Adultery Mallu Wife Used by Painter (/W images added)

[LovePookie]

awesome update

[Sarvesh Siva]

Nicee

[Maaran57]

Chapter 20 – The Call

The food arrived in hot, aromatic packets  biryani, sides, fresh naan.

The ordinary smell of spices filled the studio that still held the thicker scent of sex and charcoal.

Steam rose between them as they sat close on the low seating and began to eat.
Every small movement carried weight. When he passed her a piece of naan, their fingers brushed and a thin current moved up her arm.

When she pushed the raita closer to him, the air between them tightened. The memory of her moans and the wet sound of his mouth between her thighs lived under every quiet bite.

She could still feel the ghost of his beard on her shaved skin. Her pussy throbbed in slow, residual pulses, swollen and sensitive.

The fresh panties she had put on were already damp again.
Aadhini ate without tasting much.

Her body remained half in the earlier hour open, used, still answering him.

The mangalsutra rested against her chest, warm from her skin.

Every time she shifted on the seat, the soft ache between her legs reminded her exactly how thoroughly she had come on his tongue.

She was halfway through her meal when her phone rang.

The name on the screen stopped her breath.

Husband

She stared at it for a second too long.

The ordinary letters looked suddenly sharp. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.

Across from her, Maaran watched the change move through her face but said nothing.

She answered, forcing her voice into something steady.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” Rajesh’s tone was cheerful, but there was a slight edge underneath

. “I finished early and thought I’d surprise you at the office. I’m nearby  just parked. Security said you left some time ago. Come down for a minute? We can grab coffee before I head home.”

Her stomach dropped.

He was near the office. He knew she had left.

The careful story she had built around this afternoon thinned to almost nothing in a single sentence.

A violent pulse moved through her. Her pussy clenched around nothing, still sensitive, still swollen from Maaran’s tongue.

A fresh trickle of wetness soaked into her panties. Flashbacks hit in sharp fragments the scbang of his beard across her shaved skin, the thick push of his tongue inside her, the moment she had held his head and ordered him to finish.

Her nipples tightened hard against her bra. The contrast was brutal: her husband’s ordinary, trusting voice in her ear while her body still throbbed from another man’s mouth.

She turned slightly away from Maaran, as if the small movement could create privacy.

“I… stepped out for some urgent work,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. “A meeting that ran late. I’ll head back soon.”

There was a short pause on the other end.

“Alright. Don’t be too late. Traffic will start building.”

“I won’t.”

She ended the call.

For a moment she only sat there, phone still in her hand, thighs pressed tightly together.

The studio suddenly felt too quiet. The smell of biryani mixed with the older scent of sex.

Her pulse had not slowed. Guilt and residual heat moved through her at the same time, thick and inseparable.

She could still feel how open she had been on the chaise. She could still feel the exact place where his tongue had pushed deepest.

She stood abruptly.

“I have to go.”

Maaran rose with her. Before she could turn fully away he stepped in close close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around her.

His hand settled on her waist, fingers pressing lightly through the kurta against the gold hip chain underneath.

The contact was small and deliberate. His cock, still rigid, brushed against her hip for one charged second.

The hard length of him was unmistakable even through the cloth.

“Call me when you can,” he said, voice rough.

Aadhini met his eyes. Desire and something sharper moved through her at the same time.

The sharpness was fear, clarity, the sudden knowledge of how easily the two worlds could collide.

She could still taste the afternoon on her own skin. She could still hear her husband’s voice asking where she was.

She pulled away before the moment could thicken further and walked quickly to the door without looking back.

Maaran remained where he was, breathing hard, the thick length of his cock still straining against his trousers as he watched her leave.

The studio door closed. The ordinary smell of the food stayed behind, along with the deeper scent of what they had done, and the clear knowledge that the afternoon had already begun to follow her out into the rest of her life.

[jiljilrani]

She could have told her wimp and useless husband that she is at her friend place and something important and she will come only next day. Tell him to Take care of those children born to him.

[Maaran57]

She could have told her wimp and useless husband that she is at her friend place and something important and she will come only next day. Tell him to Take care of those children born to him.

Yes but not so soon! That too on the first mating itself!

[Kamalesh Nathan]

Having decided to cheat, what fear needed. This is not accident. This bitch came to get licked or fucked. She is not cared about the children too. After fucking few times, she will plan and kill her husband and children to live with him.

