Chapter 9: Jasmine Offering
The question hung between them, bold and undeniable. Arjun’s eyebrows shot up, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his hands tightened on Rohan’s waist.
Then he moved.
It was so sudden Rohan didn’t have time to process it. Arjun dropped, his body a controlled cascade of power, going down smoothly onto one knee on the stone path. The world tilted violently. Rohan’s stomach lurched into his throat. A sharp, terrified gasp ripped from him as he scrambled for purchase, his fingers digging into the solid muscle of Arjun’s shoulders, his thighs clamping down hard.
“Arjun!”
But he wasn’t falling. Arjun held him perfectly steady, a living, breathing monument anchored to the earth. The move was impossibly stable, a display of balance and strength that was both terrifying and profoundly impressive. Rohan’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum against the quiet hum of the city.
“Relax,” Arjun said, his voice a low, steady rumble beneath him. “I’ve got you.”
From this new, elevated vantage point, Rohan could see the top of Arjun’s head, the dark, unruly curls. He watched, breath still caught, as Arjun’s free hand—the one not locked around his legs—reached for the jasmine vine beside them. His fingers, surprisingly deft, worked quickly, plucking several blossoms and weaving their slender stems together with a quiet focus.
He was making a necklace.
The fear began to ebb, replaced by a swelling, aching warmth in Rohan’s chest. He watched the concentration on Arjun’s face, the way his brow furrowed slightly, his tongue caught between his teeth. This giant of a man, who could probably bench-press him without breaking a sweat, was carefully, tenderly, braiding flowers together for him.
When it was finished, a delicate chain of white against his palm, Arjun looked up. His eyes were dark and serious in the dim light. He lifted the necklace. Rohan, understanding, bent forward.
The world narrowed to this single point. Arjun looped the fragile blossoms over Rohan’s head, letting the necklace settle against his collarbones. The scent was overwhelming now, a sweet, heavy cloud that clung to his skin. Mixed with it was the honest, salty smell of Arjun’s sweat from the effort of carrying him, a scent that was fundamentally, undeniably him.
Rohan didn’t pull back. He stayed there, bent over Arjun’s shoulders, and pressed his forehead against Arjun’s. Their breath mingled. He could feel the cool metal of his own glasses frames against Arjun’s skin. He closed his eyes.
The city, the garden, the rustling leaves—it all faded into a distant hum. There was only this: the solidity of Arjun beneath him, the fragile weight of the flowers on his chest, the warm pulse of shared air between them.
Arjun’s hand came up, cupping the back of Rohan’s head, his fingers threading gently through his hair, careful not to dislodge the blossoms already there. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
After a long, suspended moment, Rohan finally spoke, his voice hushed. “So? Which is it?”
Arjun’s smile was a tangible thing, a shift of muscles Rohan could feel against his own skin. “Mine’s closer,” he murmured. “But it’s a mess.”
“I don’t care.”
With a grunt that was pure, effortless power, Arjun rose, standing fully once more with Rohan still perched on his shoulders. He didn’t set him down. Instead, he turned, his grip firm and sure, and began to walk back toward the hidden elevator, carrying his prize.
The elevator doors slid shut, swallowing the garden’s perfume and sealing them in a silent, wood-paneled box. The sudden stillness was a shock after the open air. Rohan could feel the fine tremor in his own legs, pressed against the solid warmth of Arjun’s neck and shoulders.
“You can put me down now, you know,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.
Arjun’s hands just tightened their grip on his thighs. “And waste a perfectly good workout?” The elevator began its smooth descent, a slight shift in gravity that made Rohan’s stomach flutter. He gripped Arjun’s head a little tighter, his fingers tangling in the dark curls.
He looked down. The jasmine necklace rested against his shirt, its scent a private cloud around him. From this height, he saw the world as Arjun did—the top of the elevator door, the discreet ceiling light, the effortless way Arjun carried his weight.
Then Arjun shifted.
It wasn't a stumble. It was a deliberate, powerful adjustment of his stance, his muscles coiling and releasing. He boosted Rohan higher, a sudden, breathtaking ascent that made the ceiling feel dangerously close.
Rohan’s breath hitched. The world tilted again, his perspective shifting minutely. He was now perched even more precariously, his balance entirely dependent on the man beneath him. He looked down at the crown of Arjun’s head, at the broad shoulders that held him aloft with such ease.
A dizzying wave of vertigo mixed with something else, something like trust. He was completely in Arjun’s power, and the thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Arjun chuckled, the sound vibrating up through Rohan’s body. “Better view?”
“I was already seeing stars,” Rohan managed, his voice tight. “You’re going to give me a complex.”
“Good.” Arjun’s voice was a low, pleased rumble. “You should be complex.”
The elevator chimed, a soft, melodic note. The doors slid open onto a dim, carpeted hallway. Arjun didn’t hesitate. He walked forward, carrying Rohan across the threshold like a trophy, his steps sure and steady on the plush pile.
