Adultery Noida wife's descent into Quicksand ( New Novel)

[Shabaz123]

Update pls

[KingRocks]

Story has been abandoned by writer ?

[SilverArrow]

Chapter:
Ranga broke the kiss first.  


He stepped back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and reached for his phone on the dusty windowsill. The screen lit up his face. He scrolled once and let out a short breath.


“Mishra just texted. He’s reaching the site in some time. We need to get dressed quickly”

Monica pushed herself up from the chair. Her legs were still a little unsteady, the dull ache in her ass a constant reminder of everything that had just happened.


“Why is Mishra coming back here?” she asked, picking up her Bra.
Ranga was already pulling his crumpled shirt from the heap of clothes on the floor.
“He wrote he met Deshmukh at the municipal office today. I don’t know what that bastard told him. Could be nothing. Could be something”


Monica held up her ruined panties between two fingers, the delicate fabric torn clean at the side seam, and looked at Ranga with raised eyebrows.

“You had to tear them?” she said, voice dry and sharp. “Really? Now I have to stand in front of that  pervert Mishra with nothing under my leggings. You couldn’t just pull them down like a normal person?”


Ranga laughed while stepping into his pants, the sound low and unapologetic.
“Those thin things were covering nothing of your ass anyway. One hard pull and they were gone”
Monica shot him a look

“Shut up. Those were expensive panties”

She stepped aside and threw her soiled panties in exasperation . She pulled up her kurti on next, smoothing the fabric down over her still-sensitive skin.

Monica saw  the table still marked with handprints and faint wet streaks, the chair out of place, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat.


“Clean the table at least,” she said, already tying her hair back into a quick, neat knot. “It’s obvious we fucked on it. If

Mishra has even half a brain he’ll notice.”

Ranga stepped into his shoes and gave the desk a quick, rough wipe with an old rag from the labourer’s bag, pushing the worst of the evidence to the floor

The heavy iron door of the cabin swung open with a dry screech, letting in a shaft of harsh, late-afternoon sunlight.

Mishra stood in the doorway, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead with a grubby handkerchief, his eyes darting suspiciously around the small, dim room.

"Madam? Ranga Saab?" Mishra asked. "Why haven't you left yet?”

Monica stood tall by the wooden desk, her navy kurti smoothed down with practiced elegance, her hair tied back in a crisp knot.

Only a slight flush on her cheeks betrayed the chaos of the last hour.

"We were just wrapping up a final structural review of the site layout, Mishra," Monica said smoothly, her voice carrying that effortless, high-society authority that instantly silenced any doubts. "We needed a quiet moment to map out our next steps."


Mishra nodded slowly, though his eyes drifted down to the floor where a few stray papers and the faint smudge of dust disturbed the space.

As he settled in, his gaze landed on the scattered files and the disturbed arrangement of the desk. He blinked, peering closer at the surface. "Madam... what happened on this table? It looks like a storm hit it. The papers are all over the place, and..."


Ranga didn't even flinch. He leaned casually against the tin wall, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops with unbothered calm.


"Cement dust and adhesive spray, Mishra," Ranga said flatly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "We had a bucket of damp waterproofing compound sitting near the edge earlier. Knocked it over while we were checking the blueprints"


Mishra nodded "Okay.. hope you guys did not get hurt!”


Monica casually replied “ No No Mishra Saab..What did Deshmukh tell ?”
"He’s furious, Madam," Mishra muttered, shaking his head. "He’s absolutely not ready to budge. He claims the zoning clearance we need requires a secondary environmental NOC that takes months to process. He made it very clear—he isn't moving an inch."


Monica exchanged a sharp, meaningful glance with Ranga.


Ranga’s eyes darkened, a cold, hard glint settling over his features. "Looks like official channels aren't going to work with him. Give me his home address, Mishra."


Mishra’s eyes went wide with alarm. He sat up straight, waving his hands frantically. "Home address? No, no, Ranga Anna, you can't go to his house! Deshmukh is a senior government official with political connections. If something happens, my neck will be on the line first. I don't want to be dragged into any  mess!"
"Nobody is dragging you into anything, Mishra," Ranga cut him off, his voice dropping an octave into a chilling, absolute command. "Just give me the address."
Mishra hesitated, “Look... you both need to sort this out fast," Mishra said, standing up quickly. "Deshmukh told me today that there are two other  buyers sniffing around this exact plot. If we don't lock down the final clearances within the next three to four days, the board is going to reassign the land title”


“Ok I hear you..now give the address” Ranga said loudly to Mishra
Monica said “Guys I need to go home. My husband is sick !”
Without looking back at Ranga, she turned, picked up her bag, and walked out of the site, her block heels clicking sharply against the gravel.


The drive back to Gurgaon felt like a surreal blur. When Monica finally unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, the quiet, sterile air of her home hit her like a shock.


Rakesh was lying under a heavy blanket on the living room sofa, shivering slightly, a thermometer resting on the coffee table beside a box of paracetamol. The low hum of the room heater filled the silence.
Hearing the door, Rakesh stirred, his voice weak as he propped himself up on one elbow. "Monica? Thank god... you're finally home. What took you so long? I've been calling your mobile for over an hour."


Monica froze in the foyer, her heart doing a guilty, jagged stutter against her ribs. She looked at her husband—sick and completely oblivious to the fact that his wife had spent the afternoon being thoroughly fucked filled on a dirty wooden desk by a history-sheeter.


Forcing an easy, slightly absent-minded smile to her face, she walked over to the sofa, tossing her handbag onto the armchair.
"I'm so sorry, jaan," Monica said smoothly, pitching her voice with just the right amount of wifely concern. "Traffic near the bypass was an absolute nightmare, and my phone battery died right when I was coordinating with the site engineer. How’s your fever? Did it come down?"
She reached out, pressing the back of her cool hand against Rakesh's forehead.
"It's still bad," Rakesh groaned

"You're going to be fine" she murmured gently "Let me get you your medicine and some warm soup”


She hurried down the hallway toward the master bathroom, locking the door firmly behind her.


Monica stripped off her kurti and leggings in one fluid motion and stepped in front of the full-length mirror.
Her hair was messy, her lips still faintly swollen, and her skin—from her neck down across her shoulders and breasts—was mapped with the angry, dark red lovebites and friction marks of a raw, depraved encounter. Every inch of her body ached with a dull, heavy throb, especially between her thighs and deep within her freshly violated, tight ass!