[Maaran57]

Having decided to cheat, what fear needed. This is not accident. This bitch came to get licked or fucked. She is not cared about the children too. After fucking few times, she will plan and kill her husband and children to live with him.

Bro, It’s an erotic story not something else! Enjoy the erotic!

[Sakshi Priyan]

Lie started even before she lie in bed with him

[RedDranzar]

Hi Author

It will be very erotic if before going to ofc one day she goes to his studio and have unprotected sex with him. Then she goes to ofc with his cum slowly oozing out of her vagina while she works and walks in ofc.

Some other day she can have sex and go to ofc in the post sex look without even arranging her makeup and hair not caring what others think.

[Maaran57]

Chapter 21 – The Long Drive Home

Aadhini gripped the steering wheel hard as she drove through the evening traffic of Fort Kochi.

City lights smeared across the windshield. The studio would not leave her. The locked door.

The weight of his mouth. The moment she had ordered him to finish. Her body still carried all of it.

Her thighs pressed together.

She was still tender, still swollen. Every uneven patch of road sent a small jolt through her. The mangalsutra rested against her throat like a quiet accusation.

She could still smell the faint mix of charcoal and skin that cleaning had not fully erased.

Guilt moved through her in clear waves now that she was alone in the car. She had lied to her husband.

She had stayed. She had opened her legs and held another man’s head there and demanded more.

At a red light her phone buzzed.

Drive safely.
I’m still tasting you.
Call me when the guilt lets you breathe again.
I’m here.

Her breath caught. Fresh heat gathered between her legs even as something sharper twisted in her chest.

She read the message twice, then placed the phone face-down on the passenger seat without replying.

She drove on with both hands tight on the wheel.

Across the city Maaran stood under a cold shower. Water ran hard over his shoulders, but the ache in his body remained. He could still taste her.

The sound of her broken cries still sat in his ears. He braced one hand against the tiles and closed his eyes until his wife’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Maaran, dinner is ready. Fish curry and rice — your favorite. Come before it gets cold.”

Meera moved around the small kitchen with practiced ease, tasting the curry once more, adjusting the salt.

She had made the dish the way he liked it, the same way she had for years. When he finally appeared, hair damp, she glanced at him and paused.

“You look far away,” she said, not accusing, only noticing. “Long studio day?”

“Yes.”

She plated the food and sat across from him. The ordinary sounds of home filled the space between them.

Meera watched him eat in silence for a while. Something in his face was different tonight tighter, more closed, as if part of him had not come home.

She did not push. She had learned the difference between ordinary tiredness and the particular silence that followed intense work. Still, a quiet curiosity stayed with her as she refilled his water and watched him avoid her eyes for a fraction longer than usual.


When Aadhini reached home, Rajesh was waiting with two cups of coffee and a warm smile.

He pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead.

“You look tired. Long day?”

“Yes,” she said, holding him a fraction tighter than usual. “Very long.”

Even inside his arms she could still feel the ghost of another man’s mouth.

The contrast made her stomach turn and her body heat at the same time. She stepped back before the hug could last long enough for him to notice anything different.

They sat in the living room. Rajesh was in high spirits. He leaned back and told her about the quarterly review, the regional head’s praise, the real chance of promotion.

All the late nights finally meaning something. His voice was open, happy, completely without suspicion.

He spoke the way a man speaks when he believes the ground under his life is solid.

Aadhini smiled and nodded at the right places. She asked the right questions.

She let him talk. The contrast sharpened with every sentence. He was sharing a victory with his wife.

She was sitting across from him still carrying another man’s afternoon in her body. She took a sip of coffee to hide the slight tremor in her hands.

Rajesh reached over and squeezed her hand.

“I couldn’t have done the late nights without you holding things steady at home,” he said. “Thank you.”

The simple gratitude landed heavier than he could know. She kept her smile in place and closed her fingers around his.


Later that night Rajesh pulled her closer and kissed her neck. His hand slid under her nightie, warm and familiar.

“Today was a good day,” he murmured. “I want to celebrate a little. Give me a head, baby?”

She froze for half a second. The request landed in the exact place where Maaran’s mouth had been only hours earlier.

Guilt rose so sharply she almost refused. Then she moved under the sheet.

She took her husband into her mouth while the memory of the studio stayed open behind her eyes.

The contrast was quiet and brutal. Familiar weight on her tongue. Another man’s mouth still living in her own body.

