[19] SEDUCED/18
The heavy wooden door shut behind Megha with a soft thud.
Enjoy, bhaiya.
He had frowned,
confused.
Then he looked up.
And every drop of blood in his body rushed south.
Amisha stood at the mouth of the corridor,
bathed in the last amber rays of the dying sun filtering through the jali.
Red saree,
not just red,
molten,
like liquid fire poured over her skin,
draped so obscenely low that the gold kamarband sat inches below her navel,
the soft, chubby curve of her lower belly exposed,
a tiny diamond stud glinting in her navel like a secret.
The blouse,
mercy,
backless,
two thread-thin straps crossing over smooth skin,
neckline plunging so deep he could see the shadowed valley between her heavy breasts,
silk clinging,
stretching,
threatening to give up with every nervous breath she took.
Her skin glowed,
golden,
flawless,
highlighter shimmering on collarbones,
on the upper swell of her breasts,
catching light like wet silk.
Curtain bangs framed her flushed face,
loose waves cascading down to the small of her back,
brushing the bare skin just above the saree.
She wouldn’t look at him.
Eyes fixed on the floor,
on her own trembling fingers twisting the pallu,
cheeks burning crimson,
lips glossy and bitten.
Enjoy.
Now he understood.
A slow, sinister smirk curled his lips,
dark,
dangerous,
predatory.
His cock was already hard,
aching,
straining against his trousers,
but he wanted to play.
Wanted to watch that innocence crack,
piece by piece.
Voice low,
commanding,
rough with hunger:
“Room chalen.
Abhi.”
Her eyes flicked up,
wide,
confused,
then dropped again.
She nodded,
tiny,
and turned.
He let her walk first.
And watched.
Every step,
her hips swayed,
soft,
heavy,
the saree clinging to the generous curve of her ass,
fabric shifting,
outlining each cheek.
The kamarband chain jingled softly,
tiny bells singing against her skin with every roll of her hips.
Her bare back,
smooth,
golden,
the thin blouse strings crossing like an X marking the treasure.
Her waist dipped in,
then flared out,
perfect hourglass,
chubby,
sinful.
Hair swaying,
brushing the dimples at the base of her spine.
He followed,
three steps behind,
gaze locked on her back,
on the way her ass moved,
on the way the saree rode lower with each step,
threatening to slip.
His cock throbbed,
painful,
but the smirk stayed.
He was going to ruin that innocence tonight.
Slowly.
Deliciously.
She reached their room door,
hand trembling on the handle.
He stepped close,
chest brushing her back,
voice a dark whisper against her ear:
“Andar jaao, biwi.
Ab khel shuru hoga.”
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the world outside.
Amisha stood just inside, gaze glued to the marble, long lashes casting trembling shadows on her flushed cheeks. Her glossy lips were pushed into a soft, unconscious pout (nervous, unsure, adorable).
Abhiraj walked past her without a word, the air shifting with his presence. He dropped onto the edge of the wide teak bed, legs spread wide, back straight, hands resting on his thighs. The black kurta stretched tight across his chest as he leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on her lowered face.
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
His voice cut through it, low, deep, commanding.
“Idhar aao, biwi.”
Her breath hitched.
That tone (rough, dominant, nothing like the gentle care she was used to) sent a jolt through her. She lifted her eyes just enough to find his, then dropped them again, heart racing.
But she obeyed.
Small, hesitant steps, payals chiming softly, hips swaying under the low saree, until she stood between his open thighs.
He didn’t wait.
One large hand shot out, fingers locking around her wrist like a cuff, and he pulled.
She stumbled forward with a tiny gasp, landing hard against him, her soft chest crashing into his hard one. The impact made her breasts spill even more over the plunging neckline. Her palms flattened instinctively against his shoulders.
They were close.
Noses almost touching.
His breath hot on her glossy lips.
He stared down at her, voice a dark growl.
“Kiss me, biwi.
Itna sab kiya seduce karne ke liye… ab kiss karo mujhe.”
Her eyes widened, shock, shyness, embarrassment all at once.
She had never heard him speak like this.
This wasn’t her gentle Abhiraj.
This was Hukum.
Trembling, she rose slightly on her toes, leaned in, and pressed her soft, pouty, gloss-slick lips to his.
Just a peck.
