Incest Mom tricked by Bully (Mask of Desire)

[Steel]

The phone sat silent, messages from her husband and friends, but none from the guy she craved, and her confusion deepened, Ishaan's flirt a fresh wound, his charm a trap she couldn't evade, her self-control unwinding string by ardent string.

The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting golden streaks through Madhuri's bedroom window as she sat on her bed, in a lavendar cotton saree, its fabric dbanging her curves, her thick waist peeking out, a fragile armor against the chaos in her mind.

Ishaan's departure lingered, his playful jabs a new ache, glinting eyes searing her soul, a mirror to the Devil on the bus, fingering her to ruin.

She paced, the saree swishing, her bare feet soft on the tiles, every step a battle to shake it.

"What's going on?" she muttered, shame curling in her gut, she'd melted for the stalker, begged him, and now Ishaan's flirtatious charm twisted the knife, his eyes a haunting echo she couldn't unsee.

"I need to find out," she vowed, voice firm, but her knees quaked, the bus flashing back, his grip, her surrender, and she sank onto the bed, her saree slipping, her nipple hardening under the blouse, her need a beast she couldn't cage.

She replayed it, Ishaan's arm brushing her hip, his scent hitting her, her hand drifting to her thigh, tracing the curve, wetness seeped through, her shame warring with a wild urge to test it, find him out, unravel the mask, reclaim her control.

Ishaan's face merging with the stalker's shadow, "Him or not, I'll know it myself," she thought, her plan forming, wild, risky. His tease a spark she'd turn against him.