22-10-2024, 04:40 PM
One evening, while preparing for bed, Amit brought up Qadir again. "I was thinking of inviting Qadir and Laila for dinner this weekend," he said casually, pulling his shirt over his head. Rashi's heart raced at the mention of Qadir’s name, the sound of it igniting something inside her. She had been trying so hard to forget that night, to push the feelings down. Yet, Amit’s innocent suggestion brought it all rushing back.
"Why?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as she arranged the pillows on the bed.
"Well, he’s been quite helpful with the project at the embassy. I think it would be good for us to solidify the relationship," Amit replied, his tone enthusiastic, as if unaware of the storm brewing inside her.
Rashi nodded, feeling a wave of dread mixed with excitement wash over her. She knew that seeing Qadir again would be inevitable, but a part of her wasn’t ready for it. The other part, the part that had replayed their encounter a hundred times in her head, was eager.
The dinner was arranged for that weekend, and Rashi spent the days leading up to it in a daze. Amit remained blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil, chalking up her distant mood to the stresses of adjusting to Kabul.
The evening started off with an air of anticipation, as Rashi and Amit busied themselves with the final touches before their guests were to arrive. The dining table was set, the house glowing with soft candlelight, and Rashi felt a familiar mix of anxiety and excitement swirling inside her. Tonight, they were expecting Laila and Qadir for dinner, and Rashi had spent hours preparing a lavish spread.
The evening started with a soft glow, as the warm light from the candles danced off the walls of their home. Rashi stood in front of the bedroom mirror, adjusting her saree once again, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. She had chosen a deep maroon silk saree with a golden border that clung to her curves, accentuating her slender waist and full hips. The saree was tied low, revealing just a hint of her toned midriff, while the pallu dbangd sensuously across her chest, teasing the soft swell of her cleavage.
Her blouse was fitted tightly, a deep cut at the front that exposed more of her chest than usual, but not enough to be considered improper—just enough to leave something to the imagination. The fabric stretched snugly across her ample breasts, the neckline dipping low, just grazing the thin gold chain of her mangalsutra which rested delicately between them. The black beads contrasted with her fair skin, drawing attention to her cleavage in an elegant, yet sensual way.
Rashi's long, dark hair was pinned up in a loose bun, with a few strands framing her face, and her lips were painted a soft pink. She had kept her makeup minimal, but her kohled eyes stood out, giving her an alluring look. As she applied the finishing touches, she couldn't help but wonder if Qadir would notice the way she had dressed tonight. Would he see the effort she had put in, or was she simply imagining the way he looked at her?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Amit’s voice from the hallway, breaking her reverie. She stepped out of the bedroom, her bangles jingling softly as she walked. Amit was on the phone, his hair slightly disheveled, already holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was dressed in a casual shirt and trousers, clearly more relaxed than Rashi, who had spent hours preparing for the evening.
When Amit hung up, he turned to her with a casual smile. "Laila isn’t coming. Something last-minute, but Qadir is still on his way." He took another sip of his drink, his words slurring slightly, though it was early in the night.
Rashi felt her heart skip a beat. Qadir would be coming alone. She tried to steady her nerves, reminding herself that this was just a simple dinner, nothing more. But deep down, a sense of anticipation had already settled in. The last time she had been alone with Qadir… She brushed the memory away, unwilling to let it surface just yet.
"That’s fine," she said, adjusting the pleats of her saree one more time, ensuring the pallu covered her cleavage just enough, but still left a teasing hint visible. Amit didn’t seem to notice how anxious she was or the subtle way she was checking her reflection.
"Don’t worry so much," Amit said, noticing the crease of concern on her forehead. "It’ll be a good night. Qadir is becoming an important ally for us." His eyes glazed over slightly as he downed the rest of his whiskey.
Rashi forced a smile, but her mind was already racing. She could feel the tension building in her body, a strange combination of fear and desire, as she waited for Qadir to arrive.
When the doorbell rang, Rashi felt her pulse quicken. Amit, now a few drinks in, answered the door with an eager smile.
Qadir stepped inside, dressed impeccably in a tailored black sherwani that fit him perfectly. The rich fabric highlighted his broad shoulders and lean figure. He was the kind of man who commanded attention without trying, his confidence radiating through every movement. As he shook hands with Amit, his eyes flickered to Rashi, and for a brief moment, they lingered on her—on the curve of her waist, the softness of her lips, and the way the saree hugged her figure.
