LOVE BIRDS (New Update*)

[naruto9211]

 

 Innocence:
 
I know you hate surprises, Ayesha. In the interests of communicating our expectations and providing you a reasonable timeline, you should know we’re ready for grandchildren.”
 
Ayesha Naz’s gaze jumped from her breakfast up to her mother’s gracefully aging face. A subtle application of makeup drew attention to battle-ready, coffee-colored eyes. That boded ill for Ayesha. When her mother got something into her mind, she was like a honey badger with a vendetta—pugnacious and tenacious, but without the snarling and fur.
 
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ayesha said.
 
Shock gave way to rapid-fire, panic-scrambled thoughts. Grandchildren meant babies. And diapers. Mountains of diapers. Exploding diapers. And babies cried,that even the best sound-canceling headphones couldn’t buffer. How did they cry so long and hard when they were so little? Plus, babies meant husbands. Husbands meant boyfriends. Boyfriends meant dating. Dating meant sex. She shuddered.
 
“You’re thirty, Ayesha dear. We’re concerned that you’re still single. Have you tried Tinder?”
She grabbed her water and gulped down a mouthful, accidentally swallowing an ice cube. After clearing her throat, she said, “No. I haven’t tried it.”
 
The very thought of Tinder—and the corresponding dating it aimed to deliver—caused her to break out in a sweat. She hated everything about dating: the departure from her comfortable routine, the conversation that was by turns inane and baffling, and again, the sex . . .
Her mother’s voice brightened with obvious interest. “That’s wonderful, beta. Your father and I were just saying last week how happy we’d be if you finally brought someone home. You know we don’t care about all that old nonsense — caste, religion, nothing. Your father is Rizwan, a proud Shia '. from a traditional family, and I’m Priya, a Sindhi ***** girl from the building next door. We were neighbours, fell in love, and fought the world together. If we could make it work, anyone can.”
Ayesha smiled softly. Her parents had always been like this — liberal at heart, even when the rest of the extended family raised eyebrows.
Priya continued warmly, “We gave you full permission long ago to follow your heart, Ayesha. Whether the boy is '., *****, Christian, from any state — as long as he treats you well and respects you, we are happy. No pressure for ‘same community’ shaadi. We just want you to be happy and not alone anymore.”
 
 
“I’ve been offered a promotion,” she said, hoping it would distract her mother.
 
“Another one?” her father asked, lowering his copy of the Economic Times so his wire-framed glasses were visible. “You were just promoted two quarters ago. That’s phenomenal.”
 
Ayesha perked up and scooted to the edge of her seat. “Our newest client—a large online vendor who shall remain nameless—provided the most amazing datasets, and I get to play with them all day. I designed an algorithm to help with some of their purchase suggestions. Apparently, it’s working better than expected.”
 
“When is the new promotion effective?” her father asked.
 
“Well . . .I didn’t accept the promotion. It was a principal statistician position that would have had five direct analysts beneath me and require much more client interaction. I just want to work on the data.”
 
Her mother batted that statement away with a negligent wave of her hand. “You’re getting complacent, Ayesha. If you stop challenging yourself, you’re not going to make any more improvement with your social skills. That reminds me, are there any coworkers at your company who you’d like to date?”
 
Her father set his newspaper down and folded his hands over his rounded belly. “Yes, what about that one fellow, Hameed mirza? When we met him at your last company get-together, he seemed nice enough.”
 
Her mother’s hands fluttered to her mouth like pigeons homing in on bread crumbs. “Oh, why didn’t I think of him? He was so polite. And easy on the eyes, too.”
 
“He’s okay, I guess.” Ayesha ran her fingertips over the condensation on her water glass. To be honest, she’d considered Hameed. He was conceited and abrasive, but he was a direct speaker. She really liked that in people. “I think he has several personality disorders.”
 
Her mother patted Ayesha’s hand. Instead of putting it back in her lap when she was done, she rested it over Ayesha’s knuckles. “Maybe he’ll be a good match for you, then, dear. With issues of his own to overcome, he might be more understanding of your Asperger’s.”
 
Though the words were spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, they sounded unnatural and loud to Ayesha’s ears. A quick glance at the neighboring tables in the restaurant’s canopied outdoor dining area reassured her that no one had heard, and she stared down at the hand on top of hers, consciously refraining from yanking it away. Uninvited touches irritated her, and her mother knew it. She did it to “acclimate” her. Mostly, it drove Ayesha crazy. Was it possible Hameed could understand that?
 
“I’ll think about him,” Ayesha said, and meant it. She hated lying and prevaricating even more than she hated sex. And, at the end of the day, she wanted to make her mother proud and happy. No matter what Ayesha did, she was always a few steps short of being successful in her mother’s eyes and therefore her own, too. A boyfriend would do that, she knew. The problem was she couldn’t keep a man for the life of her.
 
Her mother beamed. “Excellent. The next dinner I’m arranging is in a couple months on your fathers birthday, and I want you to bring a date this time. I’d love to see Mr.Hameed attending with you, but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone.”
 
Ayesha thinned her lips. Her latest sexual experience had been with one of her mother’s blind dates. He is Aswin.. He’d been good-looking—she had to give him that—but his sense of humor had confused her. With him being a venture capitalist and her being an economist, they should have had a lot in common, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about his actual work. Instead, he’d preferred to discuss office politics and manipulation tactics, leaving her so lost she’d been certain the date was a failure.
 
When he’d straight-out asked her if she wanted to have sex with him, she’d been caught completely off guard. Because she hated to say no, she’d said yes. There’d been kissing, which she didn’t enjoy. He’d tasted like the lamb he’d had for dinner. She didn’t like lamb. His cologne had nauseated her, and he’d touched her all over. As it always did in intimate situations, her body had locked down. Before she knew it, he’d finished. He’d discarded his used condom in the trash can next to the hotel room’s desk—that had bothered her; surely he should know things like that went in the bathroom?—told her she needed to loosen up, and left. She could only imagine how disappointed her mother would be if she knew what a disaster her daughter was with men.
 
And now her mother wanted babies, too.
 
Ayesha got to her feet and gathered her purse. “I need to go to work now.” While she was ahead on all her deadlines, need was still the right word for it. Work fascinated her, channeled the furious craving in her brain. It was also thebangutic.
 
“That’s my girl,” her father said, standing up and brushing off his silk kurta before hugging her. “You’re going to own that place before long.”
 
As she gave him a quick hug—she didn’t mind touching when she initiated it or had time to mentally prepare for it—she breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave. Why couldn’t all men be just like her father? He thought she was beautiful and brilliant, and his smell didn’t make her sick.
 
“You know her work is an unhealthy obsession, Rizwan. Don’t encourage her,” her mother said before she switched her attention to Ayesha and heaved a maternal sigh. “You should be out with people on the weekend. If you met more men, I know you’d find the right one.”
 
Her father pressed a cool kiss to her temple and whispered, “I wish I were working, too.”
 
