Adultery Undercover Desires

[Jayam Ramana]

Rahul was hit by national permit lorry and died on spot. RIP.

[John446]

CHAPTER – 59


The sun hung low over Hyderabad, casting a golden hue across the bustling streets as Feroz, Danish, and Kavya sat in the living room, the air filled with the aroma of freshly brewed chai. A week had passed since Feroz’s call with Maulana Qasim, and the news had just arrived: the nikah was set for three months from now, a date deemed auspicious after Ramadan. Kavya’s heart fluttered with excitement and nerves, her peach kurta catching the soft lamplight as she exchanged a glance with Danish, who grinned, his eyes alight with anticipation. Feroz, at sixty, sat across from them, his silver-flecked hair neat, his cream kurta exuding quiet authority. The memory of their shared glance at the wedding lingered faintly in Kavya’s mind, but the focus now was on the future unfolding before them.

Feroz set his chai cup down, his expression warm yet purposeful. “Danish, Kavya,” he began, his voice steady, “now that the date’s fixed, I’ve been thinking. You should both move here to Hyderabad until the wedding. It’ll make things easier—shopping for the nikah, meeting with Maulana, picking out clothes, jewelry, all of it. The city’s got everything you need, and you won’t be running back and forth.”
Danish raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the couch. “Move here? Abbu, I’ve got work, and Kavya’s got her job too. It’s not that simple.”

Feroz waved a hand, his smile disarming. “Work can be managed—remote meetings, a few trips if needed. Kavya, your company’s flexible, isn’t it?” He turned to her, his gaze warm but piercing, carrying that same intensity she’d felt at the wedding. “Besides, I’m rattling around this big house alone. It’ll be good to have you both here. We’ll spend time together—meals, planning, maybe even some late-night talks like the old days, Danish.”
Kavya felt a warmth at his words, though her cheeks flushed slightly under his gaze. The idea of living with Feroz, his charismatic presence filling the house, stirred a mix of comfort and curiosity. “It does sound practical,” she said softly, glancing at Danish. “Hyderabad’s markets are perfect for wedding shopping—Charminar, Laad Bazaar. And… it’d be nice to spend time with you, Uncle.” She used the term respectfully, but her smile held a hint of playfulness, easing the formality.

Danish chuckled, sensing her agreement. “Okay, you’re ganging up on me,” he teased, nudging Kavya. “But yeah, it could be fun. Abbu’s cooking alone is worth the move.” He grinned at Feroz, who laughed, the sound rich and warm.
“It’s settled then,” Feroz said, clapping his hands together. “You’ll move in next week. I’ll clear out the guest rooms—Kavya, you’ll have your own space, of course. We’ll make this house lively again.” His eyes crinkled with a smile, but there was a flicker of something deeper as he looked at Kavya—gratitude, perhaps, for the life this change would bring to his home.

Over the next few days, plans took shape. Danish arranged to work remotely, while Kavya coordinated with her office for a temporary transfer. By the following weekend, their bags were unpacked in Feroz’s sprawling Hyderabad home, its high ceilings and old-world charm welcoming them. The house buzzed with new energy—Kavya’s laughter as she and Danish bickered over wedding colors, Feroz’s stories over dinner, his voice carrying the weight of experience as he shared tales of his own youth. One evening, as they sat on the veranda, Feroz pointed out the best shops for lehngas and sherwanis, his enthusiasm infectious. Kavya caught his eye, feeling a quiet connection in his warmth, his insistence on their presence a bridge between the past and their future.

As they settled into this new rhythm, the wedding drew closer, each day filled with shared meals, market trips, and moments that wove them closer as a family. Feroz’s home, once quiet, now hummed with anticipation, the promise of the nikah binding them in ways both expected and unspoken.

Kavya, Danish, and Feroz had settled into a new rhythm since the couple moved in a week ago, their suitcases now unpacked in the airy guest rooms. Kavya, in a flowing blue kurta, felt a thrill of novelty as she navigated this new chapter. She’d visited Hyderabad before—briefly, for that vibrant wedding with Danish, where she’d caught Feroz’s intense gaze—but living here until their nikah was different. It was an immersion into a world of ---c traditions and family life she’d only glimpsed, and her curious nature buzzed with anticipation. Kavya’s heart was wired to explore, and this move felt like stepping into a story she was eager to live.

Mornings began with the adhan echoing from a nearby mosque, a melodic call that stirred Kavya’s curiosity. She’d pause by her window, listening, as Feroz explained its significance over breakfast—his voice, blending wisdom with warmth. “It’s a reminder to center yourself,” he said one morning, passing her a plate of parathas. “Five times a day, it brings us back to what matters.” Kavya nodded, her eyes bright with questions, jotting mental notes to learn more. Danish, sipping his chai, grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Soon you’ll know the timings better than me.”

The house itself was a canvas of tradition. Feroz’s home, with its arched doorways and intricate jali work, felt like a bridge between past and present. Kavya wandered its halls, marveling at the framed calligraphy of Quranic verses, her fingers tracing the Urdu script as Feroz shared their meanings. “This one’s about patience,” he said, his gaze meeting hers briefly, that familiar intensity sparking a quiet flutter in her chest. She pushed it aside, focusing on the stories he told—tales of family weddings, Ramadan nights, and the nikah ceremonies of his youth. Her curiosity soaked it all in, eager to understand the rituals that would soon shape her own wedding.

Weekends were for exploration. Feroz, ever the enthusiastic guide, took them to Laad Bazaar, where Kavya’s eyes widened at the kaleidoscope of bangles and embroidered fabrics. She tried on a set of green glass bangles, their clink mingling with the market’s chatter. “Perfect for the mehndi,” Feroz said, his smile warm but with that disarming charm that made her cheeks flush. Danish, distracted by a vendor’s sherwanis, didn’t notice, but Kavya felt a mix of excitement and shyness under Feroz’s gaze. She was learning—how to dbang a dupatta for the masjid, the etiquette of greeting elders, the joy of breaking fast with dates during a practice iftar Feroz hosted to teach her.

One evening, as they sat on the veranda, the air thick with the scent of jasmine, Kavya asked Feroz about the nikah ceremony. “What’s it like, Uncle? The actual moment?” Her voice was soft, curious, her eyes searching his. Feroz leaned back, his silver hair catching the lamplight. “It’s simple but profound,” he said. “You and Danish will sit before Maulana Qasim, surrounded by family. He’ll recite verses, you’ll agree to the mahr, and you’ll promise to build a life together. It’s… sacred.” His words carried weight, and Kavya felt a surge of anticipation, imagining herself in that moment, Danish by her side, Feroz watching with pride.

One morning, as the sun filtered through the veranda, Kavya sat cross-legged with a book on ---c wedding customs, her brow furrowed as she read about the mahr. Feroz, sipping chai across from her, watched as she absentmindedly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the familiar gesture from the wedding night catching his eye. The 
movement revealed the soft curve of her neck, her skin glowing in the morning light, and for a moment, his breath caught, a flicker of admiration stirring in his chest. At sixty, his silver-flecked hair and warm eyes carried a seasoned charm, and he quickly averted his gaze, masking the moment with a sip of chai. “Learning fast, I see,” he said, his voice low and warm. Kavya looked up, her smile bright but innocent. “It’s fascinating, Uncle. What’s the mahr like in practice?” Her curiosity pulled him back, and he explained, his tone steady, though the memory of her grace lingered.