He turned down a corridor, his room key already in his hand. He didn't fumble. He just slid it into the reader, the lock clicking open with a definitive sound. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, still holding Rohan aloft.
The room beyond was dark, smelling faintly of clean laundry and sandalwood cologne. Arjun took one final, step inside.
Then he stopped.
He stood there in the center of the room, Rohan still held high on his shoulders, not moving to set him down. The only sound was their breathing, slightly syncopated in the quiet dark. The jasmine flowers in Rohan’s hair seemed to pulse with fragrance.
“Arjun?” Rohan whispered.
In response, Arjun’s hands slid from his thighs to his waist. His grip was firm, possessive. He finally began to lower him, but it was a slow, controlled descent, drawing Rohan’s body down the entire hard length of his own.
Their faces passed within an inch of each other. Rohan could feel the heat coming off Arjun’s skin, see the dark intensity in his eyes. His feet touched the floor, but Arjun didn’t let go. The jasmine necklace was crushed between them, releasing a final, overwhelming wave of scent.
Arjun’s voice was rough at his ear. “Mine’s closer.”
The crushed jasmine between them released a final, narcotic cloud of perfume. Arjun’s hands stayed locked on Rohan’s waist, his thumbs pressing into the soft give of his sides. He didn’t move back to look at him; he just held him there in the dark.
“You feel that?” Arjun’s voice was low, almost a whisper against Rohan’s temple.
Rohan could only nod, his throat tight. He felt everything—the solid wall of Arjun’s chest, the impossible strength in the hands that held him, the frantic beat of his own heart.
Arjun finally shifted his grip, one hand sliding up Rohan’s back. His palm was rough, calloused from rugby and weights. It spanned nearly the entire width of Rohan’s shoulder blades. The difference was staggering.
“It’s like the jasmine,” Arjun murmured, his breath stirring the hair at Rohan’s neck.
Rohan let out a shaky, confused laugh. “What is?”
“You.” Arjun’s hand flexed, his fingers pressing gently into the muscle beneath Rohan’s shirt. “My muscles are all hard lines. Meant for impact.” He traced the line of Rohan’s shoulder. “Yours are so soft. Like the petals. Meant for this.”
The observation was so quiet, so reverent, it stole the air from Rohan’s lungs. He had spent years feeling inadequate in his own skin, overshadowed by guys like Arjun. He never imagined that very difference could be seen as something desirable.
Arjun’s other hand came up, cupping his jaw. His touch was impossibly gentle, a stark contrast to the power coiled in his frame. He tilted Rohan’s face up. The height difference felt immense in the stillness of the room.
“Meant for holding,” Arjun whispered. “Not for breaking.”
Then he closed the distance.
The kiss was nothing like the frantic, desperate one on the roof. This was slow. Deliberate. Arjun’s lips were warm and surprisingly soft, moving against his with a patient certainty that made Rohan’s knees weaken. He brought a hand up, his fingers curling into the hard muscle of Arjun’s shoulder for balance.
The last of Rohan’s nervous tension melted away, replaced by a warm, pooling heat in his gut. He kissed back, his movements less sure but just as earnest. The world narrowed to the scent of jasmine and sweat, the feel of calloused hands on his skin, the quiet sound of their breathing in the dark room.
When they finally broke apart, it was only by a fraction of an inch. Their foreheads rested together again, a familiar anchor.
“See?” Arjun said, his voice rough around
the edges. “Soft.”
A genuine, unguarded smile spread across Rohan’s face. “You’re still ridiculous.”
“And you’re still on my floor.” Arjun’s hands slid down to his hips, giving him a slight squeeze. “We should probably do something about that.”
Arjun’s hands slid from Rohan’s hips, but he didn’t step back. The space between them felt charged, thick with the scent of crushed jasmine and their shared breath. “C’mere,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration in the dark.
He guided Rohan to stand directly in front of him, his broad hands firm on his shoulders. The difference was immediate and staggering. Rohan’s head didn’t even reach the solid curve of Arjun’s shoulders; his eyes were level with the base of his throat.
A slow, wicked grin spread across Arjun’s face. “You’re tiny.” The word was full of wonder.
“I’m average height,” Rohan retorted, his voice tighter than he intended. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.
“You’re a pocket-sized genius.” Arjun’s laughter was a soft, warm sound. He brought a hand up, palm facing Rohan, and leveled it just above his own collarbone. “See? The top of your head doesn’t even clear my hand.”
Rohan scowled, but the effect was ruined by the way he leaned into Arjun’s space. “Are you quite finished conducting your anthropological study?”
“Not even close.” Arjun’s gaze dropped, his focus shifting. His fingers, calloused and warm, trailed down from Rohan’s shoulder to the soft, unresisting flesh of his upper arm. He squeezed gently, his thumb rubbing a slow, circular pattern into the skin.