She kept her eyes closed and gave him what he asked for, steady and careful, while the double life settled more firmly around both of them.

When he finished he kissed her temple, already half-asleep, satisfied and unsuspecting.

Aadhini lay beside him in the dark, staring at the ceiling fan, the residual ache between her thighs belonging entirely to someone else.

In another apartment Meera switched off the kitchen light and walked to the bedroom.

Maaran was already in bed, back turned. She watched him for a moment from the doorway, the quiet curiosity from dinner still present, then lay down beside him without speaking.

She did not ask what he was still thinking about. She only listened to the sound of his breathing and felt, without fully naming it, that something in their ordinary night had shifted by a fraction.

Two houses.
Two ordinary nights.
The same secret running underneath both.

[Maaran57]

She moved under the sheet and took her husband into her mouth.

At first it was the familiar rhythm slow, warm, practiced. She licked the head, circled him with her tongue, sucked gently.

Rajesh’s hand rested on her hair.

A soft, appreciative groan left him.

“That feels good, baby…”

The ordinary sound of his voice should have grounded her. Instead it opened the afternoon again.

The coarse scbang of Maaran’s beard across her shaved pussy returned with full force.

The thick, wet push of his tongue inside her.

The moment she had locked her legs around his shoulders, grabbed his hair, and ordered him to finish.

The memory arrived with complete sensory weight the smell of him, the wet sound of his mouth, the way she had flooded his tongue while the gold chain bounced on her belly.

Her body reacted before her mind could stop it.

She sucked harder.

Took him deeper. Her cheeks hollowed.

Saliva gathered and ran down the shaft as she worked him with sudden, greedy hunger.

She pulled back, licked lower, and drew one of his balls into her mouth, sucking firmly while her fist stroked him in fast, tight pulls.

The contrast was sharp and intoxicating: the ordinary weight of her husband on her tongue while her pussy still throbbed from another man’s mouth.

Every slow pulse of residual heat between her legs fed the urgency of what she was doing under the sheet.

Rajesh’s breathing roughened. His hips shifted in surprise at the sudden change in her.

She kept going, lost in the double current.

Every time she closed her eyes she felt Maaran’s beard again.

Every time she opened them she saw the familiar shape of her husband’s stomach.

The two sensations tangled until she could no longer fully separate them. Guilt moved through her in a dark, continuous wave.

She was in her marital bed, giving her husband pleasure, while her body still belonged to the memory of the studio.

The wrongness of it did not stop her. It only made the hunger sharper.

Without deciding to, she lifted her hand and gave his wet cock two sharp, deliberate slaps.

Slap.
Slap.
The sound was loud under the sheet.

Rajesh jerked hard, a startled, broken sound tearing from his throat.

“What the—?!”

He came almost immediately thick, sudden pulses spilling across her tongue.

She stayed on him and swallowed, feeling him throb against the roof of her mouth while the memory of Maaran’s tongue still pulsed between her own legs.

The contrast left her dizzy. Familiar seed on her tongue. Another man’s mouth still living in her body.

He fell back against the pillows, chest rising fast, looking both spent and confused.

“That was… intense,” he said, still breathless. “But why did you slap it? And so fast… I wasn’t ready.”

Aadhini wiped her lips and lay down beside him.

Her heart was still hammering. Her pussy was wet again, aching with residual heat.

The taste of her husband mixed with the vivid memory of another man’s mouth on her.

She could feel how swollen she still was, how the smallest movement of her thighs sent a thin reminder through her.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I got carried away.”

He pulled her into his arms, too drained to question further. Within minutes his breathing slowed into sleep, one arm heavy across her waist, completely trusting.

Aadhini remained awake, staring at the ceiling fan.

Her body would not settle. Every small shift of her thighs reminded her how sensitive she still was.

The two men lived in her at the same time the one sleeping beside her with his gratitude and his promotion and his ordinary love, and the one whose beard she could still feel, whose tongue she could still remember buried deep inside her, whose message still sat unanswered on her phone.

The hunger had not been satisfied.

It had only been split.

And both halves were still awake.

[Maaran57]

Chapter 22 – Two Beds, Two Worlds

Later that night Meera came into the bedroom and slipped under the sheet beside him. She wore her usual soft cotton nightie.

The familiar scent of jasmine and turmeric settled between them as she curled against his side and rested her head on his chest.

