Page 83 of Yes Boss
“Efficient as always.” Vikram picked up his script. “That’s all for now.”
“Okay, Boss.” Divya turned to leave, then paused at the door. “And congratulations to your brother. It’s really very romantic.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Vikram’s grin returned. “Love at first interview.”
Divya’s laugh was soft, almost musical, before she slipped out of the van.
Vikram stared at the closed door for a moment, an odd expression crossing his face. Then he shook his head, returning to his tablet.
But the image of her shy smile lingered longer than it should have.
Epilogue
Ishani stepped off the elevator at exactly 7:30 AM, one week after her relationship with Raghav had exploded across Mumbai's headlines. The executive floor was silent. She wore a tailored cream dress that hugged her curves, paired with stilettos that added three inches to her height and a hundred points to her confidence. The diamond bracelet—his first gift—glinted at her wrist, no longer something to hide.
She set her purse on her desk and logged into her computer. Soon after, the elevator doors opened again.
Raghav stepped onto the floor.
His eyes found hers the moment he stepped onto the floor—dark, direct, carrying that particular heat he no longer bothered to conceal. He crossed toward her without breaking stride, said nothing, simply held out his hand.
She took it.
He pulled her to her feet and guided her into his office, one hand at her back, warm and certain. The door clicked shut behind them.
Raghav looked like a man consumed by a single purpose.
“I’ve been thinking about this since I woke up,” he murmured, backing her against his desk with deliberate steps.
Before she could respond, his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that held nothing back. His hands framed her face, fingers sliding into her hair, angling her head exactly how he wanted it. The kiss wasn’t gentle or exploratory. It was possession, pure and raw. Her phone fell to the floor as her hands found his shoulders, gripping his suit jacket, steadying herself against the assault on her senses.
Raghav pressed closer, eliminating the space between them until her back hit the edge of his desk. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, demanding entry she immediately granted. His hands left her face to slide down her sides, mapping the curves hidden beneath her dress.
“Raghav,” she gasped when he finally released her mouth to trail kisses along her jaw. “We’re at the office—”
“Do you think I care?” His voice came out rough, edged with something dangerous. “You’re mine, and I’m done pretending otherwise.”
His mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her ear, teeth grazing. “Let them see. Let every person who walks onto this floor know exactly who you belong to.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the raw claim in his words, sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs. She tugged at his perfectly styled hair, pulling his mouth back to hers, no longer caring about professionalism or boundaries.
His hands gripped her waist, lifting her onto his desk in one smooth motion. Papers scattered. Something—a pen holder, maybe—clattered to the floor. Neither of them noticed or cared.
Her legs parted instinctively as he stepped between them, bringing their bodies flush against each other. The position allowed him to press against her core, the evidence of his desire obvious even through layers of clothing. She arched into him, chasing the friction his body offered.
“I promised to be at your service for the rest of our lives,” he murmured against her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Starting now.”
His hands found the buttons of her dress, deftly unfastening the top three to reveal the black lace beneath. The sight made his eyes darken further, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he fought for control.
“You wore this for me,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. His fingers traced the edge of the lace, reverent and possessive at once.
“I wear everything for you,” she admitted breathlessly.
A sound—half groan, half growl—escaped him. His mouth descended to the tops of her breasts, tracing the edge of her bra with his tongue. When his teeth grazed the sensitive skin, her back arched off the desk. His arm wrapped around her waist, supporting her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her as his other hand pushed her dress higher on her thighs.
“Every part of you,” he murmured against her skin, his hand sliding up the smooth expanse of her leg. “Every breath. Every thought. Mine.”
His fingers traced patterns on her inner thigh, moving higher with agonizing slowness. Heat pulsed between them, building with each touch, each shared breath.
