Adultery Undercover Desires

[Rockket Raja]

Rahul will circumcise his dick and try his luck again for Revenge ha ha hah hhhhh

[mahamatherchod]

update

[Nesamanikumar]

I did not like the way feroz accepted another man wife as wife of his son. Does he not know that if she can cheat her husband, she may cheat her son in future as well.

[rombyzomby]

Long Time No See

Update Buddy

[Paty@123]

It seems writerji has left the story,plz update and try to conclude,and a request for the revenge of rahul on danish for the betrayal of friendship

[Chennaiboy]

yr): What a wonderful description of lovemaking. Never read such stories. Requesting the author to continue the story

[भाभी जी]

Please update...

[masti.bhai]

Please update, dury

[John446]

CHAPTER – 62


 NEW BEGINNINGS IN MUMBAI
The plane touched down in Mumbai as the sun dipped low, painting the city in shades of gold and amber. Kavya pressed her hand against the window, watching the bustling streets unfold below. The city felt familiar, yet different—her life had changed in ways she was still trying to comprehend. She was no longer just Kavya; she was Danish’s wife, and the weight and warmth of that title settled over her like a new skin.
Danish leaned back in his seat, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Welcome home, wife,” he said with a grin, his tone playful but affectionate. “I’ve missed this city—and us.”
Kavya smiled softly, hiding the flutter in her chest as memories of Hyderabad resurfaced—the intimate night she had shared with Feroz. She shook her head gently, forcing the thoughts away. This is our life now, she reminded herself. She squeezed Danish’s hand, grounding herself in the warmth of his presence, even as a shadow of longing lingered beneath the surface.
Settling Into Married Life
The apartment was just as they had left it, yet now every corner felt charged with significance. Kavya carefully unpacked her belongings, arranging the gifts and wedding clothes. The soft clatter of utensils in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator, and the muted city sounds outside created a quiet rhythm of domestic life.
Danish busied himself with putting away clothes, occasionally glancing at her with a smile. “You’re doing a great job with everything, Kavya,” he said. “It feels like home already.”
Kavya nodded, smiling faintly. Her mind wandered briefly to Feroz—the memory of his hands, his voice, the restraint he had shown—but she pushed it down, focusing instead on this new chapter. Every action she performed, from folding sheets to arranging flowers, was a reminder that she had responsibilities now, and that the past was behind her… at least for today.
 
Evening Routine
As night fell, Kavya and Danish shared a quiet dinner. The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the balcony, and the apartment felt like a cocoon away from the world. Danish spoke about plans for the week, their honeymoon ideas, and upcoming work obligations, but Kavya noticed her mind occasionally drifting.
She thought about the night in Hyderabad—not in a way that would disrupt her love for Danish, but enough to stir a heat she could neither fully ignore nor embrace. The contrast was stark: Danish’s cheerful touch versus Feroz’s commanding restraint. She shook her head, sipping her tea slowly, grounding herself in the reality of her new life.
Danish, sensing a brief pause in her attention, reached for her hand. “Kavya, you’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”
Kavya met his eyes, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, Danish. Just… tired from the travel,” she said softly. The lie was gentle, but the guilt of hiding her lingering thoughts from him pressed at her chest.
Private Moments of Reflection
Later, as Danish fell asleep beside her, Kavya lay awake, tracing her fingers along the bedsheets. The apartment was silent, save for the occasional honk of distant traffic. Memories of Hyderabad—of Feroz holding her close, of the warmth she had felt—flickered through her mind. She hugged the pillow, a mixture of longing and guilt twisting in her chest.
I love Danish… she whispered to herself. But… Her fingers lingered, brushing the edge of the fabric, her thoughts straying to the heat and restraint she had felt in Feroz’s arms. She shook her head and closed her eyes, reminding herself that the past was locked away, at least for now.
Subtle Seeds of Marital Strain
The next morning brought the routines of everyday life—coffee, newspapers, and the sound of Mumbai waking outside. Kavya tried to focus, but small distractions crept in: the memory of a touch, a glance, the way Feroz’s voice had lingered in her mind.
Danish noticed a subtle hesitation as she moved around the apartment. “Kavya,” he said carefully, “are you… distracted? You seem… distant.”
She forced a smile, nodding. “Just thinking about the travel and unpacking. Nothing else.”
But even as she spoke, the tension remained—a quiet storm building beneath the surface. Life had returned to Mumbai, to routine, and yet the seeds of longing, guilt, and suppressed desire were quietly settling into her days.
Kavya looked out from the balcony that evening, the city lights shimmering below. Danish hummed in the kitchen, oblivious to the turmoil brewing in her heart. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of her vows, of the love she carried for him.
Yet, in the quiet corners of her mind, Feroz’s presence lingered like a ghost—a reminder of passion restrained, a memory of a fire that had never been fully extinguished. Life in Mumbai had begun, and with it, the ordinary and extraordinary collided: love, duty, desire, and the secrets that would quietly shape the path ahead.
 
