[80]
The bathroom door opened with a soft click, releasing a faint cloud of steam into the bedroom.
Amisha stepped out.
She was wearing the black lace set Abhiraj had bought earlier—thin straps resting delicately on her shoulders, lace cups clinging softly to her breasts, sheer enough to hint at the skin beneath, open back exposing the smooth curve of her spine.
The matching panty was barely more than strings and lace, hugging her hips and framing the full, smooth thickness of her thighs.
Her legs—freshly shaved, glowing under the low bedroom light—looked impossibly soft and inviting.
Her hair was still wet from the shower, dark strands clinging to her neck and shoulders, droplets sliding slowly down her collarbone and disappearing into the lace.
Abhiraj stood at the dressing table, comb paused mid-stroke in his damp hair. He was shirtless, only in lowers, muscles shifting as he turned.
The moment his eyes landed on her, everything in him stilled.
She looked breathtaking—raw, natural, devastating.
No makeup, no effort, just her.
The flush on her cheeks from the hot water.
Wet hair framing her face like dark silk.
The way the lace sat against her skin, teasing every curve.
Those thick thighs he loved so much—he wanted to bury his face between them and never come up for air.
Her breasts—full, heavy, barely contained by the delicate fabric—he ached to touch, to taste.
She was beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten, cute in the way she stood there so confidently yet shyly, and so damn hot it hurt.
He loved her like this—unpolished, real, his.
Abhiraj slowly turned fully toward her.
Amisha didn’t even move.
She just stood there—bold, waiting.
He took one step.
She took one step back.
Another step forward.
She stepped back again.
He kept moving—slow, deliberate, eyes locked on hers.
She backed up until her legs hit the edge of the bed.
She sat down with a soft bounce—breasts jiggling slightly in the lace, hair falling forward like a dark curtain around her face.
Abhiraj placed one knee on the mattress beside her, leaning in.
His face hovered inches from hers.
Breath mingling.
He was about to lower himself fully—
When her leg came up.
Foot flat against his bare chest.
She pushed.
Not hard.
Just enough.
Abhiraj stopped.
Raised one eyebrow.
Looked down at her leg—smooth, thick, pressing against his skin.
Amisha’s voice came out soft but dangerous.
“This is your punishment.”
He blinked.
She continued, eyes locked on his.
“It will be unfair, right?
Bachhon ko saza di… aur bachhon ke baap ko nahi?”
Abhiraj’s lips twitched.
She pressed her foot a little firmer.
“You will love to look at me in this thing…
but you won’t get the opportunity to touch it.
This is your punishment.”
He looked at her leg again.
Then—slowly—leaned down and kissed the inside of her ankle.
Soft, lingering.
“Punishment mein jaan le leti meri… main khushi-khushi de deta hu.
Par mujhse control nahi hota.”
Her eyes darkened.
“Karna padega par ab.”
With that same leg still on his chest—she pushed.
Harder this time.
Abhiraj stumbled back slightly.
In the same motion, she twisted, came up—
And suddenly she was on top.
Straddling him.
Her hair fell forward—curtain on both sides, dark strands brushing his cheeks.
She leaned down.
Pressed one wet, hot kiss on his neck.
Right over his pulse.
Then looked into his eyes.
“Understood, Pati ji?”
Her chest hovered just above his.that thing was losse so he can see her breasts hanging.and hse had no problem to show him.
Abhiraj’s hands came up instinctively—hovering at her waist, not quite touching.
He stared at her.at her boobs in real.
Voice rough.
“Haan… understood.”
She smiled—slow, wicked.
Then pushed his face upward gently—till his eyes met hers again.
“Jab mujhse baat kar rahe ho… toh mere muh dekh ke karo.”
He put both hands behind his head, surrendering completely.
“Haan… tumhe dekh ke karni chahiye.
Lekin tab jab tum ho… tab nahi jab tum ek seduction banke mere upar baithi ho.”
Amisha’s smile turned smug.
She stayed there—on top.
Hair falling around them.
Chest rising and falling.
Tension thick enough to choke on.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Amisha slowly slid off him.
She moved with deliberate grace—sliding backward until her feet touched the floor again.
Without looking at him, she reached for the comb on the side table, picked it up, and walked the few steps to the dressing table.
She sat on the edge of the table—half on, half off—facing the mirror, legs crossed at the ankles, back slightly arched.
She began combing her half-wet hair.
Slow strokes.
Wet strands slipping through the teeth of the comb, dark and shiny, dripping tiny drops onto her shoulders and the lace.
Abhiraj stayed where he was—on the bed, propped on one elbow, face resting in his hand.
He watched her.
Completely.
His breathing had deepened the moment she sat in that position.
The way she angled herself—back to him, one leg bent, the other extended slightly—made the black lace ride up just enough.
Her whole butt was visible—soft, round, framed perfectly by the thin straps of the panty.
The lace dug slightly into her hips, creating delicate lines against her skin.
The top—open from the sides—showed the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the gentle swell of her breasts from the side.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
His tongue poked the inside of his cheek—slow, controlled, trying to keep himself in check.
But he was already hard.
Painfully so.
The bulge in his lowers was obvious—thick, straining against the fabric.
Veins stood out on his lower abdomen, running downward from his navel toward where the waistband sat low.
He didn’t bother hiding it.
She knew.
She could feel his stare burning into her back.
She kept combing.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each stroke pulled her hair back, making her shoulders roll slightly, breasts shifting under the lace.
Abhiraj’s hand tightened into a fist against his cheek.
His eyes never left her.
Not her face in the mirror.
Not her hair.
Her body.
The way the lace clung.
The way her thighs pressed together.
The way her butt looked when she shifted even a little.
He wanted to touch.
To grab.
To pull her back to him and bury himself in every inch of her.
But he stayed.
Watching.
Breathing hard.
She met his eyes in the mirror once—just once.
Held the gaze.
Then looked away.
Kept combing.