Page 77 of Born in Sin

“Why did you leave the room?” she asked now, her hands coming up to rest on his chest.

His heart started a slow pound, a beat that resonated through every inch of him, her palms searing through the old, faded cotton of his shirt and scorching his skin.

“I didn’t feel up to listening to you expound on Kabir’s virtues.”

“A master of chaos is a virtue?” she asked, a smile in her voice as she stepped even closer to him, the top of her head brushing his chin.

“To you it would be,” he murmured. “Don’t play games with me Celi.”

She tipped her head up, her eyes meeting his in the dark. “I’m not in love with Kabir,” she told him.

“I know.”

She laughed, a soft sound that curled around his heart like a wisp of smoke. “You researched us?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?” Her eyes searched his, her fingers curling in his shirt.

“I know what you look like when you’re in love with someone. You don’t look at him like you used to look at me. You love him but you’re not in love with him. I don’t need to dig up dirt to prove it.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not.”

“Vir.” His name was a breath of sound. “Don’t lie to me.”

The file he held fell to the floor as Virat’s hands came up to wrap around her, one on her waist, another on her back, pulling her close, flush against him. His entire being seemed to sigh as his body came in contact with hers. He buried his face in her hair and shut his eyes, shutting out the world for one desperate moment.

“Celi,” he said, hoarsely.

“I’m here.” Her hand slipped through his hair, massaging slowly, even as her cheek rubbed against him. “I’m right here.”

“That’s exactly it,” he whispered. “You’re here but you’re not mine. I don’t know how to live in that reality.”

“There is no reality that exists in which I am not yours, Vir.”

The words stopped his heart. He drew back enough to look at her face, his hand going to cradle the back of her head.

“You can’t possibly not know that,” she whispered. “Irrespective of whether we are together or not, I have never been anybody’s but yours. Just as you are mine.”

He dropped his forehead to hers, his breath shuddering out of his body.

“What are we doing Celi?”

“We’re being honest with each other. No more secrets, Vir.”

“No more secrets,” he whispered. His hand slid up to cup her cheek, reverent and trembling. And then his mouth was on hers, urgent, searching, aching.

He kissed her like a man starved, no hesitation, no gentleness, just years of fury and love and pain crashing into her all at once. His lips were rough, claiming, and when her mouth opened to him, he groaned low in his throat, like it physically hurt to touch her and not have all of her.

Celina clutched at him, his shoulders, his hair, anything solid, as if she could fuse herself to him and make the years vanish. Their bodies met with a desperate, perfect fit, her legs parting slightly as his thigh pressed between hers, grounding them in the now.

She tasted like memory and fire. Familiar but wild. She opened to him without hesitation, and the sounds she made, the broken gasp, the hitched breath, sent lightning down his spine.

God, he’d missed her.

His hands moved, one sliding into her hair, the other gripping her waist as though anchoring himself to something real. When she clung to him—fingers in his hair, nails grazing his neck—he nearly lost control.

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