HONEYMOON BLISS
Kavya shook her head, exhaling deeply, as if forcing herself to shed the lingering thoughts of Feroz and the memories of Hyderabad. This is my life now, she reminded herself, smiling at Danish as he packed the last of their bags. The playful spark in his eyes, the warmth of his hand on hers, and the way he leaned in to kiss her temple reminded her why she had chosen to step fully into this marriage.
“We need a break,” Danish said, adjusting the straps on his bag. “A proper honeymoon. Just you and me, no work, no distractions.”
Kavya’s lips curved into a genuine smile. “Goa?” she asked, her excitement matching his.
“Exactly,” Danish replied, his grin widening. “Sun, sand, waves… and all the fun we’ve been saving for ourselves.”
The flight to Goa felt light and exhilarating. Kavya and Danish laughed throughout the journey, teasing each other over silly things, their hands brushing occasionally, sending tiny jolts of warmth through her. Every glance and touch reminded her that while the past lingered in her mind, the present—with Danish—was rich, full, and real.

---

A Week of Freedom
They checked into a luxurious beachfront resort, the waves crashing gently against the shore as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in pinks and golds. Their days were filled with laughter, adventure, and the simple pleasure of being together without obligations.
Beach Walks: Kavya loved the feel of the sand between her toes and Danish’s hand entwined with hers. Their playful splashes in the water often ended in lingering kisses, bodies pressed close, laughter mingling with the sound of the sea.
Exploring Goa: They rented scooters, visited spice farms, and wandered through colorful markets. Kavya found herself laughing more freely than she had in months, the joy infectious.
Romantic Evenings: Candlelit dinners on the beach became their routine. Danish would brush stray hairs from her face, his eyes tracing her curves in the dim light, and she felt a flutter of excitement and desire she hadn’t allowed herself in a while.
Sensual Honeymoon Nights
 
