By midnight, Mumbai had already forgiven him.

It always did.

The internet moved fast when it came to Armaan Khanna.

One aggressive on-field clip. Two blurry paparazzi videos. Three edits with slowed eye contact and dramatic music.

Suddenly the same man accused of having anger issues became the country's obsession again.

The private club overlooking the sea pulsed with music loud enough to vibrate through skin.

Gold lights bled across marble floors while perfume, whiskey, expensive cigars, sweat, and money mixed thickly in the air.

Every powerful person in Mumbai eventually ended up here.

Actors. Politicians' children. Models. Business heirs. Influencers pretending not to stare.

And in the center of it all- Armaan Khanna.

Black shirt half-unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows. Hair damp from his shower after the match. A silver chain resting against tan skin still warm from stadium lights.

Women watched him openly.

Men watched him competitively.

Armaan noticed both and ignored both.

A girl in a glittering black dress leaned against his shoulder at the bar, lipstick-stained mouth curving slowly when he looked down at her.

"You know half this room has been staring at you since you walked in?"

Armaan took a slow sip of whiskey.

"Half?"

She laughed immediately.

People always laughed.

That was the problem.

He knew exactly how to make people react.

Exactly when to smile. Exactly when to lower his voice. Exactly how long eye contact should last before it became dangerous.

Charm had become instinct.

Not intimacy.

Never intimacy.

Across the lounge, Reyansh Kapoor was already loudly flirting with two models and losing an argument simultaneously.

"I'm a deeply serious man."

One of the girls stared at him.

"You have a tequila bottle in your pocket."

"Preparedness is attractive."

Kabir Sahni sat nearby looking like he regretted every life decision that brought him there.

"One day," Kabir muttered, "I'm going to fake my own death to avoid this group."

Reyansh pointed dramatically.

"That's why nobody writes fanfiction about you."

Kabir looked genuinely peaceful.

"Thank God."

The table burst into laughter.

Armaan leaned back against the bar while another girl slid beside him.

Tall. Sharp eyeliner. Confidence spilling from every movement.

She traced a finger slowly along the sleeve rolled over his forearm.

"You looked violent tonight."

His mouth curved faintly.

"That a complaint?"

"Depends." She tilted her head. "Are you always this cocky after winning?"

Reyansh nearly choked on his drink.

"Sweetheart, he's cocky after breathing."

Armaan threw a napkin at him without looking.

The girl laughed again before leaning closer, perfume curling warm around him.

"You know what your problem is?"

"I'm sure Twitter has several theories."

"You flirt like you're trying to start trouble."

His eyes dragged slowly over her face.

Unhurried. Confident. Enough to make her breath hitch slightly.

"Maybe I usually am."

The tension between them sharpened instantly.

Dangerous. Easy. Temporary.

Someone nearby wolf-whistled.

Sahil Arora walked over with a grin already forming.

"Brother, the nation wins one match and you immediately become everyone's poor decision again."

Armaan smirked.

"Public service."

Sahil laughed before glancing at the girl beside him.

"Careful. He'll flirt with you like he means it and disappear before breakfast."

"You make me sound horrible."

"You are horrible."

The girl looked between them curiously.

"Is he actually this bad?"

Reyansh answered immediately.

"Worse."

Armaan shook his head with a low laugh.

The music shifted louder as more people flooded the dance floor.

Phones flashed constantly.

Someone was already recording him.

Somewhere online, clips were being uploaded in real time.

#ArmaanKhannaPartyNight

Inside Armaan Khanna's Wild Mumbai Night.

Who Was The Mystery Woman Seen Beside Armaan?

Everything became content.

Even breathing incorrectly near cameras became discourse.

The girl beside him slid her hand lightly against his chest while speaking.

"Does it ever get exhausting?"

For a second, the noise around him blurred.

Because yes.

Constantly.

But vulnerability had never survived long in his world.

So instead he gave her a crooked smile.

"Only when people ask serious questions at parties."

Deflection successful.

