Chapter 2: The Ride Home
The city blurred past the tinted window, a river of smudged gold and red taillights. Inside the Mercedes, the world condensed to the soft leather scent, the vibration of the engine through the seats, and the heat of Tanya’s skin under his palm.
His hand rested high on her thigh, his thumb making slow, absent circles against the incredible softness there. The emerald silk of her gown was cool and slippery under his fingers, the slit allowing him access to the warm, taut flesh beneath. He’d been watching her all evening—the confident sway of her hips, the way her laugh drew eyes, the unconscious arch of her back as she listened. It had been a constant, low-grade torture.
“You know what you did to me tonight?” Divakar’s voice was a rough murmur close to her ear, his breath stirring the loose hairs at her temple.
“Hmm?” she leaned into him, her head falling back against his shoulder, her eyes closed. A smile played on her lips.
“Every time you laughed. Every time you turned and that dress clung to your ass.” His fingers drifted higher, tracing the edge of the silk where it met the delicate lace of her underwear. He felt her breath hitch. “I was hard the entire goddamn night, Tanya. While I was talking to boring old men about zoning laws, all I could think about was this. Was you.”
A soft, ragged moan escaped her as his fingers finally pressed firmly against the damp silk covering her. The fabric was already warm, soaked through. “Divakar…” His name was a whisper, part plea, part protest. The partition between them and the driver was up, but the vulnerability of the space, the moving public world just outside the glass, sent a visible shiver through her.
“Quiet,” he whispered, not unkindly, his other hand coming up to cradle her jaw, turning her face to his. He kissed her, deep and possessive, swallowing her little gasps. His fingers pushed the lace aside, finding her slick and hot and already trembling. He touched her with a focused, intimate pressure, his gaze locked on her face as it flushed, her lips parting on a silent cry.
She squirmed against his hand, her own fingers digging into the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. “We can’t… not here…”
“We can,” he corrected, his voice low and steady, a contrast to the frantic rhythm of his fingers. “And we are. Look at you. Soaked for me. After all those people, all those eyes on you… this is all mine.” He emphasized the word with a curl of his fingers that made her back arch off the seat, a choked-off yelp catching in her throat.
He was right. The thrill of the public secret, the driver mere feet away, the memory of Shanaya’s calculating gaze—it all funneled into a sharp, desperate need in his gut. It was a need to claim, to erase the complications with something primal and simple. To lose himself in the one person who was purely, unquestionably his.
Her climax broke over her quickly, a tense, shuddering wave she tried to muffle against his shoulder, her body tightening around his hand. He held her through it, kissing her temple, whispering filthy, tender praises into her skin until she went limp against him.
For a long moment, there was just the sound of their ragged breathing fogging the window glass. The car slid to a smooth halt at a red light. The neon from a nearby lounge sign painted streaks of pink across Tanya’s dazed, satisfied face.
She shifted, turning to look at him, her eyes soft and sated. She traced his lip with a finger. “You’re insatiable.”
He captured her finger, kissed it. “Only for you.”
The lie tasted like ash, but he sold it with a smile, with the thumb he gently brushed across her cheekbone. The guilt was a cold, compact stone in his chest, separate from the heat still coursing through him. He loved her. He loved the way she looked at him now, like he’d hung the moon. It was real. His other life, the secret calls, the hotel rooms, the careful scheduling—that was just a different kind of appetite. A game. This, here, with Tanya coming apart in his arms in the back of their car, this was home.
She snuggled against him, her hand splayed on his chest. “It was a nice night. Though that woman, Shanaya… she was looking at you like you were a puzzle she wanted to solve.”
His body went very still for a fraction of a second. He forced a lazy chuckle. “Probably trying to figure out my weak spot. Standard competitor reconnaissance.”
“I’m your weak spot,” Tanya said, her voice drowsy with satisfaction.
“The only one that matters,” he said, and meant it, in a way.
As the car turned into their quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, his phone, nestled in the inner pocket of his jacket, buzzed once. A single, distinct vibration. Not a call. A message.
Tanya, half-asleep against him, didn’t notice the way his jaw tightened. He didn’t reach for it. He stared out at the dark, manicured lawns rolling past, the comfortable silence in the car suddenly feeling thin, fragile. The buzz seemed to echo in the close space, a tiny, insistent alarm.
It would be from one of them. A confirmation. A question. A demand for his time. The stone of guilt in his chest grew heavier, colder. He pulled Tanya closer, as if he could absorb her warmth, her unquestioning faith, and use it to fortify himself against the other world pressing in.
The car purred to a stop under the portico of their modern, minimalist home. The driver exited to open Tanya’s door.
Divakar’s phone buzzed again. Twice in quick succession.
He helped Tanya out, her gown shimmering under the porch light, her smile for him still soft and undone. He kept his arm around her, anchoring himself in her touch.
But as he guided her toward the front door, his free hand finally dipped into his pocket, his fingers closing around the sleek, buzzing device. The screen would be lit up in the dark, a portal to the other, secret compartments of his life. He wouldn’t look. Not yet. He’d get Tanya inside, pour her a nightcap, listen to her recap the evening.
Then he’d excuse himself. Go to his study. Close the door.
And see which part of his intricate, precarious world needed his attention now.