Ayesha shook her head at him as her mother embraced her. The ropes of her mother’s ever-present pearls pressed into Ayesha’s sternum, and Chanel No. 5 swirled around her. She tolerated the cloying scent for three long seconds before stepping back.
 
“I’ll see you both next weekend. I love you. Bye.”
 
She waved at her parents before exiting the ‘Tresind’ restaurant and walked down sidewalks lined with palm trees and upscale shops. After three sunny blocks, she reached a low-rise office building in the Bandra-Kurla Complex that housed her favorite place in the world: her office. The left corner window on the third floor belonged to her.
 
The lock on the front door clicked open when she held her purse up to the sensor, and she strode into the empty building, enjoying the solitary echo of her high heels on the marble as she passed the vacant reception desk and stepped into the elevator.
 
Inside her office, she initiated her most beloved routine. First, she powered on her computer and entered her password into the prompt screen. As all the software booted up, she plopped her purse in her desk drawer and went to fill her cup with water from the kitchen. Her shoes came off, and she placed them in their regular spot under her desk. She sat.
 
Power, password, purse, water, shoes, sit. Always this order.
 
Statistics Analysis System, otherwise known as SAS, automatically loaded, and the three monitors on her desk filled with streams of data. Purchases, clicks, log-in times, payment types—simple things, really. But they told her more about people than people themselves ever did. She stretched out her fingers and set them on the black ergonomic keyboard, eager to lose herself in her work.
 
“Oh hi, Ayesha, I thought it might be you.”
 
She looked over her shoulder and was jarred by the unwelcome view of hameed peering around the door frame. The severe cut of his tawny hair emphasized his square jaw, and his polo shirt was tight across his chest. He looked fresh, sophisticated, and smart—precisely the kind of man her parents wanted for her. And he’d caught her working for pleasure on the weekend.
 
Her face heated, and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
 
“What are you doing here?”
 
“I had to pick up something that I forgot yesterday.” He extracted a box from a shopping bag and waved it at her. Ayesha caught sight of the word MANFORCE in giant letters. “Have a nice weekend. I know I will.”
 
Breakfast with her parents raced through her mind. Grandchildren, Hameed, the prospect of more blind dates, being successful. She licked her lips and hurried to say something, anything. “Did you really need an economy-sized box of those?”
 
As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced.
 
He smirked his asshole smirk, but its annoyingness was softened by a show of strong white teeth. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to need half of these tonight since the boss’s new intern asked me out.”
 
Ayesha was impressed despite herself. The new girl looked so shy. Who would have thought she was so gutsy? “For dinner?”
 
“And more, I think,” he said with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
 
“Why did you wait for her to ask you out? Why didn’t you ask her first?” She’d gotten the impression men liked to be initiators in matters like these. Was she wrong?
 
With impatient motions, Hameed stuffed an entire militia of ‘Manforce’ back in his shopping bag. “She’s fresh out of undergrad. I didn’t want to get accused of cradle robbing. Besides, I like girls who know what they want and go for it . . . especially in bed.” He swept an appraising gaze from her feet to her face, smiling like he could see through her clothes, and she stiffened with self-consciousness. “Tell me, are you still a virgin, Ayesha?”
 
She turned back to her computer screens, but the data refused to make sense. The cursor on the programming screen blinked. “It’s none of your business, but no, I’m not a virgin.”
 
He walked into her office, leaned a hip against her desk, and considered her in a skeptical manner. She adjusted her glasses even though they didn’t need it. “So our star statistician has ‘done it’ before. How many times? Three?”
 
No way was she going to tell him he’d guessed correctly. “None of your business, Hameed.”
 
“I bet you just lie there and run linear recursions in your head while a man does his business. Am I right, Ms. Ayesha?”
 
Ayesha would totally do that if she could figure out how to input gigabytes of data into her brain, but she’d rather die than admit it.
 
“A word of advice from a man who’s been around the block a few times: Get some practice. When you’re good at it, you like it better, and when you like it better, men like you better.” He pushed away from the desk and headed for the door, his bag of condoms swinging jauntily at his side. “Enjoy your endless week.”
 
As soon as he left, Ayesha stood up and shoved her door shut, using more force than was necessary. The door slammed with a hard, vibrating bang, and her heart stuttered. She smoothed damp hands over her pencil skirt as she brought her breathing back under control. When she sat down at her desk, she was too jittery to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.
 
Was Hameed right? Did she dislike sex because she was bad at it? Would practice really make perfect? What a beguiling concept. Maybe sex was just another interpersonal thing she needed to exert extra efforts on—like casual conversation, eye contact, and etiquette.
 
But how exactly did you practice sex? It wasn’t like men were throwing themselves at her like women apparently did to Hameed. When she did manage to sleep with a man, he was so put off by the lackluster experience that once was more than enough for both of them.
 
Also, this was Mumbai, the kingdom of tech geniuses and scientists in the Bandra-Kurla Complex. The single men available were probably as hopeless in bed as she was. With her luck, she’d sleep with a statistically significant population of them and have nothing to show for it but crotch burn and STDs.
 
No, what Ayesha needed was a professional.
 
Not only were they certified disease-free, but they had proven track records. At least, she assumed so. That was how she’d run things if she were in that business. Regular men were incentivized by things like personality, humor, and hot sex—things she didn’t have. Professionals were incentivized by money. Ayesha happened to have a lot of money.
 
Instead of working on her shiny new dataset, Ayesha opened up her browser and Googled “Mumbai male escort service.”

[sarit11]

https://xossipy.com/thread-73823.html

duplicate

[naruto9211]

THE GAME




Which envelope should he open first? The lab results or the bill? Aditya was paranoid about protection, so the lab results should be good.

Should be. In his experience, shit didn’t need a reason to happen. Bills, on the other hand, were a sure thing. They always sucked. The only question was how hard they’d punch him in the balls.

Tensing his muscles for impact, he tore open the bill. How much was it this month? He scanned to the bottom of the itemized invoice and located the final amount. The breath trickled from his lungs before it gusted out. Not horrible. On the scale of stinging to pulverizing, he’d put this one at merely bruising.

That probably meant he’d contracted Chlamydia.

He set the bill down on top of the metal filing cabinet nestled behind his kitchen table and opened the lab results from his latest STD screening. All negative. Thank fuck. It was Friday evening again, which meant he needed to work tonight.

Time to get himself in the mind-set for fucking. Not an easy thing to do after thinking about STDs and plaguing bills. For an instant, he let himself imagine what things would be like if the bills came to an end. He’d be free at last. He could return to his old life and—shame doused him. No, he didn’t want the bills to end. He never wanted that to happen. Never.

As Aditya padded through his modest apartment in Andheri toward the bathroom and shed his clothes, he tried to revive his old enthusiasm for this job. The taboo nature of it had been enough in the beginning, but after three years of escorting, that was pretty much old hat. The revenge aspect still satisfied him, though.

