02 Dripping Temptation （18）
Warning : Mature content (a bit) ahead.
Niyati's POV
I lay flat on my bed, the cool air kissing my damp skin. My towel clung to me like a whisper, barely covering anything. The shower was supposed to calm me down, but it only made things worse.
Worse because the water reminded me of him.
Of how it dripped off his chest.
Of how his skin glistened when he stepped out of the bathroom earlier today, towel hung dangerously low around his hips.
I should've stopped thinking. I tried. God knows I tried. But every time I closed my eyes, it wasn't the stars I saw-it was him.
Ansh.
Diya's brother.
Forbidden. Untouchable. But so painfully perfect.
I shifted on the bed, frustrated with myself. My thighs pressed tight, betraying the ache that had started deep in my belly since I saw him. His body, all tall and firm and unfair.
It made me feel things.
Things I couldn't name yet-only feel.
My fingers curled around the sheets, wishing they were wrapped around him instead.
No one had ever made me feel like this before. Not even close.
He didn't even do anything. That was the wild part.
He just existed. Breathed. Walked beside me. Looked at me with those blank eyes like I was just Diya's best friend, nothing more.
But I wanted to be more. So much more.
I wanted his attention, his hands, his lips-every damn piece of him.
My breath caught as my imagination started swirling again, like it always did when I was alone at night.
I pictured him walking into my room. His towel gone. His eyes dark, hungry.
He'd crawl over me, his hands pushing mine above my head, his mouth finally finding mine...
I squeezed my thighs tighter, chest heaving.
But it was just a dream. Again.
He wasn't here.
He hadn't touched me.
And yet, I was burning up for him like he had.
I groaned and flopped onto my stomach, burying my face into the pillow.
This obsession... it was growing.
Too much. Too fast.
But I didn't want it to stop.
My hand drifted under, then slipped higher beneath the hem of the towel wrapped loosely around me.
My fingers found my breast, cupping its soft weight.
My nipple hardened, peaking under my touch.
My other hand instinctively moved between my legs, pressing gently against the growing warmth and throbbing heat.
I closed my eyes, picturing Ansh. He was right there with me, his body damp and close, his low voice murmuring wicked suggestions against my ear. I imagined the towel around him falling away, his strong form pressing against mine, his hardness a heavy weight against my belly.
My fingers explored, easily slipping through the opening of the towel, finding my slick warmth. I slowly eased one finger inside, a soft moan escaping my lips, then another, curling them deeper. The heel of my palm pressed against my clitoris, rubbing with a delicious friction.
"Oh, Ansh..." I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.
My other hand abandoned my breast, finding my other nipple, tugging and pinching it gently as my hips began to rock, a primal rhythm chasing the rising tide of release. I could almost feel him-his mouth on my skin, the comforting press of his weight, his warm breath ghosting over me.
"Ansh!" I gasped, my body arching, legs trembling uncontrollably. A wave of pure sensation crashed over me, pulling me under, and I cried out his name as I came undone.
I collapsed back onto the mattress, utterly spent, my body heavy and damp. A sticky warmth coated my skin, a testament to the shameless pleasure I had just found.
The weekend sun was high and the air warm as I stepped into Diya's porch, a little paper bag of homemade brownies swinging in my hand. I'd missed her terribly during the week - but a part of me knew I wasn't just here for her.
As I reached the gate, a flash of water and sunlight caught my attention.
There he was.
Ansh.
Shirtless. Just in a pair of dark shorts, the fabric hanging low on his hips.
His skin glistened with droplets, his arm flexing as he scrubbed the top of his car.
Muscles rippled under the sun like a scene straight out of a daydream.
His wet hair clung to his forehead as he looked up - completely unaware of the chaos he was stirring inside me.
I froze.
God.
My breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. I wasn't supposed to
look, but how could I not?
My gaze trailed down the curve of his back, the way the water slid down his spine. His side profile sharpened as he reached for the hose, and the sight was so ridiculously sinful that I had to blink twice to make sure I wasn't dreaming again.
I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how dry my throat felt.
