Rehaan had stopped pretending.
That he wasn't noticing.
That he wasn't affected.
Vihaan towered above most people—but next to Rehaan, the difference was more palpable. Taller. Broader. A natural predator in a perfectly tailored suit. Every step he took had precision. Every glance held weight.
And Rehaan… was watching all of it.
Vihaan noticed, of course. He always did.
Without saying a word, Vihaan moved—graceful, predatory, and fluid—as he turned and sat gently on the edge of the dining table. His long legs adjusted, one knee slightly raised, his frame cutting through the air like the still eye of a storm.
His eyes locked on Rehaan's.
"You done eating me with your eyes, Agent?" Vihaan asked, voice like velvet laced with fire.
Rehaan didn't answer.
Not because he didn't have one.
But because he wasn't sure how much truth his lips could take right now.
Vihaan smirked—and without a second's hesitation, pulled Rehaan forward, between his legs. His powerful thighs locked gently behind Rehaan's back, a non-verbal command disguised in intimacy. His hand stayed on Rehaan's waist, thumb brushing idly in a slow, almost soothing rhythm.
Rehaan's breath hitched.
Not out of fear.
But because everything about this moment was a slow unraveling.
Vihaan leaned forward, and his face—devastatingly close now—was so near that Rehaan could feel the warmth of his breath. Yet, there was no force. No urgency. Just a terrifying gentleness.
Dangerous in its sincerity.
"You keep looking at me like you want to figure me out," Vihaan said lowly. "But your eyes… they already gave you away."
Rehaan's fingers flexed against the table, unsure whether to push him away—or pull him closer.
"You always this gentle with suspects?" Rehaan managed, his voice strained between sarcasm and something deeper.
Vihaan tilted his head, eyes scanning every inch of Rehaan's face with painful slowness. "No," he said simply. "You're the first one I want to handle carefully… because something about you would break beautifully if I didn't."
That silenced Rehaan.
Completely.
And then—Vihaan leaned in.
His lips brushed against Rehaan's, feather-light. Once. Then again—slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing the shape of Rehaan's mouth. His hands didn't tighten. His grip didn't change. He kissed him like a man starved not for body—but for control of his own need.
Rehaan froze—then melted. His fingers slowly reached for Vihaan's collar, gripping just enough to pull him a fraction closer. But Vihaan pulled back slightly, whispering against his lips—
"Slow. Let me… take my time."
And he did.
He kissed Rehaan like every second mattered. Like it wasn't about the heat, but about marking a memory—one Rehaan wouldn't be able to ignore, even in sleep.
When they finally parted, both of them breathless but neither of them saying a word, Vihaan rested his forehead against Rehaan's.
"You taste like danger," he murmured. "And I never liked safe."
Rehaan's hand was still on his collar.
His breath still unsteady.
And in that dim penthouse, surrounded by wine, silence, and secrets—they both knew:
This wasn't just a moment.
It was a beginning.The soft clink of crystal against the wood was the last sound before everything else blurred.
Vihaan moved.
Not with hunger.
Not with urgency.
But with decision.
He gently slid off the edge of the table, rising like a shadow stretching in the night. And in one seamless motion, his arms wrapped around Rehaan, lifting him as if he weighed nothing—like he belonged there, in those arms.
Rehaan's breath caught in his throat as his legs wrapped instinctively around Vihaan's waist, the movement so natural, so primal, it stunned him.
The contact—intimate, raw, terrifyingly close.
Rehaan could feel the firmness of Vihaan's body under his own. The hard muscles of his chest, the steady grip of his hands, and—unmistakably—the hardness pressing through Vihaan's tailored trousers.
It was too much.
And still—not enough.
Vihaan's gaze never left Rehaan's face. His eyes dark, his jaw tense, but his touch… was a contradiction.
Hot. Gentle. Controlled.
He kissed him again. Not with the force of lust—but with the aching reverence of restraint. Lips brushing lips. Hands steady. Breath heavy.
And then—he walked.
Upstairs.
Carrying Rehaan as if he was something sacred.
Every step echoed off the marble floor of the penthouse's spiral staircase. Every second felt like suspended time, a world where only the sound of their breathing existed.
No words were exchanged.
There was no need.
The bedroom door opened quietly—large, sleek, and minimal like the man himself. Warm ambient lighting danced across expensive sheets and silk curtains. But Vihaan didn't toss him to the bed. He didn't ravage him like the stories Rehaan had heard about the tycoon who didn't "do gentle."
No.
Vihaan placed him gently onto the bed, like a fragile truth he wasn't ready to break.
"I won't touch you tonight," Vihaan said, his voice hoarse, low. "Not like that."
Rehaan blinked—stunned.
Vihaan didn't look away.
"I only want this tonight." He slid beside Rehaan, one arm coming around his waist, the other threading under his neck. "Just this."
Rehaan's breath was trembling. The warmth of Vihaan's body pressed behind him, the strength of his arm curled protectively, the heat of their shared silence louder than any moan or scream.
"No one's ever… just held me," Rehaan whispered, surprised even by his own voice.
Vihaan didn't respond right away.
He only pulled Rehaan closer, his hand resting flat on Rehaan's chest where his heartbeat pounded like thunder.
"I don't want to break you," Vihaan finally said into the crook of his neck. "Not unless you beg me to."
And just like that, the fire shifted.
From consuming…
To simmering.
That night, nothing exploded.
There were no loud declarations, no wild nights of passion.
Only a quiet man with demons curled around another man who'd unknowingly tamed one of them.
In silence.
In stillness.
In a night that burned slower than fire.