The moonlight spilled through the curtains, soft and silver, casting delicate patterns across their bedroom. Kavya and Danish moved together with an easy familiarity now, hands exploring each other’s warmth, lips finding places only lovers knew. Every glance, every brush of fingers, carried desire and promise.
They laughed softly as they undressed the day’s tension, savoring the closeness. Danish traced gentle paths along Kavya’s arms, shoulders, and neck, while she pressed her face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin. Their touches were hungry yet tender, building anticipation slowly, a dance of hearts and breaths.
The night became a rhythm of whispered words, lingering kisses, and tender embraces. Each movement deepened their connection, making them feel one in a way that went far beyond physicality. Kavya felt warmth pooling inside her, a mixture of love, trust, and longing, while Danish’s steady hands and soft murmurs made her heart soar.
They lost track of time, wrapped in each other, exploring the contours of intimacy without urgency—their bodies and minds entwined, every touch a conversation, every sigh a confession. When they finally rested, limbs intertwined, hearts racing in unison, Kavya realized she had never felt so close to anyone. The night was a private celebration of their love, a bond strengthened by passion, tenderness, and trust.
Returning to Mumbai
After a week of sun, sand, laughter, and endless intimacy, they returned to Mumbai feeling renewed. Kavya felt a deep sense of satisfaction—her heart and body both fully engaged in her life with Danish.
On the flight back, she rested her head on his shoulder, smiling softly. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” she whispered.
Danish kissed her hair, his arms wrapping around her. “We needed it. Us. I want every moment with you, Kavya. From now on, just us, building our life together.”
Back in the apartment, their routine resumed, but with a newfound closeness. Kavya found herself more relaxed, more in tune with Danish, and more committed to focusing on the love they shared.
Even though the shadow of Feroz still existed in the background of her thoughts, it had grown faint, replaced by the vivid, tangible warmth of her husband’s love, and the memories of a honeymoon that had cemented the bond between them—both in body and heart.

[Astroboy11]

What an underwhelming update.

[mahamatherchod]

hope we get regular updates

[Rakul1985]

What an underwhelming update.

Yes it needs to move faster

[John446]