Later that week, in the living room, Kavya helped Feroz sort old family photos for the nikah, kneeling beside him on the rug. As they reached for the same album, their shoulders brushed, her warmth and faint jasmine scent sending a jolt through him. His fingers grazed hers, lingering a heartbeat too long before he pulled back, clearing his throat. “This one’s from my sister’s wedding,” he said, pointing to a faded photo, his charm smoothing the moment. Kavya, engrossed, laughed at the story he spun, oblivious to the way his eyes had traced her briefly, a quiet struggle between restraint and attraction playing out beneath his composed exterior.

In Laad Bazaar, Feroz guided them through vibrant stalls, his enthusiasm infectious as Kavya tried on a crimson shawl, the fabric dbanging elegantly over her frame. “It suits you,” he said, his gaze lingering on the way it accentuated her form, his tone carrying a warmth that felt almost too personal. Kavya, caught up in the mirror, smiled shyly. “You think so? I’m still learning what’s right for the mehndi.” She adjusted the shawl, unaware of the effect, while Feroz nodded, redirecting to the tradition of bridal attire, his heart a quiet battleground of duty and fleeting desire.
One night, after Danish retired early, Feroz and Kavya lingered on the veranda, the air heavy with jasmine. Kavya, curious, asked about Feroz’s own marriage, prompting a rare story of love and loss. As he spoke, his eyes softened, resting on her moonlit features, her attentive gaze stirring a warmth he quickly tamped down. “It’s a moment you never forget,” he said, his voice low. Kavya nodded, her response thoughtful, missing the undercurrent in his lingering look. “I can’t wait to experience it,” she said, her smile open, curious, keeping the moment light.

Two months had passed since Kavya and Danish moved into Feroz’s Hyderabad home, and the air was thick with the anticipation of the approaching nikah, now just weeks away. The house, once quiet, thrummed with life—rolls of fabric for the wedding outfits piled in the living room, the scent of henna lingering from Kavya’s practice designs, and the constant hum of planning. Kavya, in a flowing lavender kurta, had grown accustomed to the rhythm of Hyderabad, her curious nature drinking in ---c traditions like the intricate steps of a dance. Yet, living with Feroz, whose silver-flecked hair and charismatic presence filled the house at sixty, stirred a new awareness in her—a subtle, unspoken tension that grew as the wedding neared, particularly in fleeting moments with him.

Mornings were a ritual of shared chai on the veranda, where Feroz’s stories of family traditions wove a tapestry Kavya eagerly explored. One such morning, as she reached for the sugar bowl, her bangles clinked softly, her sleeve slipping to reveal the smooth curve of her wrist. Feroz’s gaze flickered there, a brief, unguarded moment, his eyes tracing the delicate line of her skin before he caught himself, offering a warm smile. “You’re getting the hang of this,” he said, nodding at her henna-stained fingers. Kavya, sensing the intensity in his look, felt a flutter in her chest—less curiosity now, more a tingling awareness of his attention. She smiled shyly, murmuring, “Thanks, Uncle,” but the warmth in her cheeks lingered, her heart quickening as she wondered at the shift.

In the evenings, the trio often gathered in the living room, planning the nikah’s details. One night, as Danish stepped out to take a call, Kavya and Feroz sorted through fabric swatches for the wedding decor. Their fingers brushed as they reached for the same piece of silk, the contact sending a jolt through Kavya. Feroz’s hand lingered a moment, his touch warm and steady, before he pulled back, his voice low as he said, “This gold suits your elegance.” The compliment, layered with his deep timbre, hung in the air. Kavya’s breath caught, her eyes meeting his, where a quiet intensity burned beneath his charm. She felt a rush—part embarrassment, part something deeper, unfamiliar—her pulse racing as she managed a soft, “You think so?” Her voice was steady, but her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her dupatta, suddenly hyper-aware of his nearness.

A trip to Charminar for jewelry shopping intensified the undercurrent. As Kavya tried on a pair of jhumkas, the mirror reflecting her reflection beside Feroz’s tall frame, he leaned closer to adjust the earring that had caught in her hair. His fingers grazed her earlobe, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down her spine. “Perfect,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek, his eyes locking with hers in the mirror. Kavya’s heart pounded, a mix of flattery and unease swirling within her. She was used to his guidance, his warmth, but this felt different—his gaze held a weight that made her skin prickle, her body responding in ways she hadn’t expected. “Thank you,” she whispered, turning away to hide the flush creeping up her neck, her curiosity now tinged with a quiet, confusing pull toward him.

The Hyderabad home vibrated with the feverish anticipation of the nikah, now just ten days away. The living room was a vibrant chaos of silk swatches, henna-stained papers, and the lingering scent of sandalwood incense, blending with the faint jasmine of Kavya’s perfume. Kavya, dbangd in a flowing coral kurta, had woven herself into the household’s rhythm, her curious nature drinking in ---c traditions—the adhan’s haunting call at dawn, the intricate rituals of family gatherings, the stories Feroz shared with his sixty-year-old charisma. His silver-flecked hair gleamed under the lamplight, his magnetic presence filling every corner with a quiet authority. The subtle tension between them had deepened over weeks, a silent pulse in stolen glances, accidental touches, and moments that left Kavya’s heart racing under his intense, warm gaze. She felt it—a stirring she couldn’t fully name, a warmth she buried beneath her focus on Danish and the wedding, yet it lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

One sultry evening, after a long day of finalizing the nikah’s decor, Danish retired early, exhausted from work calls, his footsteps fading down the hall. Kavya lingered in the living room, her fingers tracing the delicate filigree of a gold bangle from Feroz’s family collection, its cool metal grounding her as she studied it under the soft glow of a single lamp. Feroz joined her, his crisp kurta accentuating his tall, broad frame, offering a steaming cup of tea. “Thought you might need this,” he said, his voice low and resonant, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, where wisdom and charm intertwined. Their fingers brushed as she took the cup, the brief contact sending a shiver through her, her pulse quickening. “Thanks, Uncle,” she murmured, her voice soft, her curiosity piqued as she asked about the bangle’s history—a heirloom from his mother, worn at her own nikah. His deep, velvety explanation held her captive, but his gaze, warm and piercing, seemed to see through her, igniting a flush across her cheeks. She shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her bangles clinking softly, aware of the quiet intensity in his eyes.

Suddenly, the lights flickered and died, plunging the house into an inky, suffocating darkness. The air conditioner’s hum fell silent, leaving only the distant chirp of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves outside. Kavya’s breath caught, her childhood fear of darkness clawing at her chest, a primal panic tightening her throat. The bangle slipped from her trembling fingers, clinking sharply on the hardwood floor. “Oh no,” she whispered, her voice quivering, her heart pounding as the darkness pressed in, swallowing the room’s familiar contours. Feroz, sensing her distress, set his cup down with a soft clink, his silhouette barely discernible in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the jali windows. “Just a power cut,” he said, his voice a steady anchor, laced with a gentle concern that cut through her fear. “I’ll get you to your room, Kavya. Don’t worry about the bangle—I’ll find it.”

