05-09-2025, 07:00 PM
Chapter-2
The heat from Rohan’s palm on her cheek was nothing compared to the fire his words ignited in her belly. The party’s noise was a muffled drumbeat against the roaring in her ears.
Did you feel him? Against you?
She could only nod, her voice stolen by the raw hunger in his whisper. Her skin was still humming from the press of Arjun’s lean, youthful body, but it was Rohan’s possessive grip that set her ablaze now.
“He’s just a boy, Rohan,” she managed to breathe out, a weak defense that sounded hollow even to her.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath a hot caress. “But you’re not. And you felt him. I saw it. I saw the way your breath hitched when his thigh slid between yours.” His fingers tightened subtly on her waist. “Tell me.”
It was a command, a dark and thrilling summons. The confession tumbled out, a hushed, shameful truth. “I felt him. He was… hard. Through his clothes. Against my hip.”
A low, gratified groan rumbled in Rohan’s chest. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, and what she saw there wasn’t anger, but a triumphant, blinding lust. For her. For what had just happened. “God, Avantika. Watching you… the way everyone was watching you… it was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of claiming and encouragement. It was nothing like the careful, familiar kisses of their married life. This was feral. This was a man unleashed by his own secret fantasies, and he was pouring all of that dark energy into her.
Later, in the sanctum of their bedroom, the facade of the party fell away. Rohan didn’t speak. He just looked at her, his dark eyes devouring her as she stood by the bed, the silks of her saree still clinging to her curves.
“Take it off,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Slowly.”
Her fingers, trembling slightly, went to the pin at her shoulder. The silk whispered as it pooled at her feet, leaving her in just a crimson blouse and petticoat. The air felt cool on her exposed skin, raising goosebumps.
“The blouse.”
She obeyed, turning her back to him, presenting him with the long line of hooks. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he stepped close, his heat enveloping her. His fingers, so much more deft than her own, began the agonizingly slow process of undoing each clasp. With every tiny pop, she felt a corresponding jolt deep within her.
When the last hook gave way, he didn’t remove it. He pushed the material aside, baring her back to the warm night air. His lips found the notch of her spine, and he placed a single, open-mouthed kiss there. She gasped, her head falling forward.
“Tell me what you thought about,” he murmured against her skin, his hands coming around to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her choli. “When you were dancing with him.”
“I… I thought about the music,” she lied, her voice breathy.
His thumbs circled her nipples, already taut and aching. They peaked insistently against his palms. “Liar.” He pinched them gently, and a bolt of pure lightning shot straight to her core. She cried out, her knees buckling. He held her up, his body a solid wall behind her.
“The truth, Avantika.”
“I thought… I thought about his hands,” she confessed in a rush, the words torn from her. “How young they were. How strong they felt on my back. I wondered what they would feel like… here.” She brought her own hands up to cover his, pressing them harder against her breasts.
Rohan moaned, a sound of pure, undiluted need. He spun her around, his mouth crashing down on hers again as his hands frantically pushed her petticoat down her hips. It joined the saree on the floor. He broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked at her, standing naked before him, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the window.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze worshipful. “And everyone wants you. Sajan watches you fetch the paper every morning. Old Mr. Menon’s eyes follow you all the way to the elevator.” He pushed her gently back onto the bed, following her down, covering her body with his. “And that boy… that boy wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.”
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. “And it makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” He guided her hand down, pressing her palm against the rigid, straining outline in his trousers. The sheer size of him, the heat, made her whimper. She’d felt his arousal before, countless times, but this was different. This was an arousal fueled by something new, something dangerous and intoxicating.
He made love to her then, but it was unlike any time before. It was a reclamation. A celebration of the attention she’d received. Every thrust was punctuated with a hungry whisper.
“This is mine,” he grunted, driving into her depths, making her arch off the bed. “But the way he looked at you… that’s mine, too.”
She climaxed around him with a shattered cry, her nails digging into his back, the image of Arjun’s dazed, desirous eyes flashing behind her own eyelids. His own release followed, a roar muffled against her neck.
