Behenchod: My sister, my lover(Brother-sister)

[Mohit.Kumar]

The knock on the door was like a gunshot in the quiet of the room, the sudden intrusion jolting them out of their reverie. Rupa's eyes widened in panic, her hand still wrapped around his cock, her mouth hovering just above it. She pulled away, her cheeks flushed, her breathing ragged. "What if it's my husband?" she whispered, her voice tight with fear.

Sharan chuckled darkly, his own arousal not even slightly dampened by the thought. "Then he'll know you've been a very naughty girl," he said, his voice a low rumble of amusement. He zipped up his pants, the sound a stark reminder of their hastily concealed desire.

The knock grew more insistent, the room bearer's voice muffled through the thick wood of the door. "Room service, sir," he called out.

Sharan's hand slammed down on the power button of the phone, silencing the music that had been the soundtrack to their illicit dance. He zipped up his trousers with a swiftness that belied the tumult of his thoughts. Rupa hastily pulled her choli back in place, tugging at the neckline to cover her exposed breast. They exchanged a look that was a silent agreement to keep their secret, the flame of their passion still burning bright in their eyes.

The room service attendant's voice grew louder, the urgency in his tone a reminder of the precariousness of their situation. Rupa's hand was shaking as she picked up the hem of her lehenga, stepping into it with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly under the circumstances. The fabric whispered around her ankles, the gold embroidery shimmering in the dim light as she straightened it over her hips. "Answer the door," she hissed, her voice a mix of fear and excitement.

Sharan stumbled over to the door, his mind racing with the possible consequences of their actions. He took a deep breath, willing his body to calm, his hand steadying on the doorknob. "Just a moment," he called out, his voice a poor imitation of calm. He opened the door a crack, the cool air of the corridor a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered in the room.

The room bearer looked slightly surprised to see him, his gaze darting to the bed and then back to Sharan's flushed face. The young man's eyes widened slightly as he took in the scene, but he said nothing, his professionalism a silent shield. He stepped inside, placing the bottle of whisky, the ice bucket, and the soda on the small table by the window. The clink of the ice and the clatter of the bottle and glasses seemed deafening in the tense silence.