She closed her eyes tightly, a sudden wave of suffocating guilt and shame washing over her chest. What have I done? she thought, her hands gripping the edge of the marble sink. I have a husband who loves me, a respectable life, and I let a criminal treat me like a road side whore in a tin shed.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to summon the disgust, the moral outrage, the righteous anger she should have felt.

And yet... as she dragged a trembling hand down over her stomach, feeling the lingering, phantom pressure of


Ranga’s massive hands and the heavy, saturated warmth of his dark massive penis, a shuddering gasp escaped her lips. Deep inside, beneath the crushing guilt, her core clenched in an involuntary, wicked echo of pleasure. The sound of his rough voice and the memory of her own shameless climax echoed in her ears like an addictive, unending loop.
The pleasure was real, absolute real!!

[SilverArrow]

Chapter: **Quiet Coffee Shop – 7:30 p.m.**

Monica was already seated when Ranga walked in. She had chosen a corner table, away from the few remaining customers. When she saw him, she gave a small, polite smile
Ranga sat down. For a moment neither of them spoke. The memory of the cabin sat quietly between them, acknowledged but not named. Monica’s posture was composed, yet there was a faint self-consciousness in the way she tucked her hair behind her ear.


“I ordered for Black coffee for you,” Monica said. “Is that okay ?”


Ranga nodded “ Yes. .Thanks for that!”


Monica looked at him and asked straight “You met Deshmukh. I know that much. What happened?”
Ranga leaned back, the movement making the muscles in his shoulders stand out under his shirt. His tone was flat, almost casual.

“I threatened him.”
Monica’s eyebrows rose. A mix of surprise crossed her face.

“How? Where?”.

“I went to his house.”

She stared at him for a second, then gave a short, disbelieving breath that was almost a laugh.
“You actually went to his house?” She shook her Head. “Of course you did. Subtlety was never your strong point.” Then, quieter, more serious: “What next?”

Ranga turned the coffee cup slowly in his hands.

“He’s not a small man, Monica. He’s corrupt, yes, but he’s also politically connected. People above him listen when he talks. Threatening him once doesn’t end the matter.”

Monica leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table.



“I get that. But what is he telling?”

“Nothing clear,” Ranga said. “He’s trying to buy time. He knows I can make things uncomfortable for him, but he’s not the type who folds in one meeting. I’m still working on it.”
Monica sat back. A small line of worry appeared between her brows. She tapped a finger once against the side of her cup.
.
“Then what do we tell Mishra? He’s already talking about other buyers. If he thinks Deshmukh isn’t moving, he’ll start looking for options.”


Ranga gave a short, rough laugh.

“Deshmukh is a much tougher asshole than Mishra. Mishra is just a middle man! Deshmukh has actual weight behind him. I’ll handle the messaging to Mishra. You don’t need to worry about that part.”


Monica looked at him for a long moment. The café noise faded into the background. She was fully aware of the man sitting across from her — the same man who had bent her over a desk, stretched her open, and made her cum while she was still trying to hate it.

“Just don’t create a bigger problem than the one we already have,” she said. “We need this file cleared, not a war.”
Ranga met her eyes.


“I’m not here to start a war..” He paused and asked “ How is Rakesh’ s fever ?”
“ it’s somewhat better today, but still doctor tells to maintain very strict precautions ..and he is very weak and fatigued at the moment!” .


Ranga nodded “He will get better! And importantly how are you doing ?”

The question landed heavier than the ones before it. Monica held his gaze for a second, then looked down at her cup. When she spoke, her voice was calm.

“Let’s not talk about that day, Ranga. It’s behind us.”

He leaned back slightly, watching her.
.
“I just wanted to say don’t be so hard on yourself Monica.. I know you will be thinking why you did that with a history sheeter like me! Don’t lie you are still thinking the same Monica! But I’m sure that was the best sex both of us have had until now. You know it too.”


Monica’s cheeks warmed into sharp, sassy irritation.


“So what if it was?” she shot back, keeping her voice low. “Does that mean we will now fuck every day we meet? “
Ranga stayed completely calm.


“I never said that.”


Monica’s eyes narrowed, her tone turning sharper and more sarcastic.


“Then tell me clearly — what’s your next agenda? Book a hotel so you can fuck me the whole night, and after that you’ll deal with Deshmukh? Is that the plan? Say it straight.”

Ranga didn’t rise to the provocation. His voice remained steady and even.


“No. Calm down and listen fully ..I have a plan for Deshmukh”


“Okay go on “

“ I’m creating different political pressure on Deshmukh. Let’s not attack and fight against him so directly. Let him feel we are on his side. That’s the only plan. You can trust me on that.”

“I don’t know if that will work, but Let’s see”

Monica studied his face for a moment. The irritation slowly eased. She exhaled and gave a small nod, returning to her controlled, professional tone.

“Alright. Please keep me posted.”

Monica gathered her bag and stood. Ranga stood with her.

“It’s late,” he said. “I can drop you.”

Monica shook her head with a small, polite smile.

“I’ve already booked a cab. It’s on the way.”
They stood there for a second longer than necessary. Then Monica adjusted the strap of her bag and met his eyes
“Goodnight, Ranga saab”
“Goodnight, Monica.”

[SilverArrow]

Two weeks had passed since the coffee shop.


Rakesh’s fever had come down, then returned in weaker waves, leaving his body strangely drained. He slept most of the day. Even short conversations left him exhausted. Monica had started coming home earlier from office, the worry sitting permanently behind her eyes.


That evening she unlocked the apartment door a little after seven and stopped cold.
Rakesh was on the sofa, skin flushed and damp, eyes half-open and glassy. When she touched his forehead the heat shocked her.

“Rakesh?”


He tried to answer and only managed a weak sound. Monica’s stomach dropped. She grabbed her phone and called the family physician while pulling the blanket off him.
The doctor’s voice was calm but firm.


“If the fever is climbing again this late, don’t wait till morning. Bring him in. Night spikes can turn ugly.”


Monica’s hands were already shaking as she called Bahadur, the society help.
“Bahadur, please come up. Rakesh Saab needs to go to the hospital. Now.”
By the time they reached the elevator, Rakesh could barely stand. Bahadur supported most of his weight. The doors opened on the ground floor just as Ranga was walking in from the parking area, a thin folder under his arm.
He stopped when he saw them.


