12-08-2025, 12:02 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-08-2025, 12:06 AM by subtle. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 17: Echoes and Embers
Back in the living room, the air felt heavy with unspoken tension. Only Meera and Arjun could feel the electric current humming beneath the surface. Rajiv settled comfortably on the sofa, swirling his drink. "Arjun, that client report revision – did you finalize the projections section? The numbers seemed off earlier."
Arjun sat stiffly beside him, his gaze fixed near the window. His eyes looked distant and unfocused. "Hmm? Oh... projections. Yeah, Rajiv. Finalized. Sent it before I left." His voice sounded flat and empty, missing its usual confident tone. His mind was clearly somewhere else, replaying the kitchen scene: the exposed curve of her stomach, the shiny lavender lace against her skin, the bold look in her eyes as she stared at him over the sink. The memory of her whispered words – "yes, it's drenched" – kept repeating in his head, making his trousers feel uncomfortably tight again. He shifted slightly in his seat.
Meera sat opposite them in an armchair, pretending to watch Aaryan build a tower. Every nerve in her body felt awake and sensitive. She could feel Arjun's attention like a physical touch even though he wasn't looking directly at her. Her lips felt dry; she ran her tongue over them without thinking, a small tremor visible in her chin. Restlessness prickled under her skin. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, the rustle of her saree sounding too loud in the quiet room. Her eyes flickered toward Arjun, noticing the tense line of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders. When their eyes met for a brief moment, it felt like a collision of shared heat and secret desire. A fresh wave of warmth spread through her lower belly, making the dampness between her legs feel more noticeable. She quickly looked away, focusing hard on Aaryan's blocks.
Aaryan rubbed his eyes, his small body slumping against his tower. "Mummy... sleepy," he mumbled, his words thick with tiredness.
Rajiv smiled, putting down his drink. "Okay, champ. Time for bed." He scooped Aaryan up, the boy nestling his head against his father's shoulder. "Excuse us, Arjun. Duty calls."
Arjun: Of course. Good night, little man.
As Rajiv carried Aaryan toward their bedroom, the door clicked shut, leaving Meera alone with Arjun.
The silence stretched, thick and charged. Meera kept her eyes down, staring at her hands in her lap. She wasn't looking at Arjun, but she could feel his gaze on her like warm sunlight on skin. Her lips trembled slightly, her lower lip caught unconsciously between her teeth, not biting hard but just held there, making her chin stretch taut. Despite the tension, a subtle naughty smile played at the corners of her mouth, threatening to break through. Her knees pressed together tightly under her saree, the muscles in her thighs tense. Her hands clutched her phone where it lay on her lap, fingers tightening around the cool plastic.
After a long moment, she risked a glance at Arjun. He was watching her with a warm, knowing smile that held a hint of mischief. Seeing his expression, a blush spread across Meera's cheeks and down her neck. She quickly looked away, but the subtle smile remained on her lips. She felt a quiet happiness knowing she'd pleased him, even in this secret way.
Her eyes drifted to the pot of lavender flowers on the side table, their purple blooms bright against the green leaves. She focused on them, trying to calm her racing heart.
Arjun: Meera... you've really taken care of the lavender. It's so nice to see.
Still looking at the flowers, Meera's smile deepened, becoming more sensuous and shy at the same time. Her lips parted in a slight gasp escaping her as she felt another pulse of warmth low in her belly. Her fingers tightened around the phone in her lap.
Just then, the bedroom door opened. Rajiv reappeared, looking slightly exasperated. "Beta refuses to sleep without his blue truck. Must be in the living room somewhere."
Meera's body snapped back to normal instantly. The subtle smile vanished, replaced by a calm expression. "I'll help look," she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.
As Rajiv searched under the sofa, Arjun stood. "Rajiv, Meera... it's getting late. Should head out. Thank you again, truly. Best birthday in a long time." His voice sounded strained, the effort to sound normal obvious. He shook Rajiv's hand, then turned to Meera. "Meera... dinner was perfect. Thank you." His gaze locked with hers, holding longer than necessary, saying things Rajiv couldn't understand. The unspoken tension crackled between them - gratitude, frustration, raw wanting. Meera managed a small nod, her lips forming a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Good night, Arjun. Drive safe."
The moment the door closed, the atmosphere changed, but the tension inside Meera stayed, coiled tight. She helped Rajiv find the toy and put a sleepy Aaryan to bed properly this time, her movements automatic while her mind replayed the kitchen's intimate moments.