"Good evening, Rashi," Qadir said smoothly, his voice low and intimate, as if they were the only two in the room.
"Good evening," Rashi replied, her voice steady, though her heart was racing. She could feel his gaze burning into her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin, the delicate display of her black beads between her breasts, and the hint of cleavage that peeked out from her saree’s pallu.
"Where’s Laila?" she asked, trying to ease the tension in her chest.
"She had some last-minute work. I hope you don’t mind that it’s just me tonight," Qadir responded, his eyes still locked on hers.
Rashi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his presence. "Of course not," she said, forcing herself to smile.
Amit, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between his wife and Qadir, gestured toward the living room. "Come, let’s have a drink before dinner," he said, already pouring more whiskey for himself.
As they sat down, Rashi found herself seated directly across from Qadir. The soft light from the candles flickered across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features. His eyes would occasionally drift to her, lingering on the way her blouse clung to her body, the gold beads resting delicately on her skin, drawing his gaze down to the valley between her breasts.
Amit, already tipsy, didn’t notice the subtle exchange of glances. He was too busy talking about work, about the embassy projects, and how much Qadir’s influence would help them. "We’re lucky to have a man like you around," Amit said, his words slurring. "You have no idea how much you’ve done for us."
Qadir smiled politely, but his focus remained on Rashi. "I’m happy to help," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "But I think Rashi deserves some credit too. She’s made quite an impression."
Rashi’s cheeks flushed at the subtle compliment, and she looked down, nervously adjusting the edge of her saree. Amit chuckled, oblivious, and poured another drink.
The night had begun innocently enough, but as the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the room became heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Rashi tried to stay composed, but the way Qadir’s eyes lingered on her every movement made her pulse race.
Amit, meanwhile, was far less composed. He had been nursing glass after glass of whiskey, laughing too loudly, slurring his words, and growing increasingly unsteady on his feet. His once eloquent conversation with Qadir had devolved into rambling. Rashi kept stealing glances at him, worried about how much he was drinking, but Amit waved off her concerns every time she gently tried to suggest he slow down.
Qadir, on the other hand, stayed calm and collected, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He watched as Amit poured himself yet another drink, and though his face was polite, Rashi could sense the amusement behind his gaze. Qadir’s focus shifted frequently from Amit’s intoxication to Rashi’s poised yet visibly uneasy demeanor.
"Amit," Rashi said, her voice firm as she stood from her chair, walking over to him. "You’ve had enough. Why don’t you take a break?"
Amit grinned lazily at her, the alcohol blurring his judgment. "Rashi, I’m fine!" he slurred, holding up his glass. "It’s a celebration, right? You’re always so serious." He attempted to stand but stumbled forward, almost losing his balance.
Rashi moved quickly to support him, placing one hand on his chest and the other around his back. But in doing so, her saree slipped slightly, causing the pallu to fall further down her chest, exposing more of her cleavage. Qadir’s eyes caught the sight instantly, his gaze drawn to the display of her ample breasts, the black beads of her mangalsutra nestled between them. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight, and for a brief second, Rashi felt the intensity of his stare like a physical touch.
"Let me help you," she said softly to Amit, trying to regain her composure as she adjusted the saree with one hand, but Amit’s weight was making it difficult for her to manage.
Qadir, seeing her struggle, rose smoothly from his chair and crossed the room in a few swift strides. "Here, Rashi, let me help you with him," he offered, his voice calm, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.
Rashi hesitated but nodded, grateful for the assistance. Together, they managed to get Amit up from the chair and guided him towards the bedroom. But just as they reached the doorway, Amit stumbled again, pulling Rashi down with him. She let out a small yelp as she fell to her knees, her elbow hitting the floor hard.
"Ouch!" Rashi winced, feeling the sharp sting radiate through her knee and arm. She could feel her saree now dangerously askew, her cleavage fully exposed as she tried to catch herself from the fall. Qadir immediately stepped forward, steadying Amit on the bed, before turning his attention to her.
"Rashi!" Qadir’s voice was suddenly full of concern as he knelt beside her. "Are you alright? That looked like a hard fall."
Rashi winced again as she tried to get up, only for Qadir to gently take her by the arm, his hands surprisingly tender. "Don’t move too quickly," he said softly, his eyes sweeping over her body with more than just concern.