“What happened?”


Monica’s voice came out tighter than she intended.


“His Fever’s suddenly turned bad. We’re going to the hospital. It’s fine, we can manage”
Ranga looked at Rakesh’s half-conscious face and then at her.


“I .. I will come along…I’ll drive”


“I said we can manage,” Monica replied, the old sassy edge rising out of panic. “Bahadur is here. You don’t need to—”


“Monica.” Ranga’s tone stayed even but left no room. “I’m coming along. You’re in no condition to argue right now.”


She stared at him for a second, then gave a short, reluctant nod. The three of them got Rakesh into the back seat of the car. Monica sat with her husband’s head against her shoulder, one hand continuously checking his temperature.

At the hospital the resident doctor moved quickly. IV fluids, fever medication, continuous monitoring. Within forty minutes the temperature started coming down. Rakesh drifted into a heavy, medicated sleep.
The doctor stepped out to speak to Monica.

“We’ve controlled it for now, but he needs strict monitoring for the next two or three days. No chances. If it spikes again at night, bring him straight back.”

Monica nodded, exhaustion clear on her face. Ranga stood a few feet away, silent.
When they finally left the hospital it was past ten. Ranga helped Rakesh into the apartment and all the way to the bedroom. He adjusted the pillows while Monica set up the thermometer and medicines on the side table. Once

Rakesh was settled and breathing evenly, the two of them stepped back into the living room.
The silence felt heavier than usual.

Monica rubbed her forehead, then looked at Ranga. The memory of the cabin flashed for a second — the desk, the force, the way she had cum on his cock — and she pushed it down. Still, the hesitation showed in her eyes.


“It’s late. You’ve been running around with us for the last three hours.. You want to have dinner? .I can make something quick !”

Ranga studied her for a moment.

“No ..you please take care of Rakesh, he need to have dinner”
Monica looked at him

“I know. I’ll feed him when he wakes up. I am sure you don’t have anything cooked ..So you can stay back for dinner”
Ranga nodded “Okay”


Monica went into the kitchen. Ranga  went to the room to check on Rakesh.. Ranga asked him in a twisted voice “ How you feeling brother ?”


Rakesh nodded in what was a weak acknowledgement. Ranga said “ Ok ..You rest “  and then came to the living room and switched on the television


Monica heated the leftover dal, quickly scrambled two eggs, and toasted a few slices of bread. The ordinary sounds — the scbang of the spoon, the click of the gas — felt louder than usual in the tense quiet of the apartment.

When Monica brought the plates out, he stood up and took one from her hands without comment. They sat at the dining table. For the first few minutes they ate in near silence.
Monica spoke first

“The doctor said the next two or three nights are critical. If the fever climbs again after midnight, we have to go straight back to the hospital!”


Ranga nodded, chewing slowly.


“You should set an alarm every two hours. Don’t rely on Rakesh calling out for help”
“I know.” She pushed the eggs around her plate. “He’s never been this weak before. Even after the fever breaks, he practically has no strength. It’s like the illness is sitting in his bones.”
“It happens with some hormone problems” Ranga said. “Body takes time to come back. Don’t worry so much!”

Monica nodded and then took the remote to change the television channel and put on a new Hindi movie.
“Any real movement on Deshmukh, or is he still playing games?” She asked Ranga
Ranga leaned back slightly.


“He’s feeling the pressure. I’ve made sure people above him are asking questions about why this particular file is stuck. He doesn’t like that. He’ll move. Just not as fast as we want.”


Monica gave a short, dry breath that was almost a laugh.
“You and your methods. One day you’re going to create problems that can’t be cleaned up.”
“Maybe, Yes” His eyes met hers across the table. “But this file will get cleared certainly”
The eye contact lasted a second too long. Monica looked away first, reaching for her glass of water. The discomfort flickered across her face — the memory of his hands, what happened that day inside the cabin— before she controlled it.


After dinner, Ranga casually picked up the used plate and walked towards the kitchen


"Please leave it, Ranga Saab," Monica said "I will manage that. You are a guest tonight!"
"I have two hands, Monica" Ranga replied calmly, already walking toward the kitchen sink. "And you really exhausted!"


Monica watched his broad back as he rinsed the plates quickly, the domestic normalcy of the act clashing violently with the brutal memory of what those same hands had done to her in the site cabin. The discomfort was still there, hot and shameful, but the sharpest edge of it began to slowly blunt under the bizarre reality of the night.


When Ranga walked back into the living room, Monica had moved to the sofa, sitting perfectly upright with a cushion beside her. He sat down on the opposite end, leaving a safe distance between them.
On the television, a tense interrogation scene from a new Hindi movie played out in a dark room.
Monica watched the screen for a minute before looking over at him "Do you like Crime thrillers ? I find these good time pass!”


Ranga turned his head slowly, leaning his arm against the back of the sofa. "I don't watch them," Ranga said, his dark eyes glinting with dry amusement in the dim light. "I'll only watch one if they ever decide to make a movie on my life. But I doubt the censor board would clear the script."


Monica was off guard with that joke. A genuine laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. She pressed a hand over her mouth, shaking her head, the heavy

"You are terrible," she murmured, the corners of her eyes crinkling
.
"I am just being practical," he corrected smoothly.

A few minutes later, Monica glanced at the wall clock and smoothed her kurti. "It’s time to give him his second dose of antibiotics. Excuse me for a moment."


She stood up and walked down the hallway to the master bedroom. Rakesh lay exactly as they had left him, a pale, shivering shadow under the heavy blanket. Monica gently lifted his head, coaxing him to swallow the pills with a few sips of water. He barely registered her presence before sinking back into a heavy, medicated sleep.
When she returned to the drawing room,

"You look exhausted, Monica," Ranga noted quietly. "Your eyes are completely red."
Monica gave a dismissive shrug, straightening her spine instinctively. "I’m perfectly fine. Just a long day. I'll make some strong coffee in some time!"