“Long day?” she asked, tracing small, idle circles on his stomach.

Maaran put his arm around her and drew her closer. “Yes. Productive.”

They talked in the quiet, easy way of people who had shared many nights. Her day at the college.

The neighbor’s endless renovation. Their daughter’s approaching exams.

Meera laughed softly at something he said  a warm, grounded sound that belonged entirely to this room, this life.

After a comfortable silence she tilted her face up to him. Her eyes were playful, but there was a thin thread of curiosity underneath.

“You were very quiet at dinner. Studio go well?”

His heart kicked once, hard.

The memory arrived without mercy: Aadhini open under his mouth, the thick wetness coating his tongue and beard, the sharp slap of her hand across his cheek, the way she had ordered him to finish.

The taste of her was still there, faint but unmistakable.

He kept his face calm.

“I found someone,” he said carefully. “Not a regular model. She’s different. I’m still deciding how far to take the work.”

Meera smiled, trusting. She had always understood his need to chase beauty and raw feeling on paper.

She believed the line between art and life remained intact.

“You’ll figure it out,” she whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to his chest. “You always do. Just don’t lose yourself completely in it.”

Maaran tightened his arm around her. The warmth of her body was real and steady. He loved this woman  her gentleness, her quiet faith in him, the life they had built.

At the same time the other hunger lived in his mouth and in his cock: the memory of Aadhini’s thighs shaking around his head, the commanding edge in her voice, the way she had come undone against his tongue.

He closed his eyes.

One woman slept trustingly against his chest.
The other still lived on his tongue.


The bedroom was quiet except for the low hum of the air-conditioner. Moonlight lay in thin silver bands across Meera’s bare shoulders.

She felt the tension in him before he spoke. Maaran lay on his back, arm across his eyes, body too tight.

Meera moved closer, her warm curves pressing against his side. Her hand slid down his stomach and under the sheet.

Her fingers closed around his cock. He was only half-hard. She stroked him with slow, knowing pressure until he thickened and hardened fully in her palm.

Then she disappeared beneath the sheet.

Her mouth found him.

She kissed the head first soft, wet, lingering then opened and took him in. The swollen head filled her mouth completely; she felt its heat and weight on her tongue.

She sealed her lips just under the ridge and sucked with steady, firm pulls, letting her tongue press and swirl against the sensitive underside.

A low sound left her. She took him deeper, inch by inch, until the thick head pushed against the back of her throat and her lips stretched around the shaft.

Wet, rhythmic sounds filled the room as she began to move. She sucked him in long, slow strokes, pulling back each time until only the head remained between her lips, then swirling her tongue around it before sliding down again. Saliva gathered and ran down the shaft.

When she took him all the way, her nose pressed against his stomach and her throat tightened around the head.

She held him there, humming, then pulled back with a thick, wet sound, strings of spit connecting her lips to his glistening cock.

She did not stay gentle.

Her hand stroked the slick shaft while her mouth focused on the head sucking hard, flicking, pressing the flat of her tongue against it.

At one point she let her teeth graze lightly over the sensitive ridge, just enough to make his hips jerk. Her nails scbangd lightly down his lower stomach and over his balls, adding sharp little sparks of sensation.

It felt excellent  warm, wet, devoted, the skill of a woman who knew exactly how to pull pleasure out of him.

And still his mind split open.

Aadhini.

The slap across his face.

The way she had locked her thighs around his head and ground against his mouth. The flood of her orgasm while she ordered him to finish. The taste of her.

The raw, commanding hunger.

Meera’s mouth was love and familiarity.
Aadhini’s cunt on his tongue had been fire and demand.

Meera felt the distraction. She doubled down  taking him deeper, throat working around the head, one hand pumping the shaft in tight, wet strokes while the other cupped and rolled his balls. Spit ran freely.

The sounds grew filthier, more urgent. She pulled off just long enough to lick a long, slow stripe from his balls to the leaking tip, eyes locked on his, then took the head back into her mouth and sucked hard.

“Look at me,” she whispered, voice rough. “I want all of you tonight.”

Then she went down again, faster, wetter, relentless  throat opening for the head, tongue working, hand stroking, the whole of her focused on pulling him over the edge.

Maaran’s hips bucked. The pleasure climbed fast and brutal. Even as his body tightened, the other images kept breaking through Aadhini’s shaved pussy, the sting of her palm, the way she had shaken and come on his tongue.

