Chapter Seven: Into the Fire

The cab glided through Vienna’s moonlit streets, neon lights flashing across the windows like fleeting promises. Ayan sat pressed against Saba in the backseat, his pulse racing, his restraint fraying with every passing second. Her perfume—jasmine laced with musk—was a constant taunt, wrapping around him, daring him to lose control.

He gave in first.

His hand slid over her thigh, the silk of her dress parting easily under his touch. She shot him a sidelong glance, lips curved in that knowing smile that only stoked the blaze in his chest.

“Ayan,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “we haven’t even reached your apartment yet.”

“Exactly,” he growled softly, fingers tracing circles higher along her leg, brushing just shy of bare skin. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Her laugh was a sultry purr. She shifted, crossing her legs deliberately so that his hand pressed between them, yet never quite where he wanted. “Patience, darling. I thought you liked the chase.”

He groaned, his free hand slipping up to her chest, brushing along the swell of her cleavage through the thin silk. “You’re cruel,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “You sit here like this, knowing damn well I want to devour you.”

She gasped softly at his touch, though she tried to mask it with another laugh. “Control yourself. The driver might get ideas.”

“Let him,” Ayan muttered, his fingers teasing at the edge of her neckline, daring to dip lower. “I don’t care if the whole city watches—right now, I only care about you.”

Her breathing hitched, and though she pressed his hand away half-heartedly, she leaned into him all the same. He tried to catch her lips, but she dodged, turning her head just in time.

“Not yet,” she whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ll have to earn that.”

The cab slowed. The driver announced their arrival, and Saba smoothly adjusted her dress, slipping from Ayan’s grasp as though she hadn’t just been writhing under his touch.

He paid quickly, his eyes glued to her as she stepped out. The night air was crisp, but Ayan felt fevered, ravenous. He followed her up the stone steps toward his apartment building, his gaze fixed on the sway of her hips, the way the slit of her dress revealed flashes of thigh with every step. Each movement was ****, every curve of her body etched into his mind like a brand.

“Go ahead,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with want. “Lead the way.”

She didn’t look back, but the deliberate sway of her hips told him she knew exactly what she was doing. By the time they reached his door, his restraint was hanging by a thread.

The lock clicked, and before Ayan could even draw breath, Saba spun, shoved him inside, and slammed the door shut with her back.

Then her lips were on his.

It was no soft kiss, no tentative testing. It was hunger unleashed—wet, fierce, demanding. Their mouths clashed, tongues tangling, teeth grazing lips. Ayan’s hands roamed wildly, gripping her waist, sliding down to the curve of her ass, pulling her flush against him. She moaned into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.

Minutes melted away into the heat of their kiss, into the grind of their bodies. Every time he tried to slow, to savor, she dragged him deeper, biting his lip, devouring him again. They kissed as if the world outside had ceased to exist, as if nothing mattered but the taste of each other.

By the time they finally broke for air, both were gasping, lips swollen, eyes blazing. Ayan didn’t hesitate. With a growl of triumph, he bent, hooked an arm around her thighs, and lifted her effortlessly over his shoulder.

Saba squealed in laughter, pounding her fists playfully against his back. “Ayan!” she protested, breathless and laughing.

But he was already carrying her through the apartment, his stride purposeful, primal. The door to his bedroom loomed ahead. He kicked it open with one sharp motion, stormed inside, and slammed it closed behind them with his heel.

The echo of that slam was a promise: tonight, restraint was over.