PROFESSOR GAURI

[sominoru]

His palms now rested against her shoulders, the edge of his thumbs lightly brushing the upper swell of her breasts. He felt her inhale, deep and slow, and he could feel the silk fabric tighten ever so slightly with the movement. That breath, deliberate and controlled, made his own chest tighten.
She tilted her head just slightly, exposing more of her throat. For a fleeting second, he thought she was surrendering. His fingers inched forward until the pad of his thumb just grazed the upper curve of her breast. Nothing more. Skin met skin. Warm. Smooth. Electric.
She exhaled. A sound, barely audible, halfway between a sigh and something else entirely. Something caught between restraint and surrender. Then, she spoke.
“Stop.”
Her voice was quiet, firm, but not angry. Not cold.
Siraj froze, every nerve in his body straining against the word. She stepped forward, just an inch, breaking contact. His hands now touched only the silk where her shoulders had been. A void. Her heat still lingered on his skin, but she was no longer there.
She turned to face him slowly. Her blouse had slipped slightly on one side, a flash of skin at her shoulder, the faintest suggestion of the bra beneath. Her eyes were dark, unreadable.
“That’s far enough,” she said, her voice a murmur.
Siraj opened his mouth, unsure of what he meant to say. Apology? Plea? But no words came.
She smiled. Not sweet. Not cruel. Just knowing.
"It was an accident," he said.
Gauri did not reply. He was staring at her magnificent breasts.
"Are they sensitive?"
Gauri’s eyes didn’t waver. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped closer, slowly, deliberately.
“Is that really what you want to ask me?” she said, her voice low, each word measured like a test.
Siraj swallowed. His gaze lifted from her chest to her eyes, finally, as if waking from a trance. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“No,” she said, her tone cool but not dismissive. “But you did say it.”
She studied him for a moment that stretched just past comfort. Then she reached up and smoothed the edge of her blouse back onto her shoulder. Not hurried. Not embarrassed. Just intentional.
“They are,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Siraj nodded. The tension in his jaw, in his hands, in the space between them, trembled with restraint.
His voice was soft, hesitant. “Can I see them?”
For a heartbeat, Gauri said nothing. The silence stretched, thick with heat and the sharp edge of vulnerability. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes flickered. Not surprise. Not offense. Just consideration.
She stepped closer again, so close he could smell the faint trace of jasmine in her hair. Her fingers reached out, brushing the front of his shirt. Not pulling. Not pushing. Just resting there.
“Why?” she asked.
The question landed like a pebble in deep water, gentle but it sank quickly.
He blinked. “Because I want to,” he said. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you, about what it felt like just now. And I…” He stopped himself, the words thick in his throat.
“If I let you see them now, what happens next?”
He turned slightly, not daring to face her fully. “Nothing. I don’t expect anything.”
A pause.
“But you want something.”
She exhaled, one long, slow breath. He could feel it more than hear it. Her fingers brushed the inside of his wrist again, tracing the same path as before.
“You think you’re asking for something small,” she said. “But you’re not. You’re asking me to show you something extremely personal, and I’m still deciding if you deserve it.”
“Please.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. But something shifted.
“Okay. Fine.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. Not at the plea, not at the way he said it. If anything, it sharpened. Not harder. Just clearer, as though she were seeing him in finer detail.
She watched him for a long moment. Then her fingers drifted to the edge of her blouse. She didn’t look down. She didn’t make a show of it. She kept her eyes locked to his.
She unfastened the top button. The sound was quiet, a soft click of thread slipping through fabric, but to Siraj, it echoed. The curve of her collarbone appeared first, followed by a breath of skin where the blouse parted. She paused, just long enough for him to know that every motion was deliberate, controlled.
Another button. Then another.
The swell of her breasts came into view, the shadowed valley between them, the smooth rise of skin framed by the delicate edge of the bra. She stopped just before revealing the full shape, enough to see, enough to ache for more.
Siraj’s breath caught. He didn’t speak. He didn’t dare.
She could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his breath had grown shallow. He hadn’t moved.
One final button, and the blouse parted fully. She drew it back, just enough.
Her breasts, full and soft, rose with each breath she took, bare now, save for the faintest trace of lace from the bra she slowly pulled down. The air was warm, but he saw the way her nipples tightened in the open air, flushed and sensitive.
Siraj’s gaze dropped, reverent. No rush. No fumbling. Just awe.
He stepped closer, his hands barely lifting until they hovered near her ribs.
His fingers touched her first, lightly tracing the outside curve, then settling beneath. She was warm, impossibly soft. The weight of her breast filled his hand perfectly.
Gauri inhaled, sharp but quiet, her body leaning into his just a little.
Then he lowered his mouth to her.
His lips closed around her nipple, slow and gentle, like he was learning her by taste and pressure. He suckled, and her breath hitched, her hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. Not to guide. Not to push. Just to be there. Just to feel.



