Page 46 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Mihir,” I blurted before I could change my mind. “What would you say if I wanted us to go to your place?”

He picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth. “I’d say it would be a terrible thing if we didn’t.”

His confident response made my heart sing. “And you don’t have any other lovers hiding in the grotto, do you?”

“Not at the moment, no,” he quipped, taking a gulp of his tamarind Jarritos.

“Did you suspect I’d ask, or was it a part of your plan already?” I asked with narrowed eyes.

“A bit of both.”

Sitting across from him at an unpretentious taqueria, sipping on mandarin and tamarind Jarritos, felt like living in eternity. The golden silence between us spoke everything I could have never dared say to him. The determination in his gaze told me everything I needed to know, and in that moment, I wanted nothing more, just him and me, holding the comfortable silence between us.

He smiled, but I couldn’t muster the courage to return one. I merely blinked and drank in his beauty.

“Let’s go,” he said, looking at his watch. “I have a meeting in a bit, but I can take it from home. It won’t be a long one. That will give us enough time to drive you to the airport.”

We were out of the taqueria and into the car in a flash. He tapped down on the accelerator with such haste, I thought we’d end up in jail—or at the rear end of another vehicle—but we didn’t. He drove us safely into the driveway of a majestic house in a neighborhood with old trees and clean, clear lakes.

From the car, he unlocked the door with his phone, then carried me inside and dropped me on his bed. Before I knew it, my jeans were off, and he had his face between my legs. My wanton thighs were spread so wide, you’d think I had mastered every yogic stretch. My fingers thrust into his hair, my groans getting louder and more urgent with every flick of his tongue. I hardly trusted it to be my voice anymore.

When I begged him to let me catch a break, he paused to undress and roll down a condom. The rest I have no registered memory of. I let my body take over, conceding completely to his movement. The weight of his big, tall body delighted me into frontiers of pleasure I’d never treaded before. I forced myself to keep my eyes on his happy face, but they didn’t heed. I surrendered loudly and unequivocally. This time, I did scream his name, multiple times.

My face was hot, my body cold, my thighs trembled, and my lips were sore when he finally crashed down on me. Neither of us spoke a word. He wrapped me in his arms, and I pulled mine around him as fear began to grip my heart again. I’d had sex before. This wasn’t sex.

“I can’t seem to get enough of you, Sona. Come back for the Diwali weekend,” he said finally, and I withdrew from his arms to pull the duvet over our bodies. “Mom throws a grand party every year.”

My heart bubbled, and I almost acceded before my rational brain reminded me of what was at stake.

“I want to see you again,” he repeated, this time with an unmistakable yearning in his voice.

Now was the time to tamp it down. “Well, I can’t visit, not until December anyway. The weekend after next, I’ll be in Montréal for a conference, and there’s much to do before and after. Maybe this is for the best. I’ll see you at the wedding in December. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to meet your new playmate.”

He ignored my redirect. “What does your schedule look like in Montréal?”

“Why?” I rolled away to look at him.

“I can come see you there.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’ll just fly up to spend two days with me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“In a different country?”

“Canada is hardly a different country. I don’t even have to worry about a visa.”

“Oh yes, I forgot you can travel anywhere with your passports.” I rolled my eyes. “See, this is where I have a problem with those over-the-top gestures in romances. The ultra-rich guy can just swoop off his lover to a foreign country on a private jet. Hellooo…what about a visa? And passport? Such things are only meant for people from certain countries. Try falling for a person from a developing country with visa restrictions and see how quickly that spontaneous gesture flies out the window. Try whisking them away to a gorgeous island and see how promptly your private jet is returned to its origin. Plus, why is the guy always the rich one?”

His sophisticated chuckle quickly turned into raucous laughter. “I had definitely not expected this to turn into a lecture,” he exclaimed when his amusement had ebbed.

“Well, once you’ve studied critical theory, it’s hard to enjoy most things in life, things steeped in sexist, racist, and colonialist tropes.”

“You don’t watch movies, then?”

“I don’t watch the ones that use women and people of color as props to the storyline.” I smiled and traced my fingers along his chest. “Now you know. I’m not an easy person to deal with.”

“You didn’t answer me. Is that yes to Montréal?”

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