Adultery Undercover Desires

[PELURI]

author John to come back soon along with Rahul.# Rahul plz come back with aggression ...

[Paty@123]

Update plz sir

[pragya_rao]

CHAPTER - 6
The apartment was filled with a soft, golden light as the first rays of dawn gently pierced through the curtains. The city of Mumbai was still cloaked in early morning calm, but inside the apartment, a serene atmosphere prevailed.
Kavya stirred from her slumber, her eyelids fluttering open as the warmth of the morning sun began to embrace the room. She stretched with a languid grace, her movements imbued with a natural elegance. As she extended her arms above her head, her sleeveless nighty shifted slightly, revealing more of her figure. The nighty was crafted from a delicate, sheer fabric that dbangd softly over her curves, accentuating her toned physique.
The nighty itself was a deep shade of rose, with intricate lace detailing along the neckline and hem. The deep neck of the nighty dipped gracefully, revealing a hint of her collarbone and the smooth curve of her cleavage. The fabric clung gently to her torso, showcasing the elegant contours of her waist and the gentle curve of her hips. The soft, translucent material flowed loosely from her hips, skimming over her thighs in a way that highlighted her well-defined legs.
Kavya's chooda, the traditional red and white bangles worn by married women in India, caught the morning light. The chooda was a set of intricate, ornate bangles, each adorned with delicate patterns and subtle, sparkling embellishments. The bangles were stacked on her wrists, their vibrant red and white hues contrasting elegantly with her skin tone. As Kavya moved, the chooda jingled softly, the sound adding a delicate chime to the tranquil morning ambiance.
Kavya’s figure was the epitome of both strength and femininity. Her toned arms were accentuated by the sleeveless design of the nighty, and her waist, while slender, led into the graceful curve of her hips. The fabric of the nighty highlighted her curves without clinging too tightly, allowing her movements to be fluid and natural. As she sat up, the nighty fell away slightly, revealing more of her toned, sculpted legs.
With a soft sigh, Kavya slipped out of bed, her feet touching the cool floor with a gentle thud. The nighty fluttered slightly with her movement, the delicate fabric catching the morning light and casting a subtle shimmer. Her long hair cascaded down her back in loose, wavy strands, catching the light and adding to her graceful appearance.
She made her way towards the washroom, the soft rustling of her nighty creating a delicate accompaniment to her steps. The nighty’s fabric moved fluidly with each step she took, emphasizing the elegance of her figure. As she entered the washroom, the morning sun continued to filter through, casting a warm, golden glow over her.
Kavya’s reflection in the bathroom mirror showed the soft, shimmering fabric of her nighty as it clung gently to her curves. The lace detailing at the neckline highlighted the graceful line of her shoulders, while the sheer fabric offered a glimpse of the strong, defined contours beneath. As she refreshed herself, the light continued to dance over her figure, creating an ethereal effect that made her appear almost otherworldly.
After her refreshing shower, Kavya emerged from the washroom, her skin glowing and her hair damp but neatly arranged. She had changed into a light robe that dbangd over her nighty, the deep neckline still visible but more modest. The robe added an extra layer of elegance to her appearance, with its soft, flowing fabric complementing the grace of her nighty.
As Kavya moved into the kitchen, her presence created a subtle, electric tension in the room. The morning light continued to bathe her in a warm glow, accentuating the delicate beauty of her figure. Her movements were fluid and graceful, and the light fabric of her robe fluttered slightly with each step.
As Kavya stepped into the kitchen, she noticed Danish already busy preparing coffee. His tall, athletic frame was clad in a t-shirt and shorts, and his movements were purposeful and fluid. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
Danish glanced towards the hallway as he heard Kavya’s footsteps. He was aware of her approach and felt a mix of anticipation and nerves. He had been trying to maintain his focus on the task at hand, but Kavya’s presence was undeniably captivating.
When Kavya entered the kitchen, the sight of her caught Danish off guard. The morning light filtered through the window, casting a warm glow around her. She greeted him with a warm, slightly mischievous smile.
“Good morning, Danish,” Kavya said, her voice soft and melodious. Her smile was both welcoming and playful. “You’re up early. Did you sleep well?”
Danish turned, momentarily taken aback by her appearance. He quickly refocused on the coffee pot, trying to compose himself. “Good morning, Kavya. Yeah, I’m just an early riser. I slept well, thank you. How about you? How was your first night in Mumbai?”
Kavya moved closer to the counter, her posture casual but graceful. “It was nice. I’m still adjusting. Rahul and I are planning to explore the city today. Do you have any recommendations?”
Danish’s smile widened as he considered her enthusiasm. “Definitely. Marine Drive is stunning in the morning, and there’s a cozy café I know that has a fantastic breakfast. It’s a bit of a hidden gem.”
Kavya’s eyes lit up with interest. “That sounds perfect. I’d love to check it out. What’s special about this café?”
Danish poured the coffee into mugs, trying to keep his gaze steady. “It’s got a really relaxed vibe. The food is great, and it’s not too crowded in the mornings. It’s a nice place to start the day.”
Kavya leaned against the counter, her proximity creating a subtle, electric tension. “Sounds wonderful. I’ve heard you’re into gyming. I am too. It’s one of my favorite ways to unwind.”
Danish’s interest was immediately piqued. “Really? That’s great. I hit the gym regularly, mostly for strength training and a bit of cardio. What do you enjoy most about working out?”
Kavya’s smile grew warmer. “I love how it makes me feel strong and energized. I’m really into weight training and sometimes yoga. It’s a good balance for me.”
Danish’s eyes softened with genuine interest. “That’s awesome. Weight training is great for building strength. I’ve been focusing on a mix of compound exercises and functional training lately. Have you ever tried any specific routines or programs?”
Kavya’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Yes, I’ve been following a program that combines strength training with HIIT. It’s challenging but effective. What about you? Do you have any favorite exercises or routines?”
Danish’s smile was genuine and animated. “I’m a big fan of deadlifts and squats. They’re tough but excellent for overall strength. I also like mixing in some high-intensity interval training for cardio. It keeps things interesting.”
Kavya nodded appreciatively. “Deadlifts and squats are great. I’ve been working on my form for deadlifts lately. It’s always good to have a workout buddy to push you. Maybe you could give me some tips sometime?”
Danish’s gaze met hers, and he struggled to keep his composure. “I’d be happy to help. It’s always nice to have someone to work out with. If you’re up for it, we could hit the gym together sometime.”
Kavya’s smile widened, her eyes reflecting genuine interest. “That sounds like a great idea. It would be fun to have a workout partner here.”
The conversation flowed effortlessly, the shared interest in gyming providing a solid foundation for their interaction. Danish occasionally stole glances at Kavya, his admiration apparent, but he was careful to maintain respect and friendliness. Kavya, aware of the effect she had, remained composed and engaging, focusing on their common interests.
As they chatted, Kavya shared anecdotes about her gym experiences, and Danish responded with stories of his own. They discussed their favorite workouts, the best techniques for achieving specific goals, and even the occasional gym mishaps that everyone encounters.
Kavya’s voice carried a playful lilt as she recounted a particularly challenging workout. “You know, I once tried to lift more weight than I was ready for. Let’s just say, it didn’t end well. I learned the hard way that ego and fitness don’t mix.”
Danish chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve had my fair share of those moments too. Once, I tried a new routine without proper warm-up and ended up pulling a muscle. Lesson learned: always warm up properly.”
Kavya laughed, her laughter bright and genuine. “Exactly! It’s those little lessons that make us better. And speaking of lessons, I’d love to hear more about your routine. I’m always looking for new ways to challenge myself.”
Danish’s gaze remained respectful, though he couldn’t deny the warmth he felt from their interaction. “I’d be glad to share. I’ve found that a mix of strength training, cardio, and flexibility exercises works well. It keeps things balanced and prevents burnout.”
As the conversation continued, Danish and Kavya’s connection deepened. They talked about their favorite gym routines, their goals, and even the occasional day off when they indulged in something they enjoyed. Despite the underlying tension, their interaction was marked by a mutual respect and genuine interest.
The morning light continued to bathe the kitchen in a warm glow, enhancing the intimate atmosphere of their conversation. Danish and Kavya’s discussion flowed naturally, their shared passion for fitness creating a bond that was both engaging and respectful.
Eventually, as the conversation began to wind down, Danish glanced at the clock and realized it was time to start getting ready for the day. He looked at Kavya with a smile. “I should probably start getting ready. If you’re still interested in hitting the gym together, let me know. We can set up a time that works for both of us.”
Kavya’s smile was warm and inviting. “I’d love that. Let’s plan for it. And thank you for the great conversation and the coffee. It’s been a pleasure.”
Danish nodded, his expression a mix of gratitude and anticipation. “The pleasure’s been mine. Looking forward to our gym session.”
As Kavya and Danish prepared to go their separate ways, the connection between them lingered. The shared interest in gyming and the respectful, engaging conversation had created a bond that would surely influence their interactions in the days to come.
The morning continued to unfold with a sense of promise, the delicate tension between Kavya and Danish adding an intriguing layer to their evolving relationship.