Look at your only son now, Dad.

It would torment his dad if he found out Aditya was having sex for money. A thoroughly delightful thought. Not an arousing one, however. That was what fantasies were for. He mentally sifted through his favorites. What was he in the mood for tonight? Hot for Teacher? Neglected Housewife? Secret Lover?

He cranked the shower knob and waited for steam to cloud the air before climbing beneath the hot spray. A breath in, a breath out, and he readied his mind. What was the name of tonight’s client again? Riya? Ariyana? No, Ayesha. He’d bet a lakh rupees that wasn’t her real name, but whatever. She’d chosen to pay up front. He’d try to do something extra nice for her. Hot for Teacher, then.

It was his first year of college. He skipped all of his lectures but this one because Ms. Ayesha liked to drop the chalkboard eraser right by his chair. Picturing her salwar kameez riding up as she bent down to retrieve the eraser, he gripped his cock and stroked with firm motions. When class ended, he dbangd her facedown over her desk and bunched her kurta up to her waist to reveal that she wasn’t wearing panties. He plunged into her hard and fast. If someone walked in on them . . .

With a groan, he yanked his hand away before he could fly over the edge. He was primed and ready to see Ms. Ayesha outside of class.

He kept his mind locked in the fantasy as he finished with his shower, dried off, and left the bathroom to pull on jeans, a T-shirt, and a black sports coat. A quick look in the half-fogged mirror and two swipes of his fingers through his damp hair confirmed he was presentable.

Condoms, keys, wallet. Out of habit, he reread the special comments section of tonight’s assignment on his phone.

Please don’t wear deodarant.

That was easy. He didn’t like the stuff in the first place. He slipped his phone into his pocket along with everything else and left his apartment.

It wasn’t long before he parked in the underground lot of the Taj Lands End Hotel in Bandra. As he strolled into the sleek, ultramodern lobby, he made sure the lapels of his coat were down and played his usual pre-meet-and-greet game where he imagined what his new client was like.

Under Client Age for tonight, it had said thirty. He sighed and corrected the age to fifty. Anything younger than forty was always a lie—unless it was a group thing, which he didn’t do. Bachelorette parties paid well, but the idea of destroying young love depressed the hell out of him. Maybe it was pathetic, but he wanted to live in a world where brides-to-be only had sex with their grooms-to-be and vice versa. Besides, large groups of horny women were terrifying. You couldn’t defend yourself against them, and their nails were sharp.

“Ayesha” could be a pampered fifty who indulged in sweets, spas, and designer bags, was therefore decadently rounded, and preferred to be worshipped in bed—something Aditya had no problem with. She could also be a fit fifty who liked yoga, green juice, and marathon sex sessions that worked his abs better than weighted incline crunches. Or, his least favorite, she could be a hard-ass Mumbai go-getter who chose him because, with his mixed North Indian and South Indian heritage, he looked like a popular Bollywood actor. This last kind of woman inevitably reminded him of his mom, and after sleeping with them, he needed therapy with a punching bag.

Entering the hotel restaurant, he searched the dimly lit tables for a woman with dark hair and brown eyes wearing glasses. Because he’d gotten through his mail without major incident earlier, he braced himself for the worst now. His gaze skipped over tables occupied by businessmen until he saw a solitary, middle-aged woman micromanaging the waiter on how to make her salad. When she brushed manicured nails through her lightened brown hair, his stomach sank and he began walking toward her. It was going to be a long night.

No, this was the culmination of a semester’s worth of sexual tension. They both wanted this. He wanted this.

Before he could reach her, a reed-thin older man took the seat opposite her and covered her hand with his. Confused but relieved, Aditya stepped back and surveyed the restaurant again. No one was sitting alone . . . but for a girl in the far corner.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and sexy librarian-type glasses were balanced on a cute little nose. In fact, from what he could see of her, everything looked like it had been chosen from a sexy librarian cosplay. She wore neat pointed pumps, a gray pencil skirt, and a fitted white oxford shirt buttoned clear up to her throat. It was possible she was thirty, but Aditya put her at twenty-five. There was something young and wholesome about her, though her frown was rather fierce as she scrutinized the menu.

Aditya glanced about the room, searching for a hidden camera team or his friends cracking up behind the potted plants. He found neither of those things.

He closed his hands around the back of the chair across from her. “Excuse me, are you Ayesha?”

Her eyes shot to his face, and Aditya lost his train of thought. Those sexy librarian glasses showcased the most stunning pair of soft brown eyes. And her lips—they were just full enough to be tempting without detracting from her overall air of sweetness.

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong person,” he said with a smile he hoped was more apologetic and less embarrassed. There was no way a girl like this had hired an escort.

She blinked and jostled the table as she flew to her feet. “No, that’s me. You’re Aditya. I recognize you from your picture.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Ayesha Naz. Nice to meet you.”

He stared at her open expression and proffered hand for a stunned fraction of a second. This wasn’t how clients greeted him. They usually waved him into a seat with a sly curl of their lips and a sparkle in their eyes—that sparkle that said they thought they were better than him but were looking forward to what he could offer anyway. She greeted him like he was . . . an equal.

Quickly recovering from his surprise, he wrapped her slender hand in his and shook it. “Aditya. Nice to meet you, too.”

When he released her, she motioned toward his chair awkwardly. “Please, have a seat.”

He sat and watched as she perched herself on the precarious edge of her seat, her back straight as a board. She searched his face, but when he arched an eyebrow at her, she switched her focus to the menu. She adjusted the position of her glasses with a wrinkle of her nose.

“Are you hungry? I am.” Her knuckles went white as she clung to the menu. “The Thai food is good here, and the seafood. My dad likes the lamb—” Her gaze jumped to his face, and, even in the dim light, he could see her cheeks go crimson. She cleared her throat. “Maybe not the lamb.”

Because he couldn’t resist, he asked, “Why not the lamb?”

“I think it tastes woolly, and if you . . . when we . . .” She stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “All I’d be thinking about would be sheep and lambs and wool.”

“Understood,” he said with a grin.

When she stared at his mouth like she couldn’t remember what she was going to say, his grin widened. Women chose him because they liked the way he looked. Few of them responded to him like this, however. It was flattering even as it was funny.

“Are there any things you would prefer I not eat or drink?” she asked.

“No, I’m pretty easy.” He kept his voice light and tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. It had to be heartburn. Simple thoughtfulness wasn’t doing this to him.

After the waiter took their order and left, Ayesha sipped from her water glass and drew geometrical shapes in the condensation with delicate fingertips. When she noticed him watching her, she drew her hand back and sat on it, flushing like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Something about that was kind of endearing. If she hadn’t already paid, he wouldn’t believe she actually wanted this. Why did she want this? She should have a boyfriend . . . or a husband. Against his better judgment—it was best when he didn’t know—he looked at her left hand resting on the table. No ring. No sacred Mangal sutra chain.No white line.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said suddenly, pinning him with a gaze that was surprisingly direct. “It would require a commitment of sorts—for the next couple months, I imagine. I would . . . prefer . . . to have sole access to you during that time. If you’re available.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Please tell me if you’re available first.”

