4 – The Debt of Desire

The wall was mercilessly cold against Meira’s back, yet the heat pressing into her made it almost unbearable. Hastan’s body loomed, his broad shoulders caging her in as his palms anchored on either side of her face. His presence left no escape, the air between them thinned to nothing.

And then—without warning—his lips found her neck.

Not hurried. Not careless.

Slow. Hot. Deliberate.

Each kiss was a mark, a possession, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of her skin until it became part of him.

Hastan inhaled deeply, dragging her scent into his lungs with a hunger that made her tremble.

Not perfume. Meira had never been one for artificial fragrance. She carried something more dangerous—her own warmth, a faint trace of soap, and something else… something primal, intoxicating, a pull that no bottle could replicate.

“Oh God…” His hoarse murmur scraped against her ear. “This scent… this is yours.”

The sound of his voice sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Before she could protest, he pressed his body harder against hers, forcing her backward until her balance crumbled. With one measured push, she toppled onto the hotel bed, breath stolen from her lungs as his weight followed.

His knee slid between her thighs, a barrier, a command, a reminder that she was pinned. His lips returned to her neck, fiercer this time, leaving trails of heat and the faintest sting of teeth. Each breath he released burned against her skin, coaxing her pulse into a frantic rhythm.

Her hands pressed against his shoulders, feeble, trembling. “Has…tan… don’t…” The plea fractured on her lips, fragile as glass.

But her body betrayed her.

A low, dangerous ache stirred deep within her stomach, coiling upward, dissolving reason into a haze of forbidden sensation. She hated it—hated how easily her body responded, how his nearness unraveled everything she had tried to guard.

Hastan didn’t care. He trailed kisses along the line of her jaw, then dipped beneath her ear, finding the spot that made her knees weaken even though she wasn’t standing. His fingers moved to the first button of her blouse, playing at the edge of her defenses, ready to undo her carefully kept control.

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sharp sound shattered the feverish spell.

Hastan froze. His chest rose with a ragged breath before a guttural growl tore from his throat. He clenched his eyes shut, then slammed a fist against the mattress beside her, the sound a thunderous crack that made Meira flinch.

“What?!” His voice was a whip of restrained fury.

From the other side of the door, a nervous voice stammered, “L-Lieutenant Colonel, forgive the interruption. Urgent report from cyber-intel, sir. There’s been a breach—an attack on the military hospital system.”

Hastan’s jaw locked. For a moment he remained still, a soldier caught between duty and desire. Finally, he exhaled slow and sharp, dragging his temper back under control.

“Wait downstairs,” he ordered, clipped, controlled.

He snatched his jacket, stormed toward the door—but returned briefly, as though something unfinished tethered him to the room. His phone lay forgotten on the desk.

Meira sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fisted in her blouse, chest heaving. Her face was pale, conflicted, her eyes struggling to decipher what had just happened.

Hastan towered before her once more, his shadow swallowing the lamplight. He bent low, pressing a kiss to her forehead—unexpectedly gentle, a contrast to the fire of moments before.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured, lips twisting into a wicked curve. “You still owe me.”

Her eyes widened, voice barely a whisper. “Owe you? For what?”

But he only smirked, turned, and left—leaving the words heavy in the air, unanswered, like a chain around her heart.

The door clicked shut. Silence followed.

Meira’s thoughts spiraled. Memories flickered—teenage glances, fleeting moments in high school, a single week that should never have mattered. Certainly not enough to warrant a debt.

Yet the way he had spoken—so sure, so absolute—shook her.

And worse than his words was the phantom he left behind. His scent clung to her skin, embedded in the hollow of her neck, a reminder she wanted to despise but could not erase.

Damn him.

Her phone buzzed against the sheets, startling her.

Aira. Her cousin.

She swiped green, pressing it to her ear.

“Ra, you working on a project in the military hospital again? Hahaha…” Aira’s voice was bright, teasing. “Oh, and guess who popped up on my feed? Remember that guy you messed around with back in high school—Hastan? Turns out he’s in the army now. Can you believe it?”

Meira froze. The name hit like a bullet to her chest.

Aira’s laughter continued, carefree, but Meira’s mind had already drifted. If only Aira knew—if only she could see how dangerously close Hastan had been moments ago. If she had witnessed that heat, that hunger—her cousin might faint from shock. Or squeal from delight.

Meira shut her eyes, pulling in a long, unsteady breath.

God help her. This was far from over.