Sweet.
Innocent.
Then pulled back an inch, cheeks burning, eyes squeezed shut.
A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated from his chest, dark, amused, dangerous.
His grip on her waist tightened, fingers digging into the bare flesh above her saree.
“Ise kiss kehte hain tum?”
She bit her lip, mortified.
Before she could answer, his big hand cupped her face, thumb and fingers squeezing her cheeks gently but firmly, forcing her lips into an exaggerated pout (plump, glossy, irresistible).
He stared for one long second.
“Kitni cute ho tum…”
Then he devoured her.
Mouth crashing down, claiming, no mercy.
Lips bruising hers, tongue forcing past her teeth in one smooth, possessive stroke.
He tasted the cherry gloss, the faint sweetness of her, everything.
His hand on her face angled her exactly how he wanted, tilting her head back so he could deepen it, tongue stroking hers, coaxing, demanding, teaching.
The kiss was wet, filthy, starving.
Teeth nipping her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, tugging until she whimpered.
Then soothing it with his tongue before plunging back in.
His other arm locked around her waist like iron, crushing her softness to his hardness, her breasts flattening against his chest, nipples stiff through thin silk.
He kissed her until she was dizzy, until her knees buckled, until the only thing keeping her upright was his grip and his mouth.
When he finally pulled back (just an inch), her lips were swollen, glossy smeared across both their mouths, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a heartbeat before it broke.
He licked his lower lip slowly, tasting her again, eyes black with hunger.
“Ab seekh gayi kiss karna, biwi?”
His voice was hoarse, mocking, satisfied.
She could only nod, breathless, dazed, completely his.
She was still trembling from the kiss,
chest rising and falling in frantic little gasps,
gloss-smeared lips parted,
eyes dazed and glassy.
Abhiraj’s hands moved before she could catch her breath.
One palm splayed possessively across the bare curve of her waist,
fingers digging into warm, soft skin.
The other slid lower,
cupping under her ass,
lifting.
He settled her firmly on his lap,
both her thick, plush thighs forced to straddle his hips,
legs wrapping around his waist whether she meant to or not.
Instant heat.
Her soft inner thighs pressed tight against his sides,
the weight of them,
the velvet warmth,
made his cock throb painfully beneath her.
He could feel every inch of her softness grinding against his hardness through the thin layers left between them.
Voice rough,
absolute command:
“Pallu kholo.”
She froze,
fingers fumbling at the clip,
hesitating.
His eyes narrowed.
Tone dropped darker,
dangerous.
“Amisha. Pallu. Abhi.”
A tiny whimper escaped her.
She obeyed.
Shaking fingers unclipped the pin,
slowly pulled the sheer red fabric away from her chest.
The pallu slipped,
fell to her waist like a curtain dropping.
And there it was:
a tiny, perfect dark mole just above the swell of her left breast,
nestled in golden skin.
His breath hissed out.
He attacked.
Mouth on her neck,
wet, open-mouthed kisses,
tongue dragging slow and hot up the column of her throat.
Teeth grazed,
then bit,
sucking hard enough to bloom deep purple marks,
one after another,
claiming every inch.
It was all new for her,
head falling back,
a soft, kitten-sweet moan spilling out,
“Mmm—ahh…”
That sound,
that sound went straight to his cock.
It jerked beneath her,
thick,
insistent,
pressing right up against the heat of her ass through the saree.
She felt it,
gasped,
shifted instinctively.
“Kuchh… kuchh lag raha hai…”
Voice small,
confused,
innocent.
He growled against her collarbone,
lips never leaving her skin.
“Haan… aur bahut jaldi feel karogi tum ise poora.”
He rolled his hips once,
slow,
deliberate,
letting her feel the full, hard length of him grinding against her.
She opened her mouth to protest,
or maybe whimper again,
He didn’t let her.
Mouth crashed back on hers,
silencing her,
swallowing every sound.
Tongue plunging deep,
possessive,
owning.
One hand still gripping her ass,
pressing her harder onto his erection,
the other tangled in her hair,
keeping her exactly where he wanted.
No escape.
No argument.
Only him.
Only this.
The air was thick with jasmine, sweat, and raw desire.
Abhiraj moved suddenly.
One strong arm hooked around her waist,
the other under her thighs.