“I only do Friday nights.” That was non-negotiable. Escorting once a week was bad enough. If he had to do it more than that, he’d lose his fucking mind, and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. Too many people depended on him. He never scheduled repeat appointments with the same client, either. They tended to get attached, and he couldn’t stand that. But he wanted to hear what she was proposing before he declined.

“You have the next few months open, then?” she asked.

“It depends on what you’re proposing.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose and drew her shoulders back. “I’m awful at . . . what you do. But I want to get better. I think I can get better if someone would teach me. I’d like that person to be you.”

Understanding splashed over Aditya in surreal waves. She thought she was bad. At sex. And wanted lessons to improve. She wanted him to tutor her. How the hell did you teach sex?

“I think we should do a trial run before we set anything up,” Aditya hedged. She couldn’t actually be bad at sex, and she’d already paid. At the very least, he had to give her tonight.

Frowning, she nodded. “You’re absolutely right. We should establish a baseline.”

A grin tugged at his lips again. “Are you a scientist, Ayesha?”

“Oh, no. I’m an economist. More precisely, I’m a statistician.”

In Aditya’s book, that put her solidly in the brainier category, and an odd feeling ghosted up the back of his neck. Damned if he didn’t have a thing for smart girls. There was a reason why his favorite fantasy was Hot for Teacher.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“I use statistics and calculus to model economic systems. Do you know how when you buy something online they usually email you with future recommendations? I help them formulate those recommendations. It’s a very fluid and fascinating field right now.” As she spoke, she leaned toward him, and her eyes lit with excitement. Her lips curved like she was telling him a secret. About math things. “Today’s material is completely different from what I used to teach when I was in college.”

That odd feeling simmering up Aditya’s spine increased in intensity. She’d somehow gotten prettier during the course of their discussion. Brown eyes and thick lashes, pouty lips, delicate jaw, vulnerable neck. Vivid images of him unfastening the buttons of her shirt flashed in his mind.

But unlike the usual, he didn’t want to do it quickly. He didn’t want to skip straight to the fucking, get out, and go home. This girl was different. It was that spark in her eyes. He wanted to take his time and see if he could make her shine with a different kind of excitement.

His skin had gone hot and sensitive, and his pulse thrummed with eagerness. He hadn’t been this turned on in forever. And he hadn’t been fantasizing she was someone else. He reminded himself this was business. His personal wants and needs didn’t play into this at all. This assignment was just like any other, and when it was done, he’d move on to the next.

He took a deep breath and said the first thing he could think of. “Were you on the math team in high college?”

She laughed down at her water. “No.”

“Science club? Maybe it was chess club.”

“No, and no.” Her smile was a sad, barely there thing that made him wonder what high college had been like for her. Looking back up at him, she said, “Let me guess, cricket captain.”

“Nope. My dad was a firm believer that sports are stupid.”

Her brow wrinkled with a little frown. “I find that difficult to believe. You’re very . . . athletic-looking.”

“He only encouraged practical things. Like self-defense.” He hated to agree with his dad on anything, but with the family business being what it was, and his helping out with it, the techniques had come in handy when shit kids teased him.

A discovering kind of smile lit her face. “What do you do? MMA? Kung fu? Akido?”

“I’ve done a little of everything. Why do you sound like you actually know what you’re talking about?”

Her gaze dropped back down to her water. “I like martial arts movies and things like that.”

He groaned as suspicion dawned. “Don’t tell me . . . you’re a Jackie chan fan?”

She tilted her head as a smile peeked over her lips. “Yes.”

Their dinner arrived, saving him from having to respond further. She’d ordered the salmon, so he’d done the same. No way was he going to eat lamb. He snorted to himself. Woolly.

His fish was good, so he ate all of it. He suspected everything was good here. The Taj Lands End was one of Bandra’s most exclusive hotels with rooms going for a fortune. Apparently, stasticians made shitloads of money.

As he watched Ayesha pick at her dinner, however, he noticed that everything about her was understated. Her face was devoid of makeup, her nails were short and unpainted, and her clothes were simple—though they fit her perfectly.

When she set her fork down and wiped her mouth, her salmon was only half finished.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?”

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“You don’t need to be.” He was a damned good escort, and he’d take care of her. Unlike most of his assignments, he even looked forward to it.

“I know. I can’t help it. Could we just get this over with?”

His eyebrows twitched. He’d never heard someone say something like that in reference to a night with him. Changing her mind-set was going to be fun.

“All right.” He dbangd his napkin over his empty dinner plate and got to his feet. “Let’s go to your room.”

[naruto9211]

3. Intimacy


In the softly glowing intimacy of the Taj Lands End suite, where the distant lullaby of Mumbai’s waves met the warm glow of bedside lamps and the faint scent of fresh mogra flowers, Ayesha stepped inside, her heart fluttering like a caged bird longing for flight.

She placed her purse on the chair by the door and, almost without thinking, slipped off her elegant heels, arranging them neatly against the wall. The cool marble beneath her bare feet brought a tiny sigh of relief. But then doubt rushed in. Was this rude with company present? Her stomach knotted tightly, her pulse racing like the local trains during rush hour.

Aditya noticed her hesitation with a gentle, amused glance. Without a word, he kicked off his own polished black shoes and placed them neatly beside hers — a small, thoughtful act that eased something deep within her. He shrugged out of his dark jacket, revealing a simple white T-shirt that clung to his broad chest and strong arms, his jeans sitting low on his narrow hips. Ayesha couldn’t look away.

He was sculpted like the ancient warriors of legend — raw strength wrapped in graceful coordination. The finest man her eyes had ever beheld.

And tonight… they were going to be intimate.

She drew a shaky breath and walked into the luxurious bathroom, bracing her hands on the cool marble counter as she stared at her reflection. Her eyes were too wide, her face pale like moonlight on the Arabian Sea, her lips dry with nervousness. 'What was I thinking, choosing someone so strikingly handsome?' she wondered.

Yet she had chosen him after hours of searching. It was his eyes — deep brown, intense yet kind, like the quiet strength of the Gateway of India standing firm against the tides. His glowing reviews had sealed it. Now, standing here, she feared she might lose her dinner in the sink.

Through the mirror, she saw him lean against the doorway, his presence commanding yet gentle. He stepped behind her, taller without her heels, his reflection enveloping hers. “May I take your hair down?” he asked softly.

She nodded. With tender fingers, he removed her hairband, letting her dark waves tumble free over her shoulders like the monsoon rains finally released. She trembled, waiting for the moment her body would lock in familiar panic.

A dark tattoo on his bicep caught her eye. She reached out instinctively but stopped, remembering her own boundaries. “What is this?”