this is by far the best story on this website

[PELURI]

yes pragya ji...100pct agree with you...I read in comments section of literotica that good erotica is not only mating of the beautiful bodies but simultaneous mating of the souls as well....it's seen n felt 100% in this story and whole hearted love to john the author....only wish is he dolesout a little bit more...more frequently...

[John446]

CHAPTER -77


Delhi → Hyderabad days after departure
Monday morning, Indira Gandhi International Airport, Terminal 3
Rajesh had insisted on coming to the airport despite Trisha’s protests. He walked steadily with his cane, barking at the porter to be careful with Kavya’s suitcase, teasing her about packing “enough clothes for six months”.
The check-in queue was long, but the family stood together in the bright, bustling terminal, the December chill outside forgotten in the warm air-conditioning.
Kavya hugged her father first.
“Papa, promise no extra sweets. I’m telling Danish to check your sugar reports.”
Rajesh laughed, eyes misty. “Go, go. Your husband is probably counting minutes at the gate. And bring him soon—rematch in teen patti pending.”
Then Kavya turned to her mother.
The hug was long, tight, full of whispered promises.
“I’ll call the minute I land.” “Take your medicines on time.” “Tell Danish I packed his favourite achar.” “Love you, Mummy.”
Trisha held her daughter close, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair oil, feeling the warmth of her body one last time before the distance returned.
When they pulled apart, Trisha’s smile was bright, but her eyes were wet.
“Fly safe, beta. And give Danish a big hug from me.”
Kavya grinned. “He’ll get plenty. Don’t worry.”
Security check. Final wave from the other side of the glass.
Kavya disappeared into the crowd.
Trisha and Rajesh stood watching long after she was gone.
In the cab home, Rajesh dozed against the window.
Trisha stared out at the passing city, fingers unconsciously touching the side of her neck.
Danish waited at arrivals, a small bouquet of jasmine in one hand, heart racing for reasons he told himself were only about seeing his wife again.
When Kavya appeared—suitcase dragging, dupatta slipping, eyes scanning—he felt the familiar rush.
She spotted him, dropped everything, and ran.
He caught her as she jumped into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, arms tight around his neck.
The kiss was immediate—deep, hungry, months of missing poured into it right there in the middle of arrivals.
People smiled and looked away.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both laughing breathlessly.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Khan,” he whispered.
“Take me home, Mr. Khan,” she whispered back. “Right now.”
Feroz greeted them at the door with his usual warm smile and a bear hug for Kavya.
“Beta, finally! The house was too quiet.”
Kavya laughed, hugged him back. “Missed you too, Abbu.”
And I hope you didn’t let Danish eat non-veg the whole time I was gone.”
Feroz chuckled. “Only twice. He survived on your mother’s recipes mostly.”
Dinner was pure vegetarian celebration: paneer butter masala, dal makhani, jeera rice, aloo gobi, fresh rotis, and Trisha’s special mango pickle that Kavya had carried in her bag.
Stories flew across the table.
Feroz asked detailed questions about Rajesh uncle’s health, teased Danish about “surviving on bachelor food.”
Under the table, Danish’s hand rested on Kavya’s knee, thumb tracing slow circles.
Kavya’s foot nudged his ankle playfully.
Feroz noticed none of it, or pretended not to.
After dinner, Feroz retired early.
Danish and Kavya barely waited for his door to close.
They stumbled into their room, laughing and kissing, clothes coming off before the door fully shut.
The bed that had been cold for weeks finally warm again.
Delhi – same night
Trisha lay beside Rajesh in the quiet house, listening to his even breathing.
She opened WhatsApp, scrolled to Danish’s chat.
She typed:
Mummy ji 11:52 PM Beta, did Kavya reach safely?
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Danish 11:53 PM Yes Mummy ji ? Thank you for taking such good care of her.
Mummy ji 11:54 PM It was my joy. The house feels empty already.
Danish 11:55 PM We’ll visit soon. Promise. Papa ji sleeping well?
Mummy ji 11:56 PM Like a baby. Good night, beta.
Danish 11:57 PM Always. Good night, Mummy ji ❤️ Jai Shri Krishna.
Mummy ji 11:58 PM Radhe Radhe ?
She set the phone down, turned off the light, and stared at the dark ceiling.
The house was quiet.
Her heart was not.
In Hyderabad, Danish lay beside his sleeping wife, phone face-down on the nightstand.
He didn’t open the chat again.
But he didn’t need to.
Some conversations live in the spaces between words.
And some good-nights carry the weight of everything left unsaid.
Kavya returned to Hyderabad with a suitcase full of memories, a heart full of love for her parents, and a renewed energy for her life with Danish. Rajesh was now walking confidently without support, eating well, and even started his morning walks again. Trisha was relieved, though the house in Delhi felt strangely empty without Kavya’s laughter and Danish’s quiet presence.
The first few days after Kavya’s arrival were a whirlwind.
Kavya’s office work had piled up during her extended Delhi stay. She was back to her 9-to-6 routine (often stretching to 8 or 9), glued to her laptop, attending back-to-back video calls, clearing overdue reports, and catching up with her team. She barely had time to unpack properly—her suitcase sat half-open in the corner of their bedroom for days.
Danish’s schedule was equally brutal. His IT project had entered the critical testing phase; he was leading daily stand-ups, debugging late into the night, and sometimes taking client calls at odd hours. He would come home exhausted, kiss Kavya on the forehead while she was still typing, and collapse beside her after a quick shower.
They still found stolen moments: quick morning cuddles before work, hands brushing under the dinner table, whispered “I love you”s in the dark before sleep. But the days left little room for anything deeper. The passion that had exploded on the night of her arrival slowly settled into the comfortable rhythm of busy married life.
Feroz, as always, kept to his gentle routine: morning walks, afternoon chai on the veranda with his Urdu poetry, evenings with old ghazal records or the newspaper. He was happy to have Kavya back—the house felt alive again—but he also noticed how little time she and Danish had for each other.
And so, quite naturally, Kavya and Feroz began spending more quiet time together.
One evening Danish was out with friends for a belated birthday dinner. Kavya decided to cook something special—pure vegetarian, of course: paneer lababdar, dal tadka, jeera rice, and fresh salad.
Feroz wandered into the kitchen, drawn by the aroma.
“Smells like heaven, beta,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.
Kavya smiled over her shoulder, stirring the gravy. “Just trying to recreate Mummy’s magic. Sit, Papa, it’ll be ready soon.”
He didn’t sit. He came closer, stood beside her at the counter, watching her work.
“You chop onions like a pro now,” he observed, voice warm.
Kavya laughed softly. “Years of practice. Mummy was strict—‘no tears in the kitchen’ was her rule.”
Feroz chuckled. “She’s still strict. I remember when Danish first came to Delhi—he tried to help in the kitchen and she scolded him for cutting potatoes too thick.”
Kavya giggled. “He still complains about that. Says he has ‘emotional trauma’ from the onion-chopping lesson.”
They both laughed, standing close enough that their arms brushed when she reached for the spice jar. Neither moved away.
Feroz reached up to get the garam masala from the top shelf for her. His chest brushed her shoulder as he stretched. She felt the warmth of him, the faint scent of his aftershave mixed with the kitchen spices.