CHAPTER – 63


A year had passed since their wedding, a year that had shaped Danish and Kavya’s life in Mumbai into something steady, predictable, almost ordinary. The little 2BHK flat that once felt cramped now carried the rhythm of their marriage — Kavya’s dupattas drying on the balcony rail, Danish’s dumbbells tucked under the bed, the soft hum of the ceiling fan at night as they lay side by side, sometimes tangled in each other’s arms, sometimes with their backs turned after an argument that neither of them had the courage to stretch into the morning.
Life wasn’t bad. In fact, it was good — but a certain restlessness hung in the air, unspoken between them.
That Sunday evening, the city was quieter than usual. The distant horns from the traffic below were muted, the sky painted with orange and violet streaks as the sun sank behind the skyline. Danish sat in the balcony chair, phone to his ear, tapping his fingers on the armrest. His father’s voice, deep and steady yet edged with loneliness, filled the silence around him.
“Beta, how are you both doing?” Feroz asked, his tone affectionate, but Kavya — from the kitchen where she was folding fresh laundry — could hear the weariness underneath.
Danish smiled faintly, though his eyes carried a guilt he didn’t admit. “We’re fine, Abba. Work is busy, but we’re managing. Kavya keeps everything running. You should see her — she’s the reason this place feels like home.”
On the other side of the line, Feroz let out a soft chuckle. “Haan, I can imagine. She has that in her nature. She fills a home the way light fills a room. I’m glad you have her, beta.”
Kavya’s hands paused on the pile of folded clothes. Her chest tightened at the compliment, at the warmth in his tone. It was fatherly, yes… but something in it carried an intimacy she couldn’t shake off. She shook her head quickly, forcing herself back into the rhythm of folding.
Then Feroz’s voice softened, hesitant, as though testing the waters. “Tell me, Danish… it has been one year since your marriage, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, Abba,” Danish answered, a smile in his voice. “One year already. Time runs fast.”
There was a pause, then Feroz continued, his words careful but heavy: “One year is long enough to know each other, to settle into life. Have you thought about the next step? About children?”
The question lingered in the evening air.
Danish rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “We’ve… talked about it a little. But, Abba, it’s not something we want to rush. We’re still adjusting to everything.”
Inside, Kavya’s hands froze completely now. Her heart gave a nervous flutter, and she bit her lip. A baby. The word alone was enough to twist her stomach with both longing and fear. She wanted to be a mother one day — she could picture tiny feet running across the living room, small hands tugging at her saree — but not yet. Not when she was still struggling to fully steady herself in this marriage, in this city, in this secret that lay buried in her chest like a live coal.
“I understand, beta,” Feroz said gently. His tone carried no pressure, only wistfulness. “These things happen when ,.' wills. I only ask because… I imagine a child in the house, and it fills me with happiness. You don’t know how much I long to hear laughter again in these rooms.” His voice dipped lower, fragile now. “This house is so big, and I am alone. Some nights the silence feels heavier than I can bear.”
Danish closed his eyes, guilt pooling in his chest. “Abba…” His voice cracked a little, but he steadied it. “You should have told me sooner. We didn’t know you felt like this.”
Feroz gave a short, humorless laugh. “What would I say? ‘Come back because I am lonely’? A father should never pull his son away from his life. But when I see the days go by… when I think of Kavya, when I think of the family you’ll one day build… I can’t help but wish you were closer.”
Kavya, still standing with the laundry in her arms, felt her throat tighten. She could almost see him as he spoke — sitting in his armchair in the Hyderabad living room, the same one where she had sat months ago, the same house that held memories she tried desperately to bury. The thought of him sitting there alone made her heart ache. And yet, another part of her recoiled at the idea of returning to that house, to those walls that knew too much.
As if sensing his son’s silence, Feroz continued, his words measured but meaningful: “Mumbai is busy, beta. Hard. Especially for a new bride like Kavya. I worry sometimes… she does too much, manages everything without family support. Here, she would have me, she would have a bigger home, more comfort. When the time comes for children… wouldn’t it be better for her to be surrounded by family?”
Danish’s brows furrowed as he listened. The argument made sense, painfully so. His mind flicked to their tiny flat, to Kavya running from kitchen to living room to bedroom, balancing everything without complaint. He thought of how cramped their future would feel with a child here. The contrast with the spacious home in Hyderabad gnawed at him.
He exhaled slowly. “You’re right, Abba. Life here isn’t easy. Sometimes… sometimes I think about it myself. About moving back. But Kavya—” his eyes flicked to her through the balcony door, where she was now quietly setting the folded laundry on the table “—she’s grown attached to Mumbai. It’s not an easy decision.
There was a long silence before Feroz spoke again, his tone softer, almost resigned. “I won’t ask you for promises, beta. I only wanted to share my heart. Think about it, that’s all. My doors will always be open — for you, for Kavya, for the children you will bring into this world. Whether you come or not… this house is yours as much as mine.”
When the call ended, the balcony fell into silence, broken only by the distant bark of a stray dog in the lane below. Danish put his phone aside, his face troubled.
Kavya walked out, placing the laundry neatly on the chair beside him. “Abba’s okay?” she asked, her voice calm but her chest still knotted from hearing parts of the conversation.