Again.

Later, long after midnight, the club grew hotter.

Messier.

People danced recklessly beneath flashing lights while waiters moved through crowds carrying champagne and expensive mistakes.

Armaan stood near the private balcony doors, tie loosened now, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from heat.

The same girl found him again.

This time closer.

Her hand slipped around his wrist casually.

Intimately.

Like they already knew each other better than they did.

He just didn't know it yet.

The elevator ride up was already half the battle.

Armaan had her pressed against the mirrored wall before the doors even closed, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding up her thigh under her dress, fingers tracing the edge of her lace underwear with maddening patience.

"You sure about this?" he asked, mouth hovering over hers, breath warm with whiskey and mint. "Because once we're inside, I'm not letting you leave until you forget how to walk straight."

She grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. "Stop talking and start proving."

He laughed against her mouth-that laugh, the one that had made her follow him out of the party in the first place, all easy confidence and boyish charm wrapped in expensive cologne and trouble. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you just signed up for."

The penthouse was dark when they stumbled through the door, only the city lights casting long shadows across the marble floors. Armaan didn't turn on the overhead lights-just flipped a switch that illuminated the space in soft amber, warm enough to see everything, dim enough to feel like a secret.

He backed her toward the kitchen island, lifting her easily onto the cold granite, and immediately stepped between her knees. Still fully dressed in his black button-down and dark jeans, while her dress was already riding up her hips from the elevator.

"Stay there," he said, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to her jaw before stepping back.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting us drinks. And admiring the view."

He poured two glasses of whiskey with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving her legs dangling off his counter, the way her chest heaved with anticipation, the flush spreading down her neck. He took his time walking back, sipping his drink, letting the tension build until she was squirming against the stone.

"You're still dressed," she pointed out.

"I know," he grinned, wicked and playful. "It's called anticipation. Builds character."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet here you are, legs open on my counter, waiting for me to decide what I want to do with you."

He set the glasses down and finally-finally-stepped back between her thighs. But instead of kissing her, he dropped to his knees.

"Armaan-"

"Shh," he soothed, pushing her dress higher, bunching it around her waist. "Let me look at you first. You rushed me at the party, didn't give me time to appreciate."

He ran his palms up her calves, over her knees, spreading her wider. His thumbs traced slow circles on her inner thighs, moving higher with each pass, deliberately avoiding where she wanted him most. She was already wet-she could feel it, embarrassing and obvious, and the way his eyes darkened when he saw told her he noticed.

"Fuck, you're pretty here," he murmured, almost to himself, thumbs finally brushing over her lace-covered center. "All soft and warm and waiting for me."

"Please-"

"Please what?" He looked up at her, that golden retriever energy shining through-eager, enthusiastic, completely focused on her pleasure like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. "Tell me exactly what you want. I love hearing you say dirty things."

"Touch me. Properly."

"Like this?" He hooked a finger under the edge of her underwear and dragged it slowly to the side, exposing her completely. "Or like this?"

His tongue dragged up her center in one long, filthy stroke, and her head fell back against the cabinet with a thud. He made a sound-hungry, happy, completely unashamed-and settled in like he'd found his new favorite hobby.

"You taste incredible," he mumbled against her, the vibration making her gasp. "Sweet and a little bit filthy. Exactly how I hoped."

He was messy about it. Enthusiastic. No careful teasing or practiced technique-just pure, eager exploration, licking and sucking and circling her clit with his tongue like he was trying to memorize her responses. When she moaned, he doubled down. When she grabbed his hair, he groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her core.

"Armaan-oh god-"

"That's it," he encouraged, sliding one finger inside her, curling it slowly. "Let me hear you. This penthouse is soundproof, sweetheart. You can scream."

He added a second finger, pumping them in time with his tongue, and she felt herself spiraling fast, too fast, the combination of his mouth and his hand and the filthy, happy sounds he was making driving her toward the edge.