He handed her the jar, fingers lingering on hers a second longer than necessary.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said softly, voice a little breathier than she intended.
He smiled, eyes soft. “Anytime, beta.”
He stayed while she finished cooking, talking about small things: the roses in the courtyard, Kavya’s new project at work, how Rajesh ji was planning to visit soon. But the air between them felt thicker than usual—every accidental brush of arms, every shared laugh, every time their eyes met a little too long.
When Danish came home later, smelling of biryani and beer, he found them laughing in the living room over old photo albums.
He grinned. “Papa stealing my wife’s time again?”
Feroz stood. “Just keeping her company till you returned, beta. Good night.”
He left.
Kavya watched him go, a strange little flutter in her chest.
Three weeks had slipped by in a haze of routine and quiet longing.
Danish had been grinding through his IT job, but the long hours and stagnant salary had worn him down. He had quietly applied to a few openings for senior roles—better package, more responsibility. One morning, while Kavya was in the shower, his phone buzzed with an email: interview scheduled in Mumbai next week. The position was for a lead developer at a top fintech firm; posting flexible—could be Hyderabad, Mumbai, or even Delhi if the team needed. He stared at the screen, heart racing. Better pay meant a better life for them—maybe a house of their own, trips, security. But relocation? He hadn’t told Kavya yet. Or Feroz.
That evening, as they sat for dinner (Kavya’s strict vegetarian spread: palak paneer, veg pulao, cucumber raita), Danish cleared his throat. “Got an interview call today. Mumbai, next week. Better package, but posting not fixed—could be here or elsewhere.”
Kavya’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing! Go crush it. We can handle whatever comes.”
Feroz nodded slowly, smile warm but eyes thoughtful. “Proud of you, beta. Go with blessings. The house will always be here.”
The conversation shifted to logistics—flights, hotel—but underneath, a subtle current ran: change was coming, and with it, uncertainty.
The Hidden Folder
Feroz’s nights had become a ritual of guilt and compulsion.
Every other night, when the house slept and the courtyard fountain whispered softly, he would lie on his bed in the master suite, phone in hand, the hidden vault app open.
He traced every detail with his eyes, breath shallow, hand resting on his stomach, sometimes lower.
The wine-red satin nightie photo: He lingered on the way the fabric hugged the curve of her hips, the deep V cleavage framing the soft swell of her breasts, the smooth armpits exposed as she held the phone, the toned legs crossed, thighs pressed together, the shy smile that hid a world of sensuality.
The midnight-blue sheer: The faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, the deep cleavage plunging low, armpits smooth and inviting, legs toned and endless.
The blush-pink lace lingerie: The bra cups barely containing her, cleavage spilling over, armpits pale and flawless, legs crossed demurely but the pose screaming invitation.
The emerald saree: Dbangd low, bare midriff glowing, deep cleavage framed by the blouse, armpits raised in the side pose, legs peeking through the slit.
The crimson georgette: Pallu fallen, backless blouse revealing smooth skin, cleavage the deepest of all, armpits soft and shadowed, legs toned and crossed.
Each photo was studied like scripture—every curve, every shadow, every inch of skin. He felt the guilt burn in his chest, whispering duas for forgiveness even as his body betrayed him, hardening under the pajamas.
With Danish’s work intensifying in preparation for the interview (late nights practicing mocks, researching the company), and Kavya buried in her own backlog, Feroz and Kavya’s quiet moments grew longer, more frequent, more charged.
One afternoon, Danish at a team offsite, Kavya was in the living room folding laundry. Feroz joined her, picking up a shirt to help.
“You don’t have to, Papa,” she said, smiling.
“I want to,” he replied, voice low. “It’s nice to have company.”
They folded in companionable silence, arms brushing when they reached for the same piece. Kavya felt the warmth of his presence, the way his eyes lingered on her hands, her arms, the curve of her neck when she looked down.
“Beta,” he said suddenly, “you look tired. Let me massage your shoulders—like I used to for Danish when he was stressed.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay, Papa.”
He stood behind her, hands gentle but firm on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the knots. Kavya sighed, eyes closing. His fingers worked lower, grazing the back of her neck, the tops of her arms. The touch lingered—five seconds, ten—warm, soothing, but electric.
She felt her breath quicken.
He felt the softness of her skin under his thumbs.
Neither moved away.
“Better?” he asked, voice a little rougher.
“Much better, Papa,” she whispered.
He stepped back.
But the air hummed.
Another evening, Danish out with friends again (pre-interview stress relief), Kavya and Feroz shared chai on the veranda.
She wore a simple salwar kameez, dupatta loose.
They talked about poetry—Feroz recited a ghazal about unspoken love.
Kavya listened, eyes soft, knees almost touching his on the small bench.
When a breeze blew her dupatta off her shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her armpit and the side of her breast through the thin fabric, Feroz looked away—too late.
She noticed.
Neither said anything.
But she didn’t fix the dupatta immediately.
The tension built like humidity before a storm.
The interview call from the Mumbai fintech firm had come with a short fuse: three days later, full-day onsite interviews, final round with the CTO. Posting still undecided—could be Hyderabad (ideal), Mumbai (possible), or even Bangalore or Delhi (worst-case). He prepped obsessively: mock interviews with colleagues, researching the company’s stack, revising algorithms at midnight. He left for Mumbai on a Friday morning flight, promising Kavya he’d be back Sunday night.
“Crush it,” she told him at the airport gate, kissing him deeply. “Come back with good news.”
He smiled against her lips. “And when I do, we celebrate properly. No interruptions.”
She laughed, but her eyes were soft. “Deal.”
After a day Danish left for Mumbai, The storm had been building all evening, the sky over Hyderabad turning an angry black, thunder rumbling like distant artillery. By 9:30 PM, the rain came down in sheets, lashing the old haveli's windows and roof with relentless fury. The wind howled through the courtyard, rattling the fountain and shaking the neem trees until leaves scattered like confetti in the dark. Inside, the air was thick and humid, the ceiling fans straining to cut through it.
Danish was still in Mumbai—his interview had gone so well they asked him to stay an extra day for a final discussion with the team. He had called at 8 PM, voice excited but tired. "I'll be back tomorrow night, jaan. Miss you already." Kavya had laughed, told him to nail it, but now, alone in the bedroom, the storm felt personal, like it was clawing at the walls just for her.
She had been scared of the dark since childhood—a deep, irrational fear that turned her into a child again, heart pounding, breath shallow, every shadow a monster. The power cuts in Delhi during monsoons had always meant nights huddled with Trisha, stories whispered under a blanket until sleep came. Here in Hyderabad, it was no different.
Then he heard it—the crash from the guest wing.
His heart skipped. Kavya.
He knew her fear. It had happened before, months ago, during a similar storm when Danish was not there.
That night, the boundaries had blurred—the heat, the closeness, her back pressed to his chest in sleep, his nose brushing her neck, inhaling her jasmine scent, his face dipping lower to graze her cleavage. He had pulled back, guilt crashing over him, but the memory lingered like a scar.
