The elevator jolted slightly.
Neither of them noticed.
Aanya was pinned between Riaan's body and the wall, lips swollen, breath shallow, her hands still tangled in his shirt.
"Someone could open this door," she whispered against his mouth.
"Then let them," he growled. "Let them see what happens when you play with fire."
His hand slid down her side, firm, possessive — like he was trying to memorize every inch of her through layers of clothing.
"Tell me to stop," he said again.
She didn't.
Instead, she kissed him — deeper this time, with the kind of hunger that had been building since the first time he said her name.
"God, Aanya…" he whispered against her throat. "You're going to ruin me."
She gasped when he pressed his body harder against hers, every barrier between them suddenly feeling like a nuisance. Her hands slid under his shirt, exploring smooth, heated skin as he groaned into her neck.
"You don't know what you're doing," he murmured.
"Yes, I do," she said, voice trembling. "I'm choosing this."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her.
Something flickered in his eyes — not just lust.
Fear. Longing. Rage.
At himself.
At how much he already needed her.
Then — a sound.
Ding.
The elevator jolted to life.
They froze.
Riaan exhaled slowly and stepped back — jaw tight, hair slightly tousled, chest rising with restraint.
The doors slid open.
Silence outside.
He looked at her one last time before walking out.
But he didn't leave her with nothing.
As she stepped beside him, he whispered, "Your place. Tonight. 9 p.m. Don't make me wait."
Aanya's heart slammed.
She didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
Her silence already said yes.