“He’s fine,” Danish said, but his voice carried weight. “But he’s lonely. Too lonely. And he…” Danish hesitated, then sighed. “He asked about children. About when we’ll start a family.”
Kavya forced a smile, her fingers tightening around the edge of her dupatta. “Everyone asks that after a year. It doesn’t mean we have to rush.”
Danish reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. I told him we’ll think about it. But… he’s right about one thing. Maybe Hyderabad would be easier. A bigger home, Abba’s company, family support… and if we do decide to have kids, wouldn’t it be better there?”
Kavya looked away, her throat dry, the weight of his words pressing down on her. The idea of Hyderabad was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting, because it meant support, safety, stability. Terrifying, because it meant being closer to Feroz — the man whose presence could unravel her.
She drew in a breath, steadying herself. “We’ll talk about it, Danish. Just… not today.”
He nodded, respecting her silence. But Kavya knew, even without him saying it, that the seed had been planted.
Later that night, when the lights were off and Danish’s breathing had softened beside her, she lay awake staring at the ceiling. The conversation replayed in her mind — Feroz’s voice, filled with longing, talking of children, of an empty house, of open doors. And no matter how much she tried to banish the thought, her heart kept circling back to the same truth: Hyderabad was no longer just his home. It was her past, her secret, her burden. And now, it was threatening to become her future.
The phone call with Feroz lingered in the air long after it had ended. For the next few days, Danish carried it with him like a stone in his pocket — always there, weighing him down. The words replayed in his mind at odd moments: “This house is so big, and I am alone.” He couldn’t shake the image of his father sitting in that empty Hyderabad house, the ticking clock echoing through the silence.
Kavya had noticed his quietness. In the mornings, while she set his breakfast, he seemed lost in thought. At night, when they lay side by side, he would hold her tighter, almost as if he was clinging to something he feared losing. She didn’t ask at first; she knew him well enough to wait.
One evening, a week after the call, the rain had come down heavy over Mumbai. The streets were flooded, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and frying pakoras from the neighbors’ kitchen. The two of them sat by the balcony door, watching the water trickle down the glass. Danish sipped his tea slowly, while Kavya leaned against the doorframe, her dupatta wrapped around her shoulders.
Breaking the silence, Danish finally spoke. His voice was low, thoughtful. “Do you ever feel like this flat is… too small for us?”
Kavya glanced at him, caught off guard. “Small?”
“Not just in size,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “In life. Like… it holds us, but it doesn’t give us space to grow. If we have a child, where would we even put a crib? Where would it play?”
Kavya’s lips parted, but no words came. She knew where this was leading, though he hadn’t said it yet. She turned back toward the rain, her heart beating faster.
Danish continued, almost to himself, “Abba was right, you know. Hyderabad is different. The house is big. There’s space, comfort. And Abba wouldn’t be alone anymore.” He paused, glancing at her carefully. “Wouldn’t that be better for us? For you?”
Kavya hugged the dupatta closer to her body. The thought of Hyderabad pressed against her chest like a weight. She could picture the wide verandas, the big kitchen, the quiet lanes. She could also picture Feroz, his voice in her ear, his hands steady and sure, the one night that bound them in secret forever.
She forced a calmness into her voice. “It’s not that simple, Danish.
“I know,” he said quickly, nodding. “I’m not saying tomorrow. Just… think about it. We could at least visit for a week. See how it feels. If we don’t like it, we come back. No pressure.”
Kavya looked at him then. His eyes were earnest, carrying guilt and longing — guilt for his father, longing for something more than their cramped city life. She didn’t want to hurt him, but her own chest burned with dread. A week in Hyderabad meant being back under Feroz’s roof. It meant risking the calm she had built in the last year.
She reached out, covering his hand with hers. “Let’s not rush. Maybe we visit after Diwali? When things are quieter here.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Diwali. Okay. That’s fair.”
He squeezed her hand back, but she could see it in his face — the seed had already grown into something larger.
Over the next few weeks, Danish began to speak of Hyderabad more often, though always casually, as if testing her mood.
When they were stuck in traffic for an hour, he muttered, “Hyderabad roads are better. Less chaos.”
When the landlord raised the rent again, he sighed, “Abba’s house is ours. No one could ask us for a single rupee.”
When Kavya struggled carrying groceries up the stairs, he said softly, “You wouldn’t have to do this there. Abba’s house has help nearby. You’d be cared for.”
Each time, Kavya smiled faintly and said nothing, but inside she wrestled with herself. His arguments made sense, painfully so. Life would be easier there. Safer. Kinder. But at what cost to her peace?
One night, as they lay in bed, Danish turned toward her, his arm dbangd over her waist. His voice was sleepy, but sincere. “You know, Kavya… Abba said something that stayed with me. He said his doors are always open. For me. For you. For the children we’ll have one day.”
The word children hit her like a spark. She tensed slightly, though she tried to hide it. Danish didn’t notice; his eyes were already drifting shut.
But Kavya lay awake long after, staring into the dark. The thought of Hyderabad wrapped around her like a storm — the promise of family, the shadow of memory, the pull of duty, the ache of guilt.
And though she didn’t say it aloud, she knew: the path to Hyderabad was no longer just a possibility. It was coming closer with every conversation, every sigh, every lonely word from Feroz that reached them through the phone.