Alone in the bathroom, the silence felt like relief. Meera unwound the blue saree, the silk whispering as it slid down her body and pooled at her feet. Standing in just her blouse and the lavender lace panties, she hooked her thumbs into the delicate waistband. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to her skin, particularly where it pressed into the soft folds between her legs. As she peeled the panties down, the lace momentarily caught on her swollen outer lips, the wet fabric clinging to her sensitive skin before finally releasing with a soft, slick sound.
The cool bathroom air hit her exposed skin, making her gasp at the sudden sensation against her heated flesh. She held up the small garment, turning it in the light. The evidence was clear - a dark, wet patch stained the pale lavender lace right at the crotch, the fabric soaked through with her arousal. For him. Seeing the proof sent another wave of heat pulsing through her lower belly, mixing with a deep sense of shameful vulnerability. She dropped the panties into the laundry basket like a guilty secret, watching them land in a damp, crumpled heap.
In bed, Rajiv sighed contentedly, pulling her close. His arm wrapped around her waist. "That was nice, jaan. Really nice. Arjun seemed genuinely happy. Made me happy seeing him like that." He nuzzled her hair, his breath warm against her neck.
Meera lay completely still in his embrace, the warmth of his body feeling foreign against her own simmering heat. Made him happy? The thought echoed bitterly, sinfully, in her mind. Arjun's visit made me soak my panties. The raw truth of it - the intense physical response to another man while her husband held her - sent fresh shame and forbidden excitement warring through her body. She focused on the lingering sensation between her legs, the phantom memory of Arjun's gaze and his nearness making her skin feel oversensitive everywhere. Her nipples tightened against the thin fabric of her night dress. A silent gasp escaped her slightly parted lips as she remembered how the lace had clung to her wetness. She felt every inch of her skin alive and tingling, hyper-aware of her own aroused state and the secret she carried into the dark.
Meera lay perfectly still in the dark bedroom, the faint glow of her phone screen pulsing like a heartbeat from the nightstand. Rajiv's heavy breathing had finally deepened into soft snores beside her, his arm thrown loosely across her waist. She counted each steady exhale against her shoulder blade, her own body thrumming with restless energy. Ten breaths... fifteen... The snoring hit its familiar rhythm, a low rumble vibrating through the mattress. Only then did she move, slow as honey, sliding her hand from beneath the sheets. Her fingers brushed the cool metal edge of the phone, pulling it silently towards her under the blanket cave. The sudden brightness made her squint, illuminating the fine lines of her knuckles gripping the device.
Arjun: Thank you Meera... For everything. Tonight.
The name Meera glared back. Not Chandrika. Not his moon. After the kitchen, after the lavender lace, after the charged whispers? A sharp disappointment pierced the lingering warmth low in her belly. Why the distance now? She typed, fingers clumsy in the dim light, trying to push back the sudden chill:
Meera: Why no Chandrika now? Birthday boy forgot his moon already
The reply flashed instantly, the typing dots barely visible:
Arjun: Thank you a lotttt Chandrika! ❤️ Seriously. Best.
Relief washed over her, warm and immediate. He remembers.
Meera: For the birthday boy.
Arjun: But... my actual birthday wish... not fulfilled.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, loud in the quiet room. The view. Only with lavender. She squeezed her thighs together, feeling the damp silk of her nightdress cling.
Meera: Arjun with a big A... Chup! (Shut up!) Whatever happened... its all accident. Don't think too much. Birthday boy has to sleep now.
Arjun: How can I? The visual... in the kitchen... Chandrika... the lace... your eyes... it's all here.
As she read, his words painted the scene in her mind: the smooth curve of her stomach exposed, the deep dip of her navel, the thin lavender lace waistband peeking defiantly above her saree's petticoat, the flush on her skin, the look in her eyes. Her free hand drifted from under the covers. She bit down hard on her lower lip, stifling the soft moan that threatened to escape. Her fingertips brushed lightly over the thin cotton covering her lower belly. She was silently, deeply enjoying this replay, this raw confession of what he’d seen and wanted.
Arjun: Meera... Kya hua? (What happened?)
She let the silence stretch, letting the heat build. Her fingers paused just above the elastic waistband of her plain white cotton panties, tracing the edge. The anticipation was a physical ache.
Meera: Nothing Arjun. Try to forget those images. Sab accident tha. (It was all accident.) Try to have good sleep.
