Ananya went inside the bathroom, her cheeks, neck, and entire being still on fire from Vikram's touch. She leaned against the cool door, breathing heavily, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her neck and shoulders were a canvas of angry red marks.

His marks. A possessive, thrilling shiver ran down her spine. Her hair was misplaced, her langa voni wrinkled, and she could still feel the phantom imprint of his hands on her bare waist. Her stomach erupted in a fresh wave of butterflies.