"It’s just my knee and elbow," she muttered, trying to brush it off as she covered herself, quickly pulling her pallu back up to cover her chest, though Qadir’s eyes lingered on her cleavage for a second longer than necessary.
"Let me take a look," Qadir said, his voice authoritative yet caring. Before she could protest, he was already guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. Amit was passed out now, completely oblivious to everything happening around him.
Rashi sat down, her heart pounding. She didn’t know if it was the pain or Qadir’s proximity that was making her breath come faster. He knelt down in front of her, lifting the fabric of her saree just slightly to inspect her knee. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a jolt through her.
"It’s a little bruised," he said, his voice low. "You should put ice on it soon."
"I’ll be fine," Rashi said, though her voice wavered slightly as his hand remained on her knee, the warmth of his touch impossible to ignore. "Thank you, Qadir, but really, I’m okay."
Qadir looked up at her, his face close to hers now, and there was an unmistakable heat in his eyes. "You don’t need to act tough, Rashi. Let me take care of you," he said, his voice a seductive whisper.
Rashi’s breath hitched. She knew where this was headed, but she also knew she had to resist. "Qadir, no," she said, her voice firmer now, though her body betrayed her, leaning just slightly into his touch. "This isn’t right."
Rashi sat on the edge of the bed beside Amit, her mind racing from the whirlwind of emotions and the lingering sensations of Qadir's touch. Before she could gather her thoughts, Qadir moved with a fluid grace, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"Let’s find a more comfortable spot to see where you’ve hurt yourself," he said, his voice smooth and inviting. Rashi felt her heart race as he carried her into a dimly lit bedroom down the hall, the soft glow of lamps casting warm shadows across the room.
He set her down gently on the bed, and Rashi instinctively pulled her saree around her, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something deeper—an unacknowledged thrill. Qadir stepped back, his dark eyes assessing her with a predatory gaze that sent shivers down her spine.
“Now, let’s take a look,” he said, a playful smile dancing on his lips. He knelt down beside her, his fingers reaching out to trace the fabric of her saree, slowly lifting it to reveal her bare legs. “We need to see if there are any bruises,” he continued, his tone light yet laced with an undercurrent of intensity.
Rashi’s breath hitched as he began to lift her saree higher, inching it up her thighs. “Qadir, I—” she began, but he interrupted her gently, his gaze unwavering.
“Trust me, Rashi. I’m only trying to help,” he said, his fingers brushing against her skin, igniting a fire within her that she couldn’t ignore. With each inch of fabric that he pulled away, Rashi felt more vulnerable, more exposed. She could see the way his eyes darkened with desire as he revealed more of her body.
As he lifted her saree up to her panty, Rashi gasped, instinctively trying to cover herself. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.
“Just checking for injuries,” Qadir replied, his smile turning teasing as he leaned closer. “Let’s see if there’s any damage here,” he murmured, pressing his fingers lightly against her skin, trailing down her arm and over her collarbone.
Rashi felt her heart race, caught between the need to push him away and the desire to feel more of his touch. “Qadir, please…” she whispered, but it was too late. The way he looked at her, filled with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying, made her pulse quicken.
“Just relax,” he said softly, his voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around her. “I’m looking for bruises. You fell hard, remember?” He continued his exploration, moving from her arms to her shoulders, and Rashi’s breath hitched as his fingers grazed the top of her breasts.
“See? No bruises here,” he teased, but his eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued down her body, inch by inch, his touch igniting a flame inside her that she couldn’t suppress. Rashi shivered under his hands, her body betraying her mind's objections. “But I can’t be too sure if you’re not hiding anything,” he added, his fingers now grazing over her stomach, teasing the edge of her blouse.
“Stop it,” Rashi said, her voice barely above a whisper, but even she could hear the wavering resolve in her tone. She felt caught between wanting to resist and wanting to give in to the electric tension that filled the room.
“Why? I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay,” he replied innocently, but his eyes were anything but innocent. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, “Let me help you heal, Rashi.”
With that, he reached behind her to pull the strings of her blouse, his fingers deft and confident. Rashi gasped, feeling the fabric fall away on the front, leaving her bra exposed. She couldn’t help but feel vulnerable, but there was something intoxicating about the way Qadir looked at her, like she was a masterpiece he wanted to admire.
“Qadir!” she exclaimed, trying to cover herself with her hands, but he caught her wrists and held them gently yet firmly. “You don’t need to hide from me,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her ample cleavage. “You’re beautiful, Rashi. Don’t you see that?”
