on mine, a hand on my jaw, rolling his hips into mine then, hard and unforgiving.
Oh.
My back rises up off the seat as I tilt my head up, wanting to capture every inch of his lips. Meanwhile, I slide an impatient hand down between our bodies, his hips still pressed firmly to mine, sunken between my thighs. I can feel him getting harder and harder.
My fingers find his belt buckle only for his hand to close around mine, stopping me. Aryan pulls back a degree, forehead on mine, only to sigh against my lips. Then, he kisses me again, harder. I can almost hear the reprimand.
Behave.
I twist my hand about in his grip, his tongue brushing mine, sending electricity rattling through my bones. No.
He drags my hand down, right onto the strain at his jeans. Aryan places my hand directly onto his growing bulge and the message is clear as day. You did this.
I smile against his lips. Good.
Then, I proceed to stroke him through denim, eliciting a sharp intake of breath against my lips before his hand once again closes around mine, pulling me away. My eyes are bright and wicked as he breaks the kiss to peer down at me.
Clear grey bleeds into dark storm cloud grey, however, at the vengeful look in his eye. Still clutching my hand, Aryan lowers his lips to my neck. There he says, "I'm not scared of you, Zahed. I can bite too." With that, his lips trace the line of my throat before curving against the juncture of my shoulder.
My breath gets caught in my throat almost instantly, Aryan's vengeful mouth finishing just what he started at the pool table. He doesn't even stay there too long and yet my breathing is rapid and wild by the time he kisses his handiwork and departs. Lower.
Ah, shit.
With a vindictive little smirk, Aryan lets go of my hand to grab both sides of my dress's hem. Fuck. He tugs it up in a single movement, air conditioning breezing past my heated thighs, right against the lacy front of my panties.
His gaze dips, then back up to mine again. He licks his lips and hooks two neat fingers at either side of my hips, trace travelling down my legs before I can even suck in a breath.
The back is all string. He notes this with a single raised brown before it disappears somewhere on the seat. Before I can even defend myself with the fact that this dress in skin-tight, Aryan once agains hoists my leg over his shoulder before his head falls right between my legs. Any words I would have spoken become nonsense on my tongue.
His tongue spears right through my wetness and I almost fly off the fucking seat. I feel him grin and then his lips capture that small explosive bundle of nerves and the only thing stopping me from flying off the seat this time is the arm he throws across my stomach, holding me down for his torture.
And it is torture. Sweat frames my skin, chest heaving. I think I could cry. Or curse. "Fuck," I cry. Both, I guess.
His eyes spark up at that, latching onto mine and triumph blooms there. I bite my lip from then on. Which only prompts him on further. He's cruel. He's evil. He's a piece of fucking sh— His fingers replace his tongue. One. Two.
I bite my lip so fucking hard it could bleed and even still I refuse to let the breathy sound of his name fall past my lips.
There's no rhythm or rhyme. Just fucking. In and fucking out. My back arches off the seat and my fingers tangle his hair and I'm not sure if I want to pull him away or pull him closer but he's stronger than me and doesn't budge one bit anyway. Asshole. I pull his hair. He hooks his fingers, hitting that spot with a vengeance.
"I hate you," I say, all venom, breathing in ruins. "I fucking hate you."
Aryan pulls away from circling my clit with his tongue, licking his lips, to reply simply, "Come for me then."
And like a reckoning, it washes through me, sending me tumbling, crashing right down against the seat, against him. And he doesn't stop, still pushing my fucking buttons, as I crash and burn, no filter left on my lips to stop his name falling like a curse.
At the sound of his name, he finally pulls away and looks up, grinning like the devil he is. My lipstick is ruined, strands of hair stuck to my cheeks, eyes wild. Yet, he slinks back up past my shaking limbs and kisses me enough to put me in my grave once and for all.
I kiss him back, a thrilling shudder ripping down my spine as I taste myself on his lips. He smiles as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking and, with a hand on the small of my back, he pulls me up, all loose limbs and rumpled dress, setting me right onto his lap.
He breaks away from our kiss to tilt his head back at me. Aryan lets his hands fall to the leather seats on either side of my knees and he hums over to me, "Your move, babe."
I narrow my eyes at him. He's serious.
I sit up lowly on my knees, his cold belt buckle touching my thigh. Then, I wrap my hands around his throat.
Surprise flares in his eyes but it's gone in a lick. He grins as the sharpened nail of my index traces his jaw and I lean in to his ear and ask carefully, "Do you have a condom, Shankar?"
"I do, Zahed," comes his breathed reply.
I don't ask why and I don't bother mentioning that I've been on the pill since I was seventeen after Petra caught me making out with some boy after school. She didn't know about Ivan then and she didn't know now but I'd gotten a lecture out of it, a manual titled— If You're Going To Be Frisky, It Doesn't Have To Be Risky— and my mother's sighed medical warnings. To say it was mortifying is an understatement. But I'd listened and I know better— I don't know who he's been fucking and he doesn't know who I've been fucking.
"Good," I tell him and I drop my hands, claiming his lips. My fingers curl around the first button of his shirt and I have it through when his resting hands come up and stop mine.