She nodded, her breath uneven, the darkness amplifying her unease until it was a living thing, wrapping around her. Feroz retrieved his phone, its faint glow casting soft shadows across his face, illuminating the strong lines of his jaw, the warmth in his dark eyes, and the silver streaks in his hair. “Stay close,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, a command wrapped in care as he stepped toward her. Kavya stood, clutching the edge of her kurta, her fingers trembling as she followed him toward the staircase. The house felt vast and otherworldly, its familiar corners morphed into shadowy unknowns. Her breath came in shallow bursts, her fear mingling with the electric awareness of Feroz’s nearness, his steady presence a beacon in the dark.

The staircase loomed narrow and steep, its old wood creaking under their steps, the silence heavy with the weight of their shared breaths. Kavya’s fear surged, the darkness pressing closer, her imagination conjuring unseen shapes in every shadow. Her fingers grazed the wall for balance, her heart hammering as they climbed. Halfway up, a sudden gust from an open window rattled a shutter, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet. Kavya gasped, her foot catching on a worn step, her body tilting backward into the void. The bangle, forgotten in her panic, was no longer in her mind as she flailed, a soft cry escaping her lips, her arms reaching instinctively for something to hold.


Feroz spun instantly, his reflexes sharp despite his sixty years. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her toward him with a firm, protective grip, one hand pressing against the soft curve of her midriff, the thin coral kurta a fragile barrier between his fingers and her skin. Kavya fell against him, her chest pressing into his, her loose hair spilling forward like a silken cascade, brushing across his face and neck. The strands carried the intoxicating scent of jasmine, mingling with the warmth of her skin, enveloping Feroz in a sensory storm that set his heart racing. As he steadied her, his nose grazed the delicate curve of her neck, the accidental contact sending a jolt through him, electric and overwhelming. Her warmth, the softness under his hand, the faint pulse beneath his fingertips—it ignited a deep, restrained longing, a quiet fire he fought to suppress, his sixty years of wisdom battling the pull of her nearness.
Kavya’s breath hitched, her fear of the dark drowned by the sudden, visceral intimacy. The firmness of Feroz’s grip, the warmth of his body against hers, the fleeting brush of his breath against her neck—it sent a shiver through her, a tingling heat spreading from where his hand held her, radiating through her core. Her hands clutched his shoulders, fingers digging into the crisp fabric of his kurta, anchoring herself against the dizzying sensation. In the dim glow of his phone, their eyes locked, mere inches apart, the confined staircase holding them in its embrace. Feroz’s gaze was molten, a storm of concern and something deeper, his pupils dilated in the half-light, betraying a quiet intensity that made her pulse race. Kavya’s own heart pounded, her skin prickling under his touch, a confusing rush of safety and an electric warmth she hadn’t anticipated. The moment stretched, their breaths mingling, the air thick with a magnetic tension that felt both forbidden and all-consuming, the darkness cocooning them in a world where only they existed.

The staircase seemed to conspire to hold them there, its narrow confines amplifying their closeness. Feroz’s eyes flicked downward, catching the glint of the bangle on the step below. “The bangle,” he murmured, his voice husky, a tremor of restraint threading through his charm. Keeping one hand lightly on her waist to ensure her balance, he bent slowly to retrieve it, his movements deliberate in the tight space. The faint glow of his phone cast shadows across her form, highlighting the gentle curve of her silhouette, the soft rise and fall of her breath. As he reached down, his fingers brushed the cool metal of the bangle, but another creak of the stairs made Kavya wobble slightly, her fear flaring anew. She gasped, her hand tightening on his shoulder, her body swaying closer. Feroz straightened quickly, instinctively placing his free hand back on her waist, both hands now anchoring her with a gentle, steadying touch, his fingers pressing lightly against the soft curve of her midriff. The added contact intensified the moment, the warmth of her body seeping into him, the faint pulse under his fingertips a silent rhythm that matched his own racing heart.
The air felt charged, the faint scent of her jasmine perfume mingling with his musky cologne, creating a heady cocoon in the darkness. Kavya’s heart thundered, her body hyper-aware of his touch, the warmth of both his hands now, the nearness of his face. The darkness, her fear, seemed to dissolve under the weight of his presence, replaced by a rush of warmth that left her breathless. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, her breath uneven, as she felt the steady strength of his grip, the subtle pressure of his hands grounding her yet stirring something deeper, a warmth that pulsed through her veins. “I’m still scared,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a vulnerable admission that prolonged their closeness, her eyes searching his in the dim light. Feroz’s gaze softened, his eyes tracing her face—the flush of her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips, the way her hair framed her face like a halo. “You’re safe with me, Kavya,” he said, his voice low and resonant, carrying a weight that made her pulse race faster, the words both a promise and a confession.
The staircase held them captive, the moment stretching further as neither moved to break it. The faint glow of his phone flickered, casting fleeting shadows that danced across their faces, amplifying the intimacy. Feroz’s hands lingered on her waist, a steady anchor, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of her kurta, the warmth of her skin beneath a quiet temptation he fought to suppress. Kavya’s breath trembled, her body caught between fear and the electric pull of his nearness, her curiosity now laced with a warmth she couldn’t fully name. The silence was heavy, filled with the unspoken, their eyes locked in a gaze that seemed to peel back layers, revealing a shared awareness neither could voice. The bangle rested in his hand, forgotten for a moment, as the world narrowed to the space between them—their breaths, their warmth, the magnetic pull of their closeness.
Finally, Feroz handed her the bangle, their fingers brushing, the contact sending another shiver through her. “Got it,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers, a quiet intensity burning beneath his concern, his hands lingering a heartbeat longer before one fell away, the other still steadying her. Kavya took the bangle, her fingers trembling, her cheeks flushed, her skin still tingling where his hands had been. “Thank you, Uncle,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, her eyes holding his for a moment longer, caught in the intensity of his gaze. She stepped back, tucking her hair behind her ear with unsteady fingers, the memory of his hands, his breath, the prolonged closeness replaying vividly.
They resumed climbing, Feroz’s phone casting a faint glow, but the air between them was alive, thick with the echo of their extended moment. At her bedroom door, he paused, his silhouette tall and steady. “You’re safe now,” he said, his voice softer, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch again. “Sleep well, Kavya.” She nodded, her throat tight, managing a quiet, “Goodnight.” As he turned to leave, she leaned against the door, her pulse racing, the sensation of his hands, his breath, the electric closeness etched into her senses. The fear of the dark was gone, replaced by a new, unspoken awareness that pulsed within her, a curiosity now laced with a warmth she couldn’t fully name.
Feroz descended the stairs, his heart unsteady, the sensation of her waist, the scent of her hair, the prolonged intensity of their moment seared into his memory. He pushed it down, his sixty years of wisdom anchoring him, but the encounter lingered, a silent thread woven into their shared days. The nikah loomed, binding Kavya and Danish, but in the quiet of the Hyderabad home, this fleeting, intense moment left a deeper mark, a tension simmering beneath the surface as the wedding drew near.