[John446]

CHAPTER – 64


A month after Danish first raised the thought of Hyderabad, the city had started to seep into their lives like a quiet undercurrent. What began as fleeting remarks became longer conversations, and one breezy Sunday afternoon, it finally turned into something solid.
The monsoon had left the streets glistening that morning, the air cool and scented with wet earth. Kavya was busy in the kitchen, grinding fresh chutney, when Danish, sitting on the sofa with his phone, called out:
“Kavya.”
She appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on her dupatta. “Hmm?”
Danish hesitated, his voice thoughtful. “What do you think about visiting Hyderabad next month? Just for a week, maybe ten days?”
Her heart clenched, though she kept her face calm. “So soon?”
“It’s been a year since the wedding,” he said softly. “Abba’s been alone all this while. Every time I talk to him, I feel the loneliness in his voice. We should go. At least for a visit.”
Kavya sat beside him, fingers twisting together in her lap. “It feels like such a big step.”
He reached out, taking her hand firmly. “It’s not permanent. We’ll see how it feels. No decisions, no pressure. But Abba deserves this much.”
His sincerity touched her. She nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Relief broke across his face, and he kissed her forehead before reaching for his phone. “I’ll call him now.”
When Feroz answered, his deep voice was lined with surprise. “Danish? Everything alright, beta?”
“Everything’s fine, Abba,” Danish replied warmly. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something. Kavya and I are planning to visit Hyderabad. Maybe next month.”
There was silence for a heartbeat. Then Feroz’s voice, unsteady with emotion: “You’re… coming here? Truly?”
“Yes, Abba. It’s been too long. We want to spend some time with you.”
Feroz leaned back in his chair, his eyes stinging. The words sank into him like cool water after a long thirst. For months, his days had been filled with routine — meals alone, evenings spent in silence, memories pressing against the walls. But through it all, one thing had comforted him: Kavya.
He already knew her well — not just as his son’s wife, but as a woman he had quietly observed. Her gentleness when she spoke, the way her laughter softened Danish’s edges, the patience with which she managed their small Mumbai flat. He remembered the way she had stood at his side during difficult conversations, her presence steady. He had seen her spirit — graceful, stubborn, compassionate — and it reminded him so much of the strength his late wife once carried.
Now, the thought of having her under his roof again — this time as family, as someone he could openly cherish — filled him with a warmth he had not felt in years.
“Kavya beti…” he said softly, his voice carrying across the line. “You don’t know how much happiness you’ve given me with this news. This house is yours too. I know you, I know your heart. You’ll find it welcoming here.”
Kavya’s throat tightened. She managed a polite, “Ji, Abba,” though the words trembled as they left her lips.
Feroz chuckled softly, but there was a break in his tone. “May ,.' bless you both. Come soon. Don’t delay too much. I’ll be waiting.”
When the call ended, Danish’s face glowed with relief, his shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks. But Kavya sat still, the dupatta gathered tightly in her fingers.
Visiting Hyderabad was no longer an idea. It was a promise. And though Feroz’s voice had been filled with warmth, she couldn’t ignore the storm that stirred within her.
The flight touched down just as the evening sun was sinking into a haze of gold and rose. Kavya peered out of the small oval window, her chest tightening. Hyderabad stretched out below — a sprawl of old domes and new glass, stitched together by roads gleaming with headlights.
Beside her, Danish leaned back with a grin that hadn’t left his face since they’d boarded. “Home,” he whispered. The word was simple, but it carried a weight that pressed on Kavya. For him, it was reunion. For her, it was return.
At the arrival gate, Feroz stood waiting. Tall, broad-shouldered, and still remarkably fit, he looked more like a man in his forties than sixty. His crisp white kurta highlighted his strong frame. The moment he spotted them, his eyes softened — first at his son, then briefly, lingeringly, at Kavya.
“Abba!” Danish strode forward, wrapping his arms around him. Feroz’s large hands patted his son’s back firmly. “My Danish.”