They lay tangled together, slick with sweat, the room silent except for their ragged breathing. His fingers traced idle patterns on her stomach.
“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice soft now. “The attention?”
She turned her head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability beneath the dominant facade. She nodded slowly. “It was… exciting. It made me feel…” She searched for the word. “Alive.”
A slow, possessive smile spread across his face. “Good.”
The next afternoon, Avantika found herself in the local market, the scents of ripe mangoes and fresh jasmine filling the humid air. The memory of the night before was a constant, warm hum under her skin. She was selecting okra when a voice spoke beside her.
“The smaller ones are less fibrous, Amma.”
She turned to see Sajan, the complex’s security guard, out of his uniform. He wore a simple, clean shirt and mundu, his broad shoulders and rugged face making him look more like a farmer than a watchman. His eyes, usually guarded, held a genuine warmth.
“Oh. Thank you, Sajan,” she said, offering a shy smile.
“My pleasure.” He pointed to a vendor across the way. “The coconut over there is fresh today. Good for curry.”
They fell into step, a seemingly casual meeting. As they navigated the crowded aisle, a passerby jostled Avantika from behind. She stumbled forward, and Sajan’s hand shot out instantly to steady her. His grip was firm, his palm rough and calloused against the bare skin of her arm. It was a practical touch, but it lingered a moment too long. The heat of it seared her. Her eyes flew to his. There was no mistaking the flicker of intense awareness in his gaze before he carefully, politely, released her.
“Sorry, Amma. The crowd…” he muttered, looking away, but a faint flush crept up his neck.
Her own heart was hammering. “It’s… it’s okay. Thank you.”
She hurriedly paid for her vegetables and walked away, the ghost of his touch burning on her skin. She didn’t look back, but she could feel his eyes on her the entire way out of the market. A secret, thrilling shiver ran down her spine. That evening, as Rohan helped her unpack the shopping, his hand brushed over the exact spot on her arm where Sajan had held her.
He paused. Looked at her. His dark eyes, so perceptive, narrowed just a fraction. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.
“You’ve been in the sun today,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the skin. “You’re burning.”
The heat from Rohan’s palm on her cheek was nothing compared to the fire his words ignited in her belly. The party’s noise was a muffled drumbeat against the roaring in her ears.
Did you feel him? Against you?
She could only nod, her voice stolen by the raw hunger in his whisper. Her skin was still humming from the press of Arjun’s lean, youthful body, but it was Rohan’s possessive grip that set her ablaze now.
“He’s just a boy, Rohan,” she managed to breathe out, a weak defense that sounded hollow even to her.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath a hot caress. “But you’re not. And you felt him. I saw it. I saw the way your breath hitched when his thigh slid between yours.” His fingers tightened subtly on her waist. “Tell me.”
It was a command, a dark and thrilling summons. The confession tumbled out, a hushed, shameful truth. “I felt him. He was… hard. Through his clothes. Against my hip.”
A low, gratified groan rumbled in Rohan’s chest. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, and what she saw there wasn’t anger, but a triumphant, blinding lust. For her. For what had just happened. “God, Avantika. Watching you… the way everyone was watching you… it was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of claiming and encouragement. It was nothing like the careful, familiar kisses of their married life. This was feral. This was a man unleashed by his own secret fantasies, and he was pouring all of that dark energy into her.
Later, in the sanctum of their bedroom, the facade of the party fell away. Rohan didn’t speak. He just looked at her, his dark eyes devouring her as she stood by the bed, the silks of her saree still clinging to her curves.
“Take it off,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Slowly.”
Her fingers, trembling slightly, went to the pin at her shoulder. The silk whispered as it pooled at her feet, leaving her in just a crimson blouse and petticoat. The air felt cool on her exposed skin, raising goosebumps.
“The blouse.”
She obeyed, turning her back to him, presenting him with the long line of hooks. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he stepped close, his heat enveloping her. His fingers, so much more deft than her own, began the agonizingly slow process of undoing each clasp. With every tiny pop, she felt a corresponding jolt deep within her.