He came with a deep, broken sound.

Thick pulses spilled across Meera’s tongue and into her throat. She swallowed everything, milking him with tight lips and slow strokes of her tongue until he was empty, then cleaned the head with soft, careful licks.

She crawled back up and settled against his chest, cheek over his racing heart.

“I love you,” she murmured.

He closed his arm around her. “I love you too.”

The words were true.

So was the other hunger still burning behind his eyes.

In the dark, with his wife warm and trusting against him, Maaran felt the balance inside him continue to tip.

[Jeshwanth]

Such a nice story, both POVs are so real.

The female dominating part, not a huge fan before, but Aadhini's slap and her orders are so perfectly set for story, loved it here.

Please continue, want more.

[Maaran57]

Such a nice story, both POVs are so real.

The female dominating part, not a huge fan before, but Aadhini's slap and her orders are so perfectly set for story, loved it here.

Please continue, want more.

Happy to read that someone noticed & acknowledged! Keep reading! You will have surprises!

[Maaran57]

Chapter 23 – Lingering Hunger

A few days passed.

Life attempted to resume its old shape. For both of them, the old shape no longer fit.
Aadhini moved through her office with the same composed precision as always meetings, case reviews, calm smiles in team discussions.

From the outside she was unchanged. Inside, the studio refused to leave her. The locked door.

The weight of his mouth. The moment she had ordered him to finish. The memory did not stay in the past. It lived in her body.

Every quiet stretch of time brought it back. In the middle of ordinary tasks her pussy would grow suddenly, treacherously wet. She would cross her legs under the desk and keep her face calm while the pulse between her thighs continued, stubborn and unwanted.

At home she became almost too attentive  cooking Rajesh’s favorite meals, initiating sex, trying to bury the memory under familiar affection.

It never fully worked.

Even while her husband moved inside her, the other sensations returned: the scbang of beard, the thick wet push of tongue, the helpless way she had ground against another man’s mouth.

At night she lay awake beside him. Sometimes, when his breathing had deepened into sleep, her hand slipped between her thighs under the sheet.

She touched herself in small, silent circles, replaying the wet sound of Maaran’s mouth, the way she had flooded his tongue. She bit her lip hard to stay quiet.

The orgasm, when it came, was sharp and incomplete, leaving her more restless than before.

The hunger did not fade. It accumulated.


Across the city Maaran was equally caught.

He worked on other commissions during the day, but his mind kept sliding back to her.

He had drawn many women  professional bodies, clean light, controlled poses.

None of them held the particular combination she did: the heavy soft weight of her breasts, the gentle swell of her belly, the full hips and thick thighs, the smooth, greedy pussy that had opened so completely for his mouth.

She was not just a body. She was the body his hands and charcoal wanted.

At night he stayed late in the studio. New sketches accumulated intimate studies from memory: her topless on the chaise, skirt low, gold hip chain bright against her skin, legs slightly parted, the look of surrender still living in her eyes.

The hunger had become both sexual and artistic. He wanted the real curves under real light again.

He wanted to finish what the first session had only begun. His cock hardened more than once from the lines alone.

Meera noticed his distraction.

She attributed it to the usual intensity of a new series.

She continued to love him gently, packing his lunch, waiting up when he returned late, never suspecting how far the new craving had already taken him.

When she asked about the work, he answered in careful half-truths. The line between art and life was no longer as clean as she believed.

One evening Maaran stood in front of a large sheet, charcoal staining his fingers.

The half-finished drawing of Aadhini looked back at him  bare-breasted, hip chain gleaming, thighs open. His cock hardened simply from the lines on the paper.

He stared at the drawing for a long time, jaw tight, the unfinished hunger sitting heavy in his body.

He spoke into the empty studio, voice rough.

“I need to see her again.”


Across the city Aadhini sat on the edge of her bed, phone in her hand. His last message still waited, unread.

Drive safely.

I’m still tasting you.

Call me when the guilt lets you breathe again.

I’m here.

She unlocked the screen and stared at the words.

The residual heat between her legs answered first. The guilt followed, slower but heavier.

She did not reply. She only sat there in the quiet bedroom, the mangalsutra warm against her skin, the double life pressing in from both sides.

The hunger moved under both of their skins, quiet and persistent.

It was only a question of which of them would break first.