Ranga leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. "If I may suggest," he started “You look really exhausted.. you go and please rest, I will surely give the pills to Rakesh on time”


Monica stopped in the center of the room, her eyebrows knitting together.
"Thanks, Ranga Saab," she said politely. "But Rakesh gets very cranky when he is ill .. You’ve driven us to the hospital, carried him around, and sat here all night.. That’s enough .. Please go home and sleep"
"I appreciate the concern, Monica, but I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway," he said evenly.
With a sheepish, almost entirely unapologetic shrug, he pulled out a large, unopened bottle of Indian whiskey and placed it squarely on the glass center table.


"I find this keeps the eyes open quite effectively," Ranga laughed




Monica stared at the amber bottle, then slowly looked up at his face.
A sassy, playfully irritated smile broke across her face. She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.
"You and your weird Methods Ranga Saab.." Monica muttered ..” you brought a bottle of whiskey to a medical emergency. What is wrong with you?"


The sharp, metallic crack of the whiskey bottle’s seal breaking sounded obscenely loud in the quiet apartment.
Monica watched from the opposite end of the sofa as Ranga unscrewed the cap. The  heavy scent of the alcohol   immediately cut through the sterile, medicinal smell of the apartment
"So," Monica began, crossing her legs and leaning back, "You said Deshmukh is feeling the pressure. Tell me exactly what kind of pressure you applied”


Ranga paused, holding the tumbler in one large hand. A slow, dark amusement flickered in his eyes.


"I didn't lay a finger on him. I simply joined him for his morning walk at the Botanical Gardens."
Monica’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. "What ? You went on a morning jog with him?"


"I walked. He sweated," Ranga corrected, leaning his arm along the back of the sofa, “ I just brought up a few public records. Specifically, the two commercial plots registered under his wife's name in South Delhi. Properties that far exceed a government servant's pay grade. I asked him if the vigilance department had updated their files lately."


Monica stared at him, a genuine, sassy smirk breaking through her exhaustion. She shook her head, letting out a sharp breath of disbelief.


"You blackmailed a senior government official publicly?" she asked, her tone laced with bold, mocking approval
"Yes Kind of.. but he is not an easy nut to crack!" Ranga replied flatly


“Hmm ..So what next ?”


Ranga drank in one go and replied “Lets see I still think he will eventually break!”
Ranga watched the tension leave her shoulders. He looked at her and offered “ You wanna have a glass with me?”


Monica glanced down at the liquid, then brought her dark eyes back up to meet his.


"No way," she said, her voice crisp and polished. "I don't drink on a Tuesday night. Certainly not while my husband is recovering from a 104-degree fever just down the hall. I’ll stick to my coffee, thank you."


He leaned back, shifting the conversation seamlessly back to business. "Deshmukh will stall for another three days,"


Ranga continued, his deep voice vibrating in the quiet room. "He has to save face eventually. He’ll ask Mishra for one more useless document—a soil report or something fucking crazy, maybe”


Monica listened, nodding slowly, but her focus was beginning to fracture.
The dim lighting caught the subtle flex of his chest under his shirt when he breathed. She found her gaze drifting to his hands—those massive, calloused hands resting so casually on his knee. A sudden, phantom heat flared deep in her belly. Her body, betraying her logic, remembered exactly what those hands felt like gripping her fleshy ass, pinning her against the rough wooden desk of the site cabin. She remembered the suffocating pleasure, the way he had stretched her apart, the filthy, breathless moans she had made while surrendering to a filthy history sheeter she was supposed to despise.

The memory was so vivid, so visceral, that she had to subtly shift her thighs together on the sofa, a flush of shameful heat creeping up her neck.
Ranga stopped talking and focused on an intense fighting scene played on the television.

[SilverArrow]

On the television, a tense shootout played out in absolute silence, the television muted to a low, barely perceptible whisper.


"If Deshmukh asks for the soil report on Thursday," Ranga said quietly, his eyes fixed on the screen, “ Go yourself. He should not feel a history sheeter is trying to blackmail him..”


Monica sat on the opposite end of the sofa, her legs crossed  "He’s an egoist," she replied "If I go personally, he might think I'm desperate. I should send Mishra. Let the middlemen sweat."


"Mishra sweats too much," Ranga countered smoothly, finally turning his head to look at her. "Deshmukh needs to see the real owner of the land I think. He needs to see that you aren't intimidated."


The digital clock on the set-top box clicked to 12:15 AM. She sighed, pressing a hand to her neck. "I need to check his temperature."


She pushed herself off the sofa and walked quietly down the dimly lit hallway. Opening the master bedroom door, she found the room cool, smelling faintly of Vicks and fever sweat. Rakesh was shifting under the blanket, his brow damp but no longer radiating that terrifying, furnace-like heat.


As she gently adjusted the quilt around his shoulders, Rakesh’s eyes fluttered open.
"Monica...?" he mumbled, his voice raspy and thin.


"I'm here, Jaan," she whispered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead. "Fever is down. Just go back to sleep."


Rakesh weakly shook his head, trying to push himself up on one elbow, though his arm trembled under the effort. "You sleep Monica.. you have office tomorrow. I will manage the medicine myself."


Monica offered a soft, reassuring smile, gently pressing his shoulder back down against the pillows. "No, I am awake only. I'll give it to you at one o'clock. Don't worry about me."


Rakesh blinked heavily, his groggy mind trying to process the environment. The faint, blue flickering light from the living room danced against the hallway walls, and the low, muffled bass of the television reached his ears.
"The TV is on..." Rakesh murmured, his brow furrowing in sleepy confusion. "Is there someone?"


"Yes, Ranga Saab is here," Monica said softly. "He drove us back and stayed to help me monitor your fever, just in case we needed the car again. We are just watching a movie on Netflix. You try and sleep."
Rakesh let out a long, exhausted breath, the tension leaving his face “Thank him for me... he does too much for us," he whispered, his eyes sliding shut again


"Okay Rakesh. Now Sleep!”


He made a small sound of acknowledgement and closed his eyes again. Monica waited until his breathing evened, then returned to the sofa. Ranga glanced at her once but said nothing. She sat down.
They watched in silence for a while. When a long stretch of dialogue on screen ended, Ranga spoke without looking away from the television.


“Ok , one interesting whatsapp message I got a while ago!  Deshmukh called one of his juniors today. Asked why the environmental query was being questioned from above. He’s starting to feel cornered.”
Monica kept her eyes on the screen.


“Good. Cornered men either become careful or stupid. Which one is he?”

