03-08-2025, 04:25 PM
Chapter 2
The morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains like liquid gold, painting stripes across the silk sheets that still smelled faintly of Vikram's cologne. I stretched like a cat awakening from a dream, my body arching into the emptiness beside me. The delicate lace hem of my nightgown rode up, exposing the creamy skin of my thighs to the cool morning air. A shiver ran through me - not from cold, but from the way the fabric whispered against my suddenly sensitive flesh.
I turned toward the full-length mirror, watching the way my body moved with feline grace. The thin silk clung to every curve, the deep V of the neckline revealing the shadowed valley between my breasts. My nipples peaked visibly beneath the fabric, hardened by the chill and something else - that restless, nameless hunger that had been growing in me for months.
My fingers trailed down my own body, tracing the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. When they brushed the inside of my thigh, I gasped at the electric jolt of sensation. The mirror reflected the flush spreading across my chest, the way my lips parted unconsciously.
"This is dangerous", whispered the voice of reason. But the voice of desire whispered louder.
Men had always looked. But lately...lately I'd begun to let them.
---
The coffee shop was crowded, the air thick with the rich aroma of freshly ground beans. I knew he'd be working today - the barista with the rough hands and slow smile who'd been watching me for weeks.
"Your usual, beautiful?" His voice was deeper this morning, rougher around the edges. His fingers brushed mine as he passed the cup, lingering just a heartbeat too long. The heat of his skin against mine sent an unexpected thrill straight to my core.
I glanced down. Scrawled across the sleeve in messy blue ink: "For the most beautiful customer."
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around the cup, letting him feel the deliberate slide of my skin against his. His breath hitched - a small, satisfying sound.
I took an excruciatingly slow sip, my lips wrapping around the rim in a way that made his knuckles whiten on the counter. The coffee was perfect as always, but it wasn't the caffeine that sent warmth pooling low in my belly.
"You always drink it so...slowly," he murmured, his gaze locked on my mouth.
I let my tongue dart out to catch a stray drop, watching his eyes darken. "I like to savor things," I purred, holding his stare as I took another deliberate sip.
The space between us crackled with tension. His gaze dropped to the way my blouse gaped slightly as I leaned forward, revealing just a hint of lace beneath. When I finally turned to leave, I could feel his eyes burning into me all the way to the door.
---
The office was its usual chaos, but today the air felt charged. Rohan from Accounts had been circling my desk like a predator for weeks, and today his attention was more intense than ever.
"Need help with those files?" His deep voice came from directly behind me, closer than professional courtesy allowed. Before I could answer, his broad chest pressed against my back as he reached for a folder. His cologne - something expensive and woodsy - wrapped around me like an embrace.
His hand settled on the small of my back, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of my spine. "You really shouldn't be lifting these heavy boxes," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I should have stepped away. Should have made some sharp remark about being perfectly capable. But the heat of his palm through the thin silk of my blouse sent a traitorous pulse of desire straight to my core.
Instead, I "accidentally" dropped a pen, bending slowly to retrieve it. I knew exactly how my blouse gaped when I leaned forward, exactly how much of my lace bra would be visible from his angle. The sharp intake of breath above me was all the confirmation I needed.
I took my time rising, letting my body brush against his as I straightened. His fingers flexed against my back, pressing just a little lower, just a little *firmer*.
"Careful," I murmured, though I made no move to pull away.
His lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Or what?"
The challenge hung between us, thick with unspoken promise. For a breathless moment, I imagined what would happen if I turned in his arms, if I let him back me against the desk...
The ringing phone shattered the moment. I stepped away, but not before seeing the hunger in his eyes - and knowing it mirrored my own.
---
Vikram's call came late that night, his face pixelated on the laptop screen.
"You're wearing lipstick," he noted absently, barely glancing up from whatever document had his attention.
I touched my lips automatically, the deep plum stain long since faded. That he'd noticed at all sent a flicker of warmth through me - until his next words doused it.
"Client dinner?"
I twisted the hem of my nightshirt between my fingers. "No," I admitted softly. "Just...felt like it."
His smile was distracted, his gaze already drifting back to his work. "You look tired," he said absently.
The call ended too soon, leaving me in the suffocating silence of our bedroom. The mirror across from me reflected a woman bathed in blue light, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her fingers tracing the lace edge of the black bra Vikram hadn't noticed, hadn't *touched* in months.
My hands drifted lower of their own accord, skimming over the swell of my breasts, my thumbs brushing my nipples until they pebbled beneath my touch. A soft sigh escaped me as I imagined another man's hands there - Rohan's maybe, or the barista's - rough and demanding, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp.