[Maaran57]

Chapter 24 – Crossing Paths

A week had passed.

For Aadhini the days had become a quiet, continuous effort. She filled them with work, with composed smiles in meetings, with the practiced role of attentive wife at home.

None of it erased the memory.

At night, lying beside Rajesh, her body still carried the imprint of Maaran’s mouth. The scbang of his beard.

The deep push of his tongue. The way she had shaken and flooded him.

Guilt and residual heat lived in her at the same time, tangled so tightly she could no longer separate them.

Even the ordinary weight of the mangalsutra against her skin felt different now, as if it had witnessed something it should not have.

Maaran was no freer.

He worked on other pieces during the day, but the nights belonged to her.

New sketches accumulated obsessive studies of her breasts, the soft swell of her belly, the full hips, the smooth pussy that had opened for him.

The hunger had not diminished. It had settled deeper, quieter, more permanent.

He remained careful with Meera. The ordinary rhythm of home continued. Yet the other woman occupied the centre of his private hours.

Around eleven that morning Arjun appeared at her desk with his usual warm smile.

“Come on. Long morning. Coffee.”

She hesitated, then decided a change of air might help. “Just a quick one.”

They walked to the small café near the office.

Arjun was light, persistent, lightly flirtatious complimenting the way the saree sat on her, teasing her recent focus, trying to draw a real smile.

Aadhini answered with polite brevity. Her mind kept sliding elsewhere: the velvet chaise, the locked door, the wet sound of Maaran’s mouth between her thighs.

The contrast made Arjun’s attention feel thin and almost weightless.

When they finished he grew more direct.

“This weekend… shall we go out? Just the two of us. Somewhere nice.”

The boldness landed wrong. Irritation flashed across her face.
“What do you think of me, Arjun?” Her voice was sharp. “Like that?”

She turned and walked away without waiting for an answer, heels striking the pavement hard.

The rejection was clean. It also left her more unsettled than before. She had refused one man without hesitation. The other still lived under her skin.

At the corner near the office building her steps faltered.

Maaran was sitting at an outdoor table of the small café across the street.

A cup of coffee rested untouched in front of him. His eyes were already on her  steady, dark, unblinking.

Their gazes locked.

The street noise dropped away. A week of forced normalcy collapsed in a single look.

Everything returned at once: the weight of his tongue, the sting of her own slap across his cheek, the way she had come undone against his mouth.

Heat flooded low in her belly.

Her nipples tightened against her blouse. Her breath shortened.

She felt the exact place between her legs where he had been, still faintly tender, still capable of answering him even in the middle of the street.

He did not smile.

He did not look away.

He simply held her gaze with the same intensity he had used when his face was buried between her thighs.

Aadhini tore her eyes away and walked quickly toward the office building.

Her pulse remained high. The brief public collision left her more exposed than any private moment had.

She could feel the wetness beginning again, unwanted and immediate.

Maaran’s eyes followed her.

The saree moved with her body in a slow, heavy rhythm.

Each step sent a soft sway through her full hips; the fabric clung briefly to the round curve of her ass before releasing.

Her back stayed straight, shoulders measured, but the walk itself was unconsciously sensual the natural roll of a woman with wide hips and thick thighs, the kind of movement that made the cloth shift and settle with every stride.

He watched the bounce of her breasts under the blouse, the way her waist tapered before flaring again, the confident strike of her heels.

Obsession tightened in his chest.

He had tasted that body. He had felt those thighs lock around his head.

He had watched her come apart under his mouth. And still the hunger only grew sharper watching her move away from him in broad daylight, fully clothed, carrying herself like a woman who belonged to another life.

There was no tenderness in the way he watched her. Only the clear, focused want of a man who already knew the shape and the wetness and the sound of her, and who wanted them again.

She disappeared into the building.

Maaran finally lifted his cup. His hand was not entirely steady. The coffee had gone cold. He did not notice.

The brief sight of her had reopened everything the past week had tried to close.

He remained at the table a while longer, eyes still on the entrance she had used, the unfinished hunger sitting heavy and familiar in his body.

The hunger had not cooled.

It had only been waiting.

[Ajay Kailash]

Very good

[Yash120]

Fucking awesome waiting for next

[ShilpaD]

Wow , amazing story , just had to read it in one sitting , please continue , it’s so erotic .

[Maaran57]

Thank you @ShilpaD, @yash120 & @ajay kailash

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