Fantasy Priyanka and Sameek : Love, Lust and much more.

[cutekomal]

Act 7: Priyanka accepts the salary of surrender.

The rain had washed the night clean, leaving the world outside damp and hushed. In the bedroom, the single lamp on the side table cast a golden circle, warm against the dark edges of the room. Priyanka paused at the doorway, already feeling her pulse quicken. He was waiting for her, just as he had promised. The chair at the edge of the bed was no longer just a chair—it was his desk, his throne, the place from which he would question her until she was stripped bare of everything but the truth.

Sameek sat in it like an interviewer at the head of a long conference table, legs parted with deliberate ease, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to tempt her eyes toward the dark skin of his chest. He didn’t smile. He didn’t soften. His gaze tracked her every movement, weighing her, assessing her, as if she were no more than a candidate sitting nervously in front of him.

“Sit,” he said.

Her feet carried her forward even as her mind screamed with anticipation. She perched at the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting in her lap. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, voice a low rumble.

“You know the rules.”

Her throat was dry. She swallowed, forcing words out. “I have to answer honestly.”

He nodded slowly. “And if your answer requires proof?”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Then I… show you.”

His lips twitched but he didn’t laugh. “And hesitation?”

She lowered her eyes. “Punished.”

His voice softened but carried weight. “Exactly. Do you accept the terms?”

“I do.” The words slipped out in a whisper.

Silence fell between them, thick enough to feel. Then his eyes hardened. “Let’s begin. First question: why do you want this job?”

Her nervous laugh broke the tension for only a moment. He didn’t react. “Convince me,” he pressed, “why I should keep you naked in my bed every night, when there are thousands of other applicants waiting outside this door?”

Her lips parted, but nothing came out at first. He waited, patient but unyielding. She thought, really thought, about the answer. “Because,” she began slowly, “no one else makes me ache just by looking at me. Because when I’m with you, there’s no space left inside me for anything else. Because I would give everything I have to stay yours.” Her voice trembled, honesty peeling her open.

His eyes lingered on her face, dark and satisfied. “Better. But don’t hesitate again.”

The next question was sharper. “How often do you touch yourself when I’m not here?”

Her stomach dropped. She shifted on the bed, pressing her knees together. His expression didn’t change. “Answer.”

Her voice cracked. “Three… maybe four times a week.”

“Maybe?” His eyebrow lifted.

She closed her eyes. “Five.”

His mouth curved but not in kindness. He stood, towering over her, then leaned down until his shadow fell across her. “Show me.”

Her fingers trembled as they slipped between her thighs, moving in hesitant circles over the thin cotton of her shorts. He watched, his breath audible, his eyes heavy.

“That’s how you do it alone?”

She nodded quickly.

“Remove them.”

Her pulse stumbled. Slowly, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, tugging the shorts down her legs. Cool air hit her bare skin and she shivered, every nerve alive. She glanced up at him, embarrassed, aroused, helpless.

“Good,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand captured hers, guiding it away from herself, placing it flat against his chest.

“Hold it. Two sentences. Tell me what this part means to you.”

Her lips parted. The warmth of him pulsed against her palm. She hesitated, then whispered, “Your chest is where I hide when I’m afraid. And it’s also where I feel trapped when you hold me down… and I love both.”

A sound rumbled in his throat, approval laced with hunger. He moved her hand lower, sliding it across the fabric of his shirt until it rested on his thigh.

“Speak.”

Her fingers pressed gently, trembling. “Your thighs… they scare me. Because when you spread them, I know you’re already hard. And I can’t stop staring.”

His breath deepened. He shifted her hand again, this time to his arm, where muscle flexed under her touch. She looked up at him nervously.

“Say it.”

Her cheeks burned. “Your arms… they make me feel small. And safe. And like I’m caught, whether I want to be or not.”

He grunted softly, pleased, then guided her hand lower, pressing it against the plane of his stomach. She inhaled sharply at the firm ridges beneath her palm.

“Speak.”

Her voice quivered. “Your stomach… it’s where I feel you tighten before you lose control. And I love that I’m the reason you can’t hold back.”

The words made him close his eyes for a second, breath heavy. When they opened again, they were darker. He guided her hand around him, pressing it against the curve of his ass.

Her gasp filled the room.

“Well?”

She squeezed lightly, heat flooding her face. “Your ass… I think about holding it when you’re inside me. Pulling you deeper. Never letting you leave.”