"I'm going to-"

"Not yet," he pulled back just enough to say, fingers still working, thumb replacing his tongue on her clit. "I want to feel you come on my hand first. Want to watch your face when you let go."

"I can't-it's too much-"

"Yes, you can," he insisted, that playful grin back, eyes bright with challenge. "Come for me. Soak my fingers. I want to lick them clean after."

The words sent her over, hips bucking against his hand as she came hard, moaning his name, body clamping down on his fingers in rhythmic pulses. He watched her face the entire time-watched her, fascinated, delighted, like she'd just performed magic specifically for him.

"Beautiful," he breathed, finally withdrawing his hand. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."

He made good on his promise, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean with obscene enthusiasm, never breaking eye contact. "Even better than I expected."

"You're still dressed," she managed, still breathless.

"Observant." He stood, towering over her, and unbuttoned his shirt slowly, one button at a time, letting her watch. "But I'm not done playing yet."

He left the shirt hanging open, revealing the defined muscle beneath, but didn't take it off. Didn't touch his jeans. Just stepped back between her legs and kissed her-deep and filthy, letting her taste herself on his tongue, the intimacy of it making her head spin.

"Can you stand?" he asked against her mouth.

"Probably not."

"Good."

He lifted her off the counter-effortless, masculine strength-and carried her toward the living room. Dropped her onto the plush rug in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire city glittering behind them, and settled over her without crushing her weight.

"Armaan-"

"Trust me," he said, already kissing down her neck, her collarbone, pulling her dress down to expose her breasts. "I'm going to take care of you. Going to make you feel so good you'll forget other men exist."

He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, rolling the other between his fingers, and she arched into him, already sensitive from her first orgasm, every touch amplified. He switched sides, laving attention on her breasts until she was squirming beneath him, hands gripping his shoulders through his open shirt.

"Please-need you inside-"

"Not yet," he teased, kissing down her stomach, her hip, the inside of her thigh. "I told you, I like anticipation. And I really like eating you out. Going to do it again."

"I can't-I'm too sensitive-"

"I'll be gentle," he promised, wicked grin belying the words. "Well. Gentle-ish."

He spread her open with his thumbs and went back to work, slower this time, teasing licks and soft suction, building her back up gradually. She was trembling, oversensitive, but he read her body perfectly-easing off when it was too much, doubling down when she started grinding against his face, seeking more.

"That's it," he encouraged, sliding two fingers back inside, curling them to find that spot that made her see stars. "Use me. Take what you need."

She did-shamelessly, rolling her hips against his mouth, fucking herself on his fingers, completely lost in the sensation. He groaned against her, clearly loving it, loving her abandon, the way she'd completely given herself over to pleasure.

"Going to make you come again," he warned, picking up the pace, fingers pumping faster, tongue circling her clit with relentless pressure. "Going to make you so wet and ready that when I finally fuck you, you'll take every inch without complaint."

"Yes-yes-please-"

"Come on my face, sweetheart. Give it to me."

She shattered, crying out, body convulsing around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. He licked her through it, prolonging it, not letting her come down, until she was pushing at his shoulders, overwhelmed, laughing and breathless.

"Stop-can't-too much-"

He finally relented, crawling up her body with that satisfied, playful grin, kissing her deeply so she could taste her own release mixed with his enthusiasm. "Two down," he counted, nipping at her jaw. "How many more do you think you have in you?"

"You're going to kill me."

"What a way to go."

He finally-finally-reached for his belt, but paused when she sat up and pushed his hands away.

"Let me," she said, and he immediately dropped his arms to his sides, watching with bright, eager eyes as she unbuckled him slowly, deliberately, drawing out the moment.

"You're enjoying this," he observed, breath hitching when her palm pressed against him through his jeans.

"Payback for making me wait."

She unzipped him, pushed his jeans and underwear down just enough to free him, and wrapped her hand around his length. He was thick, hard, leaking already from all the teasing, and he groaned loudly when she gave him a slow stroke.

"Fuck-yeah-just like that-"

"You like that?"