“Careful, for now. That won’t last.”

Another pause. The movie played on.

Ranga turned his glass in his hand, then spoke in that same even, almost formal tone
“You’re still running on pure tension. One small drink will take your tension off, Monica ..Try it.. it’s a  desi brand…We used to have a lot in the jail!.. you won’t regret”

Monica gave a short, sassy breath.

“I already told you no, I can’t get drunk and sleep off Ranga Saab .. What if we have to take Rakesh to the hospital in the middle of the night”

Ranga nodded once, calm. “No.. No I checked on him ..fever is very much in control .. you are just too worked up .. he will be just fine”

She looked at him sideways, the familiar irritation mixed with something more reluctant. They quietly watched a tense sequence on the television, a burly dark thief entering the house of the pretty heroine at night.
“Okay..let me have a little then, this coffee is just so bland I feel like throwing ”


The television light flickered across both their faces. She walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and took down a wine glass. When she returned she held it out. Ranga poured a modest amount — less than he had given himself — and she took the glass without further comment.


They returned to the movie. For a while the only sounds were the dialogue on screen and the occasional soft clink of glass. When the thief finally left the heroine’s house, Ranga spoke first.
“This scene is interesting .. did not see that coming! ”


Monica glanced at him.


“Glad we are liking the movie, or else we both would have fallen asleep long back!” Monica said after another sip. The whiskey had begun to warm her without clouding anything. The earlier stiffness between them had thinned further. She still felt the undercurrent — the cabin, the force, the shameful pleasure — but it no longer sat like a wall. It moved under the conversation like a second current.


Ranga checked the time on his phone.


“Next dose is in forty minutes. I’ll handle it if you want to close your eyes for a bit.” He told Monica…
Monica shook her head, the sassy edge softer now.


“I’m fine. You’re the one drinking steadily. Don’t fall asleep on my sofa.”
“I won’t.”

[SilverArrow]

The movie’s plot deepened, pulling them both into a comfortable, temporary distraction. For the next twenty minutes, the heavy, suffocating reality of their situation seemed to suspend itself. The whiskey worked its subtle magic, loosening the tight coil in Monica’s chest. They chatted more freely now, their voices kept to a low, intimate murmur, exchanging dry observations about the film’s glaring loopholes and dissecting Deshmukh’s predictable bureaucratic paranoia.


On the screen, the heroine backed away into a dark corridor, the camera panning slowly to reveal the intruder waiting in the blind spot. The ambient soundtrack dropped to a low, thrumming bass.


Ranga took a slow sip of his whiskey. He didn't turn his head when he spoke, his voice quiet, slicing cleanly through the casual atmosphere.


"She has no idea what’s standing right behind her," Ranga murmured. He paused, the ice clinking softly in his tumbler.


"Reminds me of you. When you walked into that site cabin. You had no idea how the afternoon was going to end."


The breath caught in Monica’s throat.


The comfortable illusion shattered instantly. The temperature in the air-conditioned living room seemed to spike, the phantom smell of cement dust and raw sweat suddenly thick in her memory. She lowered the glass slowly, resting it on her knees. She kept her eyes fixed on the television, her heart beginning a frantic, heavy rhythm against her ribs.


She remained completely quiet for a long, agonizing moment.


Finally, she swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. "We should both just forget about that, Ranga Saab. It was a mistake."



Ranga didn't argue. He simply gave a slow nod. "Hmm."
..

Silence descended over the sofa. It was no longer the relaxed, tipsy quiet from before; it was thick, charged, and suffocatingly heavy. They sat completely still, staring blankly at the screen as the tense thriller sequence played out in flashes of blue and white light across their faces.


But the dam had been breached. The whiskey that had numbed her earlier was now stripping away her emotional armor, leaving her painfully raw.
When the scene on the TV finally broke its tension, Monica let out a shaky, uneven exhale. She looked down at her hands. The image of Rakesh, pale and shivering under the heavy quilt just down the hallway, crashed into her mind, bringing a crushing, nauseating wave of remorse.
"I shouldn't have done it," Monica whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of a sudden, profound guilt. She shook her head, the sassy edge entirely gone, replaced by a deep, aching vulnerability. "I shouldn't have cheated poor Rakesh to that extent. And I can’t believe I did all that. I can't ever get over the guilt."


Ranga observed her keenly from the corner of his eye. He didn't offer empty comforts or platitudes. He simply watched the way the blue light caught the shameful tear glistening in her dark beautiful eyes. They just looked at the screen blankly, the silence stretching out between them like a taut wire.
Then, Ranga shifted.


"Even I got carried away," he admitted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. There was no boastfulness in it, just a flat acknowledgment of a raw, ugly truth. "I didn't plan for it to go that far honestly"


Monica slowly nodded, her eyes vacant, lost in the dark replay of that afternoon. She brought the delicate wine glass to her lips, sipping the amber liquid slowly to burn the knot out of her throat.
"It's not only you," she murmured, her voice hollow but resolute. "I am equally guilty for everything, Ranga Anna. I didn't stop you when I could have. So... it's okay."
.
Ranga studied her profile for a long time. His gaze was heavy, dissecting her guilt, reading the subtle, treacherous way her breathing had shallowed just from talking about it.
"Considering how your body reacted..." Ranga started, his tone dropping an octave


Monica’s head snapped toward him, her eyes wide. The sheer audacity of him bringing up her physical surrender—while her husband slept twenty feet away—sent a violent shock of heat straight to her core.
"Let's not talk about that, please," she interrupted sharply, her sassy, defensive armor flaring up instantly. She glared at him, her breasts heaving up and down.

Ranga kept quiet.

The silence stretched for ten unbearable seconds. The heat in Monica’s veins boiled over. She couldn't handle his calm, knowing stare.

"What is your point anyway?!" Monica flared up, a harsh, sassy irritation lacing her hushed voice. "Are you trying to make me feel worse?"

A slow, dark grin spread across Ranga’s face. It wasn't a smile of malice, but a deeply knowing, predatory smirk.
"My point, Monica," he said smoothly,  "is that you know exactly how your body reacted. You didn't just endure it. You melted. So it is better you try to forget the moral guilt and accept it for what it was—just physical needs we all have. Biology. Nothing more. For both of us!"