[भाभी जी]

Very nice update.

Waiting for next update ...

[John446]

Very nice update.

Waiting for next update ...

i have updated the post please guys read it again, i forgot to upload the full part, now i have uploaded the full part of the chapter.

[Sage_69]

Kavya will make the familial bond stronger...lol.

[masti.bhai]

Beautiful description. This is where your amazing writing skills are shining. You could have just written a wham-bam-thanks-ma'am piece. Instead you choose to describe it slowly keeping us guessing what will happen next. 
It's a slow burner. Keep it going and make it more kinky, break more taboos.
Just like Feroze (meaning probably you), I have an incredible fetish, lust for smooth armpits. If possible, please include more.
Thank you!

[Jayam Ramana]

She will sleep with Feroz secretely and give birth to his child and make Danish father of it.

[Paty@123]

Update plz

[fuckandforget]

waiting to see how this bitch gonna open her legs to other men in Danish family.

[sexycharan]

Did Rahul remarry or dead while his cheating wife opens her thighs to moslim men

[Paty@123]

Update plz

[Ayush01111]

Please update rahul also where he is what is doing and please give atleast one guilt to both kavya and danish why they only enjoy all one chested husband im the name of absence and one stolen his best friend wife and make a worst feeling to rahul for future trust

[John446]

CHAPTER – 60


The Hyderabad home thrummed with the electric anticipation of the nikah, now just three days away, the air saturated with the heady scent of fresh roses, henna, and the faint musk of anticipation. The living room was a vibrant chaos of glittering jewelry boxes, folded silks, and the soft glow of brass lamps casting intricate shadows across the jali work, their patterns dancing like whispers of tradition. Kavya, usually in a simple kurta, had woven herself into the household’s rhythm, her curious nature drinking in ---c traditions—the adhan’s soulful cadence piercing the dawn, the warmth of family rituals binding her to this new world, the stories Feroz shared with his sixty-year-old charisma that held her captive. His silver-flecked hair gleamed under the lamplight, his magnetic presence filling every corner with a quiet authority that both anchored and unsettled her. The tension between them, kindled in stolen glances, accidental touches, and the unforgettable staircase incident—where his hands on her waist and the brush of his breath against her neck had seared into her memory—had deepened into a silent, pulsating thread. Kavya felt it acutely: a warmth she couldn’t fully name, a strange, unsettling awareness that pulsed beneath her love for Danish and the excitement of the wedding, stirring both intrigue and disquiet, a feeling that grew sharper with each passing day.
The days were a whirlwind—meetings with Maulana Qasim, tailor visits, late-night planning sessions—but the undercurrent between Kavya and Feroz grew stronger, a thread woven through fleeting moments that left her breathless. His gazes lingered longer, his voice softened into a low, resonant cadence when he spoke to her, and Kavya found herself hyper-aware of his presence—the steady rhythm of his steps, the way his kurta hugged his broad shoulders, the intensity in his dark eyes that seemed to see her in ways she hadn’t anticipated. The staircase moment replayed in her mind—his firm grip, the electric closeness, the way the darkness had held them in its embrace—and now, with the nikah so close, that strange warmth felt deeper, more disorienting, a pull she buried but couldn’t ignore, leaving her both intrigued and unsettled.
One humid evening, as twilight dbangd the city in a golden haze, Danish was out with friends, finalizing the wedding banquet, his absence leaving the house unusually quiet. The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves outside, mingling with the faint creak of the old house settling into the night. Kavya stood in her room, the door slightly ajar, holding her nikah lehnga—a resplendent crimson creation heavy with gold zari, its intricate embroidery shimmering like a constellation under the soft glow of her bedside lamp. Her heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves as she ran her fingers over the silk, its cool, luxurious weight both thrilling and daunting. She’d tried it on at the tailor’s, but tonight, with the nikah so near, she needed to feel its reality, to see herself as the bride she would become. Slipping out of her cream anarkali, she donned the lehnga, the silk gliding against her skin, the fitted choli accentuating her form, the dupatta dbangd loosely over her shoulders. The lehnga clung tightly to her waist, the fabric slightly snug, pinching gently against her midriff, and she struggled to adjust it, her breath shallow as she stood before the full-length mirror, imagining the nikah, Danish’s smile, and the life ahead.
A soft creak of the floorboards made her turn, her pulse quickening. Feroz stood at the doorway, holding a small velvet box of family heirlooms, his crisp ivory kurta accentuating his tall, broad frame, the fabric catching the lamplight. His eyes widened slightly, catching her in the lehnga, the crimson hue vibrant against her skin, the gold zari glittering like stars. “Kavya,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes but carrying a weight that made her heart skip. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I brought these for you to try with the lehnga—my mother’s jewelry.” His gaze lingered, tracing the way the silk dbangd her form, the curve of her shoulders, the delicate line of her collarbone, a quiet intensity burning beneath his usual charm that sent a shiver through her.
Kavya’s cheeks flushed, her heart racing under his scrutiny, the lehnga’s weight grounding her yet amplifying her awareness of his presence. “I was just trying it on,” she said softly, her voice unsteady, smoothing the fabric with trembling fingers. “It’s a bit tight at the waist,” she admitted, her curiosity mingling with nerves, her eyes flicking to his, seeking reassurance. Feroz stepped closer, setting the box on a nearby table, his movements deliberate, his eyes holding hers with a warmth that made her breath catch. “It’s stunning,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, layered with an admiration that felt almost too personal. “But if it’s tight, we should adjust it. It needs to be perfect for you.” His tone was gentle, seeking permission, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her pulse thunder.
Kavya nodded, her throat tight, her heart hammering so loudly she feared he could hear it. The air between them thickened, the room shrinking under the weight of their closeness, the lamplight casting soft, intimate shadows across their faces. Feroz stood before her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint musk of his cologne mingling with her jasmine perfume, creating a heady cocoon. He reached for the dupatta first, his fingers brushing her shoulder as he lifted the heavy silk, adjusting its dbang with careful, almost reverent precision. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through her, her skin prickling where his fingers grazed, the sensation lingering like a spark. His touch was steady, his eyes focused, but the intensity in his gaze as he worked made her heart pound, a quiet storm of restraint and something deeper flickering within him.
“It’s the waistband,” he said, his voice soft but resonant, noticing the lehnga’s snug fit at her midriff, where the silk bunched slightly, pinching her skin. “There’s a zipper here—it might help to loosen it for comfort.” His fingers hovered near the side of the lehnga, where a discreet zipper was hidden beneath a fold of crimson silk, his eyes flicking to hers for approval. Kavya gave a small nod, her breath shallow, her pulse racing as she stood frozen, caught between anticipation and a strange, unsettling warmth. Feroz’s fingers found the zipper, his touch careful, deliberate, as he gently pulled it down a fraction, easing the tension in the fabric. The silk loosened, dbanging more comfortably against her waist, but his fingers brushed the curve of her midriff as he smoothed the fabric, the contact light but electric, sending a shiver through her. The warmth of his hands seeped through the thin silk, igniting a fire under her skin, her pulse thundering as she felt the subtle pressure of his fingers against her waist, steady yet charged with an unspoken intensity.
