Aryan shook his head, staring at his sneakers.
"It tells her you're looking at her chest. Or you're submissive. Neither gets you the girl."
From the front seat, Vikram chuckled. "He's always been a floor-gazer. We need to break the habit before we hit the resort."
"I'm working on it," Kiran replied. She placed her hand on Aryan's knee.
He flinched.
"Stop that," she snapped. Sharp. "Stop jumping like a frightened rabbit. It's just a hand. It's just skin."
She squeezed his knee. Hard. Grounding him.
"This weekend, Aryan, personal space is a myth. You need to get used to touch. To proximity. If you can't handle your own mother sitting next to you, how will you handle a stranger?"
The car took a sharp turn. The momentum threw Kiran against him.
She didn't pull back. She stayed there, her shoulder pressed into his chest, her arm draped over his.
"Comfortable?" she teased, looking up at him through her lashes.
Aryan didn't breathe. He was a statue.
The SUV slowed. The gravel crunched into silence.
"We're here," Vikram announced.
Aryan looked out the window.
This wasn't a resort.
It was a private estate. A massive, modern villa made of glass and steel, perched on a cliff overlooking the crashing ocean. High walls surrounded the perimeter. An iron gate slid shut behind them with a heavy, final clang.
No other cars. No other guests.
"Where are the other people?" Aryan asked, panic rising in his throat. "You said it was a beach resort."
Vikram killed the engine. The silence of the isolated coast rushed in.
"We lied," Vikram said, unbuckling his seatbelt.
Kiran laughed, a sound that echoed in the small space. She opened her door but didn't get out immediately. She leaned close to Aryan's ear, her lips grazing the lobe.
"No distractions, remember? Just us. And three days of intensive care."
She stepped out into the sun.
"Welcome to Boot Camp, little bird."
The villa wasn't a home. It was an observation deck.
Floor-to-ceiling glass walls exposed every corner to the ocean's glare. White marble floors echoed the click of Vikram's boots. The furniture was sparse, modern, and offered nowhere to hide.
"Phones," Vikram demanded, extending a hand.
Aryan hesitated. "But what if—"
"No signal anyway. We are dead to the world for 72 hours. Hand it over."
Aryan placed his lifeline in his father's palm. Vikram tossed it onto a side table with a careless clatter.
"Rule number one," Vikram announced, his voice bouncing off the hard surfaces. "No retreat. If you feel uncomfortable, you stay. If you panic, you stay. You push through the burn."
Kiran walked to the center of the room. She spun around, taking in the space.
"And Rule number two," she added, pointing to a hallway. "No locks."
Aryan blinked. "What?"
"I had them removed," she said simply. "Privacy breeds secrecy. Secrecy breeds shame. We are here to kill your shame, Aryan."
She walked toward him. The sound of her bare feet on the marble was soft, rhythmic.
"Go to your room. Second door on the left. Unpack. Change into your swim trunks. We're hitting the water."
"I... I didn't bring trunks."
"I did." She threw a small bag at him. He fumbled, barely catching it. "Speedos. Tight ones. Hiding in baggy shorts is over."
Aryan looked at the bag in horror.
"You have five minutes," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't make me come get you."
The room was large, sterile, and terrifyingly open.
True to her word, the door had no lock. Not even a latch. Just a handle.
Aryan opened the bag.
Red fabric. Barely enough material to cover a fist.
"No way," he whispered. "No absolute way."
He stripped off his jeans. His hands shook. He pulled on the fabric. It clung. It restricted. He felt naked. More than naked—exposed.
He grabbed a towel, wrapping it tight around his waist. A shield.
He stepped out.
The living area opened up to a patio with an infinity pool that seemed to spill into the sea. The heat was oppressive.
Vikram was already there, sitting on a lounge chair, reading a file. He wore board shorts. Normal.
Then Aryan saw Kiran.
She stood by the pool's edge. She had shed the yoga gear.
She wore a bikini that consisted of strings and confidence. Black triangles that struggled to contain her curves. The sunlight gleamed off her oiled skin.
She turned. Saw him. Saw the towel.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Drop it," she ordered.
"Mom, I—"
"Lesson Three: Body Language," she interrupted, walking toward him. "You're hiding. You're hunched. You're clutching that towel like a lifeline. Drop. It."
She stopped a foot away. The scent of coconut oil hit him.