Now, heart beating fast, he took a deep breath at her door. The storm raged outside, rain hammering the roof like fists. His hand hovered over the wood, recalling that past night—the way she had sighed in her sleep, arched slightly, the forbidden thrill. Guilt and something darker twisted in his chest. He knocked gently.
"Kavya beta? Everything okay?"
Inside, Kavya’s voice came shivering through the dark. "P-Papa? Come in… please…"
He pushed the door open, candle in hand. The small flame illuminated the room in flickering orange: shattered glass on the floor, water pooling, Kavya standing in the middle, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide with fear.
She was wearing a cut-sleeves nighty that ended at mid-thigh—white cotton with pink floral prints, the fabric thin and clinging slightly to her damp skin from the humidity. The deep neckline revealed the soft swell of her breasts, her armpits smooth and bare as she hugged herself, toned legs shifting nervously on the cold floor. In the candlelight, she looked vulnerable, beautiful, like a vision from one of his guilty memories.
Feroz stepped inside, locked the door behind him against the storm's howl. "Don't worry, beta," he whispered, voice low and steady. "I'm here."
She nodded, eyes locked on his, but neither said anything else. The thunder cracked again, making her flinch. He set the candle on the nightstand, its flame dancing shadows across the walls, and moved to her, calm and protective.
He took her hand first—warm, reassuring—leading her away from the glass. "Come, sit on the bed. I'll clean this."
She followed, sitting on the edge, knees pressed together, nighty riding up slightly to expose more of her smooth thighs. Feroz knelt to pick up the shards carefully, his eyes flicking up to her once or twice—her bare arms, the deep V of her nighty, the way her chest rose with shallow breaths. He stood, disposed of the glass in the bin, then turned back to her.
She was still shivering—not from cold, but fear. "Papa… the dark… it’s so bad tonight."
He sat beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "I know, beta. It's okay. I'm right here." He opened his arms slightly.
She leaned into him without hesitation, her head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist. He hugged her back, one arm around her shoulders, the other settling low on her back, holding her close to calm her. The thin fabric of her nighty did little to separate their skin; he felt the warmth of her body, the soft press of her breasts against his chest, the faint jasmine scent of her hair filling his senses.
They sat like that in silence, the storm raging outside, thunder rumbling, rain pounding. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back, fingers brushing the bare skin where the nighty’s cut-sleeves left her arms exposed. She sighed softly, relaxing into him, her breath warm against his neck. The closeness was comforting at first—paternal, protective.
To calm her down Feroz again shared a story with her like before, "When I was a boy—maybe twelve—there was a storm like this one. The power went out, thunder so loud it shook the walls. I was terrified of the dark, just like you. My father—your grandfather—found me hiding in the almirah. He didn't laugh. He sat on the floor with me, lit a single diya, and told me a story."
He paused, watching her face in the candlelight—her eyes wide, lips parted, listening.
"He said fear is like a shadow. It looks big and terrible when there's no light, but the moment you bring even a small flame, it shrinks. He told me to close my eyes and imagine the flame inside me—small, steady, warm. He said, 'As long as that flame burns, no darkness can touch you.'"
Kavya's breathing slowed. Her body relaxed against the mattress.
"I practiced every night after that," Feroz continued. "When the lights went out, I would sit in the dark and find that flame inside. And slowly… the fear got smaller. Not gone, but smaller. Manageable. Because I learned I carried my own light."
He reached out, brushed his fingertips across her forehead—slow, gentle strokes, tucking stray hair away, tracing the curve of her brow.
"You have that flame too, beta," he murmured. "It's in you. Strong. Beautiful. Unbreakable."
Kavya's eyes fluttered half-closed, soothed by his voice, his touch. Her hand moved instinctively, resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart.
"Thank you, Papa," she whispered.
He smiled, fingers still caressing her forehead, then sliding into her hair, stroking gently.
She yawned softly, eyelids growing heavy.
Feroz leaned forward, blew out the candle in one gentle puff.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Kavya's eyes snapped open.
"P-Papa…"
She reached out blindly, fingers finding the front of his kurta, clutching tight.
Feroz froze.
The storm howled outside.
He whispered, "Shhh… shhh, beta. I'm here."
He adjusted himself on the bed, lying down fully beside her, facing her in the absolute dark. The mattress dipped; their bodies were close—too close. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, smell the faint jasmine in her hair, hear the quick, shallow rhythm of her breath.
He opened his arms slowly.
"Come here," he murmured. "Just to keep the dark away."
Kavya hesitated for one heartbeat—then slid closer, pressing herself against him.
He wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other settling low on her back, just above the curve of her hips. Her face tucked into the crook of his neck; her breasts pressed softly against his chest through the thin nighty
She was trembling faintly.
He rubbed slow circles on her back, fingers brushing bare skin where the nighty had ridden up. "Shhh… it's okay. I've got you."
After a long moment, she relaxed, melting into him. Her hand slid up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his kurta. Her breath warmed his neck.
Feroz's heart pounded so hard he was sure she could feel it.
He tilted his head slightly, nose brushing her hair, inhaling her scent—jasmine, warmth, woman. His lips hovered near her temple, almost touching.
Neither spoke.
The storm raged outside.
In the dark, their bodies pressed together—chest to chest, thigh to thigh, breath mingling—the line between comfort and something far more dangerous blurred until it was almost invisible.
Feroz's hand on her lower back slipped lower—just a fraction—fingers splaying over the soft curve of her hip, thumb grazing the edge of her nighty.
Kavya sighed softly against his neck, arching slightly into the touch.
Neither acknowledged it.
But neither moved away.
Feroz held her in the darkness, the storm outside raging like a living thing—thunder cracking overhead, rain hammering the roof in relentless sheets. The candle was out; the room was absolute black, thick and suffocating, but Kavya’s trembling had slowly eased against his chest. Her breathing had steadied, her body softening into the protective circle of his arms. She was still afraid, but she was no longer alone with it.
His hand moved in slow, soothing circles on her lower back, fingers brushing the bare skin where her nighty had ridden up. The fabric was thin, damp from the humidity, clinging to the soft curve of her waist. He felt every rise and fall of her breath, the gentle press of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her thighs tangled with his. The jasmine in her hair filled his lungs with every inhale, sweet and heady, pulling memories he had tried to bury.
He told himself this was only comfort. He told himself he was only being a father.
But his body knew better.
Slowly—almost without conscious thought—his head dipped lower. His cheek brushed the top of her head, then slid down until his nose rested against the crown of her hair. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her shampoo mixing with the faint musk of her skin. His lips hovered near her temple, not touching, just breathing her in.