Aditya’s lips curved into a slow, crooked smile, revealing perfect teeth. “My tattoo.”

Heat bloomed across her skin. She had never understood tattoos before… until now. On him, it was breathtaking.

Her fingers hovered. He caught her hand gently and pressed it to his arm. A spark shot through her — electric, alive. His skin was warm, smooth over firm muscle, so very real.

“You can touch me,” he whispered, his voice like velvet. “Anywhere.”

Even as thrill coursed through her, hesitation followed. Touching felt so private. How did he offer it so freely?

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” she asked.

His smile deepened. “I like being touched.”

When she still wavered, he rolled up his sleeve himself, revealing sweeping black ink that danced across his shoulder and vanished beneath his shirt — a grand design waiting to be discovered. The swell of his muscles drew her in. She had never touched such strength before. And his scent… clean, warm, intoxicating like sandalwood and fresh rain on Mumbai’s earth. She leaned closer, breathing him in.

“You smell… incredibly good,” she murmured. “What is it?”

He stiffened slightly. “No cologne. It’s just me.”

“You smell this good naturally?” Her voice held wonder. “I want this scent all over me.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Too personal? Too strange?

Aditya bent close, his lips hovering near her ear. “Are you sure you’re bad at this, Ayesha?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“It means… so far, you’re very good at it.”

His words wrapped around her heart like a warm shawl on a cool Bandra night. She battled the urge to press closer, craving connection she had always pushed away. When he gathered her hair aside and brushed the softest kiss behind her ear, her body tensed… then relaxed as he gave her space. His fingers stroked through her hair in slow, soothing rhythms — from crown to neck to back — calming the storm inside her.

“I think you should kiss me,” he said, his voice husky with restrained emotion.

Her heart clenched with old fears. She was terrible at kissing. “On the mouth?”

“Wherever you wish. The mouth is a beautiful place to begin.”

He guided her with infinite patience, letting her lead — temple, cheek, corner of her lips. Each kiss melted something frozen within her. When she finally pressed her mouth fully to his, sensation bloomed like lotuses opening at dawn. His lips were warm, tender, teaching her gently.

When his tongue brushed hers, she pulled back instinctively. “Is that… necessary?”

He chuckled softly, eyes dancing with affection. “It can be very nice. But only if you want it.”

With his patient guidance, she tried again. Closed-mouth kisses first — glorious, addictive. Then deeper. His taste, his warmth, the way he held her without rushing… it awakened her in ways she had never known. For the first time, intimacy felt safe. Sacred. Deeply wanted.

As they moved from the bathroom to the bed, Aditya held her like she was the most precious thing in his world. In his arms, Ayesha felt seen, cherished, and slowly, beautifully whole.

In the heart of Mumbai, under the same stars that watched over the Gateway and the sea, two souls — one seeking to learn, the other carrying hidden burdens — found in each other the beginning of a love that would rewrite their entire lives.

[exbiixossip2]

next update bro.. with hot pic

[naruto9211]

please give a honest feedback.. about flow, font, size and length of updates.

[naruto9211]

In the softly lit elegance of the Taj suite, where the golden glow of bedside lamps blended with the distant shimmer of Mumbai’s Marine Drive lights filtering through sheer silk curtains, Ayesha balanced precariously on the very edge of the vast king-sized bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Aditya rubbed his lips to hide a tender smile. If he kissed her right now, she might tumble right off the mattress. She was the kind of woman who became beautifully undone when desire touched her — and he cherished every moment of it. Every careful step it had taken to earn her trust had been worth it.

Freed from her neat bun, her dark hair fell in soft, wild waves around her face. Arousal had brightened her warm brown eyes, and her lips were gently swollen from his kisses. She looked breathtaking — almost too much for his guarded heart to bear. For a fleeting second, he wished this night didn’t have to end.

Instead of sitting beside her, he stretched out near the center of the bed, propped himself on one elbow, and patted the space next to him with quiet invitation.

After a brief hesitation, Ayesha crawled across the soft sheets and lay down beside him, her body straight as a temple pillar, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat, and she held herself rigid, as though bracing for an unseen storm.

That wouldn’t do.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he said gently, sensing she needed the warning. “With everything that feels right.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He leaned over her, starting slowly — innocent brushes of lips, tender teases, before deepening the kiss with patient reverence. She had little practice, yet what she lacked in skill, she made up for with pure, heartfelt enthusiasm. Her tongue followed his with sweet curiosity, and when she buried her fingers in his hair, scbanging her nails lightly over his scalp, a shiver of pure pleasure ran through him. He forgot about dimming the lights. He forgot everything except her.

His hand glided along the length of her body, cupping the soft curve of her breast through the thin fabric. He felt the tight peak of her nipple and ached to worship it properly, but there were still too many layers between them. She arched into him with a small, involuntary sound that made his blood run hot.

He pulled back slightly to catch his breath, admiring the flushed beauty before him. She was ready — or so he thought.

His fingers moved to the top button of her blouse. The change was instant and heartbreaking.

One moment she was soft and languid in his arms. The next, she was tense as a drawn bowstring. Color drained from her face. Her expression shifted from sensual to frightened. Her hands dropped to her sides, clenched into tight fists.

“Ayesha?” he whispered, concern flooding his voice.

She gulped a ragged breath and began fumbling with her own buttons. “I’m sorry. Let me do it.” Her fingers trembled, uncoordinated.

He covered her hands with his, stilling them gently. “What are you doing, jaan?”

“Undressing.”

“I’m not going to continue like this,” he said softly, his heart aching. “Not when you’re scared.”

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, her shoulders shaking. Tears. The sight gutted him like nothing else. He hesitated only a second before wrapping himself around her from behind, holding her close despite her attempt to shrink away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. What happened? Did someone… hurt you?”

“No one hurt me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m just… like this. Can we please continue and establish the baseline?”

“Ayesha, you’re trembling and crying.” He stroked damp strands of hair from her face with infinite tenderness.

She wiped at her eyes fiercely. “No more crying.”

He held her tighter, his own chest tight with protective rage at the thought of the men who had taken from her without care. “You need someone to go very slow with you.”

“You have been going slow,” she said quietly. “The others were finished by now.”

“I don’t want to hear about the others,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You need patience. You deserve it.”

He glanced around the luxurious suite for inspiration and noticed the large television on the wall. “A movie and cuddling. We can try again afterward, only if you want.”

Her face showed hesitation. “I don’t really like cuddling.”

He smiled softly. “You might with me. My scent seems to wage a sweet war on you.”

She searched his face, then slipped away briefly to the bathroom. When she returned wearing her glasses and carrying his neatly folded shirt, she set it on the nightstand, picked up the remote, and sat on the edge of the bed. Dressed once more in her professional blouse and skirt, with her hair beautifully messed up from his fingers, she looked both composed and endearingly undone.

“What would you like to watch?” she asked.

“No heavy dramas, please. My sisters make me watch them and laugh when I get emotional.”

