The moment Siyara stepped into campus, her skin tingled.
Like it remembered where his lips had been.
Where his fingers had paused.
Where his breath had lingered.
And she hadn’t even seen him yet.
She wasn’t nervous.
Not anymore.
She was restless.
Two hours later | After class
He found her alone in the corridor—near the staircase that led to the old, unused reading room. The crowd had thinned. The hallway was hushed.
But the air between them?
Unbearable.
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
(walking up, slowly):
“You wore red today. That’s not fair.”
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
(smirking slightly):
“You told me I smell like yours.
Might as well look like yours too.”
That was all it took.
He grabbed her hand.
Pulled her down the side staircase— where no one ever went anymore. No cameras. No voices. Just cracked cement walls and dim lighting.
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
(backing her into the wall):
“Last night… I couldn’t sleep.”
His hand grazed her jaw, thumb tracing her cheekbone.
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
“Every time I closed my eyes… I tasted your skin again.”
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
(whispering):
“Then stop closing your eyes.”
That broke him.
He crashed into her—mouth on hers, deeper, rougher than ever.
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
*Her hands clutched his shoulders*.
As he kissed her like she owed his breath.
His palms slipped under her kurti again—slow, practiced—finding her waist, her ribs, her softness.
And then higher.
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
(gasping into his mouth):
“Someone might come—”
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
(voice dark, hoarse):
“Let them.
I’ll still touch you like you’re mine.”
He pulled her leg up against his thigh, locking her between the wall and his body.
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
*She trembled.*
Her kurti rode up slightly—his hands warm on her bare waist, teasing under them like a whisper before the scream.
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
*His mouth moved lower—down her neck, collarbone, dipping between the lines where her fabric dipped.*
He didn’t take anything off.
But he touched her like he already had.
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
(whispering into her skin):
“You make it impossible to be decent.”
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
(shaking):
“Then don’t be.”
His hand moved higher—cupping her slowly, thumb circling over fabric, coaxing the kind of reaction she didn’t know she could give.
Siyara Banerjee.FL.
*She moaned—quiet, broken, real.*
Yuvraj Singh Rathore.ML.
*And he stilled.*
Because that sound?
He would chase it for the rest of his life.
They didn’t say “I love you.”
They didn’t say “stop.”
They just let the silence press their bodies closer until words weren’t needed anymore.
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