Kavya sighed softly, a small sound of relief and trust, and shifted closer, her face tucking deeper into the crook of his neck.
That was his undoing.
His face turned, slow and deliberate, until his lips brushed the side of her neck—just the lightest graze. He felt her pulse flutter beneath the skin, rapid and alive. He lingered there, nose tracing the delicate line of her throat, inhaling the warmth rising from her cleavage. The nighty’s neckline had slipped lower in their embrace; the soft swell of her breasts pressed against him, the deep valley between them exposed, skin silky and fever-hot in the humid dark.
He pressed his lips there—soft, reverent, almost innocent at first. A gentle kiss to the side of her neck, right where the skin met the hollow of her collarbone. Kavya’s breath hitched, a tiny sound escaping her. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her hand on his chest curled tighter into his kurta, fingers trembling. Feroz’s control frayed.
Feroz groaned low in his throat—a sound he couldn’t suppress.
He rolled them slowly, carefully, until she was beneath him.
The mattress dipped under his weight. He braced himself on his forearms so he didn’t crush her, but their bodies aligned perfectly
He looked down at her in the absolute dark, unable to see her face but feeling every shuddering breath, every tremble of her body beneath him. His face hovered above hers, lips brushing her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth.
His face found the side of her neck first—cheek brushing skin, stubble scbanging lightly. He inhaled deeply, nose pressed to the warm hollow beneath her ear, breathing her in like a man starved. The scent was intoxicating: jasmine shampoo, the faint floral soap she used, the natural musk of her skin warmed by fear and closeness. He turned his head slowly, nose dragging along the curve of her throat, lips parting to let hot breath wash over her pulse point.
Kavya whimpered—soft, involuntary.
Long, slow inhales—nose dragging along the delicate curve of her throat, lips parted but not touching, only the faintest brush of his lower lip against her skin as he exhaled hot breath over her pulse point. He felt it flutter beneath his nose, rapid and alive, a tiny drumbeat of fear and something else. He moved to the other side, nose tracing the opposite line of her neck, inhaling deeply again—jasmine, skin, the subtle salt of her collarbone. His stubble grazed her softly, a rough whisper against smooth flesh.
Kavya sighed—a small, trembling sound—and tilted her head slightly, offering more without words. Her hand on his chest curled tighter into his kurta, fingers trembling. She didn’t pull away. She pressed closer, her breasts flattening against him, nipples hardening through the thin nighty, hips shifting just enough to nestle her core against the growing hardness of him.
Feroz groaned low in his throat—a sound he couldn’t suppress.
He buried his face deeper into the hollow of her neck, nose pressing firmly against the soft skin, inhaling her scent in long, greedy pulls. His lips hovered, parted, hot breath washing over her pulse, then lower—down the line of her throat to the deep valley of her cleavage. He nuzzled there, nose sliding into the shadowed cleft between her breasts, breathing in the warm, intimate perfume trapped there: skin, faint sweat, the sweet floral lotion she always dabbed between them. His stubble scbangd lightly along the upper swells, leaving faint red trails on her pale skin. He turned his head side to side, nose dragging slowly through the deep cleavage, inhaling every inch, every curve, every secret scent.
Kavya’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her back arched slightly, pressing her breasts higher, offering more of that shadowed valley.
Feroz’s hands flexed on her lower back, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her hips, pulling her tighter against him. His nose stayed buried in her cleavage, breathing her in like oxygen, lips brushing but never closing, never kissing—only the slow, deliberate drag of open mouth and hot breath, tasting her without tasting, teasing without taking.
The storm outside matched the one building inside—thunder shaking the walls, lightning flashing in blinding white bursts through the curtains, illuminating them for split seconds: her head thrown back, throat exposed, breasts heaving, nighty bunched at her waist.
“Tell me to stop, beta,” he whispered, voice rough, trembling with the effort of restraint. “Say the word and I’ll go.”
Silence.
Feroz groaned low in his throat—a raw, broken sound—and finally settled his full weight on top of her.
Feroz’s control snapped.
He began with slow, deliberate pecks.
First the right side of her neck—soft, closed-lip kisses just below her ear, each one lingering longer than the last. His lips pressed gently, then firmer, tasting the salt of her skin, the rapid flutter of her pulse. He moved down the curve of her throat, pecking slowly, methodically, each kiss a tiny burst of heat. Then back up, tracing the same path, lips brushing, pressing, sucking lightly at the tender spot where neck met shoulder.
He switched to the left side—kissing along the line of her pulse, then lower, pecking the upper swell of her breast just above the neckline of her nighty. His stubble scbangd lightly, leaving faint red trails on her pale skin. He kissed the deep valley of her cleavage, lips open now, tongue flicking out to taste the shadowed skin between her breasts. Each peck was slow, reverent, possessive—lips closing briefly, then releasing with a soft, wet sound, breath hot and ragged against her.
Feroz’s lips had been hovering, brushing, tasting the side of her neck in slow, reverent pecks—each one soft, deliberate, a quiet confession in the roaring darkness. The storm outside was at its peak: thunder shaking the walls, lightning flashing white through the curtains in blinding bursts, rain hammering the roof like a thousand drums. Inside the room, the only sounds were their ragged breathing, the wet slide of lips on skin, and the soft rustle of cotton as their bodies shifted.
In one instinctive, breathless flow, her hands slid up from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, nails scbanging his scalp. She pulled him down—harder, closer—pressing his face firmly into the curve of her neck.
Feroz groaned against her skin, a low, broken sound that vibrated through her.
The moment her fingers tightened in his hair, his control shattered completely.
He buried his face deeper into her neck, lips opening fully, kissing passionately now—open-mouthed, wet, hungry. His tongue traced the line of her pulse, slow and deliberate, then flicked out to lap at the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. He sucked gently at the skin there, pulling it between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp and arch beneath him. His stubble scbangd deliciously, leaving faint red trails on her pale throat.
He moved lower—kissing a slow, burning path down the side of her neck to the deep valley of her cleavage. His nose dipped into the shadowed cleft between her breasts, inhaling her scent—jasmine, sweat, arousal—while his lips pressed open-mouthed kisses along the upper swells.
Kavya moaned—loud, raw, unashamed—her head falling back against the pillow, throat exposed, offering more
Every kiss was deeper, hungrier—lips parting wide, tongue tracing, sucking, tasting. His stubble scbangd deliciously, leaving trails of fire on her skin. His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the nighty, feeling the weight, the heat.
Feroz switched to the left side of her neck, mirroring the path: tongue tracing the delicate tendon, lips sucking softly at the skin just above her pulse, nose nuzzling the warm hollow beneath her jaw. He inhaled deeply again, nose pressed firmly against her throat, breathing her in like a man who had finally found water after years in the desert. His tongue flicked out, tasting the faint salt at the base of her neck, then dragged upward in a long, wet stripe that ended with a gentle suck at the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Kavya moaned—low, needy, unashamed. Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, nails digging in, pulling him tighter against her. She went with the flow completely, body yielding, hips shifting slightly but not grinding—only pressing closer, seeking the solid warmth of him.