When they parted, Kavya stepped forward, her palms pressed lightly together in the respectful Namaste she had been taught. She had been here before, walking these corridors, but now, as Danish’s wife, the gesture carried weight.
“Abba beti,” Feroz greeted, his voice warm yet commanding.
Kavya lowered her eyes, her fingers brushing the folds of her saree-turned-lehenga dupatta. “Namaste, Abba,” she said softly.
“Safe journey?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied quickly, mindful of her posture and tone, subtle signs of her ***** upbringing — respectful, reserved, observant.
As they walked to the car, Kavya’s eyes scanned the familiar yet changed home. She noticed the high ceilings, the carved doors, the faint scent of sandalwood, and the quiet order of the courtyard. She had been here before, but now, stepping in as Danish’s wife, she felt the delicate dance of adapting to another culture while maintaining her own dignity and upbringing.
In the car, Danish chatted easily with Feroz, oblivious to the tension Kavya felt. She, however, noticed everything: the neat arrangement of cushions, the subtle aroma of incense, the precision of the household — all things she respected, all things that reminded her of how careful she needed to be.
Feroz’s eyes met hers briefly in the rearview mirror. He knew her — not as a visitor, but as someone graceful, disciplined, mindful, and perceptive. He had watched her, understood her ways, admired her quiet composure and the inner strength of her ***** upbringing. That awareness, combined with the faint memory of closeness she carried, made her pulse quicken.
The house welcomed them, and Kavya’s steps were measured, polite, respectful. She made small gestures: touching the threshold before entering, folding her hands when greeting, adjusting her dupatta carefully — each action marking her ***** roots while negotiating the warmth and openness of Feroz’s home.
Danish laughed and settled comfortably in the drawing room. Kavya’s attention, however, remained partially on Feroz — tall, fit, commanding, yet gentle in his movements. He moved with a quiet grace that contrasted with the imposing structure of his home. The tension between what she knew, what she felt, and the decorum she maintained hummed quietly beneath the surface.
That night, as she lay beside Danish in the guest bedroom, she stared at the carved ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the house settling into silence. Danish slept soundly, his arm dbangd over her waist.
Kavya slowly moved his hand and slowly went upstairs to the guest room.
The door creaked open, and Kavya stepped inside, the room unchanged, a time capsule of memories. The bed was neatly made, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, casting the space in a soft, diffused light. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it, her breath catching as the memories flooded back, vivid and intensely erotic. The air seemed to thicken, carrying the ghost of that night—the power cut, her scream, Feroz’s footsteps racing up the stairs. She could almost feel the panic rising again, the darkness swallowing her, until his arms had encircled her, pulling her into his chest, his strength a shield against the terror.
Kavya moved to the bed, her fingers trailing over the sheets, the fabric cool beneath her touch. She sat on the edge, her heart racing, her mind replaying the moments in searing, sensual detail. She remembered the way Feroz had held her tightly, his arms wrapping around her waist like steel bands, pulling her flush against him, her body molding to his. The heat of his chest against her breasts, the thin nightgown doing little to separate them, the rapid rise and fall of her chest syncing with his. His hands had been firm, possessive, splaying across her lower back, fingers digging into her hips as if to anchor her to him, his touch sending waves of electricity through her.
Her breath quickened as she recalled his nose touching her neck, grazing the sensitive skin with a slow, deliberate slide. The roughness of his stubble had scbangd lightly, a contrast to the warmth of his breath, hot and teasing against her pulse. Each graze had ignited goosebumps, her body trembling not just from fear but from the intimate pull of his closeness. She remembered how, in the flow of the moment, his face had dipped lower, his nose brushing the soft, exposed skin of her cleavage, the contact deeper, more intentional. He had sniffed her there, inhaling the warm, fragrant scent of her skin, the musky mix of jasmine and sweat, his breath fanning across the tender swell of her breast. The sensation had been overwhelming, a jolt that made her arch into him, her fingers tightening in his hair, her nails scbanging his scalp.