Kavya’s breath hitched, her body hyper-aware of every point of contact—the firmness of his grip as he adjusted the lehnga, the warmth of his fingers as they grazed her midriff, the way his touch lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary. Her hands hovered near his, trembling slightly, unsure whether to steady herself or pull away, her fingers brushing the silk as if to anchor herself in the moment. Feroz’s gaze flicked up, meeting hers in the mirror behind her, their reflections locked in a moment that felt suspended in time. His eyes were molten, a storm of concern, admiration, and something deeper—restrained yet potent—that made her heart pound. The air was thick, the silence heavy with their shared breaths, the faint rustle of silk, the distant hum of the city. Kavya felt it—a warmth that was no longer just curiosity, but something deeper, stranger, almost overwhelming. His hands, still at her waist, adjusted the lehnga with a final, gentle tug, his fingers brushing her midriff once more, the contact sending a tingling heat through her core, her skin prickling under his touch.
Feroz stepped back slightly, his hands falling away, but his eyes lingered on her reflection—the way the lehnga now dbangd perfectly, accentuating her form, the crimson silk vibrant against her skin, the gold zari catching the light, the flush of her cheeks, the strand of hair that had fallen loose. “You’ll be breathtaking,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying a weight that felt too personal, too intimate, resonating in the quiet space between them. Kavya’s heart thundered, her skin still tingling where his hands had been, her body caught in a rush of warmth that left her breathless. The lehnga, the mirror, his touch—it was as if the moment had peeled back a layer, revealing a connection she couldn’t fully name. She was engaged to Danish, her future, her love, yet Feroz’s presence—his wisdom, his charisma, the intensity of his gaze—stirred a feeling that was both magnetic and disorienting, a strange, unsettling pull that left her reeling, her mind racing with the memory of his fingers on her waist, the electric warmth of his touch.
Kavya lowered her eyes, clutching the dupatta to steady herself, her fingers digging into the silk, the fabric cool against her heated skin. “Do you think Danish will like it?” she asked, her voice trembling, an attempt to anchor herself in the reality of the nikah, to pull herself back from the edge of this strange warmth. Feroz’s gaze softened, but the intensity remained, his eyes tracing her face—the slight parting of her lips, the vulnerability in her eyes, the way her breath came in uneven bursts. “He’d be a fool not to,” he said, his voice low, layered with a sincerity that felt almost too intimate, the words hanging between them like a confession. The silence was heavy, filled with the faint scent of her jasmine perfume, his musky cologne, the soft rustle of silk, creating a heady cocoon that made her skin prickle, her pulse race.
Feroz stepped back further, breaking the spell, his sixty years of wisdom reining in the quiet fire within him. “Get some rest, Kavya,” he said, his voice steady but softer, his eyes lingering a moment longer before he turned to the box of heirlooms, his fingers brushing the velvet as if to ground himself. “The nikah will be here before you know it.” She nodded, her throat tight, managing a quiet, “Goodnight, Uncle,” her voice barely audible as he moved away. Alone, she leaned against the mirror, the lehnga still dbangd over her, the memory of his touch—his fingers on her waist, the electric graze, the intensity of his gaze—replaying vividly in her mind. The nikah loomed, binding her to Danish, but in the quiet of the Hyderabad home, these moments with Feroz wove a complex, unspoken thread, a tension simmering beneath the surface, leaving Kavya grappling with a deeper, stranger awareness that pulsed within her, both magnetic and unsettling, as the wedding drew near.
The night before the wedding dbangd the house in a hushed, electric stillness, the kind that amplifies every sound and sensation. Feroz and Kavya were alone in the modest two-story home, its walls steeped in the quiet anticipation of the intimate ceremony to come. Tomorrow, only a select few—close family and trusted friends—would gather to celebrate Danish and Kavya’s union, a simple affair woven with love rather than extravagance. The absence of grandeur only deepened the intimacy of the moment, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Danish, the groom-to-be, had been swept away by his friends for a last-minute bachelor party. His voice had crackled through the phone earlier, laced with guilt and exasperation. “Kavya, I swear I tried to say no,” he’d said, the raucous laughter of his friends spilling into the background. “They wouldn’t listen. I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t stay up.” Kavya had sighed, a mix of fondness and irritation, and told him to enjoy himself but not overdo it. The call ended, leaving the house feeling cavernous with just her and Feroz, her soon-to-be father-in-law, sharing the space.
Kavya had retreated to her upstairs bedroom, seeking the solace of routine to calm her pre-wedding nerves. She’d slipped into a sleeveless nightgown, its soft, gauzy fabric clinging to her curves, the hem brushing her thighs. Her long hair fell loose, tumbling over her shoulders in dark waves as she stood by the mirror, her thoughts drifting to the vows she’d penned. She was just about to climb into bed when the power cut struck, plunging the house into an inky void.
A sharp, involuntary scream tore from her lips. Kavya’s heart slammed against her ribcage, her lifelong fear of the dark seizing her. The room seemed to close in, the shadows thick and suffocating, pinning her in place. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed, her knuckles whitening, her breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, the darkness a living thing that pressed against her skin.
Downstairs, Feroz snapped upright from the couch, an old photo album of Danish’s childhood tumbling to the floor. Kavya’s scream sliced through the quiet, sharp and raw, igniting a surge of adrenaline in his veins. “Kavya!” he shouted, his voice steady but edged with urgency as he bolted up the stairs, his footsteps pounding against the wooden steps. The darkness swallowed the house, but he navigated by memory, his heart racing with worry.
He reached her door and rapped his knuckles against it, firm but controlled. “Kavya, it’s me. Open the door,” he called, his voice a lifeline in the black. Inside, Kavya was trembling, her bare feet glued to the floor, her pulse hammering in her ears. The darkness felt like it was clawing at her, but Feroz’s voice cut through, a beacon of calm. She forced herself to move, her shaking hands fumbling for the doorknob, her fingers slipping before she finally twisted it open.
The door swung wide, and Kavya launched herself into Feroz’s arms, her fear obliterating all restraint. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her body crashing against his with a desperate intensity, her face burying into the crook of his shoulder. The suddenness of it staggered Feroz, his breath catching as he steadied himself against her weight. Her warmth enveloped him, the faint scent of her jasmine perfume mingling with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, caught off guard by the raw intimacy of her embrace. Then, instinctively, his arms encircled her, pulling her close, his hands finding her back.
“It’s okay, Kavya,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, vibrating against her ear. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Her nightgown was whisper-thin, and he could feel the goosebumps prickling her bare arms, the tremor of her body pressed flush against his. Her curves molded to him, her breasts soft against his chest, and he fought to keep his focus on comforting her, though the closeness sent a jolt through him.
Kavya clung to him, her fear a living pulse that refused to let her pull away. Her arms tightened around his neck, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck, her breath hot and uneven against his skin. It was the first time they had ever hugged like this, so unguarded, so visceral, the moment charged with an intensity neither could ignore. Feroz’s hands, initially gentle, now pressed firmly against her waist, his fingers splaying across the curve of her hips, pulling her even closer. The hug deepened, their bodies locked together, the heat of their closeness amplified by the darkness.
“Shh, you’re alright,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice a soothing balm. His thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles on her waist, the thin fabric of her nightgown shifting under his touch. Kavya’s breathing began to steady, but she didn’t loosen her grip, her body still pressed tightly against his, her hands clutching him as if he were her only anchor. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, “I’m with you. Come, let’s go inside.” Still holding her, he took a cautious step forward, guiding her into the room. Kavya moved with him, her bare feet shuffling softly, her arms never wavering, her body molded to his.