But it was Vikram's name that trembled on my lips as I came, the bittersweet pleasure laced with guilt and longing.
---
"Wear something nice," Mr. Kapoor had said, his gaze skimming over my usual salwar with barely concealed disdain.
I chose the emerald kurti - the one that clung to every curve, the deep V of the neckline revealing just enough to tease. The silk whispered against my skin as I walked, the slit at the side flashing a glimpse of thigh with every step.
The restaurant was all low lighting and white tablecloths, the air thick with saffron and expensive perfume. Mr. Patel - silver-haired, with a watch worth more than my monthly salary - poured me a glass of wine before I could refuse.
"To new partnerships," he toasted, his fingers brushing mine as he pushed the glass toward me. His gaze lingered on my mouth as I took a reluctant sip, the wine rich and dark on my tongue.
By the third course, his hand had "accidentally" grazed my thigh three times. The first time, I stiffened. The second, I hesitated. The third, I didn't move away at all.
His pinky brushed the inside of my knee beneath the table, a whisper of contact that sent heat pooling low in my belly. The wine had made my limbs heavy, my inhibitions fuzzy at the edges. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at me - like he wanted to devour me - sent a thrill through me that I couldn't name.
His fingers trailed higher, skimming the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My breath hitched.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice rough with amusement.
I pressed my thighs together, trapping his hand there. His thumb stroked the seam of my panties through the silk, the friction maddening. How far would he go if I let him? How far would *I* let him?
The waiter's approach made him pull away, but the heat of his gaze promised this wasn't over.
---
The shower that night was scalding, the water sluicing over my skin in near-punishing waves. I scrubbed until my shoulders turned pink, but the memory of Mr. Patel's gaze - hungry, possessive - clung to me like the scent of his cologne.
My fingers slipped between my thighs before I could stop them, my back arching against the tiles as I imagined his hands on me, his mouth between my legs, his low voice murmuring filthy things in my ear. The pleasure was sharp and sudden, the guilt crashing over me only after.
I tore open my closet, searching for tomorrow's outfit - something high-necked, loose, *modest*. But my hands hesitated on the emerald kurti instead, the one that made my waist look impossibly small, my curves more pronounced.
Just for me, I told myself as I laid it out.
But the mirror caught my traitorous smile.
The morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains like liquid gold, painting stripes across the silk sheets that still smelled faintly of Vikram's cologne. I stretched like a cat awakening from a dream, my body arching into the emptiness beside me. The delicate lace hem of my nightgown rode up, exposing the creamy skin of my thighs to the cool morning air. A shiver ran through me - not from cold, but from the way the fabric whispered against my suddenly sensitive flesh.
I turned toward the full-length mirror, watching the way my body moved with feline grace. The thin silk clung to every curve, the deep V of the neckline revealing the shadowed valley between my breasts. My nipples peaked visibly beneath the fabric, hardened by the chill and something else - that restless, nameless hunger that had been growing in me for months.
My fingers trailed down my own body, tracing the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. When they brushed the inside of my thigh, I gasped at the electric jolt of sensation. The mirror reflected the flush spreading across my chest, the way my lips parted unconsciously.
"This is dangerous", whispered the voice of reason. But the voice of desire whispered louder.
Men had always looked. But lately...lately I'd begun to let them.
---
The coffee shop was crowded, the air thick with the rich aroma of freshly ground beans. I knew he'd be working today - the barista with the rough hands and slow smile who'd been watching me for weeks.
"Your usual, beautiful?" His voice was deeper this morning, rougher around the edges. His fingers brushed mine as he passed the cup, lingering just a heartbeat too long. The heat of his skin against mine sent an unexpected thrill straight to my core.
I glanced down. Scrawled across the sleeve in messy blue ink: "For the most beautiful customer."
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around the cup, letting him feel the deliberate slide of my skin against his. His breath hitched - a small, satisfying sound.
I took an excruciatingly slow sip, my lips wrapping around the rim in a way that made his knuckles whiten on the counter. The coffee was perfect as always, but it wasn't the caffeine that sent warmth pooling low in my belly.
"You always drink it so...slowly," he murmured, his gaze locked on my mouth.
I let my tongue dart out to catch a stray drop, watching his eyes darken. "I like to savor things," I purred, holding his stare as I took another deliberate sip.
The space between us crackled with tension. His gaze dropped to the way my blouse gaped slightly as I leaned forward, revealing just a hint of lace beneath. When I finally turned to leave, I could feel his eyes burning into me all the way to the door.