Monica stared at him, her lips parted, her breathing shallow and fast. She slowly shook her head, an overwhelming sense of shame washing over her, mixing fatally with the dark, heavy arousal his words had just sparked in her belly.
"And that’s the most horrible feeling I got henceforth," she whispered, She looked down at the carpet, her fingers gripping the stem of the glass like a lifeline. "I just submitted myself to you... fuck... we ended up together for two... two whole hours."


The words hung in the air, thick and devastating. Two hours. Two hours of raw, unhinged anal sex. Two hours of her screaming his name in a dusty cabin.


The movie played on, the muted gunshots and dramatic music completely ignored. The emotion within the dim living room had heated up to a suffocating, electrifying degree. The space between them on the sofa felt suddenly incredibly small, the forbidden erotic tension pulling at Monica with a gravity she was terrified she could no longer resist.
..

The low hum of the air conditioner seemed to amplify the suffocating, heavy tension settling over the sofa.
"It doesn't make you a bad woman, Monica," Ranga said, his voice a smooth, dark drawl that vibrated with dangerous persuasion. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, not breaking eye contact. "You didn't plan it. It was biology. Pure, raw physical friction. Your husband couldn't give you what your body demanded that day, and I was there. Don't dress it up in morality. It was just release."



Monica took a sharp, defensive sip from her wine glass, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of deep-seated guilt and sassy defiance.


"Save the  philosophy for your goondas, Ranga Saab," she snapped back, though the alcohol made her words slur just a fraction. "You can call it biology all you want. I still have to look at my husband’s face every morning. I'm an adulterous wife, yes that’s what I have become"
.
She shifted uncomfortably, the heat in her veins making the air feel too thick.
"I need ice," Monica announced abruptly, her voice crisp. She looked at his half-empty tumbler. "Do you want ice?"
Ranga’s eyes tracked the subtle, nervous flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes."


Monica stood up, smoothing the front of her kurti and walked toward the open kitchen. The tiles were cold beneath her bare feet.


She didn't hear his footsteps behind.


When she turned around, an ice tray in her hands, Ranga was already standing inside the narrow confines of the kitchen. His massive frame blocked the exit entirely, casting a long, heavy shadow under the harsh white fluorescent light.


Monica’s breath hitched, but she forced a sassy sigh. "Did you really have to follow me? I am perfectly capable of carrying two cubes of ice to the living room."
Ranga didn't move. He leaned his hip against the granite counter, his dark eyes raking over her with ruthless, calculated precision.


"Tell me something, Monica," Ranga began, ignoring her completely. His voice was low, carrying a cold-blooded edge. "What exactly are you getting from him?"


Monica froze, the ice tray suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. "Excuse me?"
"Rakesh," Ranga clarified, stepping one inch closer. "What does he actually give you? You run the side business. You handle the municipal bribes. You manage the house. And when the pressure gets slightly too high, what does he do?

He collapses. He lies in that bed, shivering, waiting for his wife to nurse him."
"He has a 104-degree fever, you bastard," Monica hissed, her composure fracturing into sharp, genuine anger. She slammed the ice tray onto the counter. "He is sick. Stop talking about my husband in my own house."


"He's weak," Ranga countered, his voice dropping into a brutal, undeniable whisper. He took another step, cornering her against the refrigerator. "He’s a coward, Monica. A wimp. He can't protect you, and he certainly does not fuck you the way you love Monica!! That’s why you broke apart so easily in that cabin."


"Shut up," Monica breathed, her chest heaving violently. She tried to push past him, her pride demanding she throw him out, but her limbs felt heavy, drugged by the whiskey and the sheer, overwhelming proximity of his huge body.

"You don't know anything about my marriage. Move out of my way, Ranga."
"I know exactly how your marriage feels," Ranga murmured, his chest now brushing against hers, trapping her completely. "It feels like starvation."


Before Monica could fire back another sharp retort, Ranga’s large hand shot out, gripping the back of her neck with terrifying, absolute authority.


"Ranga—" Monica gasped, her eyes widening in sudden panic.
He slammed her back against the hard, cold metal of the refrigerator. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs and started kissing her really hard.


"Not again, Ranga... Not again!" she yelled, in a sharp, frantic whisper, terrified of waking Rakesh up. She pushed her hands against his solid chest, "Stop—"


Ranga was relentless. He didn't care about her sleeping husband. He didn't care about her guilt. He twisted his fingers into her hair, forcing her head back, exposing the long, elegant column of her throat, and started kissing her like an animal


It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a violent, punishing collision of lips and whiskey.
Monica whimpered, keeping her lips clamped shut in a final, desperate act of resistance. But Ranga’s grip was iron. He dragged his open mouth roughly over hers, and when she refused to yield, his teeth bore down sharply on her bottom lip.


A sharp, electric jolt of pain shot through Monica. She gasped, her mouth opening involuntarily, and Ranga instantly invaded her lips. His tongue thrust deep inside her mouth, tasting of aged scotch, dominance, and dark, depraved intent.


The pain of the bite acted like a switch, short-circuiting every logical, moral synapse left in Monica’s brain. The suffocating guilt over Rakesh sleeping just twenty feet away twisted violently into something else—a sick, shameful, adrenaline-fueled thrill.


Her resistance shattered completely.
The hands that had been pushing against his chest suddenly curled inward, her perfectly manicured nails digging fiercely into the fabric of his shirt. A guttural, filthy sound vibrated in the back of Monica’s throat. She kissed him back with the same aggressive, animalistic hunger if not more, her tongue tangling frantically with his.


Ranga let out a low growl of approval. His hands dropped to her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. Monica didn't fight it; she wrapped her legs tight around his hips, her back grinding against the cold steel of the fridge. They devoured each other in the dim kitchen light, the kiss turning utterly depraved—sloppy, wet, and bruising, fueled by two weeks of repressed guilt and the intoxicating, deeply taboo reality that her husband was just down the hall.


Ranga broke the kiss abruptly, pulling his mouth away just far enough to let the cold kitchen air rush between them. A thick, wet string of saliva connected their swollen lips for a fraction of a second before snapping.

Monica gasped violently, her chest heaving against his solid frame. The sudden absence of his mouth hit her like a bucket of ice water, snapping her momentarily out of the dark, whiskey-soaked haze. Her eyes went wide with sheer terror as the reality of the scene crashed back into her brain.