His nostrils flared. Finally, his hand moved hers forward, pressing it against the outline straining at his trousers. She froze, air trapped in her lungs.

“Say it,” he ordered, voice rough now.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Your cock is the only thing I crave when I’m alone. It’s the only thing that silences my thoughts. It owns me.”

He let out a low sound, something between a growl and a sigh. Her hand stayed there, trembling against him, feeling him pulse beneath the fabric.

When he stepped back, she felt both relieved and desperate. He returned to his chair, settling with deliberate calm, as though nothing had happened. “Now, situational questions,” he said smoothly.

Her chest rose and fell, her body hot and restless. She nodded.

“What if,” he began, “I came home drunk and wanted you immediately—no kisses, no words. Just raw need. What would you do?”

She thought hard, biting her lip. “I’d… help you to bed. And then give you what you wanted. Even if I wasn’t ready yet. Because you’d make me ready in seconds.”

His smirk betrayed his approval. “What if I told you to kneel in the kitchen while I cooked, open your mouth, and take me there?”

Her eyes widened, face burning. “I’d… blush. And obey. Because I’d want you even if the stove was on.”

He leaned back, his gaze never wavering. “What if I blindfolded you, tied your hands, and made you wait to know which part of you I’d taste first?”

Her body shuddered at the image. “Then I’d beg you to start with my lips. Because I’d want one kiss before I couldn’t think anymore.”

He paused, studying her as though reading her soul.

She licked her lips nervously, unable to bear the silence. “Ask me another.”

His mouth curved. “What if I told you to climb into my lap during a meeting with others in the room, and stay still while I worked?”

Her pulse jumped violently. “I’d… I’d try to sit quietly. But I’d fail. Because I wouldn’t be able to hide what you do to me.”

The hunger in his eyes deepened, though his voice remained composed. “And what if I forbade you from touching me for a whole week, just to test how much you could endure?”

Her throat closed. “I’d cry. I’d beg. I’d promise anything. Because I wouldn’t last a day without you.”

His jaw tightened, as though her answer struck him deeply. He rose again, walking slowly until he stood before her. His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured. “But the interview isn’t over.”

Her body trembled, caught between pride and arousal.

His eyes roamed down her, then back up. “Remove your top.”

Her breath hitched. She hesitated, then obeyed, peeling the fabric up over her head until her breasts spilled free. She sat naked before him now, every inch of her vulnerable, his gaze devouring her.

“Good girl,” he whispered. He reached for her hand again, this time placing it on his chest once more. “Tell me again. But slower this time.”

Her fingers curled against his skin. Her voice shook. “Your chest… it’s where I collapse when I can’t carry myself. And when you hold me down with it, I feel yours completely.”

He exhaled hard, and she could feel his heart hammering beneath her palm.

Then he lowered her hand again, to his thigh, his eyes fixed on her. “Slower.”

She bit her lip, voice a husky whisper. “Your thighs… they remind me how strong you are. They remind me how easily you could pin me open and keep me there.”

Her own words made her shudder.

When her hand returned to the bulge between his legs, she squeezed gently this time, her eyes lifting to his with a daring spark. “And this… this is the only reward I’ll ever need.”

His control cracked just for a moment in the dark fire of his gaze.

And then he stepped back again, letting her ache with need, leaving her trembling in anticipation of what the next questions might demand.

She sat trembling, every nerve raw, her bare skin tingling where his eyes lingered. The silence stretched like a wire between them, taut and dangerous. He didn’t move for a long time, only watched her, letting her squirm under the weight of his stillness. When he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than before, gravel dragged across velvet.

“You’ve answered well,” he murmured. “But an interview is about pressure. About what you reveal when the weight is too much to bear.”

Her lips parted, though no words came. She could only nod.

He reached down, undoing the button of his trousers with deliberate slowness. Her eyes followed the movement helplessly, her breath catching. He lowered the zipper, the sound loud in the quiet room, and then guided her hand forward again, this time inside the loosened fabric. The heat of him pulsed against her palm, and she let out a soft, startled sound.

“Hold it,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her fingers closed around him, tentative, reverent. Her throat was dry.

“Now say it.”

She swallowed hard, searching for words. “This… this is the center of my hunger. The part of you that ruins me and saves me in the same moment. I think of it when I’m alone, I crave it when I’m with you, and I’ll never be free of it.”

The breath he drew in was sharp, his chest rising hard against the open fabric of his shirt. Her honesty shook him as much as it shook her.