Her lips curved in a shy smile, melting the distance between them. “Do you really cry?”

“Who wouldn’t? The misunderstandings, the sacrifices… it touches the heart.”

They settled on a thrilling martial arts film — a story of discipline, honor, and graceful combat that reminded her of his strength. As the opening scenes played, Aditya eased her close, wrapping his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and slowly, wonderfully, her body began to relax against his.

As pictures of him training like a fierce warrior — punching through frozen blocks of ice at an akhada, his powerful form moving with disciplined grace — flitted through her mind, Ayesha forgot her partial undress. Her breathing evened out. Her body unwound completely in his arms. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat, his warm sandalwood-and-rain scent, and the low volume of powerful fight sequences on the screen lulled her into the deepest, most peaceful sleep she had known in years.

Aditya held her close, his own eyes growing soft with wonder. In the quiet Mumbai night, with the city’s lights twinkling like a thousand blessings beyond the windows, he realized this woman had already begun to change him. What started as a night of guidance was becoming something far more sacred — a tender beginning of true love.???

[Reseller123]

Good, keep update

[naruto9211]

In the quiet dawn of a new Mumbai morning, where the first rays of sunlight kissed the Arabian Sea and filtered gently through the silk curtains of the Taj suite,Ayesha’s eyes fluttered open. The digital clock on the nightstand read 9:24 a.m. Her heart lurched with quiet alarm.

She had slept in. She 'never' slept in.

As she sat up, the blankets pooled around her waist, cool air kissing her bare skin. She was still wearing yesterday’s underclothes. Panic flickered through her — she had skipped her entire sacred night routine. No flossing, no brushing, no shower, no soft cotton kurta. She had fallen asleep in Aditya’s arms, her body trusting him completely.

Aditya stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered, a white towel wrapped low around his lean hips. The morning light danced across his dragon tattoo, making the intricate ink look even more alive and powerful. He grinned around his toothbrush, eyes warm with affection. “Good morning, jaan.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly self-conscious about her breath.

He moved with easy grace, pulling fresh clothes from a small overnight bag. Ayesha couldn’t help but watch — the fluid play of muscles across his back, the tempting twin dimples at the base of his spine. She longed to trace them with her fingertips, to pull the towel away and explore every inch of him.

“It wraps around my right thigh,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder with a knowing smile.

Her cheeks warmed. The grand tattoo truly covered much of him — a majestic dragon winding across his body like a protector of ancient legends. She imagined herself wrapped around him the same way, skin to skin, heart to heart.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the dryness overwhelmed her. She slipped out of bed, grabbed his white shirt from the nightstand, and hurried to the bathroom, pulling it over her head as she went. The fabric still carried his warm, intoxicating scent — sandalwood, rain-kissed earth, and something uniquely 'him'. She breathed it in like a secret before beginning her routine.

Aditya joined her briefly, spitting into the sink after brushing. He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to her cheek. He smelled of hotel soap, mint, and that same addictive essence that made her knees weak. Lucky her, indeed.

When she emerged, he was almost dressed — clean jeans hugging his hips, a fitted black T-shirt stretched across his chest. The sight of him made her heart ache with a strange mix of longing and fear that this beautiful night was ending.

“We need to talk,” she said, voice steady despite the storm inside.

His expression turned serious, and her stomach dropped. He was going to refuse. Last night had been filled with her fears, her tears, her awkwardness. Of course he wanted nothing more to do with her.

“I have something at ten I cannot miss,” he said gently, slinging his bag over his shoulder. His eyes held heartbreaking kindness as he looked at her.

“I need to know if we’re moving forward with the lessons or not,” she whispered.

He shook his head slowly, a sad smile touching his lips. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Ayesha.”

Her heart plummeted, but she lifted her chin with quiet dignity. “I’ll leave you a glowing review. Thank you for everything. The kissing… it was beautiful.”

He stepped closer, his jaw tight. “Girls like you don’t need escorts, Ayesha. You deserve someone who sees how extraordinary you are. Someone who will love you properly.”

Anger and hurt flared in her chest, but beneath it was a deeper ache. “Girls like me intimidate men. Girls like me have to fight for every connection. I 'will' get better at this. I will learn to be someone worth loving.”

The words hung between them, raw and vulnerable.

Aditya’s expression softened with something profound. He took her hand, his thumb brushing tenderly over her knuckles. “Three sessions. That is the most I can give.”

Her heart soared so suddenly she felt lightheaded. “Three sessions?”

“If we do this, you must promise me — when it ends, no clinging, no calls, no gifts. My life… it’s complicated. I cannot handle attachments.”

“I promise,” she whispered, though the thought of this ending already hurt more than she expected.

He pulled her close, pressing her back against the door. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

Aditya touched his lips to hers, and pleasure jolted straight to Ayesha’s heart, racing down her arms, down her legs. Tilting his head, he kissed her deeper. Once. Twice. Again. Until she sighed and leaned fully into him, tangling her fingers in his cool hair. He claimed her mouth with his tongue in a way that was both new and beautifully familiar. She kissed him back with everything in her, trying to tell him all the things she wasn’t articulate enough to say.



“God, Ayesha,” he rasped against her lips, his dark eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. “You learned that fast.”



Before she could respond, he took her mouth again. She forgot about the time, forgot about work, even forgot about her anxiety. His strong body pressed against hers, and she arched into him, reveling in his closeness.



Her phone buzzed with her mother’s ring tone.


Aditya tore away at once, flushed and breathing heavily. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he stared deep into her eyes, looking like he was two seconds away from kissing her again.


“I should get that.” She slipped inside, sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed the talk button on her phone with a shaky thumb. “Hello?”


“Ayesha dear, your father’s—oh, hold on a second.” Her father’s deep voice rumbled on the other end, and Ayesha held the phone away from her ear as her parents discussed weekend plans.


Aditya approached her “I need to go, but we’re on for next Friday.”


“Next Friday,” she confirmed with a nod.


Instead of leaving immediately as she expected, he leaned down and brushed a fleeting kiss to her mouth. “Good-bye, Ayesha.”


She watched his departure in a dazed state. They were meeting again. In a week.


“Who was that?” Even with the phone several inches from her ear, Ayesha could hear her mother’s surprise.


“That was… Aditya.” A breathless kind of nervousness filled her. She might like it that her mother had discovered her male visitor.


A brief silence ensued, followed by, “Ayesha dear, did you spend the night with a man?”

“It’s not what you think. We didn’t do anything. Other than kissing.” The best kissing of Ayesha’s life.

“Well, why ever not?”


Ayesha’s mouth worked without issuing words.

“You’re a mature adult, and you make good choices. Now, tell me all about this Aditya.”

[naruto9211]

In the humid evening air of a modest fencing hall tucked away in the bustling lanes of Dadar, Mumbai, where the distant hum of local trains blended with the sharp, rhythmic clash of foils, Aditya moved like a storm contained in human form.

