04 Watching Him Under The Shower （18）
The night was quiet, a stillness settling over the Raizada house as I descended the stairs, my bare feet padding softly on the carpet. Thirst had driven me from my room, the need for water overriding the comfort of my bed.
The kitchen was dimly lit, the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains casting a silvery glow over the countertops. I poured myself a glass, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat as I leaned against the sink, momentarily lost in thought.
The house felt different at night, almost as if it held its breath, waiting for the morning to come alive again.
With my thirst quenched, I made my way back upstairs, my footsteps deliberate yet gentle, as if I were trying not to disturb the peace. The carpet muffled my movements, a soft cushion beneath my feet.
As I approached Diya’s room, my gaze drifted across the hall to Ansh’s door. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway. My heart skipped a beat as I realized the faint sound of running water was coming from his bathroom. The shower. He was in there.
Curiosity tugged at me, a mix of excitement and trepidation coiling in my chest. I knew I shouldn’t, but the opportunity was too tempting to resist. With a deep breath, I stepped into his room, the door closing softly behind me.
The space was a reflection of him—masculine and organized, with dark wood furniture and shelves lined with books and trophies. It smelled faintly of his cologne, a scent that always made my heart flutter.
My eyes darted to the walls adorned with photographs, capturing moments of his life—graduation, sports victories, family gatherings. I found myself lingering over his images, my heart pounding with an attraction I couldn’t deny.
But it was the bathroom that called to me, the sound of the shower a siren’s song. I moved closer, my steps hesitant, as if the floor might give way beneath me. The bathroom door was slightly open, revealing a glimpse of his silhouette.
My breath caught in my throat as I peered inside.
Ansh stood under the shower, the water cascading down his bare body, glistening like liquid silver.
His chest was broad and sculpted, his muscles defined in a way that made my knees weak.
I marveled at how a 21-year-old could possess such a body, so perfectly chiseled, so undeniably masculine.
My eyes traced the contours of his physique, lingering on the way the water rolled over his skin, highlighting every curve and edge. His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow, and his legs powerful.
But it was when my gaze dropped lower that my pulse quickened. The prominent bulge between his legs was unmistakable, a testament to his masculinity. I gulped, my cheeks flushing as I realized how indiscreet my observation was. Yet, I couldn’t look away.
The image of him burned into my mind, a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling within me.
What if he catches me? The thought flashed through my mind, but I remained frozen, unable to tear myself away. The moment felt electric, charged with a tension that left me breathless. I knew I should retreat, but my feet felt rooted to the spot.
The sight of him was intoxicating, a forbidden glimpse into a world I had no right to enter. Yet, here I was, standing in the doorway of his bathroom, drinking in the sight of his bare body.
His silhouette shifted slightly, and my heart raced. Had he noticed me? I held my breath, my body tense as I waited for him to turn, to catch me in this act of voyeurism. But he didn’t.
The water continued to fall, and he remained oblivious to my presence. Relief washed over me, but it was tinged with a strange disappointment. Part of me wanted to be seen, wanted him to know I was here, watching him with a hunger I couldn’t explain.
The conflict within me deepened. Should I stay or go? The thought of being caught was terrifying, yet the allure of this moment was irresistible. I felt like an intruder, yet I couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him like this, so raw and unguarded.
His body was a work of art, and I was a spectator, captivated by every detail. My mind raced with questions, with possibilities.
What if this moment changed everything?
What if it revealed something about me—about us—that I wasn’t ready to face?
As I stood there, torn between desire and fear, the story hung in the balance. The image of him, wet and glistening under the shower, was seared into my memory. I knew I couldn’t stay any longer, but leaving felt like surrendering something precious.
Then, his voice broke the silence, low and husky, whispering my name.
"Niyati." The sound of it on his lips sent a shiver down my spine.
I froze, my breath catching as I realized what I was witnessing.
He was thinking of me—touching himself, imagining me, and now, climaxing with my name on his lips.
My cheeks burned, but I couldn't tear myself away. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and I felt like an intruder in his most private thoughts.
When the water shut off, I panicked, stumbling back into the room. My mind raced as I tried to process what I'd just heard. Does he feel the same way? The question looped in my head as I paced the room, my footsteps silent on the carpet.
I glanced at the bed, the desk, anywhere but the bathroom door, trying to distract myself from the chaos of my thoughts.
Before I could decide whether to leave or stay, the door clicked open, and Ansh stepped out, a towel wrapped low around his waist.
His chest was damp, droplets of water glistening in the dim light, and his hair was tousled, making him look impossibly alluring. My heart skipped a beat as our eyes met, and I froze mid-step, my body colliding with his.