As they crossed into the room, Feroz kept up a steady stream of reassurances, his voice a low, calming murmur. “You’re safe, Kavya. I’m right here.” His chin settled on her shoulder, the natural curve of it fitting perfectly, the thin straps of her nightgown slipping slightly under the weight of his touch. Her hair spilled over his shoulder, soft and fragrant, tickling his neck as her breath warmed his skin. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, the darkness stripping away all pretense, leaving only the raw connection between them.
After a moment, Feroz shifted slightly, adjusting his hold, and Kavya responded by pressing herself closer, her face burrowing deeper into the curve of his shoulder. Her cheek grazed the side of his neck, her breath hitching softly, and the movement pulled them impossibly closer. Feroz’s arms tightened instinctively, his hands gripping her waist with a quiet intensity, pulling her flush against him until there was no space left between them. His face tilted inward, his nose brushing the delicate skin of her neck, the warmth and faint pulse beneath sending a shiver through through him. The contact was soft, almost accidental, but it lingered, charged with an unspoken weight.
Time seemed to dissolve, the only sounds their synchronized breathing and the faint rustle of her nightgown. Feroz’s nose grazed her neck again, a slow, deliberate slide that sent a tremor through Kavya, her body tensing briefly before melting further into him. In the quiet, unthinking flow of the moment, Feroz’s lips moved, pressing a slow, tender peck to the side of her neck. It was gentle, a fleeting brush of warmth, but it lingered, his lips hovering against her skin for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice a low, husky murmur, the words vibrating against her neck. “I’m here.”
Kavya felt the kiss, soft but electric, and a shiver rippled through her, her fingers tightening on his neck, her nails grazing his skin. The sensation was subtle but undeniable, a spark that made her breath catch, her body pressing closer still. She didn’t speak, didn’t pull away, her face still nestled in his shoulder, her lips grazing the fabric of his shirt. The moment stretched, fragile and heavy, suspended in the dark, as the house remained cloaked in silence, the power still gone, leaving them wrapped in each other’s warmth.
Feroz sensed the lingering edge of her fear, the way her fingers clung to him, and he tightened his hold, his hands firm on her waist, his thumbs brushing the exposed skin where her nightgown had ridden up. “Kavya,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear, his voice a soothing anchor. “Let me tell you something. I know what it’s like to be scared of something you can’t control.” His words were soft, intimate, drawing her focus as he began to share a piece of himself, his breath warm against her skin.
Kavya’s breathing slowed slightly, her fingers loosening but still resting against his neck, her body still pressed close. “When I was a boy, maybe ten or eleven, I was terrified of heights,” Feroz said, a faint smile in his tone, though the darkness hid his expression. “Not just nervous—paralyzed. My friends would climb trees, scramble up rooftops, and I’d stay rooted to the ground, heart pounding, palms sweating, certain I’d fall if I tried.” His thumbs continued their slow circles on her waist, the touch grounding her as his voice wove the story.
Kavya shifted slightly, her cheek brushing his collarbone, her lips parted as she listened, her breath still warm against his neck. Feroz’s chin rested lightly on her shoulder, the displaced strap of her nightgown baring the smooth curve beneath, his skin brushing hers in a way that sent a quiet shiver through them both. “One summer, my friend decided he’d had enough of my fear,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “He dragged me to this old water tower at the edge of our village—rusted, creaky, probably unsafe. He made me climb it with him, step by step. I was shaking, cursing him under my breath.” He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her ear. “Halfway up, I froze. Couldn’t move up, couldn’t move down. Thought I’d be stuck there forever.”
Kavya’s breath hitched, her fingers flexing against his neck, her nails grazing his skin as she hung on his words. “So what happened?” she whispered, her voice soft, barely audible, the first words she’d spoken since her scream.
Feroz’s hands tightened briefly on her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer, his thumbs brushing the soft skin above her hips. “My friend didn’t push me,” he said, his lips grazing the edge of her ear as he spoke, his voice a low murmur. “He just sat there, one rung above, talking about cricket matches, the mangoes we’d stolen from the neighbor’s tree. He stayed until I wasn’t thinking about the height anymore. Then, one step at a time, I climbed. Not because I wasn’t scared, but because I wasn’t alone. When I reached the top, I saw the whole village, the fields, the river glinting in the sun. It was… freeing.”
His voice softened, his breath warm against her neck, the intimacy of their closeness wrapping the story in a quiet intensity. “The fear didn’t vanish, Kavya. I still get shaky on tall buildings. But I learned it’s not about never being afraid—it’s about finding something, or someone, to hold onto while you face it.” His hands tightened on her waist, a silent emphasis, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Kavya’s breath caught, her fingers flexing against his neck, her nails leaving faint marks as she pressed herself closer, her fear ebbing, replaced by a warmth that pulsed between them. The darkness held them in its embrace, the power still out, leaving them suspended in a world where every touch, every word, felt like a confession.
“You know, Kavya,” he murmured, his lips grazing the delicate curve of her ear, “this moment, right now, it’s not so different from that water tower.” His thumbs paused their circles, pressing gently against the curve of her hips, his fingers splaying wider, pulling her just a fraction closer. “You’re scared, and that’s okay. The dark, it’s like those heights for me—overwhelming, suffocating. But you’re not alone in it. I’m here, holding you, just like my friend was there for me.”
Kavya’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair, her nails scbanging lightly against his scalp. She didn’t speak, but her body leaned into his, her cheek brushing his neck, her lips parting against the fabric of his shirt. The gesture was subtle but electric, a silent acknowledgment of his words, of the way they anchored her.
“When I was stuck on that tower,” he continued, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, “I didn’t think I could move. The fear was too big, too heavy. But my friend didn’t let me stay frozen. He gave me something to focus on—his voice, his presence. It wasn’t about the height anymore; it was about him being there, step by step.” His lips brushed her ear again, unintentional but charged, his breath warm and teasing. “Right now, Kavya, I’m your step. You don’t have to face the dark alone. Just hold onto me, and we’ll get through it, one moment at a time.”
Kavya’s body softened further, her fear unraveling in the warmth of his words, his touch. Her arms, still wrapped around his neck, tightened briefly, her fingers threading deeper into his hair, her nails grazing his skin with a quiet intensity. Her breath was faster now, not from panic but from the weight of his words, the way they wove their shared vulnerability into the moment. “Feroz,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, unspoken. Her lips brushed his collarbone as she spoke, the contact sending a shiver through him, her body pressing closer, her curves molding to his frame.
Feroz’s hands tightened on her waist, his fingers digging slightly into the soft flesh above her hips. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his lips hovering near her neck, the memory of his earlier kisses still lingering in the air. “Just like I climbed that tower, you’re standing here, facing this. And I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready.”