Feroz’s mouth had worshipped every inch of her neck and the upper swells of her cleavage for what felt like an eternity—slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses that left her skin glistening in the dark, faint red marks blooming where his lips had sucked and his stubble had scbangd. Kavya’s breaths were shallow, broken, her body trembling beneath him.
He lifted his head slowly, reluctantly, nose dragging one final path along her throat until his lips hovered above hers. In the absolute darkness, he couldn’t see her face, but he felt her—felt the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her hardened nipples pressed insistently against his chest through the thin cotton of her nighty, two stiff peaks that betrayed how aroused she was.
His breath caught.
He lowered his head again, but this time he moved lower—lips brushing the deep neckline, then pressing firmly over the soft swell of her right breast through the fabric. The satin was damp from his earlier kisses, clinging to her skin, outlining the full curve. He kissed there—slow, deliberate—lips sealing over the mound, tongue flicking out to trace the hardened nipple beneath the cotton. He sucked gently at first, then harder, pulling the peak into his mouth through the nighty, tongue swirling around it in tight, wet circles.
Kavya gasped—sharp, stunned, pleasure so intense it bordered on shock. Her back arched off the bed, pushing her breast deeper into his mouth, a broken moan tearing from her throat. She had never felt anything like this—never imagined the quiet, gentle man she called Papa could be so hungry, so focused, so utterly devoted to her pleasure. His mouth was relentless—sucking, licking, nipping lightly through the fabric—until the cotton grew soaked around her nipple, the sensation amplified by the wet friction.
He switched to the left breast, repeating the worship—lips sealing, tongue swirling, sucking harder, drawing out another sharp cry from her. Kavya’s hands flew to his hair, tugging, holding him there.
Feroz groaned against her breast, the sound vibrating through her. He was hard as iron beneath his pajamas—painfully, throbbing hard—his arousal pressed against her inner thigh, hot and insistent, but he made no move to grind or thrust.
This was about her, about tasting her, about worshipping the body he had only seen in stolen photos until tonight. Having her beneath him—real, warm, moaning—was a dream he had never dared fully admit to himself, and now it was happening, and it was driving him mad.
After long minutes—perhaps ten, perhaps more—he lifted his head again, breathing ragged. His lips found her shoulder—the bare one where the strap had already slipped. He kissed there softly at first, then sucked gently at the smooth skin, tongue tracing the delicate bone. His hand slid up her arm, fingers brushing the inside of her elbow, then higher, until he reached her wrist. He lifted her arm slowly, guiding it above her head, then the other, holding both wrists loosely in one large hand against the pillow.
Kavya’s breath hitched at the gentle restraint.
He lowered his mouth to the exposed underside of her raised arm—kissing the soft, smooth skin of her inner bicep, then higher, to the tender hollow of her armpit. It was slightly damp from the heat and the intensity of the moment—warm, salty, intimate. Feroz inhaled deeply, nose pressed to the silky skin, then kissed there—slow, open-mouthed, tongue flicking out to taste the faint sheen of sweat. He sucked gently, lips sealing over the sensitive hollow, tongue swirling in slow circles.
Kavya whimpered—high, needy, stunned by the intimacy of it. No one had ever kissed her there, never mind with such reverence. Her body trembled, hips shifting restlessly beneath him.
He moved to the other armpit—same slow worship: inhaling her scent, kissing the damp skin, tongue tracing, lips sucking gently. His free hand slid down her side, fingers brushing the outer curve of her breast, then lower, resting on her hip again, thumb stroking the bare skin just above her panties.
After what felt like forever—kissing her neck, her cleavage, her shoulders, her armpits—he finally lifted his head, breathing hard against her ear.
He shifted his weight carefully, slowly settling fully between her spread thighs.
His hips pressed down, the thick, iron-hard length of him nestling firmly against her core through the thin layers of their clothes—his pajamas, her soaked panties. The pressure was immediate, intimate, overwhelming. Kavya’s breath caught on a sharp gasp.
Feroz groaned low against her neck—the sound raw, animalistic, vibrating through her skin. He began to move—slow, steady humping, hips rolling in a gentle, deliberate rhythm. Each forward motion dragged his hardness along her slick folds through the fabric, teasing her clit with every pass, building a slow, burning friction that made her thighs tremble.
Kavya felt it all—the heat of him, the unyielding thickness, the controlled power behind every roll of his hips. She had never imagined Feroz like this—never pictured the quiet, gentle man she called Papa capable of such restrained ferocity. There was an animalistic strength in him, a deep, primal hunger that made her feel small and claimed beneath him. Her hands clutched his back, nails digging into his kurta, pulling him closer even as her mind screamed for her to stop.
“Papa…” she whispered, voice shaking. “Stoppp…”
But her body betrayed her words—hips lifting to meet his slow thrusts.
Feroz heard her—registered the plea—but his control was fraying.
He groaned again, deeper this time, the sound muffled against her neck. His lips sucked harder at the tender skin just below her ear, tongue swirling over the pulse point, teeth grazing lightly. His hips rolled again—slow, deep—grinding against her with more insistence.
“Stoppp…” Kavya breathed again, voice weaker, almost a moan. Her hands clutched him tighter, fingers twisting in his kurta, body arching into him even as she tried to calm him. “Papa… please…”
But the word “please” only fueled him.
Feroz’s hand slid down her left thigh, fingers curling around the soft skin behind her knee. He lifted her leg slowly, hooking it higher over his hip, opening her wider. The new angle pressed him deeper against her core—his hardness sliding along her soaked panties, nudging her clit with every slow roll.
Kavya gasped—sharp, stunned—pleasure spiking through her like lightning.
He leaned in more, chest pressing her breasts flat, mouth returning to her neck—kissing, sucking, tasting passionately. His hips rolled again—once, twice, three times—slow but deeper now, each thrust deliberate, powerful, claiming.
On the fourth deep thrust, Kavya’s body jerked, a choked cry tearing from her throat. She felt his strength—raw, unyielding, the way his body caged hers, the way his hips drove against her with controlled force. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, terrifying in its intensity.
“Papa… stop…” she whispered again, voice breaking, hands clutching him desperately. “Please… calm down…”
Feroz froze.
His mouth stilled against her neck, breath hot and ragged against her skin. His hips stilled, pressed hard against her, throbbing with need. For a long moment he didn’t move—body tense, trembling with the effort of restraint.
Then slowly—agonizingly—he relaxed.
They lay like that in silence—bodies still pressed close.
The storm outside began to quiet—rain softening to a steady patter, thunder rumbling farther away.
Inside the room, the storm between them lingered—slow, intense, unresolved.