He caught me effortlessly, his hands firm on my arms, and I felt the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of my blouse. His smirk was knowing, teasing, as if he’d been expecting me all along.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, laced with amusement, and I stumbled over my words, my cheeks flaming.
"I—I was just…" My voice trailed off, and he cut me off with a gentle finger on my lips.
"Shh," he murmured, his gaze intense. "I know you were watching me."
His words sent a jolt through me, and I tried to deny it, but his smirk only widened. He guided me to the bed, his touch firm yet gentle, and I felt powerless to resist.
My legs gave way as he eased me down, his presence looming over me, both comforting and intoxicating.
"You shouldn’t have listened," he said, his voice a whisper, but there was no anger in it, only a hint of challenge. His fingers traced the line of my jaw, then drifted down my neck, sending shivers through me. I shuddered as his touch lingered, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear.
"I couldn’t help it," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes darkened, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re full of surprises, Niyati."
His hands moved lower, skimming over my shoulders, down my arms, and then back up, teasing the edges of my blouse.
My breath quickened as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, tracing the curve of my collarbone, then lower, to the swell of my breasts.
I arched slightly, my body responding to his touch despite my racing mind.
"You’re trembling," he observed, his voice husky. "Are you cold?"
I shook my head, unable to find my voice.
His fingers continued their slow exploration, slipping beneath the waistband of my skirt, and I gasped as his touch grew bolder.
He traced the lace of my underwear, his movements deliberate, torturous, and I felt my pulse quicken, my body tightening with anticipation.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "If you want me to."
I bit my lip, my mind warring with my body.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words, even if I wanted to.
His fingers slipped inside me, and I moaned softly, my hips instinctively rising to meet his touch.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, and I felt a flush of embarrassment, but it was quickly overtaken by the rush of pleasure.
His touch was expert, his fingers moving in a rhythm that had me squirming, my breath coming in short gasps. "Ansh," I whispered, my voice pleading, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for—more or mercy.
He didn’t answer, his focus entirely on me, his fingers relentless as they pushed me closer to the edge. My body tensed, every nerve ending alive, and I felt the pressure building, impossible to ignore.
"Please," I gasped, my voice breaking, and he leaned down, his lips brushing my throat.
"Cum for me, Niyati," he commanded, his voice a whisper, and I shattered.
My body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing over me, and I cried out his name, my hands clutching at the sheets. The world narrowed to his touch, his scent, the sound of his breathing, and I felt utterly exposed, yet completely safe.
As the tremors subsided, I pushed him away, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning, but he didn’t resist as I scrambled off the bed. My mind was a whirlwind, and I couldn’t stay here another moment.
I bolted for the door, my heart pounding, and slammed it behind me.
Leaning against it, I closed my eyes, my cheeks still flushed, my body still buzzing with the aftermath of what had just happened.
I replayed the moment in my mind, the way his fingers had moved, the way he’d said my name, and a sly smile tugged at my lips.
It’s going to be fun the next two days in this house with him.
Niyati's POV
I don’t even know what just happened.
My whole body is still buzzing, my skin feels like it’s on fire where his hands touched me.
I can’t believe I actually stood there, watching him under the shower…
the way water slid down his back, the way he took my name when he…
released. My name. That was the first shock, and it should’ve been enough to make me run back to Diya’s room.
But no. I stayed. And worse—I let him touch me. God, I let Ansh Raizada touch me.
I’ve dreamt of this moment all my life, haven’t I?
For him to finally see me, to finally… want me.
But it wasn’t a kiss, or a smile, or a soft word.
No. He went straight to places no one ever has, places I never thought I’d allow anyone.
And with just his fingers, he broke me apart. Just like that. He made me release.
I cover my face with my hands, cheeks burning so hot I think they’ll melt. What does this even mean? Does he feel the same way I do? Or was it just a moment for him? Since when? How long has he—
“Niyati?”
My heart lurches out of my chest. I look up and there’s Diya, standing at the door, hair messy, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy kid. And I realize, with horror, that I’m standing right outside Ansh’s room.
“Where were you? I’m very sleepy. Let’s go,” she yawns.
I can’t even form words. She grabs my hand and drags me inside her room, not even giving me time to breathe. I just mumble a soft good night as we lie down side by side.
But how the hell am I supposed to sleep?
Every time I close my eyes, I feel him again. His breath, his hands, the way he made me feel things I didn’t even know were possible. I twist under the blanket, fists clenched, heart racing all over again.
God damn it, Ansh Raizada… what are you doing to me?