"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Monica hissed in a frantic, breathless whisper, her hands coming up to push frantically against his chest. “ Rakesh is just there... he will see everything if he wakes up even a bit!"


Ranga didn't step back. His massive hands tightened around her waist, his dark eyes burning with a cold, relentless fire as he stared down at her flushed, terrified face.
"Then I suggest let’s wake him up and show how much fun we both having," Ranga murmured.


"I said let me go," Monica breathed, her sassy edge cracking into genuine, panicked desperation. She twisted her shoulders, trying to slide off the refrigerator. "If he wakes up... and see us, my marriage is over!!!"

"He won't do anything" Ranga stated with absolute, terrifying certainty.
Instead of letting her go, Ranga’s hands gripped her hips with bruising force. In one fluid, brutal motion, he pulled her away from the fridge, and slammed her back onto the cold black granite of the kitchen slab.
The movement was too fast, too violent. As Monica’s lower back hit the counter, her flailing elbow clipped the edge of the stainless steel dish rack.


A heavy steel plate and two steel bowls went flying over the edge. They hit the tiled floor with a series of sharp, deafening, metallic crashes that echoed like gunshots in the dead silence of the apartment.


Monica froze completely. Her heart stopped beating.
The sheer, terrifying thrill of nearly being caught—of doing something so deeply filthy in the very heart of her domestic life—acted like a lethal aphrodisiac. A hot, wet rush flooded Monica’s cunt, pooling heavily between her thighs.


Ranga leaned over her, caging her on the slab with both arms, completely unbothered by the noise. He looked at the hallway, then back down at her wide, trembling eyes, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.
"See?" Ranga whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "He is completely useless. A bomb could go off in his own house and he wouldn't wake up to protect you"
"You... you bastard..." Monica whimpered, a ragged, dirty sound that had absolutely no polish left in it.


Ranga crashed his mouth down onto hers again, far more violently than before.
This time, there was no resistance left in Monica to break. The psychological dam completely shattered. She let out a muffled, guttural moan into his mouth, her hands flying up not to push him away, but to desperately grip the thick hair at the back of his neck as they kissed and kissed. She pulled his face deeper against hers, opening her mouth wide, inviting the invasion.


Ranga’s tongue thrust into her mouth with ruthless, dominating rhythm, mimicking the brutal pace he had used in the site cabin. Monica answered with equal ferocity. She sucked on his tongue, whimpering shamelessly into the kiss, her body arching off the cold granite slab to grind her aching cunt against the hard, heavy bulge pressing into her thighs.

[SilverArrow]

Ranga broke the kiss only long enough to lift her clean off the counter. Monica’s legs were still half-wrapped around him when he carried her the few steps into the living room and dropped her onto the sofa. The impact knocked a short breath out of her.


“Ranga—wait—” she started, voice sharp and sassy even while her mouth was still swollen from the kiss. “You can’t just—”

He didn’t let her finish. He came down over her, one knee between her thighs, and grabbed the front of her kurti with both hands.


Monica’s eyes widened..

“Don’t you dare—”

The fabric gave with a hard, tearing sound. Buttons scattered across the sofa and onto the floor. The kurti ripped open down the middle in one brutal pull, leaving her upper body exposed under the low television light.
She stared down at herself, shocked.


“You ripped it— Ranga, this was—”

Her bra was still on, but barely. It was a deep black, cotton Bra, the kind of expensive, underwired bra that looked deliberate rather than decent. The cups were full and slightly translucent where the lace stretched over the soft upper curves of her breasts. The straps sat clean against her shoulders, and the centre gore pressed the two heavy shapes together, creating a deep, shadowed line of cleavage.


Monica tried to adjust the torn halves of the kurti closed. Ranga caught both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. His other hand yanked the ruined fabric further open and threw the kurti completely off her body. She was in just a Bra now!


“Stop—” she hissed, twisting under him. “Rakesh is right there— we can’t—”
.
Ranga laughed “Just Look at your breasts ..they are asking me to suck it ..”

He lowered his head and put his mouth on the upper curve of her right breast, right above the lace. The heat of his mouth and the scbang of his teeth made her back arch despite the protest still leaving her lips.

“Ranga— don’t—”

He ignored the words. His mouth moved lower, dragging over the Bra, then closed over the covered nipple and sucked hard through the thin material. Monica’s breath broke into a short, unwilling sound. She struggled again, wrists twisting in his grip, hips shifting under his weight, but the resistance had already started to lose force.
The Bra was only a matter of time. One  pull on the straps or a hard tug at the front clasp and it would be gone. Ranga’s mouth stayed on her, working her through the Bra, while his free hand slid under her back, fingers finding the hook. Monica felt the first release of tension as the clasp began to give.

“Not the bra— please .” she managed to say, voice tight as her body pushed up into his mouth. “Ranga, I’m serious—”


The second hook gave. The black Bra loosened. Her breasts shifted, heavier now without the full support, the soft flesh spilling obscenely out as the cups started to fall away. Ranga lifted his head just long enough to look at what he had uncovered, then lowered his mouth again, this time with nothing between them.


Monica’s head tipped back against the sofa cushion. The protest was still in her throat, but the sound that came out was no longer only refusal. Down the hall, Rakesh slept on. In the living room the torn kurti lay fell on the ground and then slowly, the expensive black bra went off to the ground. Ranga’s mouth was already taking what the last of her resistance could no longer keep.


The television continued its muted glow across the living room, the forgotten movie flickering over their bodies. Ranga’s mouth stayed locked on Monica’s breast, sucking with slow, deliberate hunger. He drew the soft flesh deep, teeth grazing the sensitive skin around her nipple before closing and pulling hard enough to make her back arch off the sofa.

“Ranga—stop—ah—” Monica’s voice came out tight and broken. She twisted her shoulders, trying to pull away, but his hand held the other breast firmly, fingers sinking into the heavy curve and squeezing until the flesh spilled between them. “You’re hurting— Rakesh will hear—”


He only shifted to the other side. His mouth opened wide over the full underside of her left breast, sucking the soft weight upward, tongue pressing flat and slow against the nipple before he bit down just enough to sting. Monica’s breath hitched into a sharp sound. He stayed there, working the same spot with wet, dragging pulls, the kind that left the skin flushed and red almost immediately. Spit glistened on the breasts. When he released it with a soft pop, the nipple was darker, swollen, and he immediately took it back in, sucking harder, slower, as if determined to leave a mark she would feel the next day.