Arjun: But... ek sawal (One question?) Kya... abhi bhi woh lavender panty pehni hai? (Are... are you still wearing that lavender panty?)
Meera gasped, a sharp intake of breath that made her body jerk slightly. ‘Panty’ again! So blunt. So intimate. She felt her cheeks burn.
Meera: Chup! So jao abhi! Ganda boy! (Shut up! Sleep now! Dirty boy!)
Arjun: Please, Chandrika Batao na (Please, Chandrika? Tell me?) Just yes or no
Meera: No Arjun. Birthday over now. Be good boy.
Arjun: My boy... he is not good now... He is... throbbing.
The word ‘throbbing’ hit her like a physical blow. Raw. Explicit. Meera froze. The silence in the dark room felt thick, charged. Her imagination erupted violently. Him. In his bed. Alone. His manhood… throbbing. For her. Was he touching himself right now? Was his hand wrapped around the hard length she’d seen straining against the fabric of his trousers in the kitchen? Was he imagining her? Was he naked down there? Just bare skin? The images flooded her mind, sharp and vivid. She pictured him lying back, perhaps shirtless. The smooth skin of his lower belly, the dark trail of hair leading down. His hardness, thick and heavy, standing rigid against his thigh. The flushed, swollen head, glistening slightly. Veins tracing its length. His hand, gripping himself. She could almost hear the soft, wet sound of his strokes. She wished desperately to see it, to feel its weight and heat in her own hand. Her own hand, still resting near her hip, began to move downward, sliding beneath the waistband of her white cotton panties, almost without her conscious thought. Her fingertips brushed the soft curls.
Arjun: Par kyun Meera? Kyun abhi woh nahi pehni? (But why Meera? Why aren't you wearing it now?) ?
The question pulled her back. She stared at the screen, the dampness soaking the cotton between her legs a stark, undeniable truth. How could she possibly admit that?
Meera: Cant use it now... She typed, the raw honesty spilling out. ...it's... She couldn't bring herself to type ‘soaked’.
Meera: Ab bas! So jao. (Now enough! Sleep.)
She added the sleeping emoji, a weak shield. But her body remained wide awake, humming with the echo of his raw words and the relentless pulse between her legs.
Arjun: Leekin kaise? (But how?)
Meera: Boola na, be a good boy. (Told you, be a good boy.)
‘Good boy’. She typed it deliberately, the phrase sending a fresh wave of heat through her. She wasn't just talking about his behaviour. Her mind filled with the image of his ‘boy’ – his hard, throbbing manhood – straining and needy. Was he being ‘good’ with it? Or was he stroking it right now, thinking of her?
Arjun: Leekin.... (But....)
Meera: Leekin veekin kuch nahee, so jaavoo... have a good sleep, and be a good boy. (But nothing, sleep... have a good sleep, and be a good boy.)
Her inner thoughts raced. Is he touching himself? Is his hand moving on his thick shaft? Is he picturing my lips... my hands...? She pressed her thighs together tighter, the friction sending sparks through her core.
Arjun: Na Chandrika, the boy is still in that vivid memories. (No Chandrika, the boy is still lost in those vivid memories.)
Meera: Arjun... please soo jaavo. (Arjun... please sleep.)
He calls it 'the boy'. He means his hardness. His need. The thought made her own wetness increase. She shifted her hips subtly against the mattress.
Arjun: Meera, patha nahee, I wish to imagine you, the boy wish to imagine you. (Meera, I don't know, I wish to imagine you, the boy wishes to imagine you.)
Meera: Kyaa? kyaa bool raha hee Arjun? (What? What are you saying Arjun?)
Her heart hammered. He needs to imagine me. Right now. For that. Her skin felt flushed all over. She could almost feel his phantom gaze.
Arjun: Am sorry Chandrika, but really wish to imagine you.
Meera: Arjun, so jaana please. (Arjun, please sleep.)
She stared at the screen, her breathing shallow. She didn't want him to stop imagining. She wanted to know what he was picturing. The silence stretched.
Arjun: Soo gaye kya? (Did you fall asleep?)
Meera: No, Arjun.. kya huva thume? Am I the reason? (No, Arjun... what happened to you? Am I the reason?)
Yes. You are the reason, she thought fiercely. You, Chandrika and that lavender lace.
Arjun: Meera, no dont think that way, but yes, that lavender panty you wore and your Chandirika, pyara sa, it seems to be intimate to me. (Meera, no don't think that way, but yes, that lavender panty you wore and your Chandrika, your sweet navel, it feels very intimate to me.)