His words sent a jolt through her, and despite her protests, a part of her wanted to believe him. As he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing against hers, she felt her defenses begin to crumble.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
"Why?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as she arranged the pillows on the bed.
"Well, he’s been quite helpful with the project at the embassy. I think it would be good for us to solidify the relationship," Amit replied, his tone enthusiastic, as if unaware of the storm brewing inside her.
Rashi nodded, feeling a wave of dread mixed with excitement wash over her. She knew that seeing Qadir again would be inevitable, but a part of her wasn’t ready for it. The other part, the part that had replayed their encounter a hundred times in her head, was eager.
The dinner was arranged for that weekend, and Rashi spent the days leading up to it in a daze. Amit remained blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil, chalking up her distant mood to the stresses of adjusting to Kabul.
The evening started off with an air of anticipation, as Rashi and Amit busied themselves with the final touches before their guests were to arrive. The dining table was set, the house glowing with soft candlelight, and Rashi felt a familiar mix of anxiety and excitement swirling inside her. Tonight, they were expecting Laila and Qadir for dinner, and Rashi had spent hours preparing a lavish spread.
The evening started with a soft glow, as the warm light from the candles danced off the walls of their home. Rashi stood in front of the bedroom mirror, adjusting her saree once again, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. She had chosen a deep maroon silk saree with a golden border that clung to her curves, accentuating her slender waist and full hips. The saree was tied low, revealing just a hint of her toned midriff, while the pallu dbangd sensuously across her chest, teasing the soft swell of her cleavage.
Her blouse was fitted tightly, a deep cut at the front that exposed more of her chest than usual, but not enough to be considered improper—just enough to leave something to the imagination. The fabric stretched snugly across her ample breasts, the neckline dipping low, just grazing the thin gold chain of her mangalsutra which rested delicately between them. The black beads contrasted with her fair skin, drawing attention to her cleavage in an elegant, yet sensual way.
Rashi's long, dark hair was pinned up in a loose bun, with a few strands framing her face, and her lips were painted a soft pink. She had kept her makeup minimal, but her kohled eyes stood out, giving her an alluring look. As she applied the finishing touches, she couldn't help but wonder if Qadir would notice the way she had dressed tonight. Would he see the effort she had put in, or was she simply imagining the way he looked at her?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Amit’s voice from the hallway, breaking her reverie. She stepped out of the bedroom, her bangles jingling softly as she walked. Amit was on the phone, his hair slightly disheveled, already holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was dressed in a casual shirt and trousers, clearly more relaxed than Rashi, who had spent hours preparing for the evening.
When Amit hung up, he turned to her with a casual smile. "Laila isn’t coming. Something last-minute, but Qadir is still on his way." He took another sip of his drink, his words slurring slightly, though it was early in the night.
Rashi felt her heart skip a beat. Qadir would be coming alone. She tried to steady her nerves, reminding herself that this was just a simple dinner, nothing more. But deep down, a sense of anticipation had already settled in. The last time she had been alone with Qadir… She brushed the memory away, unwilling to let it surface just yet.
"That’s fine," she said, adjusting the pleats of her saree one more time, ensuring the pallu covered her cleavage just enough, but still left a teasing hint visible. Amit didn’t seem to notice how anxious she was or the subtle way she was checking her reflection.
"Don’t worry so much," Amit said, noticing the crease of concern on her forehead. "It’ll be a good night. Qadir is becoming an important ally for us." His eyes glazed over slightly as he downed the rest of his whiskey.
Rashi forced a smile, but her mind was already racing. She could feel the tension building in her body, a strange combination of fear and desire, as she waited for Qadir to arrive.
When the doorbell rang, Rashi felt her pulse quicken. Amit, now a few drinks in, answered the door with an eager smile.
Qadir stepped inside, dressed impeccably in a tailored black sherwani that fit him perfectly. The rich fabric highlighted his broad shoulders and lean figure. He was the kind of man who commanded attention without trying, his confidence radiating through every movement. As he shook hands with Amit, his eyes flickered to Rashi, and for a brief moment, they lingered on her—on the curve of her waist, the softness of her lips, and the way the saree hugged her figure.
"Good evening, Rashi," Qadir said smoothly, his voice low and intimate, as if they were the only two in the room.
"Good evening," Rashi replied, her voice steady, though her heart was racing. She could feel his gaze burning into her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin, the delicate display of her black beads between her breasts, and the hint of cleavage that peeked out from her saree’s pallu.
