Chahat's hand lingered on his face, the remnants of color smudged across his skin. The sensation beneath her fingertips was different this time—intimate, charged, almost forbidden. She had played with him before, teased him, lived around him, and yet… something had changed. Maybe it was the thrill of being watched, the fear that someone would see them together. Maybe it was just her nerves.
Or maybe it was him.
His eyes—dark, unreadable—burned into hers, pulling her in like an ocean's tide. Her pulse spiked, a shiver rolling down her spine, tightening in her belly. She quickly gathered herself, brushing off the unsettling heat coiling in her chest.
"I've colored you," she announced, forcing a playful tone into her voice. "Played Holi with you. Now, I'll head back to the party."
She turned, ready to leave.
But before she could take a single step, strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her into the hard warmth of his chest.
A gasp escaped her lips.
His body was firm, solid, radiating heat through the dampness of Holi colors. His grip was possessive, yet unhurried, his fingers splaying against her belly, molding into the curve of her waist. A rough exhale ghosted against her ear—hot, teasing, unbearably close. The ticklish sensation sent a tremor through her, her skin prickling, her breath hitching.
The air between them thickened.
"Looks like my darling doesn't know… until I color you, the Holi between us will remain incomplete," he murmured, his voice deep, sinfully smooth, brushing over her senses like silk and fire.
Chahat's knees nearly gave out.
Her body betrayed her, responding to him in ways she had never imagined—her heart pounded, her stomach fluttered, and a warmth—hot, aching—spread between her thighs. She turned slightly, offering him the plate of colors with trembling fingers.
"Here," she whispered, her voice weak, betraying the growing storm within her.
But he only smirked.
Pushing the plate aside, he lifted her chin with a single finger, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"I don't need those colors to paint you," he murmured, his thumb grazing her jawline with an unbearable slowness.
Her lips parted, her breath shuddering.
He leaned in.
His cheek—warm and streaked with vibrant hues—pressed against hers, his face gliding along the delicate curve of her jaw. The rough scrape of his stubble sent a jolt of sensation down her spine, her body locking up, then melting, confusion and desire warring within her.
She could feel him. Every inch of him.
The tautness of his muscles against her back, the heat of his breath at her temple, the slow, deliberate way his fingers curled tighter around her waist. His scent—musk, spice, and the faint sweetness of the colors—wrapped around her, drugging her senses.
She sucked in a shaky breath, but it wasn't enough.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves, her skin tingling where his touch lingered. A new kind of nervousness crawled up her throat, an intoxicating mix of anticipation and fear.
He exhaled softly, his breath teasing the sensitive shell of her ear. A ghost of a chuckle laced his voice.
"You're quiet," he murmured. "That won't do."
His hold tightened.
Chahat's pulse thundered, her nails digging into her palms. Her skin felt too hot, too tight. The awareness of him seeped into every nerve, her entire being attuned to his presence.
And he knew.
Oh, he knew.
Pulling back just enough to see her face, he let his gaze roam over her—her dilated pupils, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks streaked with color but burning with something far deeper.
Still unsatisfied, he cupped her waist and gave her a gentle, teasing shake.
"Where's my reaction?" he taunted, his tone laced with amusement.
Chahat blinked, snapping out of the trance.
Embarrassment surged through her, her face burning from more than just the colors smeared across her skin. Frustration quickly followed.
With a sharp breath, she pushed against his chest, forcing space between them. He let her go easily, but his wicked grin only widened.
Laughter and footsteps echoed nearby.
Her stomach flipped.
The realization of where they were crashed into her. People were around, enjoying the festival, oblivious to what had just transpired between them.
She straightened her posture, forcing composure.
"I…" She swallowed, then cleared her throat. "I have sincerely shown my… my festive spirit towards you. So now, there shouldn't be anything left between us."
He arched a brow.
She turned to leave, but then hesitated. "I—"
She nearly said his name.
Instead, she bit her tongue, lowering her gaze. A moment passed before she bowed her head slightly, a quiet acknowledgment of the tension that still crackled between them.
"I take my leave."
Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and ran.
She didn't dare look back.
But she could still feel him—his touch lingering on her skin, his scent tangled in her breath, his wicked, knowing smirk seared into her memory.