A shiver raced down Rohan’s spine. He watched, mesmerized, as Arjun’s large hand completely enveloped the curve of his bicep.
“It’s so soft here,” Arjun murmured, his tone shifting from teasing to something far more reverent. He looked from his own hand to Rohan’s face, his dark eyes intent. “All of me is just… hard.”
He bent his head, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips, surprisingly soft, brushed against the skin of Rohan’s arm where his thumb had just been. The kiss was feather-light, a whisper of contact that sent a jolt straight to Rohan’s core.
“So soft,” Arjun repeated against his skin, his breath a warm caress. He kissed the spot again, lingering this time. His other hand came up to cradle Rohan’s elbow, holding his arm with a delicacy that felt utterly at odds with his strength.
Rohan’s protest died in his throat. He could only stand there, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, as Arjun worshipped the very part of himself he’d always considered lacking. The self-consciousness didn’t vanish, but it transformed, melting under the heat of that focused admiration.
The self-consciousness didn’t vanish, but it transformed, melting under the heat of that focused admiration. Arjun’s lips left a brand on his arm, a phantom warmth that seeped deep into the muscle. He straightened up, his gaze locking with Rohan’s, and the air in the room shifted, becoming charged and still.
“I’m not going to break,” Rohan whispered, the words a challenge and a plea.
A slow, dark smile touched Arjun’s mouth. “I know.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, Arjun closed the small distance between them. His arms encircled Rohan’s waist, lifting him from the floor as if he weighed nothing more than a stray thought. The world tilted, the ceiling spinning above him before everything stilled. He was cradled against Arjun’s chest, held aloft in a bridal carry that was both impossibly secure and utterly devastating.
Rohan’s arms instinctively looped around Arjun’s neck, his glasses sitting askew on his nose. He could feel the steady, powerful beat of Arjun’s heart against his own frantic rhythm. “Show-off,” he breathed, his voice unsteady.
“You love it,” Arjun murmured, his voice a low thrum against Rohan’s ear. He didn’t move toward the bed. He just stood there, holding him, making a spectacle of his own strength and Rohan’s effortless weightlessness. The simple act of being held so completely, so easily, unspooled something deep inside Rohan.
He felt a surrender he’d never known, a quiet yielding that had nothing to do with weakness. He let his head fall back against the solid support of Arjun’s arm, exposing the line of his throat. The jasmine blossoms still tucked in his hair brushed against Arjun’s wrist.
Arjun’s eyes darkened, tracking the movement. He bent his head, and his mouth found Rohan’s throat.
This kiss was not soft. It was a hot, open-mouthed press of lips and tongue against his pulse point, a claim that stole the air from Rohan’s lungs. A broken sound, half-gasp, half-moan, escaped him. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Arjun’s shirt, clinging as the sensation arced through him, sharp and electric.
Arjun’s arms tightened, a visceral response to the sound. He walked them the few steps to the bed, his gait perfectly steady despite his precious burden. He didn’t drop him. He lowered Rohan onto the rumpled sheets with a control that was its own kind of language, following him down, caging him with his body.
The mattress dipped under their combined weight. Rohan looked up, the world framed by Arjun’s shoulders, his vision filled with him. The city lights from the window cast long, shifting shadows across the planes of Arjun’s face.
Arjun braced himself on one forearm, his other hand coming up to carefully remove Rohan’s glasses. He folded them with a quiet click and set them on the nightstand, a gesture of such profound care it made Rohan’s chest ache. His vision blurred, the room softening into a haze of light and shadow.
“Better?” Arjun’s voice was rough.
“I can’t see you,” Rohan whispered, his hands coming up to rest on Arjun’s biceps. The muscle there was like carved stone, flexing under his touch.
“You don’t need to see.” Arjun lowered his head again, his lips finding Rohan’s. “You just need to feel.”
This kiss was a conquest. It was deep and searching, devoid of the earlier teasing. Arjun’s tongue swept into his mouth, and Rohan yielded, opening for him without a single thought of resistance. His body went pliant under the overwhelming weight and heat, every nerve ending alight. He was drowning in it, in the scent of jasmine and male skin, in the taste of Arjun.
When Arjun finally broke for air, they were both breathing in ragged sync. Rohan’s mind was quiet, blissfully empty of everything but sensation. He could feel the hard ridge of Arjun’s arousal pressing against his thigh, a promise that made his stomach clench with anticipation.
Arjun shifted his weight, his hand sliding from Rohan’s waist to the hem of his shirt. His fingers brushed the skin of his stomach, and Rohan flinched, a reflexive tremor.
“Okay?” Arjun stilled, his entire body poised above him.
Rohan’s answer was to arch into the touch, a silent, physical plea. He was beyond words, reduced to a language of breath and movement. He submitted to the hands that pushed his shirt up, to the mouth that traced the newly exposed skin of his ribs, to the sheer, awesome reality of being wanted so completely.
He was floating, anchored only by the relentless, romantic strength of the man who held him.