"Where’s Laila?" she asked, trying to ease the tension in her chest.
"She had some last-minute work. I hope you don’t mind that it’s just me tonight," Qadir responded, his eyes still locked on hers.
Rashi swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his presence. "Of course not," she said, forcing herself to smile.
Amit, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between his wife and Qadir, gestured toward the living room. "Come, let’s have a drink before dinner," he said, already pouring more whiskey for himself.
As they sat down, Rashi found herself seated directly across from Qadir. The soft light from the candles flickered across his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features. His eyes would occasionally drift to her, lingering on the way her blouse clung to her body, the gold beads resting delicately on her skin, drawing his gaze down to the valley between her breasts.
Amit, already tipsy, didn’t notice the subtle exchange of glances. He was too busy talking about work, about the embassy projects, and how much Qadir’s influence would help them. "We’re lucky to have a man like you around," Amit said, his words slurring. "You have no idea how much you’ve done for us."
Qadir smiled politely, but his focus remained on Rashi. "I’m happy to help," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "But I think Rashi deserves some credit too. She’s made quite an impression."
Rashi’s cheeks flushed at the subtle compliment, and she looked down, nervously adjusting the edge of her saree. Amit chuckled, oblivious, and poured another drink.
The night had begun innocently enough, but as the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the room became heavier, charged with unspoken tension. Rashi tried to stay composed, but the way Qadir’s eyes lingered on her every movement made her pulse race.
Amit, meanwhile, was far less composed. He had been nursing glass after glass of whiskey, laughing too loudly, slurring his words, and growing increasingly unsteady on his feet. His once eloquent conversation with Qadir had devolved into rambling. Rashi kept stealing glances at him, worried about how much he was drinking, but Amit waved off her concerns every time she gently tried to suggest he slow down.
Qadir, on the other hand, stayed calm and collected, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He watched as Amit poured himself yet another drink, and though his face was polite, Rashi could sense the amusement behind his gaze. Qadir’s focus shifted frequently from Amit’s intoxication to Rashi’s poised yet visibly uneasy demeanor.
"Amit," Rashi said, her voice firm as she stood from her chair, walking over to him. "You’ve had enough. Why don’t you take a break?"
Amit grinned lazily at her, the alcohol blurring his judgment. "Rashi, I’m fine!" he slurred, holding up his glass. "It’s a celebration, right? You’re always so serious." He attempted to stand but stumbled forward, almost losing his balance.
Rashi moved quickly to support him, placing one hand on his chest and the other around his back. But in doing so, her saree slipped slightly, causing the pallu to fall further down her chest, exposing more of her cleavage. Qadir’s eyes caught the sight instantly, his gaze drawn to the display of her ample breasts, the black beads of her mangalsutra nestled between them. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight, and for a brief second, Rashi felt the intensity of his stare like a physical touch.
"Let me help you," she said softly to Amit, trying to regain her composure as she adjusted the saree with one hand, but Amit’s weight was making it difficult for her to manage.
Qadir, seeing her struggle, rose smoothly from his chair and crossed the room in a few swift strides. "Here, Rashi, let me help you with him," he offered, his voice calm, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.
Rashi hesitated but nodded, grateful for the assistance. Together, they managed to get Amit up from the chair and guided him towards the bedroom. But just as they reached the doorway, Amit stumbled again, pulling Rashi down with him. She let out a small yelp as she fell to her knees, her elbow hitting the floor hard.
"Ouch!" Rashi winced, feeling the sharp sting radiate through her knee and arm. She could feel her saree now dangerously askew, her cleavage fully exposed as she tried to catch herself from the fall. Qadir immediately stepped forward, steadying Amit on the bed, before turning his attention to her.
"Rashi!" Qadir’s voice was suddenly full of concern as he knelt beside her. "Are you alright? That looked like a hard fall."
Rashi winced again as she tried to get up, only for Qadir to gently take her by the arm, his hands surprisingly tender. "Don’t move too quickly," he said softly, his eyes sweeping over her body with more than just concern.
"It’s just my knee and elbow," she muttered, trying to brush it off as she covered herself, quickly pulling her pallu back up to cover her chest, though Qadir’s eyes lingered on her cleavage for a second longer than necessary.
"Let me take a look," Qadir said, his voice authoritative yet caring. Before she could protest, he was already guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. Amit was passed out now, completely oblivious to everything happening around him.