He leans back from my kiss ever so slightly just to murmur, "Let me do that for you."
I don't tell him thank you but I let him undo the rest, fingers tracing every stitch of unveiled skin as he goes. When he finishes the last one, I splay my palms flat over the hard expanse of his abs and pull away from his lips. I sit back on his knees, one of his hands instinctively drifting to my back should I fall, the other lifting and brushing hair off my face. I'd been eye-fucking him, the planes of his chest exposed by his open shirt, but his soft touches brings my attention up to him.
Aryan tucks another strand of hair behind my ear. I roll my eyes at him.
I catch his low chuckle but my lips at are already at his neck. The sound vibrates against his throat as I shift forward on his lap. His breathing turns rough as I pepper a thousand and one kisses along his skin and I feel a spike of satisfaction. I pull his shirt from his shoulders, hands wandering down the muscle of his biceps, all the way to his elbows them back up. He shrugs off the rest of his shirt for me.
I want to claw at him like he's clawing at me. Piece by piece undone. The sweetest ruination.
Aryan tilts his head back down to me, pulling my attention away from the column of his throat. His dark lashes flutter as he tells me, "I like your dress, Zahed."
His fingers find the zipper and tugs it all the way down. It soon joins his shirt somewhere lost on the seat.
I press forward, running a hand right down his abs as his eyes dip to the black lace framing my chest.
I stay my hand, pressing my palm flat right above his belt buckle. Breath in his ear, I say, "Tell me yes. I fucking dare you, Aryan."
His yes bolts past his lips and I claim the sound, crushing my mouth to his.
I make quick work of the belt, fingers wrestling down the zipper and then dipping within.
Aryan's cock is steel in my hand as I drag his boxers down. He helps me, hips shifting up off the seat to let his jeans ride low on his hips. His fingers move up, deftly unclasping my bra, thumb circling the exposed skin as lace falls away.
We pull apart and eye one another. I bite my lip, eyes tracing every inch of him in my hand. His gaze is hungry, lips parted.
I hold his stare and slide my hand up his length, watching his lips tip open. Aryan groans my name as my index draws a circle along the head, collecting the liquid there before dipping back down. I repeat this process until he has to grab my hand to make me stop.
His chest his heaving, abs twitching as he tries to muster himself. I beam at him, overjoyed with this image of Aryan Shankar. Payback's a bitch. For the first time, he doesn't grin back at me, instead rifling through a pocket of his half-shorn jeans like a man looking for religion.
He pulls the foil wrapper out, eyes dark and flashing at me, no stars in the pitch black sky. I stare back, near mesmerised, as he tears it open with his teeth and easily rolls it on.
I'm up in a moment. I lean forward and kiss him, my hand dropping to circle his base and line him right up but he beat me to it. Aryan's hand curls right over mine and he uses my hand to stroke himself once more. A breath slides past his lips and I swallow it whole.
Then, he finds me, knocking against my inner thigh lightly, sliding the head right through my wetness. He brushes my clit ever so lightly as he goes but it's enough for me to suck in a breath this time as I kiss him back. His lips curve against mine. Then, he does it again. And again. More payback.
I'm not even breathing anymore, desperate for him. Knees made of glass, I rise even further and move to lower myself onto him when his hands grab my hips, halting me.
My eyes fly open and I pull away from his kiss, almost growling. "What are you doing?"
Desire clouds his eyes but his easy grin is all teasing. He tilts his head back me, unbothered by my glare, black hair feathering against the leather headrest, chest rising and falling as he says, "Say the word, Emira."
I definitely growl this time, desperate but still, not going to beg for it. Instead, I threaten, "I'm going to kill you—,"
Aryan's grin widens.
"No," he interrupts me mid-threat. Then, he lets me go, dropping me right down onto his entire length. My breathing shatters in my throat as I take him to the hilt.
All of him. All at once. Breathe. Fuck. Vindictive. Cruel. Arrogant. Asshole. Motherfucker. I hate him.
I hate him and yet stars burn behind my eyes and my head flies forward, a thick sound sailing from my lips, knees slipping down along the seats, spearing myself open on him, eager with the hell unleashed between us. Fucking hell.
Aryan's voice is rough now, a borderline groan, head thrown back so that my nose is pressed close to the pulse on his neck. I can smell his cologne. I feel his pulse. Everywhere. He tips his chin down at me, eyes dark and wild like whatever spice floats through his cologne, his hands grasping my waistline as he states, "You're going to fuck it out of me."
I lift my head and meet his stare. There's sweat on his brow, his jaw tight. But there's that knowing sparkle in his eye too now, the one that flickered at me, brighter than moonlight, right before I kissed him outside the car. Some things are just inevitable.
So, I brace a hand on the seat beside his head and sling my other arm over his shoulder, nails digging into his bicep as I rock my hips up, feeling him slide against my walls torturously slow. But I go slow because if it's torturous for me, it must be ten times worse for him. Even still, he grins at me and runs a hand up the hollow curve of my back as I rock back down. I kiss him just to get rid of his stupid grin, proceeding to ride him slow, revelling in every grunt he lets out against my lips.