Her breath caught again, a soft, almost inaudible gasp, and she tilted her head slightly, her cheek sliding against his neck, her lips grazing the edge of his jaw. The movement was subtle but deliberate, a silent response to his words, his presence. “Kavya,” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her ear, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “I’m here with you, till the power comes back on. Let’s get you settled.” Still holding her close, he took a slow step toward the bed, guiding her with a gentle but firm pressure on her waist. Kavya moved with him, her bare feet shuffling softly against the floor, her arms never wavering, her body pressed so tightly against his that he could feel every shiver, every subtle shift.
He guided her to the edge of the bed, his hands steady on her hips. “Sit,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck, and she complied, lowering herself onto the mattress, her hands still clutching his neck, pulling him down with her. Feroz followed, his movements careful but deliberate, easing her back until she was lying on the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillow. He didn’t let go, settling beside her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other propping himself up slightly. “I’m right here,” he said again, his voice a low, husky promise, his lips close to her ear. “You’re safe.”
Kavya’s fear flared briefly in the new position, the darkness still pressing against her senses. She turned into him, her arms tightening around his neck, pulling him close until their bodies were pressed together again, her face burying into the crook of his shoulder. “Feroz,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of lingering fear and something deeper, unspoken. Her breath was hot against his neck, her lips grazing his collarbone, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as they lay on the bed.
Feroz’s arms encircled her, his hold tightening in response, one hand sliding up her back, the other resting on her hip. The intimacy of the moment deepened, the bed beneath them a new terrain that made every touch feel more charged, more deliberate. Their closeness, already intense, took on a new weight, the softness of the mattress and the cocoon of the darkness amplifying the heat between them. His chest pressed against hers, her breasts soft and warm through the thin fabric, and he could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breath, mirroring his own.
As they lay there, their embrace shifted, their bodies adjusting instinctively. Feroz moved closer, his weight shifting until he was partially above her, his chest pressing down against hers, one leg resting lightly between hers. The position was intimate, almost overwhelming, their bodies intertwined in a way that felt both protective and dangerously close to crossing an unspoken line. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers splaying across the curve of her hips, the silken nightgown riding up further to expose the smooth skin of her thighs.
Kavya’s breath hitched, her fingers gripping his shoulders, her nails leaving faint marks as she pressed herself closer, her body arching subtly into his. Her face was still buried in his shoulder, but she tilted her head slightly, her cheek brushing his neck, her lips grazing the edge of his jaw. The contact sent a shiver through him, his breath catching as he tilted his face downward, his nose grazing the delicate skin of her neck. The touch was slow, deliberate, tracing the curve where her pulse thrummed beneath the surface, warm and alive.
His nose slid lower, brushing along the column of her throat, the faint scent of jasmine filling his senses. In the unthinking flow of the moment, his face dipped further, his nose grazing the soft, exposed skin of her cleavage, where the neckline of her nightgown had slipped. The contact was fleeting but electric, a spark that sent a tremor through them both. Kavya’s breath caught sharply, her body tensing for a moment before melting further into him, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. Feroz’s lips hovered near her neck again, the memory of his earlier kisses pulsing in the air, and he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of her throat, his breath hot against her skin. “I’m here,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, the words vibrating against her pulse. “I’ve got you.”
The moment stretched, heavy and taut, their bodies locked together as if time itself had paused. The boundaries of their relationship—father-in-law and daughter-in-law, a line drawn by duty and expectation—flickered in their minds, a fleeting awareness that tugged at the edges of their consciousness. But the thought was quickly drowned by the intensity of their closeness, the raw, unspoken pull that held them in this fragile, electric embrace. Neither spoke of it, neither acknowledged the line they were skirting; the darkness and the heat of the moment were too consuming, too vital to break.
Feroz’s breath was warm against her neck, his lips hovering just above her pulse, the steady thrum beneath her skin a quiet siren call. His nose grazed the delicate curve of her throat, a slow, deliberate slide that drew a soft tremor from Kavya, her body arching subtly into his. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her nails scbanging his scalp, a silent plea that sent a jolt through him. In the unthinking flow of the moment, his face dipped lower, his nose brushing the soft, exposed skin of her cleavage where the neckline of her nightgown had slipped. The contact was deeper this time, more intentional, the warmth of her skin against his sending a pulse of heat through his veins. Kavya’s breath caught sharply, a soft gasp that vibrated between them, her body tensing for a heartbeat before melting further into him, her fingers pulling him closer.
He lingered there, his nose tracing the delicate line of her cleavage again, slower, more deliberate, the touch heavier than before, as if testing the boundaries of their shared silence. The scent of her skin, warm and faintly sweet, filled his senses, and he could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat echoing his own. Kavya’s response was a quiet, almost inaudible moan, her lips parting against his shoulder, her breath hot and unsteady through the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers dug deeper into his hair, her nails leaving faint crescent marks on his scalp, her body pressing closer, yielding to the intensity of the moment.
Feroz’s hands tightened on her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hips, the silken nightgown riding up further to expose the smooth curve of her thighs. The thought of their relationship flickered again—a shadow of propriety, of roles they were meant to play—but it dissolved in the heat of their closeness, the way her body fit against his, the way her breath caught at his touch. His nose grazed her cleavage once more, deeper still, the contact lingering as his breath fanned across her skin, warm and teasing. Each touch was a step further into uncharted territory, a silent question neither dared to answer aloud.
The thought of their age gap flickered in her mind, the years between them a stark reminder of the roles they were meant to play. But it was overshadowed by the strength in his hold, the way his hands gripped her waist with a quiet, unyielding power, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hips.
Feroz’s nose grazed her cleavage once more, deeper still, his stubble scbanging against the tender swell of her breast, the rough texture sending a shiver through her that was equal parts unfamiliar and electrifying. The sensation was strange, almost overwhelming, the roughness of his stubble against her softness igniting a fresh wave of goosebumps, her body trembling beneath him.
Feroz’s mind, a shadow of propriety that clashed with the heat of her body against his. His wife, Danish’s mother, had died when their son was just a boy, leaving Feroz alone for decades. It had been years—lifetimes, it seemed—since he had been this close to a woman, her warmth and softness a stark, intoxicating contrast to the solitude that had defined him. And now, here he was, holding his son’s future wife, a woman half his age, her body pressed so tightly against his that every curve, every tremble, felt like a revelation.
The thought lingered, heavy with guilt and forbidden awareness, but it was blurred by the heat between them, the way Kavya’s body arched subtly into his, her breath hitching with each graze of his touch.
“Kavya,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, his lips hovering near her throat, the words vibrating against her pulse. “You don’t need to be scared. I’m here with you.” His breath was warm, teasing, fanning across the delicate skin of her neck, and he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below her ear, the contact sending a shiver through her.