"Do it, or I pull it off myself."
Aryan's grip tightened. His face burned with a heat that had nothing to do with the sun.
Vikram lowered his file. "Listen to your mother, Aryan."
Slowly, agonizingly, Aryan let go.
The towel fell. A white puddle on the marble.
He stood there. Exposed. The red fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Kiran didn't look away. She scanned him. Up and down. Clinical. Assessing.
"See?" she said softly, stepping closer until her toes touched his. " The world didn't end. You're still breathing."
She reached out, her cool fingers tracing the line of his shoulder, down his arm.
"You have a good build, little bird. Why hide it? Girls like confidence. They like to see what they're getting."
She grabbed his hand. Her grip was iron.
"Into the water. We're going to practice touching."
"Touching?" Aryan choked out.
"Yes," she smiled, pulling him toward the blue depths. "You freeze when a girl gets close. Today, we melt the ice."
She jumped in. A splash.
She surfaced, hair slicked back, looking like a siren calling sailors to their doom. She beckoned him.
"Come in, Aryan. The water's perfect."
He stood on the edge.
Behind him, the house watched.
In front of him, the predator waited.
He jumped.
The shock of the cold water didn't last. The heat of the sun reclaimed him the moment he surfaced.
Aryan wiped the chlorine from his eyes. He treaded water, bobbing in the deep end. The pool was an infinity edge—a sheet of glass merging with the ocean horizon.
But he wasn't looking at the view.
Kiran surfaced three feet away. Her hair was slicked back, water cascading down her neck, tracing the valley of her collarbones. The wet black fabric of her bikini clung like paint.
"Don't retreat," she warned.
Aryan had drifted backward instinctively.
"I'm not," he sputtered.
"You are. You're creating distance. Men who create distance die alone."
She sliced through the water. Silent. Efficient. She closed the gap until the water between them was merely a film.
"Lesson Four: The Anchor."
She reached out. Her hands clamped onto his shoulders. Under the water, her legs moved, wrapping around his waist.
Aryan froze. His brain short-circuited.
She was straddling him. In the deep end. Her weightless body pressed against his.
"Mom, what are you—"
"Shhh." She put a wet finger to his lips. "You're drowning. You're kicking too hard. You're panicking."
"Because you're... you're on me!"
"I'm the anchor," she whispered. Her face was level with his. Water droplets clung to her eyelashes. "If you panic, we both sink. If you relax, we float."
She tightened her legs around his lower back. The friction of skin against skin was electric.
"Feel that?" she asked.
Aryan couldn't speak. He could feel everything. The softness of her thighs. The curve of her stomach against his rigid abs. The dangerous proximity of her chest to his.
"Your heart is beating so fast it might bruise your ribs," she noted, her hand sliding down from his shoulder to rest flat over his heart.
"This isn't normal," Aryan gasped.
"Normal is for people who are content being invisible. Do you want to be invisible, Aryan?"
"No."
"Then endure it. Get used to the heat. If a girl holds you like this, will you push her away?"
"No."
"Good. Then don't push me away."
She leaned back, letting the water take her weight, pulling him with her. They bobbed in the silence. The only sound was the distant crash of waves below the cliff.
Vikram's voice cut through the air from the patio.
"Thirty seconds, Aryan. Maintain eye contact. Don't look away."
Kiran smiled. A predator playing with food.
"You heard him. Thirty seconds. Look at me."
Aryan forced his eyes to lock with hers. It was agonizing.
Every second felt like an hour. The water buoyed them up, rubbing their bodies together with every ripple.
10 seconds.
Her breath smelled of mint.
20 seconds.
She shifted her hips slightly, adjusting her grip. Aryan bit his lip to stifle a groan.
29 seconds.
She leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear.
"You're hard," she whispered.
She released him.
She pushed off his chest, swimming backward with a graceful kick, leaving him gasping, confused, and painfully aroused in the middle of the pool.
"Lesson complete," she called out, climbing the ladder.
She stood on the deck, water dripping from her curves, glinting in the sun. She looked back at him, still treading water, trying to hide his reaction.
"Get out, Aryan. Lunch is in ten minutes. And don't bother covering up with a towel."
She turned and walked into the villa, hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm.
"We have work to do."
Hi, author here!
Thanks for reading! And I hope you read the second chapter of this book.
I promise both interesting character and good smut is to come.
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