His words sent a jolt straight to her core. My navel. He remembers, its now intimate to him, but why? My intimate wear, my panty, would it be dear for him, Ohhh I have worn that panty for him, for him to see. She felt a phantom touch where his gaze had lingered. Her free hand drifted upwards from her panty line, fingertips lightly tracing circles around her own navel through the thin cotton of her oversized grey night t-shirt. The skin there was smooth, sensitive. A small shiver ran across her stomach muscles.
Meera: Arjun..... Achee boy banke soo jaavo, birthday khatham, no more wishes. (Arjun..... Be a good boy and sleep, birthday is over, no more wishes.)
She typed ‘achee boy’ (good boy). It was a deliberate choice. She wasn't denying the context of his ‘boy’. She was playing along the edge. Her body trembled slightly with the thrill of it.
Arjun: Boy tho good hi hoon Meera… par soch mein… (The boy is good Meera… but in thought…)
‘Soch mein’ – in thought. Her mind plunged into the sensual abyss. Is he hard right now? Is his length thick and heavy against his thigh, just like in the kitchen? Is it flushed dark at the tip? Are his fingers wrapped around it? Is he slowly stroking up and down the veined shaft? Is his thumb rubbing over the slick head? The explicit images sent liquid heat pulsing through her core. A fresh wave of dampness bloomed against her cotton panties. Her body trembled against the sheets. She typed, deleted, typed again, her fingers clumsy with desperate desire. I wish I could see. I wish I could feel how hard he is. Is it all for me? Her thumb brushed against her own nipple through the t-shirt fabric, making it peak instantly.
Meera: Arjun… She wanted to ask everything, but the words wouldn't form. Is your boy hard? Are you touching it? Is it leaking for me? She couldn't type it. Instead, she deflected:
Meera: But kyaa soch rahe ho? Kitchen mein... that was just for the birthday boy.. bhool jaavo. (But what are you thinking? In the kitchen... that was just for the birthday boy.. forget it.). She added a playful emoji, but her body screamed the lie.
Arjun: (Sad face emoji)
Meera: Arjun.... Her resolve weakened. She didn't want him sad. She didn't want him to stop.
Arjun: I wish, I could imagine you Chandrika. (I wish I could imagine you Chandrika.)
Meera: Kyaa? (What?)
Arjun: Not in kitchen, you, how you look right now....
How I look right now? Meera’s gaze snapped inward. She saw herself: lying on her side, the old grey cotton t-shirt rucked up slightly around her waist, exposing a sliver of smooth stomach and the white elastic waistband of her plain cotton pant. One leg was bent at the knee. Her other hand held the phone, casting a faint glow on her face. Her hair was messy around her shoulders. Is he picturing this? She imagined Arjun standing by the bed, his eyes sweeping over her. Seeing the shape of her breasts beneath the loose t-shirt, the vulnerable line of her throat. Would seeing her like this make his hand drift to his own hardness? Would he unzip his trousers and pull out his thick erection? Would he start stroking himself slowly, his eyes fixed on her? The image was vivid, raw. She could almost see his hand moving, his grip tight, the glistening tip emerging with each upward stroke.
Arjun: Meera... please… bas imagine karne do mujhe… (Arjun... please… just let me imagine…)
Meera: Arjun, leekin kyoon? Soo jao please. (Arjun, but why? Please sleep.)
The plea was weak. Her body was on fire. She was acutely aware of Rajiv’s solid warmth beside her, the deep rhythm of his snores, while her own world was consumed by electric thrills sparked by the man on the screen.
Arjun: Meera… His single name was a plea.
Meera: Be a good boy, only good boys get the sweet. (Be a good boy, only good boys get the sweet.)
She typed ‘boy’ again, the word heavy with meaning. She bit her lip hard, stifling a gasp. His boy. His hardness. Needing the sweet.
Arjun: Boy is good, and he need the sweet. (The boy is good, and he needs the sweet.)
He needs it. The implication was clear. The pleasure was sharp, insistent. Wetness soaked through the cotton panty.
Arjun: Really like wishing to know how you are now. (Really wish I knew how you are right now.)
Meera looked down at herself again. The loose grey t-shirt. The plain white cotton pant with the simple elastic waistband.
Meera: Arjun..... Her finger pressed harder, sending a jolt through her.
Arjun: Tell me Chandrika.. tell me and let him imagine the way you are.