He twisted her in one smooth, powerful motion.
Now her back was flush against his chest,
soft curves pressed into hard muscle,
her head falling naturally onto his shoulder,
thick hair spilling over his arm like dark silk.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear,
voice a low, dangerous command:
“spread your legs, biwi.”
A shiver ran through her.
She obeyed instantly,
legs parting wide over his thighs,
saree and petticoat riding higher with the movement.
He gathered the silk in one fist,
slowly dragging it up,
up,
until it bunched at the tops of her trembling thighs,
exposing soft, golden skin to the cool air.
His large hand slipped beneath the fabric,
palm gliding over the plush inside of her thigh,
slow,
teasing,
dangerously close to where she was already soaked,
but never quite touching.
Fingers traced feather-light circles,
inches from her heat,
then higher,
then lower again,
never giving her what she was starting to ache for.
Her head tilted back harder against his shoulder,
throat exposed,
body shivering uncontrollably,
messy little moans spilling out,
high, needy, helpless.
His other hand moved to her chest.
Slipped beneath the loose blouse,
cupped one heavy breast,
pulled it free.
So soft.
So full.
Yet somehow still small under his huge palm,
warm,
velvet weight spilling over his fingers.
He kneaded slowly,
possessively,
thumb rolling over her stiff nipple,
then pinching,
light at first,
then harder.
She jolted,
a broken cry escaping her lips.
Through the thin lace of her panty he could feel it,
dripping.
Soaked fabric clinging to her folds,
heat pulsing against his thigh.
But he didn’t touch her there.
Not yet.
Only teased.
One hand tormenting her breast,
pinching,
pulling,
squeezing.
The other stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thighs,
so close,
so cruelly close,
never crossing the line.
Her hips tried to chase his hand,
desperate,
whimpering.
He chuckled darkly against her neck,
teeth grazing her pulse.
“Abhi nahi, biwi… pehle aur tadpao tumko.”
She was already shaking,
lost,
completely at his mercy,
exactly where he wanted her.
Abhiraj’s patience finally snapped like a pulled bowstring.
His hand left her breast only to seize the last knot of her petticoat.
One brutal tug.
The string snapped.
Silk and cotton slid down her thighs in a crimson whisper, pooling at her feet.
Now truly nothing remained except that tiny, soaked light-pink lace panty, clinging desperately to her hips, the little satin bow trembling above her mound.
He hooked two thick fingers under the waistband.
“Look at me,”
he ordered, voice low, lethal.
Her lashes fluttered up, eyes glassy, lips parted.
He held her gaze as he dragged the lace down, agonizingly slow, letting the cool air kiss every new inch of exposed skin.
Over the soft curve of her belly…
past the trembling swell of her hips…
down plush thighs that quivered with every inch.
The panty caught for a second on her knees before he flicked it away with one finger.
It landed somewhere in the shadows, forgotten.
She was completely naked now.
Golden skin flushed rose, heavy breasts rising and falling, nipples tight and dark,
a perfect line of curve from waist to hip to thigh,
and between her legs,
small, untouched, beautifully pink,
glistening shamelessly for him.
He exhaled, slow, ragged.
“Fuck…”
The word slipped out raw, reverent.
His palms slid to her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
“Itna intezaar kiya hai maine is din ka…”
His voice dropped to a growl.
“Ab ek bhi pal waste nahi karunga.”
He spun her around in one motion, back to his chest again, her bare ass pressing against the painful ridge in his trousers.
One strong arm locked across her waist, the other splayed over her lower belly, fingers dangerously close to where she was dripping.
He dipped his head, teeth grazing the shell of her ear.
“Feel that?”
He rolled his hips once, letting her feel exactly how hard he was.
“Yeh sab tumhari wajah se hai, biwi. Ab responsibility bhi tumhari hai.”
She whimpered, thighs pressing together, trying to ease the ache.
He only spread his knees wider, forcing her legs apart again.
“No hiding,”
he murmured against her neck, lips brushing the fresh marks he’d left.
“Tonight you’re all mine. Every inch. Every sound. Every drop.”
His hand finally slid lower, palm cupping her bare, soaked heat,
one thick finger parting her folds,
slow,
possessive,
claiming what he had waited years to touch.
And the night had only just begun.