Destroy. Defeat. Deceive.

He scanned his sparring partner’s white-clad form for any weakness he could exploit. In the heat of these matches, he allowed the base, restless instincts he fought daily to rise freely. And it felt so damn liberating.

No matter how hard he battled against it, at his core, he carried echoes of his father’s darkness — passed down like an unwelcome inheritance in his blood.

He lunged and aimed for the head. When his partner’s foil rose to block, Aditya pushed for that extra burst of speed and arched his blade down. The tip connected cleanly.

Point scored. Match over.

Everyone bowed respectfully and set their foils aside before kneeling. Aditya hated this part — not because practice was ending, but because it was time to shed the mask and return to his burdened self.

This was the quiet beauty of the gear. The fencing uniform transformed him into a disciplined duelist. But when the protective jacket and mask came off, reality always crept back in like the monsoon humidity. Heavy thoughts stacked one upon another — responsibilities, bills, family obligations, his day job as an architect sketching dreams he could barely afford, and his night job that kept everything afloat.

After class ended, he stored his gear on the crowded shelf along the back wall. The changing area was too cramped, so he slipped his uniform off in the hallway. 

Two young college girls giggled and hurried past, and he rolled his eyes as he pulled on his jeans. Aditya now quietly serving a hidden world few knew about.

“We’re probably going to have a bunch of new female students next week,” said Sunny, his cousin and regular sparring partner, with a knowing grin.

“I’ll let you teach them the basics,” Aditya replied as he retrieved a slightly wrinkled T-shirt from his bag.

“They might be disappointed.”

“Whatever.” He yanked the shirt on, trying not to linger on the contrasting reflections in the full-length mirror. Sunny, with his buzzed hair and dense tattoos running down his arms, carried that intense, street-smart vibe. Aditya, by contrast, was the pretty one — a blessing and a curse that paid the bills but left him feeling hollow.

Except with "her". Ayesha had looked at him differently. Not like an expensive object, but like she truly saw the man beneath the surface. The way she had melted into his kisses once trust bloomed between them… he couldn’t forget it.

When he caught the direction of his thoughts, he mentally scolded himself. She was his client. It was wrong to dwell on her like this.

“If we get new students, I’ll handle them,” offered Bunny, Sunny’s younger brother, still practicing precise lunges in the mirror with machine-like focus.

Sunny rolled his eyes. “He never minds. Even when they throw themselves at him…”

Aditya smiled faintly, his mind drifting again to Ayesha’s shy enthusiasm, her vulnerable courage. Three more nights. The thought sent a quiet thrill through him, warmer and deeper than anything he had felt in years.

As they stepped out into the humid Mumbai evening, the city lights beginning to sparkle like scattered diyas, Sunny clapped him on the shoulder. “You should come out with me one Friday. There’s a new pub in Lower Parel.”

Aditya’s chest tightened with longing. It sounded good — normal life, laughter, freedom. But Friday nights belonged to her now.

“Can’t,” he said quietly. “I have something.”

Sunny studied him. “Or someone?”

Aditya simply shrugged, the weight of his double life pressing on him once more. Yet beneath the burden, a tender hope flickered — the memory of Ayesha’s trusting eyes, her soft sighs, the way she had fallen asleep peacefully in his arms.

In the heart of this relentless city, two lonely souls were slowly finding their way to each other. And for the first time in a long while, Aditya allowed himself to feel the quiet, dangerous pull of something real.


❤️

[naruto9211]

6 updates.. no encouragement or no feedback.

[naruto9211]

By the time Friday night rolled around, Ayesha was a jittery mess. She couldn’t stop her fingers from drumming on the restaurant table as she waited for Aditya to arrive. She’d arranged the appointment through the agency’s mobile app—with the state-of-the-art setup, it was as easy as booking airline tickets, but without the frequent-flier miles. 

They’d sent a confirmation email, but that was the only indication she’d gotten that the date was still on. She couldn’t help worrying that Aditya had changed his mind. She wished she had his cell phone number, but she figured he never gave that to his clients. 

It was too personal. Especially if his clients had the tendency to get obsessed. Which was actually one of her main weaknesses, and a defining characteristic of her disorder. She didn’t know how to be semi-interested in something. 

She was either indifferent . . . or obsessed. And her obsessions weren’t passing things. They consumed her and became a part of her. She kept them close, wove them into her very life. Just like her work. Going forward with Aditya, she had to tread carefully. 

Everything about him pleased her. Not just his looks, but his patience and his kindness. He was good. He was an obsession waiting to happen. Hopefully, she could keep a cool head during the coming weeks. Perhaps it was for the best there were only three sessions. 

Once they were finished, she’d focus on someone she could actually have. Like maybe Hameed Mirza. When Aditya entered the hotel restaurant, she noticed right away. Tonight, he wore a perfectly fitted black suit over a white oxford shirt. No tie. His collar hung open, drawing attention to his Adam’s apple and the sexy base of his throat. 

His gaze swept over the room and landed on her. She looked down at the menu without seeing it, horribly aware of his slow advance toward her. Keep a cool head. “Hello, Ayesha.” He sat down across from her and folded his hands on the tabletop. Her lungs drew in a slow breath, and she caught his light scent. Everything inside her turned over and sighed. 

With a sense of defeat, she lifted her eyes to his, counted to three, and looked away. “Hello, Aditya.”
 “Are you nervous already?” She laughed slightly. 
“I’ve been nervous since Saturday.” 
“About that . . . Who was that on the phone when I left?” Her lips tightened as she tried to suppress a smile. 

“It was my mom. She thinks you’re my boyfriend now, by the way.” He pressed a knuckle to his grinning lips. “I see. Will that be a problem?” 


“Actually, I think it’s a good thing. Now that she thinks I have a boyfriend, she should stop trying to arrange blind dates for me.” 

“Ah, the mother-arranged blind date. I’m very familiar with those.” “Does that mean you don’t have a girlfriend?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she winced. 

“I’m sorry. Forget I asked that.” She had no right to inquire about his personal life, but the intense curiosity burned inside her.

 She wanted to know everything about him. And if he did have a girlfriend, whoever that lucky girl was, Ayesha hated her guts. 

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said it like it should have been obvious. Thank God. “What kind of girls does your mother try to hook you up with?” He rolled his eyes.

 “Doctors and Nurses, who else?. By now, I think my mom’s tried to hook me up with the entire second-floor staff at the Lilavathi Hospital.” Ayesha couldn’t help being impressed. “That’s really determined.” 

“That’s nothing. You don’t know my mom.” She forced a smile and focused on the menu. What did it say about her that she wanted to know his mom? No, wait, she knew the answer to that.

 It said she was nuts. Mothers were scary she-bears when it came to their sons, especially sons like Aditya. And Ayesha wasn’t a doctor. Enough of this. She wasn’t dating Aditya. 