‘Him’ imagine. Her thoughts zeroed in on ‘him’ – his throbbing manhood. She pictured it vividly: thick, veined, rigid in his grip, the head swollen and dark, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. His hand pumping slowly, then faster, his hips lifting slightly off the bed. All while imagining her. The thought made her own movements more urgent. Her hips pressed down against her circling finger.
Meera: Arjun... kyaa, what ..... needs to know? She couldn't finish. She couldn't type ‘what the boy needs to know’. She left it hanging with a dash.
Arjun: ...... needs to imagine you now, what you wear, how you lay on the bed, he needs to picture you now Meera. (He needs to imagine you now, what you are wearing, how you are lying on the bed, he needs to picture you now Meera.)
Meera looked again. Her breasts felt heavy beneath the t-shirt, rising and falling with her quick breaths. Her nipples were painfully hard, the sensitive tips rubbing roughly against the soft cotton with each movement. She wore no bra. Only the plain white pants and white cotton panties. The damp patch on them was growing. She imagined Arjun's gaze lingering there.
Meera: Arjun.....
Arjun: Tell me Chandrika.
Meera: (Her fingers fumbled on the screen. She typed, deleted, typed again, her other hand still working between her legs, the pleasure building. Finally, she sent it:) Just top and pant.
Arjun: Meera, please tell me like I am seeing you. (Meera, please tell me as if I am seeing you.)
Meera: (She took a shaky breath. Her fingers, moving under her panties, slid upwards slightly, grazing the skin of her lower belly above the waistband. The touch sent a shiver across her stomach muscles. She felt the smoothness, the slight curve. Her fingertip dipped into her navel, a light, circling touch that made her gasp silently. She typed the colors:) Grey top. White pant.
Her hand drifted further up. Her palm cupped the soft weight of her right breast through the t-shirt. Her thumb found the hard peak of her nipple beneath the fabric and pressed down firmly. A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her back arched slightly off the mattress. Her legs shifted, bending at the knees, feet pressing into the sheet. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. She wanted to know what he was doing. Was he stroking himself? How fast? Was he thinking of touching her like this? She typed with one hand, the other still kneading her breast, her thumb rubbing insistently over her stiff nipple.
Meera: Arjun.....
Arjun: Say Meera.
Meera: ......
She sent the dots, her breath coming in short pants. Her thumb and forefinger found her nipple through the fabric and pinched, gently at first, then harder. The sharp pleasure-pain shot straight to her core, making her hips jerk. She moaned softly into the pillow, hoping Rajiv’s snores covered the sound.
Arjun: Chandrika, say it.....
Meera: What are you doing....
Arjun: …my hand is moving along its length… along the length of the boy...... in your thoughts… and you? What are you doing?
Her hand squeezed her breast almost roughly, the movement making her pinch her nipple again. She bit her lip. Her hips were moving now in small, involuntary circles. The cotton of her panties was soaked, offering little barrier. Meera imagined his boy, his hands moving along its length, may be his fingers pressing along the thick veins along the length of his hungry manhood, the foreskin pulling up and down making the pink head of is shaft glister with his moisture.
Arjun: What are you doing Meera?
Meera: No Arjun… mat pucho please… (No Arjun… don’t ask please…) Her inner thoughts screamed. I wish touching myself. I’m wet and aching because of you. I’m picturing your hand on your cock.
Arjun: What are you wearing instead of the lavender? He needs to know.
Meera: No Arjun… pls so jao… (No Arjun… please sleep…)
Arjun: Meera…
Meera: Haan Arjun? (Yes Arjun?)
Arjun: Batao na… mere liye? (Tell me… for me?)
Make him happy. The thought pushed her over the edge. Her body was trembling, the peak so close. Her hand drifted from her breast, grazing down the smooth skin of her stomach. Her fingertips met the edge of her panties. She hooked a finger under the elastic waistband, feeling the soft cotton. Slowly, deliberately, she slid her finger inside the waistband, just an inch, grazing the skin just above where the curls began. The touch made her stomach muscles quiver. She felt the damp fabric beneath her fingertip.
Meera: ek white cotton… (A white cotton…)
Her finger stayed there, touching the damp cotton, the heat radiating from her core. The phone screen glowed, waiting.
Arjun: Meera….
The phone lit up under Meera’s pillow. She kept her eyes shut tight, trying to ignore it. Rajiv breathed steadily beside her, but he felt distant. The phone’s light kept pulling her attention. The room was quiet except for her own pounding heart. She felt a constant, throbbing ache of heat between her legs. She left the phone face down for now.
