They were tired with shooting whole day and after that coming home and making love. Shivangi asked harshad to join her in the shower. The steam had barely begun to fog the glass door of the ensuite bathroom before Harshad was on shivangi. His earlier exhaustion was gone, replaced by a relentless, awakening hunger. He moved with the same predatory grace he’d used as Rishabh, but this was different. This was all Harshad. No cameras. No scripts. No audience.

He caught her wrist as she reached for the shower knob, spinning her to face him. The cool air of the bedroom met the heat blooming between them. “My turn,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her bones. His dark eyes, intense and unblinking, held hers as he backed her into the shower stall.