Page 35 of Obsession

He joined a second finger to the first, scissoring them inside her, enjoying her needy moans and her heavy breaths. His fingers curved inside her warmth, and he pressed his thumb to that tight bundle of nerves at her core. Anna gasped, and then she began to buck wildly against him. Her body tightened; her breathing turned ragged. Wrapping her arms around him, she slammed her mouth to his before her whole body convulsed around him.

Need sizzled in his veins. His body hardened to the point of pain. But he continued kissing her softly, long after her breathing had returned to normal. She moved back and gave him a sweet smile. With her hair all over her face, her lips pink and swollen, and her skin tinged with red, she looked deliciously sexy.

Anna kissed his cheek, running her tongue down it, down the… He gasped when he felt her tongue trace his scar.

Reality hit him like a ton of bricks. He stepped back from her. Anna blinked as if she, too, had finally realized what they had done. Noises from the outside finally filtered through his brain. He could hear his brothers laughing; he could hear Rajiv’s kids squealing. Fuck. He was such an idiot.

Anna adjusted her clothes, looking around nervously. Grabbing her shirt from the floor, she quickly wore it and snatched her bag from the couch before running outside.

Mihir leaned against the wall. Fuck. What had he just done? For years, he had hated this woman. And yet, it had not taken much for him to lose control with her. Had he not returned to his senses, he would have taken her against the wall. What was wrong with him? Their families were right outside, and yet he hadn’t cared. He’d been so lost in her.

He raked a hand through his hair. This was a terrible fucking mistake—one he never could repeat again. She was Ananya Mehra, the woman who had destroyed him. And yet, she was the only woman his body responded to. For years, he’d lived like a monk, thanks to her. The idea of touching another woman had never appealed to him. He’d tried. God, he’d tried. But those few experiences had left him bitter and angry with himself for being unable to even enjoy the moment to the fullest. Anna had thoroughly ruined him for other women. It was just one more thing he held against her in the list he had of her wrongdoings.

He’d thought that time would ease the hold Anna had over him. But he’d been so wrong. All those years without her—it was like he’d been holding back a storm.Shehad to only be near him, to touch him, to say his name, and the storm unleashed. His body had responded to her immediately, taking control of his mind, senses, and his emotions. He pounded his fist against the fall. Ananya Mehra was a fucking witch. She’d jinxed him. She was wrong for him. But then, how could this wrong woman feel so goddamned right?

Bloody hell. He was so fucked.

10

The past

Ananya studied the painting on the wall, angling her head to the left and then to the right. The dark eyes of the man in the painting followed the tilt of her head.

“That’s creepy,” she said.

She walked a few steps to the right, and once again, the eyes of the subject in the painting followed her.

She shook her head. “Ugh, no. Reject. Never buying something like that ever.”

“It’s called the Mona Lisa effect,” a voice said from her left.

Her nape prickled. She whipped her head to the side, and her heart did a somersault. It washim. Mihir Oshnov.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

He came to stand next to her, observing the painting.

“The Mona Lisa effect is a perception that the eyes of the subject follow the viewer,” he said, his eyes still on the painting. “It’s, of course, an illusion; the eyes never actually move.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I suppose it got its name from the Mona Lisa because that painting, too, feels like her gaze is following you around the room.”

“Correct,” Mihir said, still not looking at her.

He still stood where he was, but it sure felt like the distance between them was lesser now. Had she moved closer to him without realizing? She inhaled, and his perfume hit her nose. It was woody, musky—intense. Like him. She studied his profile. Dressed in a dark grey sports jacket, teamed with black trousers and a black shirt, his hair stylishly pulled back over his forehead, he looked fabulous. After meeting him in the café last week, they’d shared two classes this week. However, they’d only exchanged a hello, nothing more. He hadn’t engaged with her, until now, in this art gallery.

She refocused on the painting. “I’ve never quite liked the Mona Lisa, no offence to Da Vinci fans, and this one is no better.”

Mihir finally turned to face her. “I agree that the Mona Lisa is overrated. The Louvre has many other paintings that appeal more to me.” He tipped his chin at the painting on the wall, reading the label below. “Noir comme la nuit.”

“It means as black as the night. I suppose it’s in reference to the eyes.”

“You speak French?” Mihir asked her.

“No…” She perked her brows. “But I do have Google to help me translate.”

He smiled, studying the painting again. “This artist is quite talented. His subject’s eyes look vicious, dangerous… and sad. Must have been hard to paint them so realistically. It’s actually very good work.”

“Let’s agree to disagree on that.” She offered him her hand. “Hi.”

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