Azaan's hands roamed lower, fingers skimming the curve of Aashika's waist, pressing her further against the bookshelf. The rough wood bit into her back, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him—his warmth, his intensity, the way his lips moved against hers with an urgency that stole her breath.

Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against hers, demanding, consuming. A low growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her skin as his lips trailed down her jaw, pressing heated kisses along her throat.