"Control yourself," I muttered under my breath.
He turned slightly, and for one terrifying second, I thought he'd caught me staring. But his eyes never met mine - he simply kept working, humming softly to himself.
I tore my eyes away, practically ran up the porch, and rang the bell twice, trying to act normal.
Diya opened the door with a bright smile, unaware of the storm her brother had just unleashed in my system.
"Niyati! You're early!"
"Yeah," I said, walking in and fanning myself with my hand. "Blame the heat."
Diya laughed and led me inside, and I tried not to look back - but my mind was already branded with that image.
Ansh.
Dripping wet. Unbothered. Unforgettable.
Hours had passed since 'The Car Wash Incident' , but the image of Ansh - shirtless, soaked, and completely unbothered - was still playing in a loop in my head like a forbidden music video.
Diya and I had just finished binge-watching half a season of our favorite show, and she was now rummaging through the fridge for snacks. I offered to grab water from the kitchen, partly to be helpful, but mostly to get a moment to breathe.
I padded down the hallway toward the kitchen, rubbing my forehead, trying to shake off the ridiculous blush that kept creeping up every time I remembered his abs.
Just as I turned the corner-
I smacked right into a very real, very solid chest.
"Ah-sorry-!" I gasped, stepping back instinctively.
But the moment I looked up, I wished I hadn't.
Ansh.
Now dry, but still very much shirtless. His hair slightly tousled, a clean towel slung over one shoulder, and low-hung joggers doing nothing to help my sanity.
"Oh. Hey," he said casually, his voice low and warm like it didn't just send a shiver down my spine. He leaned slightly against the wall, sipping from a glass of juice like this was completely normal.
I tried to compose myself, clutching my dupatta like a lifeline.
"Sorry, I didn't see you," I managed, my voice slightly too high for my liking.
"No problem," he said with a half-smirk. "You okay?"
No. Not even close.
I nodded instead. "Yeah. Just... got startled."
He tilted his head, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."
More like a Greek god.
"I'm good," I said too quickly, stepping aside to let him pass.
But he didn't move. Instead, his eyes dropped to the tray I was holding. "You looking for water?"
"Y-yeah."
He reached behind and grabbed a chilled bottle from the fridge. "Here."
Our fingers brushed as he handed it to me, and I swear the contact sent a current up my arm.
"Thanks," I muttered, already walking backward like a complete idiot.
"Anytime," he said, that lazy smirk still intact.
I spun around and nearly bumped into Diya, who was now holding a bowl of popcorn and looking suspicious.
"Why are you blushing like you just saw Ranveer Singh in a towel?"
I forced a laugh. "No reason."
But my mind was screaming:
Oh, there's a reason. And he's in the hallway. Half-naked. And smug about it.
There's something about Ansh that's... dangerous.
Not in the obvious bad-boy way. No. He's not trying to be charming. Not even trying to impress. He's just there-quiet, collected, and yet... somehow completely captivating.
It's pathetic, I know. I came over to Diya's for a casual visit, not a front-row seat to the hottest car wash scene of my life.
But the universe clearly had other plans.
There he was-shirtless, water dripping down his back, his arms flexing with every move, glistening under the sun like a scene straight out of my guilty fantasies.
And I? I practically forgot how to breathe.
My gaze refused to behave, drinking in every inch of him. I felt like a pervert in broad daylight, but honestly? I didn't even care. His back muscles moved like poetry, his shorts slung low enough to tempt sin. I had to clench my thighs just to stay upright.
He turned slightly, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand-and caught me staring.
God. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
But he didn't smirk. He didn't tease. He just... looked. A flicker of curiosity in his eyes, a brief second too long, before he turned back to his task. As if I hadn't just been drooling like a schoolgirl with a hopeless crush.
That should've been my cue to snap out of it. But here I am, hours later, still stuck in that moment. Still seeing him whenever I close my eyes. Still feeling that warm flutter deep in my stomach. Still replaying every flex, every drop, every damn detail of him.
This isn't just a crush anymore.
This is becoming an obsession.
And I don't know if I want to stop it.