“Enough—” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re going to leave marks— stop mauling them—”

.Ranga lifted his head only long enough to look at her. His mouth was wet. Without a word he stood, unbuckled his belt, and shoved his pants and underwear down in one motion. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
Ranga was fully naked in an instant!!


Monica’s eyes dropped and widened. His cock stood thick and heavily erect, the dark shaft rigid, veins standing out along the length, the head already flushed and wet at the tip. The sheer size of it sent a visible jolt through Monica again. She had taken it before, but seeing it like this again— fully hard, completely exposed in her own living room while her husband slept down the hall— still shocked her.
“No—” she started, trying to sit up. “We’re not doing that. Put your clothes back on. Ranga, I’m serious—”
He pushed her back down by the shoulders and climbed over her, knees bracketing her waist. His cock hung heavy between them, the heat of it brushing the soft skin of her stomach.

“Hold them,” he said, voice low and rough.

“What?”

“Your tits. Hold them together.”

“I will not—”

He took both her wrists and forced her hands to the sides of her breasts. When she still resisted, he pressed her palms inward until the soft, heavy flesh pushed together, creating a deep, warm channel. Monica’s face burned with a mix of anger and something darker.


“Ranga, don’t you dare—”


He shifted forward and pushed the thick head of his cock into the tight space between her breasts. The first slow thrust made her breath catch. He was hot, heavy, and far too big for the soft tunnel she was being forced to create. He began to move, short and deliberate strokes at first, the shaft sliding between the compressed flesh while his hands stayed over hers, keeping her breasts tightly closed around him.

“Fuck—” Monica turned her face to the side, voice shaking with protest and something she refused to name. “This is disgusting— stop— Rakesh is right there—”


Ranga only pushed deeper, the head of his cock emerging from the top of her cleavage with every upward stroke, brushing close to her chin. He leaned over her, one hand still forcing her breasts together, the other braced on the sofa back, and began to fuck the soft channel in earnest. The wet sound of skin on skin mixed with the low murmur of the television. Monica’s protests continued— short, sassy, furious fragments— but her hands stayed where he had put them, holding her own breasts tight around his cock as he used them with slow, relentless thrusts.

“Look at it,” he muttered. “Look how well they take me.”

“Shut up—” she hissed, eyes squeezed shut for a second before they opened again against her will. The sight of his thick shaft disappearing between her breasts and reappearing glistening made her stomach twist with shame and heat. “You’re an animal— this is— ah—”


He kept going, the pace steady and deep, the head of his cock nudging higher with each stroke. Monica’s breathing had turned ragged. Every protest still left her mouth, but the force of her resistance had begun to fray under the relentless, filthy use of her body in the middle of her own living room.


Monica’s resistance thinned faster than she wanted to admit. The thick, hot slide of Ranga’s cock between her breasts pulled something unwilling but real from her body. Her hands, which had first been forced into place, stayed there on their own. She pressed the soft, heavy flesh tighter around him, creating a warmer, narrower channel.


Ranga took full advantage. He planted one knee deeper into the sofa cushion beside her hip and began thrusting with deliberate, controlled power. Each upward stroke dragged the full length of his thick shaft through the tight valley of her cleavage. The flared head emerged wet and flushed near her collarbone before he pulled back and drove forward again. His hips moved in a steady, rolling rhythm, the muscles in his thighs and stomach flexing with every push. He kept one hand locked over both of hers, forcing her to maintain the pressure, while his other hand gripped the back of the sofa for leverage so he could give her the best possible boobs job she ever got from anyone!


“Fuck…” Monica breathed, the word half protest, half surrender. “This is so wrong… Rakesh is right there…”
Ranga only leaned over her more, changing the angle so the underside of his cock dragged heavily against her  with every stroke. ..


After another long minute he pulled back suddenly. His cock left the tight space between her breasts with a slick, audible sound, bobbing heavily in the air, shiny with the friction. Monica’s hands fell away, her chest rising and falling hard, the skin of her breasts flushed red and marked from his earlier mouth and the continuous rubbing.


Ranga stood fully upright over her for a second, naked, the thick length of him still rigidly erect and glistening. Then he reached down with both hands. His fingers hooked hard into the waistband of her sweatpants on either side of her assl. In one clean, powerful motion he yanked the fabric down. The pants slid over her hips, along her thighs, and off her legs in a single continuous pull. He tossed them aside without looking where they landed.

Monica shuddered hard at the abrupt exposure.

Ranga did not touch her panties. He left the dark cotton panties exactly where it was — already damp, stretched slightly over the soft mound of her cunt. He climbed back onto the sofa, knees bracketing her thighs, and lowered his body over hers again. The heavy, hot weight of his cock settled directly against the thin, wet fabric of her panties, pressing the damp cloth into her. With both hands he took her wrists once more and guided her palms back to the sides of her breasts.



“Keep them together, I am not done yet” he ordered, voice rough and low.
..


Monica swallowed, still trembling from the sudden removal of her pants, and obeyed. She pressed her breasts firmly around his cock again. Ranga immediately resumed the thrusting, this time with even less restraint. Every forward stroke drove his thick shaft up through the tight, warm channel of her cleavage while the base and underside of his cock rubbed heavily against the soaked crotch of her panties. The dual sensation — the soft compression of her breasts and the thin, wet barrier against her cunt — made the movement filthier and more deliberate.

He fucked the space between her breasts with long, measured strokes, hips rolling, the head of his cock appearing and disappearing above her cleavage while the rest of him ground against the last piece of clothing he had allowed her to keep. Monica’s head tipped back against the cushion. A low, unwilling sound left her throat as she held herself open for him, completely topless, and the single layer of damp panties the only things left between her body and the relentless use Ranga was making of her in the middle of her own living room.

[SilverArrow]

Story has been abandoned by writer ?

Sorry was under a serious medical emergency..sorry for the delay

[SilverArrow]

Excellent update..... Finally Monica has been taken.... Not only in pussy but in the ass too... What a hot way to crack a deal.... I hope Ranga has more ways with her till Monday... Maybe one more round of passionate sex again in the same tin shed....

Thanks