"Love it. Love your hands. Love everything you're doing."

She stroked him slowly, watching his face-the way his eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenched, the flush spreading down his chest. He was beautiful like this-stripped of his playful banter, reduced to pure sensation, completely at her mercy.

"Can I suck you?" she asked, bold from the whiskey and the orgasms.

His eyes snapped open. "You don't have to-"

"I want to."

He nodded, almost desperately, and she pushed him onto his back-finally, the shirt coming off, the jeans pushed down, him completely naked beneath her while she still wore her bunched-up dress. The reversal of power made her feel dizzy, powerful.

She took him into her mouth slowly, swirling her tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of his arousal. His hips bucked immediately, then he forced himself still, hands fisting in the rug.

"Sorry-sorry-"

"Don't be," she pulled back to say, then took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks, using her hand on what she couldn't fit.

"Fuck-fuck-your mouth-" He was babbling, losing coherence, that golden retriever energy manifesting as pure, enthusiastic appreciation. "So good-so fucking good-"

She worked him with mouth and hand, finding a rhythm that made his thighs tremble, his stomach muscles clench. When she looked up, he was watching her with blown pupils, completely wrecked, mouthing please and don't stop and you're perfect.

"Going to come if you keep that up," he warned, voice strained. "And I really want to be inside you when I do."

She pulled off with a filthy pop, and he groaned at the loss, reaching for her immediately. "Come here. Right now. Need you."

She let him pull her up, help her out of her dress-finally, both of them naked, skin against skin. He rolled them so she was beneath him again, settling between her legs, and reached for something on the side table-condom, thank god, because she was too far gone to remember.

He rolled it on with shaking hands, still breathless, still hard as steel, and positioned himself at her entrance.

"Ready?" he asked, that playful grin back, but softer now, genuine. "Tell me if I'm too much. I'll stop."

"You're perfect," she said, meaning it, pulling him down for a kiss. "Now fuck me."

He pushed inside slowly-torturously slow, letting her feel every inch, stretching her around him until he was fully seated and they were both panting into each other's mouths.

"Fuck-you feel-" He couldn't finish the sentence, overwhelmed, burying his face in her neck.

"Move," she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Please, Armaan, move."

He started slow, controlled, but his restraint didn't last long-couldn't last long, not with how she felt around him, tight and wet and clinging to every thrust. Soon he was pounding into her, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mixing with their breathless moans and filthy encouragements.

"Yeah-just like that-harder-"

"You take it so well-so fucking tight-"

"Touch me-please-"

He reached between them, found her clit with rough, desperate fingers, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation sent her spiraling immediately, climbing fast toward another peak.

"Going to come-"

"Wait for me-" he panted, snapping his hips harder, angling to hit that spot inside her that made her see stars. "Almost there-so close-"

"Can't-"

"Just a little more-fuck-"

She came with a scream, body clamping down on him in rhythmic waves, milking him, demanding his release. He followed immediately, groaning long and low, burying himself to the hilt and spilling into the condom, pulse after pulse, completely undone.

They collapsed together, tangled in sweat and breathless laughter, the city lights still glittering indifferent witness outside. He disposed of the condom eventually, pulled her against his chest, and pressed lazy kisses to her hair.

"Hi," he said, boyish and satisfied.

She laughed, breathless. "Hi."

"So... round two in ten minutes?"

"You're insatiable."

"You bring out the best in me."

He was already getting hard again against her thigh, masculine stamina and that golden retriever enthusiasm apparently knowing no limits. "Or we could just cuddle," he offered, clearly not meaning it.

"Liar."

"Caught me."

He rolled her under him again, already teasing, already playful, already eager to spend the entire night proving exactly how many times he could make her forget her own name.

Outside, Mumbai roared on. Inside, Armaan Khanna showed her exactly why women followed him home from parties-not because he was dangerous, but because he was fun, filthy, and completely, enthusiastically devoted to their pleasure for as long as they'd let him keep proving it.