Arjun’s message echoed in her mind: "...my hand is moving along its length… in your thoughts…" A sudden rush of wetness flooded her thin cotton panties. The damp fabric clung tightly to her swollen lips. Her right hand trembled near her hip, hovering just above her pants waistband.
He’s picturing this right now. The image hit her hard: Arjun alone in his room, his cock hard against his pajamas. She imagined his fist gripping it tightly, knuckles white, stroking himself while thinking about her. Is he seeing my fingers? Can he feel this wetness? She pressed her thighs together under the covers, slick skin sticking. Another pulse of wetness escaped, soaking the cotton further.
Her panties were a hot, sticky mess glued to her. He’s picturing me touching myself… picturing his hand instead of mine… The vision sharpened: Arjun’s forearm flexing, sweat on his temple, the low groan he’d make imagining her damp panties, her fingers pushing inside. Almost without thinking, her left hand slid up her body. It roughly cupped her right breast through her grey t-shirt. Her thumb found her hard nipple and pinched it sharply. A gasp escaped before she bit her lip. Arjun… Silent enough not to wake her sleeping husband near by
Her fingers slipped under the waistband of her pajama pants, then under the soaked waistband of her panties. They plunged down into hot, slippery wetness. Her outer lips felt swollen and incredibly soft. A low moan vibrated in her throat, muffled by the pillow. Her touch became desperate. She dragged her middle and index fingers through the thick wetness coating her lips. He’s stroking fast… for me. Her middle finger found her hot, tight opening. She pushed it inside, knuckle-deep, feeling her inner muscles clench around it. Her hips jerked upwards off the mattress, seeking more. Like this? Arjun? Like this? Her breath came in ragged pants against the pillowcase.
She pulled her glistening finger out. Immediately, she pressed the heel of her palm hard against her clit, grinding it in rough circles. Her left hand squeezed her breast fiercely through the t-shirt, pinching and rolling the hard nipple. He’s close… I feel it… I feel him… Her thighs trembled violently. Her knees fell wider apart, feet digging into the sheets, toes curling.
She focused. Two wet fingers pushed deep inside her, curling upwards to find that sensitive spot. At the same time, the heel of her palm ground down ruthlessly on her clit. Pleasure spiked suddenly, a white-hot tightening from her core outwards. Arjun! Her hips bucked wildly against her hand. Her back arched slightly off the bed, chest heaving, her other hand desperately kneading her breast. A choked, raw cry tore from her throat, smothered as she shoved her face into the pillow. Her thighs clamped like a vise around her wrist. The orgasm tore through her – deep, brutal, pulsing contractions inside her core.
Muscles spasmed violently around her fingers buried deep inside. Hot wetness gushed out, coating her fingers, her inner thighs, seeping through the soaked panties onto the sheet. Her vision blurred. Her head thrashed on the pillow, hair sticking to her sweaty temples despite the AC. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, neck, and between her breasts. Her legs shook uncontrollably, muscles taut, then suddenly went slack, falling open limply. Her arms dropped heavily to her sides, the hand that had been on her breast falling to the mattress, the one between her legs slowly pulling out, sticky. Only her ragged, gasping breaths and pounding heart filled the dark bedroom.
Slowly, the intense trembling faded, replaced by deep exhaustion. She pulled her sticky fingers out. Arjun. The imagined scent of lavender lace mixed with the raw smell of sex on her skin and the damp sheets. The silence felt thick now, charged. It vibrated with the echo of his imagined release – him spurting cum onto his stomach, thinking of her. And the undeniable truth of her own body: spent, trembling, soaked in sweat and her own wetness. The boundary between her marital bed and Arjun's fantasy had dissolved in the secret dark. Arjun…
She lay utterly still, her breathing gradually slowing. Sweat cooled on her skin, making her shiver slightly. Small tremors ran through her stomach, thighs, and arms. Intense heat still radiated from her core. She became hyper-aware of Rajiv’s steady breathing beside her, the slight shift of his shoulder. She held her breath, terrified a sound might wake him. But he remained deeply asleep, oblivious to the storm beside him, the wet sheets near her hips, or the lingering scent of sex. She lay there, soaked and trembling, claimed by a desire that was no longer just a thought, but a raw, physical truth on her skin and between her thighs. The line between her reality and his fantasy hadn't just blurred; it was erased.