As the night stretched on, the power still absent, neither Feroz nor Kavya could find sleep, their senses too heightened, their bodies too aware of each other. The darkness pressed against Kavya’s deepest fear, a primal terror that kept her heart racing, her breath uneven, but Feroz’s presence anchored her, his steady murmurs a lifeline in the void.
Sleep eluded them both, their minds too alive with the intensity of their closeness, Kavya’s fear of the darkness a constant undercurrent that Feroz countered with his steady presence. His hands continued to explore, tracing the contours of her body with a reverence that was both comforting and charged. He slid his fingers along the curve of her spine, brushing the bare skin where her nightgown had slipped, then down to the tops of her thighs, the fabric shifting further under his touch. Each movement was slow, deliberate, a silent acknowledgment of the fire between them, tempered by his murmured reassurances.
As the first faint traces of dawn began to seep through the curtains, casting a dim, grayish hue into the room, a sharp clatter from outside pierced the stillness—the unmistakable creak of the front gate. Feroz stirred, his eyes snapping open, his body tensing beneath the weight of Kavya’s closeness. The sound was jarring, pulling him from the haze of their shared intimacy, and he recognized it instantly: Danish, his son, returning from his bachelor party. The reality of the moment crashed over him, the weight of the night—the forbidden heat, the blurred boundaries—settling like a stone in his chest. Kavya, still clinging to him, stirred as he moved, her body shifting against his, her breath catching softly as she felt him begin to pull away.
Kavya’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion and the remnants of fear, her gaze meeting Feroz’s in the dim light. Her dark hair was tousled, spilling over her shoulders, one strap of her nightgown still slipped down, baring the smooth curve of her shoulder. Her lips parted slightly, her breath unsteady, as she registered his movement, the shift in his body signaling his intent to leave. For a moment, they lay there, their eyes locked, the air thick with the unspoken weight of the night they’d shared. Feroz’s heart thudded, his mind flickering with the memory of his hands tracing her curves, the heat of her body pressed against his, the soft moans she’d let slip as his stubble grazed her skin. But the sound of the gate, the reality of Danish’s return, anchored him to the present.
Before rising, Feroz tightened his arms around her, pulling her close in a fierce, almost desperate embrace. His chest pressed against hers, her breasts soft and warm through the thin fabric, their heartbeats thrumming in unison. His nose grazed the delicate curve of her neck, his heavy stubble scbanging lightly against her skin, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across her body. He pressed a soft, lingering peck to the side of her throat, the contact searing and intimate, his breath hot against her pulse. “You’re fine, Kavya,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, the words vibrating against her skin. “You’re safe.” The reassurance was both a comfort and a farewell, heavy with the weight of the night they’d shared, a final tether to the intimacy that had defined the hours.
Kavya’s breath hitched, her fingers flexing against his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin as she clung to him for one last moment. Her body trembled slightly, not from fear now, but from the intensity of his touch, the warmth of his words. She didn’t speak, her eyes still half-lidded, but her gaze held a mix of gratitude and something deeper, unspoken, as she felt the strength of his embrace, the steady anchor of his presence. Feroz lingered for a heartbeat longer, his lips hovering near her neck, the faint scent of her jasmine perfume and the musky trace of her sweat filling his senses, intoxicating and raw. Then, with a quiet resolve, he disentangled himself, his hands sliding from her waist, the absence of his touch leaving a sudden chill against her skin.
He rose from the bed, his movements careful but deliberate, and crossed the room in a few strides, the floorboards creaking faintly under his weight. At the doorway, he paused, glancing back at her. Kavya lay there, propped up on one elbow, her nightgown still askew, her hair a dark cascade across the pillow, her eyes following him in the dim light. The sight of her—vulnerable, radiant, her body still carrying the imprint of his touch—sent a pang through him, a mix of longing and guilt. But the sound of Danish’s footsteps approaching the front door spurred him forward, and he slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He descended the stairs, his heart heavy with the weight of the night, and retreated to his own room downstairs, the distance between them a necessary barrier.
Kavya remained on the bed, her body still warm from Feroz’s embrace, her mind reeling as the reality of the night settled over her. She couldn’t believe she had spent the entire night with her future father-in-law, their bodies pressed so close, his hands exploring her with a reverence that had both comforted and ignited her. The darkness had been suffocating, her fear a relentless tide, but Feroz had been her anchor, his steady voice, his firm touch, holding her through the worst of it. She remembered the way his hands had traced her curves, sliding along her hips, her back, her thighs, each touch a spark that had deepened the heat between them. She recalled the rough scbang of his stubble against her neck, her cleavage, the way it had sent shivers through her, her body responding despite the fear that had gripped her.
But what struck her most, as she lay there in the quiet aftermath, was that Feroz hadn’t crossed the line. The opportunity had been there, the heat between them a living pulse, the darkness cloaking them in a world where boundaries could have easily dissolved. Yet he had held back, his touch never venturing beyond the edge of propriety, his words always returning to reassurance, to comfort. He had stayed with her through her deepest fear, his presence a shield against the darkness, and that realization brought a quiet relief to her racing heart. She felt a flicker of gratitude, tinged with something more complex—a mix of awe at his restraint and a lingering awareness of the fire that had burned between them.
Kavya’s fingers traced the spot on her neck where he’d kissed her last, the memory of his lips, warm and deliberate, sending a faint shiver through her. The faint scent of her perfume lingered on her skin, mingled with the musky trace of their shared exertion, a reminder of the night’s intensity. She pulled the strap of her nightgown back up, her movements slow, almost reluctant, as if holding onto the echo of his touch. Downstairs, she heard the faint murmur of voices—Danish’s cheerful greeting, Feroz’s steady reply—and the normalcy of it felt jarring, a stark contrast to the charged intimacy of the hours before.
She sat up, her hair falling over her shoulders, and took a deep breath, steadying herself. The darkness still lingered in the corners of the room, but it felt less oppressive now, the fear tempered by the memory of Feroz’s presence. She couldn’t erase the night—the way their bodies had molded together, the heat of his hands, the soft, searing kisses on her neck—but she also couldn’t deny the comfort he’d given her, the way he’d held her through her terror without taking advantage of the moment. It left her feeling a strange mix of relief and disquiet, the boundaries of their relationship forever altered, yet preserved by his restraint.
As the first light of dawn crept further into the room, Kavya rose, her bare feet touching the cool floor, and began to prepare for the day ahead—the wedding, the vows, the life she was about to step into with Danish. But the memory of the night, of Feroz’s strength and the fire that had burned between them, lingered like a shadow, a secret held in the quiet of her heart.

[Sage_69]

This girl setting fire here and there while being afraid of darkness.

[masti.bhai]

Beautiful writing.

[Ananthukutty]

Super update. Did Rahul, close friend of Danish come to bachelor party??

[भाभी जी]

Very nice update

Keep updating.....

[Paty@123]

Why no update

[Ajay Kailash]

Danish and his father should fuck kavya in front of Rahul and show him how a real man will fuck.

[SMOD-P]

Danish and his father should fuck kavya in front of Rahul and show him how a real man will fuck.

You cuck 

The story mainly goes around emotion and the feelings, since the title itself is Undercover Desire. You will hardly see unrealistic things in this story...