Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

Her breath hitched again, a soft, trembling gasp that reverberated through her body, 

And Ravi could feel the heat radiating from her, how badly she wanted him to touch her fully.

But there was still that hesitation, that lingering shyness in the way her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt. The pressure was subtle, but it was there—a delicate balance between wanting more and holding back, as if she were unsure whether she was ready for everything, unsure if she could give him all of herself just yet.

The tension between them crackled with every breath they took.

Ravi's fingers skated over the delicate lace of her bra, his touch feather-light, teasing. His thumb brushed against the soft fullness of her breast, and a small shiver passed through Sirisha’s body. He pressed lightly, just enough to test the firmness, his fingertips tracing the roundness beneath the lace, feeling how perfectly she fit in his hands.

His mind swirled with the softness of her skin, the heat of her body beneath his touch. She was everything he had imagined, and more. The way she responded to him, her body humming with quiet desire, only intensified his craving for her.

“You have wonderful breasts, Sirisha,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper, like a secret shared only between them. “Firm and large… what is the size?”

His words were low, filled with admiration, but there was an edge of hunger, too. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted to savor every inch of her, every curve.

“Guess, Bhayya,” she replied, her voice heavy with desire, the playful hint in her tone barely masking the underlying vulnerability.

But the way she said it—the slight quiver in her voice—betrayed her shyness. Even as she gave him permission, even as she invited him in, there was a hesitation, a quiet uncertainty in how much she was truly ready to give.

It was a delicate dance, her body wanting him, but her mind still holding something back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ravi let his hand slide beneath the fabric of her bra. 

His fingers were gentle, deliberate, as they cupped the soft swell of her breast, the sensation of her warmth against his palm making his pulse quicken.

He took a deep breath, letting the feeling of her softness settle against him. 

Her skin was so smooth, so warm, so perfect in his hands. His heart raced, his breath hitching in his throat as he gently squeezed, feeling the tender yet firm weight of her breast.

The intimacy of it was overwhelming. 

The softness beneath his fingers, the way she responded to him, gave him a sense of possession, but not in a way that made her feel controlled. It was a delicate surrender a mutual giving.

He could hear her breath hitch, a tiny sound of vulnerability as she allowed him to touch her. It was as if she were giving him more of herself with every passing second, each inch a soft unveiling, each moment a step further into surrender.

But there was still that quiet hesitation, that lingering shyness in the way she allowed him to touch her. Her body was receptive, but her mind—her heart—still held back just enough, unsure of how much she could fully give.

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