24-03-2025, 09:06 AM
Arjun stepped out of the cab at Mumbai’s international airport, the humid air hitting him as he slung a simple duffel over his shoulder. He bypassed the chaotic main terminal, heading straight for a discreet entrance marked only by a sleek black plaque—no name, no fuss, just the way his family liked it. The departure terminal buzzed around him, but he moved with purpose, slipping into the luxury lounge that catered solely to his kin and their tight circle of associates.
The staff snapped to attention the moment he crossed the threshold. Five attendants in crisp charcoal uniforms stepped forward from the entrance, bowing politely in unison, their movements practiced and reverent. “Welcome back, sir,” the eldest said, a wiry man with a silver pin on his lapel. Arjun returned the gesture with equal courtesy, a slight nod and a warm, “Good to see you all.” The lounge gleamed—marble floors, plush leather seating, a wall of glass overlooking the tarmac where planes taxied under the morning sun.
He dropped his duffel on a chair, scanning the room. “Where’s Ruby?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. Ruby, the outlet’s manager—and a fling from months back—was a spark he hadn’t forgotten. The wiry man smiled faintly. “She’s on leave, sir. Getting married this week.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Married, huh? Good for her. Tell the pilot to standby—I’m not rushing off. And I’ll take a shower first.” He grabbed a towel from a waiting attendant, heading to the private suite at the lounge’s rear. The shower was quick, the hot water sluicing off the last of Maya’s scent—sweat, sex, her fierce energy. He emerged in a light cement-colored pant, a crisp white shirt, and simple shoes, his damp hair pushed back, feeling lighter but restless.
“Mumbai air’s too good to miss,” he told the staff, waving off their offer to fetch the captain. “Let him wait. I’ll be out here.” He stretched out on a cushioned lounge chair by the glass wall, the tarmac sprawling below—planes rolling, people scurrying, a chaotic dance he watched with lazy interest. An hour drifted by, the hum of the lounge a soft backdrop, his mind replaying Maya’s fire, her “slut” plea, her relentless drive.
Then a rustle broke his reverie—a figure slipping in silently. Lips brushed his, warm and sudden, and his tongue slid into her mouth on instinct, tasting the familiar edge before his eyes even opened. “Ruby,” he murmured against her, voice low and sure, “aren’t you busy with wedding stuff?”
Ruby pulled back, her ghagra shimmering—a deep red with gold threads, straight from a shop, no doubt—her eyes glistening with emotion. She hadn’t changed, her hair slightly mussed, her breath quick. “Sir,” she said, voice trembling, “how did you know it was me? Do you still remember how I taste?” She perched on his lap, lifting the ghagra to straddle him, her thighs bare against his pants, her closeness stirring him.
Arjun grinned, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her in for another kiss, his tongue tracing her lips. “This ghagra looks good on you,” he said, dodging her question with his own. “Wearing it for the wedding?”
She frowned, insistent, her hands cupping his face. “Master,” she pressed, shifting closer, her ass settling firmer on his lap, “tell me. How’d you know?”
His hand slipped under the ghagra, resting on her ass, feeling the smooth, freshly waxed curve of her legs. He leaned in, voice dropping to a tease. “It’s those crooked teeth, Ruby. Always a pleasure to feel ‘em with my tongue.” His fingers squeezed lightly, his grin widening as she froze, caught between a laugh and a pout, unsure if he was praising or poking fun.
Ruby swatted his chest, half-smiling. “You’re awful,” she muttered, but her body stayed pressed to his, the tension easing into something familiar, playful. He didn’t push further—just held her there, the planes outside rolling on, the lounge a quiet bubble around them.
The staff snapped to attention the moment he crossed the threshold. Five attendants in crisp charcoal uniforms stepped forward from the entrance, bowing politely in unison, their movements practiced and reverent. “Welcome back, sir,” the eldest said, a wiry man with a silver pin on his lapel. Arjun returned the gesture with equal courtesy, a slight nod and a warm, “Good to see you all.” The lounge gleamed—marble floors, plush leather seating, a wall of glass overlooking the tarmac where planes taxied under the morning sun.
He dropped his duffel on a chair, scanning the room. “Where’s Ruby?” he asked, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. Ruby, the outlet’s manager—and a fling from months back—was a spark he hadn’t forgotten. The wiry man smiled faintly. “She’s on leave, sir. Getting married this week.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Married, huh? Good for her. Tell the pilot to standby—I’m not rushing off. And I’ll take a shower first.” He grabbed a towel from a waiting attendant, heading to the private suite at the lounge’s rear. The shower was quick, the hot water sluicing off the last of Maya’s scent—sweat, sex, her fierce energy. He emerged in a light cement-colored pant, a crisp white shirt, and simple shoes, his damp hair pushed back, feeling lighter but restless.
“Mumbai air’s too good to miss,” he told the staff, waving off their offer to fetch the captain. “Let him wait. I’ll be out here.” He stretched out on a cushioned lounge chair by the glass wall, the tarmac sprawling below—planes rolling, people scurrying, a chaotic dance he watched with lazy interest. An hour drifted by, the hum of the lounge a soft backdrop, his mind replaying Maya’s fire, her “slut” plea, her relentless drive.
Then a rustle broke his reverie—a figure slipping in silently. Lips brushed his, warm and sudden, and his tongue slid into her mouth on instinct, tasting the familiar edge before his eyes even opened. “Ruby,” he murmured against her, voice low and sure, “aren’t you busy with wedding stuff?”
Ruby pulled back, her ghagra shimmering—a deep red with gold threads, straight from a shop, no doubt—her eyes glistening with emotion. She hadn’t changed, her hair slightly mussed, her breath quick. “Sir,” she said, voice trembling, “how did you know it was me? Do you still remember how I taste?” She perched on his lap, lifting the ghagra to straddle him, her thighs bare against his pants, her closeness stirring him.
Arjun grinned, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her in for another kiss, his tongue tracing her lips. “This ghagra looks good on you,” he said, dodging her question with his own. “Wearing it for the wedding?”
She frowned, insistent, her hands cupping his face. “Master,” she pressed, shifting closer, her ass settling firmer on his lap, “tell me. How’d you know?”
His hand slipped under the ghagra, resting on her ass, feeling the smooth, freshly waxed curve of her legs. He leaned in, voice dropping to a tease. “It’s those crooked teeth, Ruby. Always a pleasure to feel ‘em with my tongue.” His fingers squeezed lightly, his grin widening as she froze, caught between a laugh and a pout, unsure if he was praising or poking fun.
Ruby swatted his chest, half-smiling. “You’re awful,” she muttered, but her body stayed pressed to his, the tension easing into something familiar, playful. He didn’t push further—just held her there, the planes outside rolling on, the lounge a quiet bubble around them.
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