And then, the memory that sent a flush of heat through her now—the way she had pulled him closer, her hands gripping the back of his neck with a desperate, almost primal force. Her fingers had dug into the taut muscles, her nails biting into his skin, leaving faint crescent marks as she tugged him toward her, urging him deeper into the forbidden intimacy of the moment. The act had been instinctive, her body responding to the fire between them, her breasts pressing harder against his chest, the thin nightgown slipping further to bare more of her skin. She had pulled him so close that their breaths mingled, her lips grazing his collarbone, her heart pounding as she surrendered to the heat, the roughness of his stubble against her cleavage sending shivers through her.
Kavya’s breath came in shallow gasps now, her body warm with the memory, a flush creeping across her skin. She lay back on the bed, her eyes closing, reliving the way his weight had pressed her into the mattress, his leg between hers, their bodies intertwined. She remembered the moment he had pinned her wrists above her head, stretching her body, exposing the smooth, freshly shaven curve of her armpits, the musky scent of her sweat mingling with her jasmine perfume. Her fingers had gripped the back of his neck again, pulling him closer, her nails digging deeper, urging him to linger in the heat of her cleavage, where his nose had traced the tender swell, his stubble scbanging with a delicious, rough friction. The memory of her own actions—the way she had pulled him closer, her body arching to meet his, her nails leaving marks as she clung to him—sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her skin tingling with the intensity of the recollection.
She recalled the way he had pulled her nighty strap down, his fingers hooking under the thin fabric, tugging it lower to bare the smooth curve of her shoulder and the upper swell of her breast. The cool air had kissed her skin, a contrast to the searing heat of his breath as his nose grazed the newly exposed flesh, his stubble scbanging lightly, igniting a shiver that cascaded through her. Her hands had tightened on the back of his neck, her fingers threading deeper into his hair, her nails digging into his scalp as she pulled him closer, urging him to linger, to explore. The sensation had been electric, her body trembling beneath him, her breath coming in soft, involuntary moans as she surrendered to the forbidden pull, her grip on his neck a silent plea for more.
Kavya’s heart pounded now, her body flushed with the erotic intensity of the memory, the way their closeness had been both a comfort and a fire, the boundaries of their roles blurring in the darkness. She remembered the weight of his body, the strength in his hands, the way her fingers had clutched the back of his neck, pulling him closer, her nails leaving faint marks as she urged him deeper into the moment.
As she was lost in those moments she forgot that she left Danish alone so she went back to the room and laid beside him but she is still breathing heavy with all those thoughts.

[Rakul1985]

Too much details and story filled in these 2 updates.
Looks Feroz will be the father of kid.

[fuckandforget]

Great update. She will open her legs to Feroz and give birth to his child and marry him seperating father and son and get all the properties of Feroz. when the performance of him degrades, she will go search for another rich man. very clever planning.

[Astroboy11]

Hmm, an interesting update with a timeskip. At this point, if she has an affair with her FIL then it will be more of the same. If she doesn’t, then the story would lack the ooomph that’s drawn if the readers. You may have written yourself into a corner there dear Author.

I assume Rahul is no longer relevant to the story and won’t feature anymore. Meh, good riddance.

I trust the Author to lead the story forward, let’s see where it goes. Most readers would appreciate timely updates or at least an acknowledgment that you’re working on the story.

[Gajakidost]

Rahul dead?

[Sage_69]

Between Rahul and Danish, it was Danish. Between Danish and Fero, It's Feroz. It seems Kavya just wants the stronger man in the house.

[Helow]

Let's have a concensual
Sex with Karan & Kavya