When the last hook gave way, he didn’t remove it. He pushed the material aside, baring her back to the warm night air. His lips found the notch of her spine, and he placed a single, open-mouthed kiss there. She gasped, her head falling forward.
“Tell me what you thought about,” he murmured against her skin, his hands coming around to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her choli. “When you were dancing with him.”
“I… I thought about the music,” she lied, her voice breathy.
His thumbs circled her nipples, already taut and aching. They peaked insistently against his palms. “Liar.” He pinched them gently, and a bolt of pure lightning shot straight to her core. She cried out, her knees buckling. He held her up, his body a solid wall behind her.
“The truth, Avantika.”
“I thought… I thought about his hands,” she confessed in a rush, the words torn from her. “How young they were. How strong they felt on my back. I wondered what they would feel like… here.” She brought her own hands up to cover his, pressing them harder against her breasts.
Rohan moaned, a sound of pure, undiluted need. He spun her around, his mouth crashing down on hers again as his hands frantically pushed her petticoat down her hips. It joined the saree on the floor. He broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked at her, standing naked before him, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the window.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze worshipful. “And everyone wants you. Sajan watches you fetch the paper every morning. Old Mr. Menon’s eyes follow you all the way to the elevator.” He pushed her gently back onto the bed, following her down, covering her body with his. “And that boy… that boy wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.”
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. “And it makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” He guided her hand down, pressing her palm against the rigid, straining outline in his trousers. The sheer size of him, the heat, made her whimper. She’d felt his arousal before, countless times, but this was different. This was an arousal fueled by something new, something dangerous and intoxicating.
He made love to her then, but it was unlike any time before. It was a reclamation. A celebration of the attention she’d received. Every thrust was punctuated with a hungry whisper.
“This is mine,” he grunted, driving into her depths, making her arch off the bed. “But the way he looked at you… that’s mine, too.”
She climaxed around him with a shattered cry, her nails digging into his back, the image of Arjun’s dazed, desirous eyes flashing behind her own eyelids. His own release followed, a roar muffled against her neck.
They lay tangled together, slick with sweat, the room silent except for their ragged breathing. His fingers traced idle patterns on her stomach.
“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice soft now. “The attention?”
She turned her head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability beneath the dominant facade. She nodded slowly. “It was… exciting. It made me feel…” She searched for the word. “Alive.”
A slow, possessive smile spread across his face. “Good.”
The next afternoon, Avantika found herself in the local market, the scents of ripe mangoes and fresh jasmine filling the humid air. The memory of the night before was a constant, warm hum under her skin. She was selecting okra when a voice spoke beside her.
“The smaller ones are less fibrous, Amma.”
She turned to see Sajan, the complex’s security guard, out of his uniform. He wore a simple, clean shirt and mundu, his broad shoulders and rugged face making him look more like a farmer than a watchman. His eyes, usually guarded, held a genuine warmth.
“Oh. Thank you, Sajan,” she said, offering a shy smile.
“My pleasure.” He pointed to a vendor across the way. “The coconut over there is fresh today. Good for curry.”
They fell into step, a seemingly casual meeting. As they navigated the crowded aisle, a passerby jostled Avantika from behind. She stumbled forward, and Sajan’s hand shot out instantly to steady her. His grip was firm, his palm rough and calloused against the bare skin of her arm. It was a practical touch, but it lingered a moment too long. The heat of it seared her. Her eyes flew to his. There was no mistaking the flicker of intense awareness in his gaze before he carefully, politely, released her.
“Sorry, Amma. The crowd…” he muttered, looking away, but a faint flush crept up his neck.
Her own heart was hammering. “It’s… it’s okay. Thank you.”
She hurriedly paid for her vegetables and walked away, the ghost of his touch burning on her skin. She didn’t look back, but she could feel his eyes on her the entire way out of the market. A secret, thrilling shiver ran down her spine. That evening, as Rohan helped her unpack the shopping, his hand brushed over the exact spot on her arm where Sajan had held her.
He paused. Looked at her. His dark eyes, so perceptive, narrowed just a fraction. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.
“You’ve been in the sun today,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the skin. “You’re burning.”
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