Rashi sat down, her heart pounding. She didn’t know if it was the pain or Qadir’s proximity that was making her breath come faster. He knelt down in front of her, lifting the fabric of her saree just slightly to inspect her knee. His fingers brushed against her skin, sending a jolt through her.
"It’s a little bruised," he said, his voice low. "You should put ice on it soon."
"I’ll be fine," Rashi said, though her voice wavered slightly as his hand remained on her knee, the warmth of his touch impossible to ignore. "Thank you, Qadir, but really, I’m okay."
Qadir looked up at her, his face close to hers now, and there was an unmistakable heat in his eyes. "You don’t need to act tough, Rashi. Let me take care of you," he said, his voice a seductive whisper.
Rashi’s breath hitched. She knew where this was headed, but she also knew she had to resist. "Qadir, no," she said, her voice firmer now, though her body betrayed her, leaning just slightly into his touch. "This isn’t right."
Rashi sat on the edge of the bed beside Amit, her mind racing from the whirlwind of emotions and the lingering sensations of Qadir's touch. Before she could gather her thoughts, Qadir moved with a fluid grace, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"Let’s find a more comfortable spot to see where you’ve hurt yourself," he said, his voice smooth and inviting. Rashi felt her heart race as he carried her into a dimly lit bedroom down the hall, the soft glow of lamps casting warm shadows across the room.
He set her down gently on the bed, and Rashi instinctively pulled her saree around her, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something deeper—an unacknowledged thrill. Qadir stepped back, his dark eyes assessing her with a predatory gaze that sent shivers down her spine.
“Now, let’s take a look,” he said, a playful smile dancing on his lips. He knelt down beside her, his fingers reaching out to trace the fabric of her saree, slowly lifting it to reveal her bare legs. “We need to see if there are any bruises,” he continued, his tone light yet laced with an undercurrent of intensity.
Rashi’s breath hitched as he began to lift her saree higher, inching it up her thighs. “Qadir, I—” she began, but he interrupted her gently, his gaze unwavering.
“Trust me, Rashi. I’m only trying to help,” he said, his fingers brushing against her skin, igniting a fire within her that she couldn’t ignore. With each inch of fabric that he pulled away, Rashi felt more vulnerable, more exposed. She could see the way his eyes darkened with desire as he revealed more of her body.
As he lifted her saree up to her panty, Rashi gasped, instinctively trying to cover herself. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.
“Just checking for injuries,” Qadir replied, his smile turning teasing as he leaned closer. “Let’s see if there’s any damage here,” he murmured, pressing his fingers lightly against her skin, trailing down her arm and over her collarbone.
Rashi felt her heart race, caught between the need to push him away and the desire to feel more of his touch. “Qadir, please…” she whispered, but it was too late. The way he looked at her, filled with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying, made her pulse quicken.
“Just relax,” he said softly, his voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around her. “I’m looking for bruises. You fell hard, remember?” He continued his exploration, moving from her arms to her shoulders, and Rashi’s breath hitched as his fingers grazed the top of her breasts.
“See? No bruises here,” he teased, but his eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued down her body, inch by inch, his touch igniting a flame inside her that she couldn’t suppress. Rashi shivered under his hands, her body betraying her mind's objections. “But I can’t be too sure if you’re not hiding anything,” he added, his fingers now grazing over her stomach, teasing the edge of her blouse.
“Stop it,” Rashi said, her voice barely above a whisper, but even she could hear the wavering resolve in her tone. She felt caught between wanting to resist and wanting to give in to the electric tension that filled the room.
“Why? I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay,” he replied innocently, but his eyes were anything but innocent. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, “Let me help you heal, Rashi.”
With that, he reached behind her to pull the strings of her blouse, his fingers deft and confident. Rashi gasped, feeling the fabric fall away on the front, leaving her bra exposed. She couldn’t help but feel vulnerable, but there was something intoxicating about the way Qadir looked at her, like she was a masterpiece he wanted to admire.
“Qadir!” she exclaimed, trying to cover herself with her hands, but he caught her wrists and held them gently yet firmly. “You don’t need to hide from me,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on her ample cleavage. “You’re beautiful, Rashi. Don’t you see that?”
His words sent a jolt through her, and despite her protests, a part of her wanted to believe him. As he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing against hers, she felt her defenses begin to crumble.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice shaky.
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