Her nipple stiffened further beneath his tongue, and he felt the tremor ripple through her as he circled it. He grazed her with the edge of his teeth, then soothed with a tender kiss. The contrast made her exhale hard, a sound she didn’t try to hide this time.
He moved to the other, his thumb still teasing the one he’d left. His mouth was hungrier now, lips closing firmer, drawing slow pulses from her that she tried to quiet but couldn’t fully contain.
Her fingers tightened slightly in his hair.
“You’re good at that,” she whispered, almost breathless.
He pulled back just enough to answer against her skin. “I’m just… obsessed.”
She let out a soft, husky laugh. “You’re going to make this very hard to stop.”
“Then don’t,” he said, his voice rough with restraint.
Gauri leaned down, pressing her forehead to his. Her breasts, now damp and flushed from his mouth, brushed his chest through his shirt.
Siraj stayed close, his mouth lingering just above her nipple, his breath warm against her skin. He watched her face, her eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted in something between uncertainty and desire.
Then he kissed her again, right where her skin was most tender. His tongue flicked slowly over the tight bud before drawing it back into his mouth, suckling with quiet devotion.
Gauri gasped softly.
It wasn’t a sound she meant to make. Her hand came up, brushing her lips as if she could press it back in. Her cheeks were flushed now, color creeping down her neck and across her chest. But she didn’t stop him. Her body stayed open, trembling slightly, breasts rising and falling with every unsteady breath.
Siraj’s hands explored gently. He cupped the fullness of her breasts, weighing them, marveling at how they responded to his touch. His thumbs brushed across her nipples, one wet from his mouth, the other tightening at the tease. Her skin was so soft beneath his palms, and every little twitch of her muscles felt like a whisper of permission.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe.
She turned her face away, not from shame, but from something deeper. Her hair fell across one cheek, half hiding the look in her eyes. “Don’t say that right now,” she whispered. “Not while you're doing that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes it harder to breathe.”
He smiled, not mocking, just moved by her honesty. He leaned forward again, kissing the curve beneath her breast, then trailed his lips upward and took her nipple again, slower this time, deeper.
Gauri shivered.
Her hands were on his shoulders now, light but clinging. Her fingers flexed every time his tongue teased her nipple, every time his teeth barely grazed before the warmth of his lips returned. He alternated between the two, keeping her off balance, never letting her fully anticipate the next sensation. Sometimes he held her breasts close together, brushing his cheeks between them, feeling their weight, worshipping the space between.
She whimpered quietly, startled at her own sound.
“I can stop,” he whispered, pausing.
“No,” she breathed. Her voice was shy, but certain. “Just… slower. Please. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, but I know I want it.”
He paused, not to pull away, but to honor the trust she was giving him. She wasn’t ready to give everything. She was letting him discover her, one sensation at a time.
And so he obeyed.
He spent long minutes kissing her breasts, kneading them gently, watching her eyes flutter and close when the pleasure crept too close to overwhelming. He loved the way her breath caught when he sucked a little harder, the way her thighs shifted when he flicked his tongue across her nipple again and again.
She moaned, quiet and breathy, muffled in his shoulder as she leaned into him, pressing her bare chest to his shirt.

Then there was a sudden knock on the door. 
"Gauri! We need to talk"
It was Ajay.