It didn’t matter what his mother thought of her. Ayesha was never going to meet the woman. She needed to get back to the matter at hand. “Let’s discuss my lessons,” she said briskly. “That’s a good idea.” 

Aditya leaned back in his chair, looking at ease. Ayesha tried to copy his relaxed air as she retrieved three folded sheets of paper from her purse. 


“Because we’re pressed for time, I took the liberty of drawing up lesson plans. They’re not set in stone. In fact, please suggest changes where you see fit. I have no idea if what I’ve written is feasible, but it helps me to keep things structured.

 I don’t deal well with surprises.” Aditya’s expression went unreadable. 

“Lesson plans.” “Exactly.” She pushed the salt and pepper shakers and candle aside. 

After placing her papers in the middle of the table, she smoothed the creases out with her fingertips and pointed at the first sheet, which was labeled Lesson One. 

“I put boxes next to each item so we can check things off as we go.” Eyes on the paper, he opened his mouth to speak, caught his breath, and tapped a finger to his lips.

 “Give me a moment.”

 LESSON ONE

 ☐ Hand Job Lecture and Demonstration 
 ☐ Hand Job Practice 
 ☐ Performance Review 

 ☐ Missionary Intercourse Lecture and Demonstration 
 ☐ Missionary Intercourse Practice
 ☐ Performance Review 


Aditya read and reread the clinical lesson plan, and surprise melted into amusement, which then dissipated as frustration crept over his back and up his neck. 

He curled his fingers and restrained the sudden urge to crumple Ayesha’s papers into ugly balls. Irritated. He was irritated. Fuck if he knew why. With words like lecture and demonstration involved, he should be getting off on this. 


“Who’s going to check the boxes? You or me?” 

“I can if you don’t want to,” she offered with a helpful smile. 

A picture of her pausing in the middle of sex to put her glasses on and scribble notes on a legal pad flashed in Aditya’s head. 

Like he was a sexbot or a fucking science experiment. “I notice there’s no kissing,” he said.

 “I was under the impression we’d moved beyond that.”
His eyebrows twitched.

“How’s that?”

“You said I’d picked it up, so it’s best not to waste time on it. 

Kissing you makes it hard for me to think, and I really want to get this right. 

Beyond that, it feels like something people do when they’re dating—which we’re not. I want things to stay clear and professional between us.” 


She took a prim sip office water and set the glass down, leaving a sheen of moisture on her pink lips

—lips he wasn’t allowed to kiss.


Her kisses weren’t for him anymore. He was supposed to fuck her and let her jerk him off, but she was saving those soft lips for someone else. The
thought made him almost violent, and he shoved his feelings down deep.


“You’ve watched Pretty Woman too many times. Kissing doesn’t mean
anything, and it’s always best if you’re not thinking too much in bed. Trust
me,” he said.

Her mouth thinned into a stubborn line. “This is too important for me not
to think. I’d rather not kiss anymore if you don’t mind.”

Aditya’s irritation redoubled, and he forced his hands to relax before he
popped all his blood vessels.

 How the hell had he gotten himself into this? 

Ah yes, he’d been worried about his escort colleagues taking advantage of her.
Stupid of him. His life was complicated enough without worrying about his
clients. This was exactly why he had the one-session policy
He would have backed out—it was tempting—but he’d promised. He
always carried through on his promises. It was his way of balancing out the
universe. His dad had broken enough promises for the both of them.


“All right,” he made himself say. “No kissing.”

“Do the other plans look okay?” she asked.

He forced himself to read them and found them pretty similar, only she’d
moved from hand jobs to blowjobs and changed the sexual positions.
Amused despite himself, 
he said, “I’m surprised you used the terms doggy
style and cowgirl.”

Her cheeks went bright red, and she adjusted her glasses. “I’m
inexperienced, not clueless.”

“Your plans are missing something important.” He held his hand out, and
she placed the pen in his palm with wary motions.

She tilted her head to the side as she watched him write FOREPLAY at the
top of all the plans in capital letters. As an afterthought, he drew a box in
front of each iteration with hard stabs of the pen.

“But why? I was under the impression men don’t need it.”

“You do,” he said flatly.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “You don’t have to bother with
me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a bother. Most men like foreplay. I do.
Getting a woman hot is satisfying as hell.” Besides, he was not having sex
with her if she wasn’t ready. No fucking way.

Swallowing, she stared down at the menu. “So you’re saying I don’t have
a chance to improve.”

“What? No.” His mind scrambled to figure out why she might say that and
came up with nothing.



“And then you slept with me all night. You were basically naked, and you
cling.”

“Are you two ready to order?” the waitress interjected. Judging by the
amused glimmer in her eyes, she’d caught the last part of their conversation.
Ayesha perused the dinner options, her nails picking at the fabric edging of
the menu.

“We’ll have the special,” Aditya said.

“Wise choice. I’ll leave you to it.” The waitress winked, gathered the
menus, and disappeared. “What’s the special?” Ayesha asked.

“I have no idea. Let’s hope it’s not woolly.”

A troubled frown bracketed her mouth, and she leaned forward hesitantly,
meeting his eyes for the briefest second. “What exactly do you mean by
‘cling’?”

Aditya grinned. “It means you like to cuddle when you’re asleep.”

“Oh.”

She looked so horrified, Aditya couldn’t help laughing. “I confess to
liking it.” Which was the truth, and unlike him. Cuddling was an obligatory
thing he did for his clients because he understood they needed it. He usually
spent the time counting the seconds until he could leave and go home to
shower. Holding Ayesha had been nothing like that. They hadn’t had sex, so
there’d been nothing to wash away, and the trusting way she’d curled into him
had made him feel things he didn’t want to think about. Especially when she
found it so distasteful. His irritation increased even further.


“Where does this leave us with regard to the lessons? How do we proceed
when my limitations are such big roadblocks? By focusing on you, I thought
I’d found a way around my problems.”

“We’re not going to go around your problems. We’re going to go through
them.”

She crossed her arms and tapped out an unusual rhythm with her fingertips
on her elbow. “How?”

“We’re going to . . . unlock you.” That made him sound like an arrogant
jackass, but he hadn’t gotten those five-star reviews by luck alone. When he’d
lost his virginity at the ripe age of eighteen, he’d discovered he had a natural
talent for fucking. Going pro had taken his skills to a whole new level.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She slanted her lips like she was listening to
a used-car salesman.

“Did you think you’d like kissing?” And she had liked it—once she’d
gotten over the pilot fish thing. There was hope for her. Girls didn’t do that
weak-in-the-knees, fainting heroine stuff when they weren’t into sex. He just
had to figure her out.

She tapped one of the foreplay boxes. “What happens if you try everything
and I don’t like it? We’re under a pretty extreme time constraint.”

“I don’t think it’ll come to that.” But if it did, they’d deal with it then.
After a long stretch of silence, she said, “Let’s try it your way, then.”

[ananth1986]

Hot going. Slow steady .
Thank you