At some point, he pulls away and comments lowly, "Maybe we should have left the cowboy hat on for this."
Funny. It was probably somewhere left on the pool table. "Do you ever shut up?"
"Make me," he replies.
"Fine," I snap back and pick up the pace, watching his grin die. His hands tighten on my hips as I rise and fall on top of him. My brow etches in concentration, thighs aching, begging me to lose balance, my lip caught between my teeth.
Aryan's hands drift to my knees on the seats, sliding down my legs. His fingers circle my ankles. He traces a blind pattern along each of my ankles with the pads of his thumbs before pulling them down. My knees slip along the leather and he meets me halfway this time, hips thrusting up against me. Oh, fuck.
As if sensing the wave brewing beneath my skin, his eyes light up at me and then I'm hauled clean off the seat. My back collides with the leather back of the front seat, my head hitting the head rest. The reins are his now. Aryan grasps me by the hips, still buried deep within me, eyes finding mine, my thighs slick on either side of him, walls clenching, pleading for the thing my lips refuse to ask for.
He listens anyway, pulling all the way out and slamming back in, hips grinding into mine. The slow pace is gone as he grabs the reins, fucking me with no flourish, no pretty words. He isn't writing me a love letter, he's fucking me.
Aryan has no remorse, every thrust is fuelled by fire, burning me up, his fingers digging into my hips, the only thing holding me up because my knees are smoke and ash in wake of his flame. I'm not breathing. I don't think I'm breathing. His hips pound against mine.
Back arching off the leather, my head falls back against the headrest, lip between my teeth. But he pulls me back, hand leaving my hip to curve along the side of my throat. His touch is a blaze and so are his eyes as he makes me look at him.
Aryan leans in and catches my lower lip between his teeth before ramming back into me. He lets go of my lip and nothing stops the sound filtering past my mouth as he strikes deep.
He flashes me a satisfied little smile, running his thumb down the line of my throat. He leans in and whispers tauntingly, "Little bitch with the collar on, huh?"
His hand tightens and he drags my lips to his, thrusts shamelessly hard, each one punctuated by the slap of skin and the half-muffled sounds we roughly leave on each other's lips.
His movements turn wild, hips bucking against mine. I grab his shoulders for balance as his other hand leaves my hip, snaking right between my legs and our bodies. His fingers trace circles down there and then I'm crashing.
It tears through me, an excited disaster that leaves me crying out against his lips. I feel him smile and then he slows, fighting past my clenching walls until his hips jerk against mine and his body tightens, fingers digging into my skin, his breathing pausing. Aryan's entire body shudders and he twitches within me, swearing filthy words beside my name.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Mira. What the fuck are you doing to me, Emira?"
Head bowed, he loosens his hold on me when his breathing returns. His eyes find mine and a stupid grin splits his kiss-stained lips. He pecks me on the lips once before taking us back onto the seat. He slides a hand up from my ankles back to my hips and gently pulls me off him.
I pull in a breath at the sudden emptiness and fall back onto the cool seat for a moment, reminding myself how to breathe. Aryan's eyes flicker to me and I hear him chuckle as he fidgets with his business. I don't look at him though, eyes on the car ceiling, my hair pooling around my shoulders. My dress lies under me on the seat but for now, I blink stars past my vision until I'm ready to get up.
Aryan appears over me, his shirt back on, unbuttoned. "You can't sleep in Charlie's car, Mira," he tells me.
His teasing voice is enough to snap me out of it and I'm back up on my elbows in no time, scowling across at him. He leans back and holds up his palms in surrender. But his eyes are lit up with notes of arrogance as he barely hides a smirk.
I throw him a glare before I start locating my misplaced items of clothing, clasping my bra back on under Aryan's watchful gaze. I tug the dress back on and I'm in the process of sliding back on my boots on the floor when Aryan clears his throat.
I glance over at him and flush. Of all the things that make me flush tonight. "Looking for these?" He asks casually, holding my panties up with a single finger through the hip string.
I yank it out of his hands and glare.
I turn my back on him and snap, "Zip me up."
Aryan pulls me closer and I close my eyes. He shifts my hair over my shoulder and pulls the zip back up. His breath lingers on the back of my neck and I want to jerk away.
This is too soft. Too intimate. It was just fucking. He's not supposed to plant a kiss at the back of my neck and lean over my shoulder to ask lightly, "You heading back to the beach?"
I pull away then, shaking my head at him. I even close my fingers around the door handle behind me.
He doesn't seem surprised, nodding. "Makes sense." A grin. "I'd probably have to carry you down the stairs."
"I can walk just fine," I argue with him, eyes narrowed. He's so annoying. "I'm even going to walk to my car right now."
I pull open the door and step out into the yard. The music from the beach is lost on the wind out here and the wind is cool as it brushes my heated body. Aryan peers at me through the open door, lips quirked, "Are you sure?"
"Fuck you," I snap.
"You just did, Emira."
I slam the door in his face.
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mira's rule of men not being allowed to talk in the car doesn't apply to charlie's car I guess