Incest Mom tricked by Bully (Mask of Desire)

[Steel]

Madhuri didn’t flinch, her smile unwavering as she continued, “Oh, Nisha, the designs are gorgeous, you should see them!” Yet her gaze met Ishaan’s in the mirror, a spark of mutual longing passing between them.

Abhi, leaning behind, watched the scene unfold, his chest tightening with a mix of envy and a strange, conflicting thrill. 

Abhi : “How can she just let him…” he muttered under his breath, his face flushing with resentment.

The sight of Ishaan’s hands on her, the way her smile held a secret, stirred something unsettling in him.

Unable to stand it any longer, he turned to the AC’s wiring panel nearby, his fingers trembling as he yanked at the cords, an experience he learned before. 

Abhi : “Let’s see how they stay in the room, ” he whispered to himself, cutting the connection to the unit with a quick, angry tug.

Madhuri laughed into the phone, oblivious to Abhi’s actions. 

Madhuri : “Nisha, you better save me a dance at the sangeet!” she teased, her voice light, her eyes catching his smirk in the mirror.

His fingers pressed a little firmer, a little lower, grazing the gap near her buttons. 

Ishaan : “You’re gonna steal the show, Aunty,” Ishaan said softly, his tone laced with mischief. She shot him a playful glance through the mirror, starting to realize something's off in the room.

The AC sputtered and died, the room growing stifling. “It’s so hot, Ishaan, Do something,” Madhuri complained, her voice a mix of frustration and invitation.

She unbuttoned her shirt to her cleavage, exposing the swell of her chest.

Ishaan grabbed a hand fan, his eyes glinting. “I’ve got you,” he said. He fanned her, his breath cool against her skin, his fingers brushing the revised edge. The intimacy was brazen, her body responding with every touch.

Abhi grunted, a mehndi cone in hand, his eyes flashing with anger and something darker, amusement, perhaps, at his mother’s flushed state.

He squeezed the cone, splattering paste across the floor. 

Abhi : “Dad's calling, Ma,” he said, his tone sharp. Guilt stabbed Madhuri, on the phone, she struggled to speak, her words faltering as Ishaan’s fingers brushed her skin.

Madhuri : “Sure, we’ll attend in advance,” she managed. 

Ishaan ended the call, his eyes held hers, a silent promise of more.