[masti.bhai]

Proud to be the first commentor on the latest installment.
It's terrific slow burning erotica.
Way to go to.
Hungry for more, as usual.

[PELURI]

it simply was worth the long wait...mind blowing

[momass]

when ever i see update i will demand justice for rahul

#justice_for_rahul

[Ayush01111]

We want justice for rahul we need entry of rahul in kavya life to finiah danish let make rahul danish new boss and supress him

[PELURI]

when ever i see update i will demand justice for rahul

#justice_for_rahul

I am with you Bro !

[Chennaiboy]

 WAITING IS WORTHFULL. WAHT A FANTASTIC BUILD UP. WORDERFULL STORY TELLER. EXPECTING A QUICK FOLLOW UP

[Ritoo]

I am totally with author no need for Rahul he can go any other any other way why are so many readers need Rahul this story is totally adultery fantasy the beauty of authors skill between Danish and Kavya two more characters Trisha and Karan entry is so good show that beauty of authors skill carry on but need early update now it's time for Trisha And Danish encounter keep it up.

[Paty@123]

She was unable to control and if not that time,she will surrender herself in next attempt, she is already waiting herself, early update is appreciated

[Ritoo]

Nice ?

[John446]

I hope you guys liked the new update, please comment your favorite scene your favorite parts of the story it will motivate me to write more long updates. THNAK YOU

[Ritoo]

I hope you guys liked the new update, please comment your favorite scene your favorite parts of the story it will motivate me to write more long updates. THNAK YOU

Please don't stop both of them to complete but I think it's your beauty where you break keep it up now trasha and Danish time

[Astroboy11]

Good work with the new update John446. You have brought us to the culmination of another arc - that of Feroz and Kavya. There had been ample build-up and that has led to this. The one thing I have to say is that there is still control and willpower within both that is holding things back. There was no surrender of morality like with the previous infidelity. This could be due to differing personalities between Feroz and Danish, age and maturity etc. But its not like Kavya to shy away from physical intimacy with a person she has built up an emotional connection. She doesn't strike me as the type to have had learned impulse control. Besides, us readers are here for the thrill of the illicit. I say stop holding back and unleash the whore.

I would like to remind the other readers that we have an author who is willing to continue writing. As much as I am in camp Rahul, we shouldn't nag to such a degree that the author abandons the story. Let this story arc continue. If the author decides to bring Rahul back for a last hurrah or decides to give him closure, then let him do so in time. Unlike Kavya, lets appreciate what we have.

[John446]

