The skyline of Bangalore glowed like a sea of diamonds under the night sky, its lights streaming through the giant glass window in soft, golden streaks, casting shifting shadows across the luxury suite. Inside, two bodies circled each other like beasts of the same fire—starving, simmering, neither willing to yield.
Dr. Anubhav sat back against the headboard—shirtless, sculpted, his salt-and-pepper chest gleaming under the dim ambient glow. Years of surgeries, control, and quiet command had carved him into a man built on restraint and discipline. He had touched countless hearts—literally—but his own remained locked behind steel.
She walked out of the bathroom—barefoot, legs exposed, wearing only his white shirt, and nothing beneath. Intentions unhidden. Confidence radiating off her like heat from a flame.
“You’re staring,” she said, crawling onto the bed with the grace of a lioness, deliberate and dangerous.
“I’ve seen many,” he murmured. “But never one like you.”
A slow, wicked smile touched her lips. “That’s because no one ever f*cked you like I will.”
And just like that—she pounced.
Straddling him, she gripped his face and kissed him hard—wet, hungry, rough. Tongues clashed. Teeth scraped. She bit his bottom lip, sucked it, then let go with a soft growl that made him groan deep in his chest.
This wasn’t love-making.
This was conquest.
Her nails trailed down his chest, leaving faint red stripes in their wake. Then she leaned in, tongue gliding along his neck, lips circling the thick vein pulsing at his throat before sucking slow and deep—like she wanted to drink his heartbeat.
He reached for her, instinct kicking in—but she caught his wrists and pinned them beside him.
“Not yet,” she whispered, breath warm against his skin. “Tonight, I lead.”
Anubhav chuckled, voice ragged. “Do you always take control?”
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Only when the man is strong enough to handle it.”
She bit his ear gently, then rolled her hips with pressure and promise. He was already rock hard beneath her; she was already soaked with need. The heat between them felt volcanic.
She worked her way down his torso, tongue circling his nipple before biting it, just enough to make him flinch. One smooth flick of her fingers, and his belt came undone—no hesitation, no apology.
“You like to watch?” she asked, sliding off her panties slowly, never breaking eye contact.
He didn’t respond. He was lost in her—her movements, her madness, her magnetism.
She took him in, inch by inch, her gasp sharp as her nails dug into his chest.
For a moment, they froze—locked in breath, in gaze, in a firestorm of tension.
Then she moved.
Hard. Fast. Unforgiving.
He met her thrusts with his own, hands gripping her hips, their bodies a perfect rhythm of need and chaos. She kissed him mid-motion, biting his tongue, swallowing his moans, riding him like she had something to prove.
She was a wildfire.
And he, for once, was burning willingly.
He tried to flip her—once, just once—but she pressed him back with a palm on his chest, firm and commanding.
“Not tonight, doctor,” she said, voice shaking but strong. “I told you—I’m in charge.”
Again, she slid down, her tongue tracing his abs, teasing every inch of him until he was trembling under her.
When she climbed back up, her grind was deeper, rougher, her rhythm a storm of lust. He grabbed her breasts, kissed them feverishly, his lips hungry for every part of her.
She cupped his face, her hair falling around them like a curtain.
Foreheads touched. Sweat dripped. Everything pulsed.
“Say it,” she breathed, faster now. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” he gasped, voice breaking. “F*ck, I want all of you.”
And the moment he said it—it hit.
Not the orgasm. The panic.
What the hell did I just say?
It slipped out. Too raw. Too real. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
This was never love.
It was a transaction. A clean arrangement. He’d cover her PG, her clothes, her bills. In return, she gave him nights. Her body. Her time.
No emotions. No attachments.
But now—now he was saying things that didn't belong to this deal.
Anubhav was not a man short of power or control. He was one of Bangalore’s top surgeons. UK-trained, internationally recognized. He drove a luxury car, lived in a sleek apartment with skyline views and imported wine, and answered to no one.
He had never married. Never wanted to. Emotional drama was for weak men. He could have any woman he wanted. Anytime.
But her?
She wasn’t like the rest.
Her fire was different. Her kisses were warfare. Her touch wasn’t tender—it was territorial. Her presence wasn’t soft—it was alive.
Three months.
It had been three months now.
And something in him had started to shift.
He thought of her when she wasn’t around. Her laughter. The way she curled up with one leg outside the blanket. How she snored sometimes after long nights. The way she stared out the window like she was chasing memories.
Was he softening?
Was he falling?
He didn’t know.
Not yet. Maybe never.
But this... this wasn’t just sex anymore.
And what about her?
She lay still beside him, half-asleep, half-aware, bathed in the cold breeze of the AC. The suite around them was silent—curtains drawn, chaos locked out. The bed smelled like sandalwood and skin.
His skin.
Ritika stretched, slowly, lazily—like a cat who knew she owned the room. And maybe she did.
Three months ago, she had stepped into this unforgiving city with a trunk, a train ticket, and a quiet kind of rage. Twenty-one. Fierce. Beautiful. Unapologetic. Her hometown in North Bengal had been too small for her fire.
Her father had sent her here with a tiffin of rotis and a thousand hopes.
She came chasing a future—but comfort was non-negotiable.
Her first PG felt like punishment. Five girls. One fan. Endless sweat and shared secrets.
But Ritika wasn’t built for suffering.
She was built to rise.
She started clawing her way out—one look, one move, one calculated decision at a time. Dating apps. Coffee shops. She knew how men worked. She used to fear that knowledge. In Bangalore, it became her edge.
She never needed them.
Until him.
Dr. Anubhav Sen.
Older. Rich. Sharp-edged and unfiltered.
He hadn’t been charmed. He had been intrigued.
She didn’t throw herself at him. She simply existed—strong, stunning, and untamed.
And he let her in.
Now, she lay across his sheets like she was born for luxury. And maybe she was.
Because Ritika didn’t beg. She didn’t wait.
Every kiss, every soft pillow, every morning like this—she earned.
That’s what made her dangerous.
Hi everyone, I’m really sorry for the mistake—I’m a new writer and I accidentally posted this in the Stories section instead of the Novel section. I’m still learning how everything works here, and I truly appreciate your patience and support.
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