---
The office was its usual chaos, but today the air felt charged. Rohan from Accounts had been circling my desk like a predator for weeks, and today his attention was more intense than ever.
"Need help with those files?" His deep voice came from directly behind me, closer than professional courtesy allowed. Before I could answer, his broad chest pressed against my back as he reached for a folder. His cologne - something expensive and woodsy - wrapped around me like an embrace.
His hand settled on the small of my back, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of my spine. "You really shouldn't be lifting these heavy boxes," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I should have stepped away. Should have made some sharp remark about being perfectly capable. But the heat of his palm through the thin silk of my blouse sent a traitorous pulse of desire straight to my core.
Instead, I "accidentally" dropped a pen, bending slowly to retrieve it. I knew exactly how my blouse gaped when I leaned forward, exactly how much of my lace bra would be visible from his angle. The sharp intake of breath above me was all the confirmation I needed.
I took my time rising, letting my body brush against his as I straightened. His fingers flexed against my back, pressing just a little lower, just a little *firmer*.
"Careful," I murmured, though I made no move to pull away.
His lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Or what?"
The challenge hung between us, thick with unspoken promise. For a breathless moment, I imagined what would happen if I turned in his arms, if I let him back me against the desk...
The ringing phone shattered the moment. I stepped away, but not before seeing the hunger in his eyes - and knowing it mirrored my own.
---
Vikram's call came late that night, his face pixelated on the laptop screen.
"You're wearing lipstick," he noted absently, barely glancing up from whatever document had his attention.
I touched my lips automatically, the deep plum stain long since faded. That he'd noticed at all sent a flicker of warmth through me - until his next words doused it.
"Client dinner?"
I twisted the hem of my nightshirt between my fingers. "No," I admitted softly. "Just...felt like it."
His smile was distracted, his gaze already drifting back to his work. "You look tired," he said absently.
The call ended too soon, leaving me in the suffocating silence of our bedroom. The mirror across from me reflected a woman bathed in blue light, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her fingers tracing the lace edge of the black bra Vikram hadn't noticed, hadn't *touched* in months.
My hands drifted lower of their own accord, skimming over the swell of my breasts, my thumbs brushing my nipples until they pebbled beneath my touch. A soft sigh escaped me as I imagined another man's hands there - Rohan's maybe, or the barista's - rough and demanding, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp.
But it was Vikram's name that trembled on my lips as I came, the bittersweet pleasure laced with guilt and longing.
---
"Wear something nice," Mr. Kapoor had said, his gaze skimming over my usual salwar with barely concealed disdain.
I chose the emerald kurti - the one that clung to every curve, the deep V of the neckline revealing just enough to tease. The silk whispered against my skin as I walked, the slit at the side flashing a glimpse of thigh with every step.
The restaurant was all low lighting and white tablecloths, the air thick with saffron and expensive perfume. Mr. Patel - silver-haired, with a watch worth more than my monthly salary - poured me a glass of wine before I could refuse.
"To new partnerships," he toasted, his fingers brushing mine as he pushed the glass toward me. His gaze lingered on my mouth as I took a reluctant sip, the wine rich and dark on my tongue.
By the third course, his hand had "accidentally" grazed my thigh three times. The first time, I stiffened. The second, I hesitated. The third, I didn't move away at all.
His pinky brushed the inside of my knee beneath the table, a whisper of contact that sent heat pooling low in my belly. The wine had made my limbs heavy, my inhibitions fuzzy at the edges. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at me - like he wanted to devour me - sent a thrill through me that I couldn't name.
His fingers trailed higher, skimming the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My breath hitched.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice rough with amusement.
I pressed my thighs together, trapping his hand there. His thumb stroked the seam of my panties through the silk, the friction maddening. How far would he go if I let him? How far would *I* let him?
The waiter's approach made him pull away, but the heat of his gaze promised this wasn't over.
---
The shower that night was scalding, the water sluicing over my skin in near-punishing waves. I scrubbed until my shoulders turned pink, but the memory of Mr. Patel's gaze - hungry, possessive - clung to me like the scent of his cologne.
My fingers slipped between my thighs before I could stop them, my back arching against the tiles as I imagined his hands on me, his mouth between my legs, his low voice murmuring filthy things in my ear. The pleasure was sharp and sudden, the guilt crashing over me only after.
I tore open my closet, searching for tomorrow's outfit - something high-necked, loose, *modest*. But my hands hesitated on the emerald kurti instead, the one that made my waist look impossibly small, my curves more pronounced.
Just for me, I told myself as I laid it out.
But the mirror caught my traitorous smile.
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