CHAPTER – 78


Feroz had been a widower for years. In all those years, he had never sought companionship, never allowed himself the intimacy of another woman. It wasn't just grief; it was a self-imposed vow of sorts—a quiet devotion to Aisha's memory, a belief that no one could replace the softness of her touch, the warmth of her body in their bed. He had buried his desires deep, channeling them into work, poetry, and family. Sex had become a distant echo, something from another life, controlled and forgotten.
The sexual tension with Kavya had built in layers. The kitchen brushes, the veranda chais, the power-cut nights where boundaries blurred. He felt it in every shared silence, every time their eyes met a little too long. It was hard for him to control—years of celibacy had left him starved, and Kavya’s youth, her softness, her unwitting sensuality, was like rain on parched earth. He prayed for strength, but the animal inside him stirred stronger each day.
The storm outside had begun to fade, the thunder retreating to distant rumbles, the rain softening from a furious assault to a steady, lulling patter against the roof. Inside the room, the absolute darkness felt heavier now—oppressive, intimate, a blanket that trapped their shared breaths and the lingering heat of their bodies. Feroz lay on his side beside Kavya, his arm still dbangd loosely around her waist, her head resting on his shoulder, their legs tangled beneath the thin sheet. The nighty was still bunched at her waist, her bare thighs pressed against his pajama-clad ones, the damp fabric of her panties a silent reminder of how close they had come to crossing the final line.
Neither spoke for what felt like an eternity. The only sounds were their breathing: his deep and ragged, hers shallow and unsteady. Feroz stared into the blackness, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, guilt crashing over him in waves that made his stomach churn. He was sixty-two—a man who had lived a life of honour, of quiet devotion to family, of burying desires that had no place in his world. Kavya was his bahu, his son's wife, a girl he had welcomed into the family with open arms, treated like a daughter. Yet here he was, lying beside her after tasting her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling her body arch beneath him. The memory of her moans, the way her thighs had trembled, the forbidden thrill of her cleavage under his lips—it all flooded back, making his hardness throb painfully against his pajamas, even now. He wanted to roll away, to leave the room, to pray for forgiveness until dawn. But his arm stayed around her, fingers lightly tracing the curve of her hip without meaning to, the tension in his body like a coiled spring, hard to control after months of slow-building desire. Those accidental photos had been the spark—the way he had traced her curves in secret every other night, the guilt feeding the fire until it burned out of control. Tonight, with the storm and the darkness, the line had blurred too far. He felt ashamed, a deep, gnawing shame that made his throat tight. "Ya ,.'," he whispered in his mind, "what have I done?"
Kavya lay curled against him, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath her palm. She stared into the dark, eyes wide, a storm of her own raging inside. Shame burned hot in her cheeks, her stomach twisting with guilt.
This was her father-in-law, the man who had welcomed her into the family with kindness, who told her stories during power cuts, who protected her secrets like the photos she had accidentally sent. He was her father's age, a man of respect, of quiet strength. How had she let this happen? How had she pulled him closer, moaned under his mouth, arched into his kisses? The thought made her want to curl into a ball and disappear. She was married to Danish—her husband, her love—and yet here she was, lying half-naked beside his father, her body still humming with the pleasure of his touch. Guilt clawed at her, sharp and unrelenting, making her eyes sting with unshed tears. She should get up, ask him to leave, pray for forgiveness. But deep inside, buried under the shame, was something else—a quiet, forbidden awe. She had never experienced anything like this with a man her father's age: the raw strength in his body, the way he had worshipped her neck with such hunger and care, the animalistic power simmering beneath his gentle exterior. It was intense, overwhelming, a mix of tenderness and ferocity that left her breathless. Danish was loving, passionate, but this was different—deeper, more primal, like being claimed by a force she didn’t know existed. She felt ashamed for the thought, guilty for the way her body still ached for more, but she couldn’t deny it.
The power cut stretching on like an endless night. The air was still thick and humid, heavy with the scent of wet earth seeping through the windows, mingled with the jasmine from Kavya’s hair and the faint musk of their shared heat. Feroz lay on his back, one arm wrapped around Kavya’s shoulders, holding her gently against his side. Her head rested on his chest, ear pressed to the steady thud of his heart. Her hand lay flat on his stomach, fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his kurta, as if anchoring herself to him. His free hand rested on her upper arm, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over the smooth, bare skin—gentle, reassuring, a quiet rhythm to calm the lingering echoes of her fear.
Kavya nestled closer, her body soft and yielding against his, breaths slow and even now. The terror of the darkness had ebbed, but it lingered in the back of her mind like shadows in the corners of the room.
But tonight, with Feroz beside her, the fear had transformed into something manageable. She felt his caring in every gentle touch, every whispered reassurance. Despite what had happened between them—the slow, intense kisses on her neck, the way his mouth had worshipped her skin—he had stopped when she asked, had pulled back with trembling restraint. It showed a maturity she had always admired in him, a self-control that made her feel safe, protected, even in this vulnerable moment.
He was a man her father's age, wise and steady, yet his presence was a comforting anchor—caring, patient, always putting her needs first. Deep inside, beneath the guilt, she felt a quiet gratitude: no one else had ever calmed her like this, held her through the fear without judgment, made the darkness feel less like an enemy and more like a shared secret.
Feroz stared into the blackness, his heart still racing, body tense with the effort of restraint. His arm around her was loose but secure, holding her gently, fingers lightly stroking her shoulder as if to remind himself she was safe. The guilt was a knife in his chest—sharp, twisting. He was her father-in-law, a man who had vowed to protect her like a daughter, yet tonight he had let desire take over, had tasted her neck with a hunger he hadn't felt in years since his Wife’s death.
It was hard for him to control now; his hardness still throbbed against her thigh, aching for release, his mind replaying the way her skin had tasted, the soft moans she had made. But he held back—mature, self-controlled, knowing one more move could shatter everything. He cared for her deeply—beyond the forbidden desire, he saw her as family, as the light in his son's life, and that caring made him pull back, made him whisper soothing words even as his body screamed for more.
"Shhh, beta," he murmured again, voice low and steady, though it trembled slightly. "The storm is passing. Close your eyes. I'm right here."
she whispered, voice soft and vulnerable. "You always make me feel safe… even in the dark. No one else ever has."
He swallowed hard, guilt deepening—guilt for the way he had pushed, for the hunger that still simmered beneath his skin. "That's what family is for," he replied, his hand moving to stroke her hair gently, fingers threading through the soft waves. "You're like a daughter to me. I'll always protect you." She felt the truth in his words—the caring, the maturity.
It was 4:17 AM when the first faint gray light began to seep through the heavy curtains of Kavya's bedroom, turning the absolute blackness into a murky twilight. The storm had long since quieted—rain reduced to a soft drizzle, thunder a distant memory, the wind now a gentle sigh against the windows. The power was still out, the room cool and heavy with humidity
Feroz shifted slightly, his arm tightening around her for a moment before loosening. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and began to slide his hand away from her arm. "Beta… it's almost morning. The storm is over. I should go."
Kavya's eyes snapped open at the movement. She lifted her head from his chest.
He paused, lying back down fully, their faces now inches apart in the dim gray light seeping through the curtains. They looked into each other's eyes—his dark and conflicted, filled with guilt and lingering desire; hers wide and ashamed, but soft with gratitude and something unspoken.
For long minutes—perhaps five, perhaps ten—they just stayed like that, gazes locked. Feroz's eyes searched hers, then flicked down to her lips—soft, parted, still swollen from the intensity of the night. Then lower, to the deep cleavage exposed by her slipped neckline, the soft swells of her breasts rising and falling with her breaths, nipples still hardened against the thin fabric. He did it a few times—eyes drifting from hers to her lips to her cleavage—each glance longer than the last. It was hard for him—the desire still burned, his hardness aching, the softness of her body pressed against him a constant temptation. Guilt clawed at him, but the pull was stronger, his breath growing ragged again.
Kavya noticed—felt his gaze like a touch, heat blooming in her cheeks, her stomach twisting with shame. She knew she should look away, adjust her nighty, push him out. But she didn’t. Instead, her tongue darted out unconsciously, moistening her lips, a small, nervous gesture that made her heart race. She didn’t know what would happen next—didn’t know if she wanted it to stop or continue.
The guilt made her whisper in her mind, "This is wrong… he's Papa…" but the caring she felt from him—the way he had calmed her fear, held her through the night—made her stay still, eyes locked on his.
Feroz leaned in slowly—hesitant, inevitable.
His lips brushed her cheek first—a soft, gentle kiss meant as a goodmorning.
But he remained there, face hovering inches from hers, eyes still locked, breaths mingling. The kiss on her cheek lingered, his lips not fully pulling away, stubble grazing her softly.
Then he leaned down again—slowly, deliberately—and pecked her neck one more time.
What started as a single, soft peck turned into more.
His lips pressed to the side of her neck, parting slightly, tongue flicking out to taste the skin he had worshipped earlier. The peck deepened—lips sucking gently, then harder, tongue swirling over the pulse point in slow, wet circles. He moved to the other side, kissing passionately, lips open, tongue tracing the delicate tendon, sucking the tender flesh until she gasped. His stubble scbangd deliciously, leaving faint red marks. The kisses lasted a few minutes—passionate, unrelenting—his mouth devouring both sides of her neck, then dipping lower to her cleavage. Lips sealing over the upper swells of her breasts, tongue swirling over the soft skin, sucking lightly at the inner curves through the nighty. He kissed the deep valley between them, nose nuzzling, lips parting wide to taste every inch.
Kavya’s breath hitched, a soft moan escaping her. Her hands clutched his hair again, pulling him closer without thinking.
After a while—perhaps five minutes, perhaps more—he finally stopped, lifting his head with a shuddering breath.
And after a while he left the room leaving kavya laying on the bed breathing heavy.

[momass]

I am totally with author no need for Rahul he can go any other any other way why are so many readers need Rahul this story is totally adultery fantasy the beauty of authors skill between Danish and Kavya two more characters Trisha and Karan entry is so good show that beauty of authors skill carry on but need early update now it's time for Trisha And Danish encounter keep it up.

we are also not against the author ,but people like you who just read story completely in just one go can not understand the feeling and emotions

read again and but this time slowly and with interest then you can feel the pain ,he was a very loving person ,loved his wife too much ,and was doing harddwork his wife happiness and family ,but what he got ,betrayed by his wife and his friend ??

we are emotionally connected to rahul , and and all we want just justice 

#justice_for_rahul

[Chennaiboy]

 WHAT A BUILD UP. NEED A SIMULTANEOUS SIDE BY SIDE STORY OF DT AND FK . DONT TAKE TOO MUCH TIME STARVING THE TABOO LOVERS. LET THEM