His hand tightened over hers, guiding her slowly up and down. “You’re learning,” he said quietly, though his jaw clenched with restraint. “But there’s more.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. “Ask me,” she whispered.

He tilted his head, studying her as if weighing his next move. “What if I kept you like this all night,” he said softly, “just holding me, stroking me, never allowed to stop, never allowed to finish me?”

Her breath hitched. She thought, really thought, her body quivering with both dread and desire. “I’d do it,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I’d do it because you told me to. Even if my arms ached, even if I cried, I’d do it until you let me rest.”

His eyes flared with something raw, something darkly pleased.

“And what if,” he pressed, his voice lower now, “I told you to mount me right here, take me inside you, but not move a muscle until I commanded it?”

Her body clenched with need at the image. “I’d obey,” she whispered. “And I’d break apart from waiting. But I’d wait. Because the first thrust you gave me after holding me still would tear me in two.”

Her words made his restraint falter. He pulled her up suddenly, so she was standing before him, completely bare, her skin glowing in the dim lamplight. He ran his eyes over her slowly, as though cataloguing every inch for the record.

“You’ve stripped well,” he murmured. “Now the final question.”

Her breath caught. “What is it?”

He leaned back in the chair, legs spread, his hand wrapping around himself where she had just touched him. He stroked slowly, deliberately, his eyes locked on hers. “What,” he asked softly, “do you expect for salary and benefits?”

For a moment she didn’t breathe. The words seemed absurd and obscene, wrapped in the pretense of their game. But the way he said them—low, dangerous, loaded with promise—made her knees weak.

She dared to smile, though her cheeks burned. “Well,” she whispered, “every job has them. What does this one come with?”

The smile that curved his mouth was feral. He stroked harder, his breath quickening, his eyes never leaving hers. “This is your salary,” he rasped. “This is what you earn for your honesty, your obedience, your surrender.”

She knelt there for a long moment, chest rising and falling in uneven waves, her breath mingling with the warmth of his thighs. The taste of his nearness lingered in the air, thick and heavy, and though he had just given himself to her, she knew by the trembling in his muscles that he wasn’t finished. Neither of them ever were.

When she finally raised her eyes, his gaze pinned her — dark, feral, still burning. He cupped her chin in one rough hand, tilting her face upward, thumb grazing the corner of her lips as though sealing the contract he had just written on her skin.

“You think the interview ends here?” he asked softly, almost a growl.

Her voice broke into a whisper. “Doesn’t it?”

He shook his head slowly, deliberately. “No, Priyanka. This is where the real job begins.”

Before she could answer, he tugged her up into his lap. The motion was sudden, her knees straddling him, her breasts pressed flush against his chest, her skin alive under the heat of his hands. He guided her, hips finding their alignment without thought, as though they had been carved for this moment.

She gasped at the contact — not yet inside, but pressed against him, his arousal already swelling again, demanding her. The sensation of him thick and heavy between her folds sent a sharp current racing through her body.

“Sameek…” she whispered, half-plea, half-warning.

His hand tightened on her waist, his other sliding up her back, fingers spreading over her nape, grounding her. “Say it,” he demanded, voice husky.

Her lips trembled. “Say what?”

“What you want.”

She closed her eyes, forehead pressed to his. “I want… all of you.”

That was all it took. With a controlled thrust of his hips and the downward pull of his hands, he buried himself inside her in one long, deliberate motion. Her cry broke in the hollow of his throat, her nails clawing into his shoulders as her body stretched around him, took him, welcomed him.

For a heartbeat, they stilled. Her breath came ragged, his chest heaving under her palms. The sensation of fullness was so complete it bordered on unbearable, yet it was exactly the ache she had begged for with every whispered answer, every blush, every surrender.

He kissed her then — not soft, not tender, but deep and claiming, their mouths colliding in the same rhythm their hips soon found. She rocked against him, slow at first, her body relearning the cadence of his possession. His hands gripped her harder, guiding her motion, lifting her only to pull her down onto him again, each thrust dragging a moan from her throat.

Her words slipped out between gasps. “Every… every question you asked me… this was the answer.”

He growled low, teeth grazing her lip, and thrust up harder, sharper, until she broke into a sob of pleasure. “And this,” he rasped against her mouth, “is your raise.”

She laughed through the tears in her eyes, then gasped again as his pace built, her breasts pressed against his chest, nipples grazing his skin with every movement. She could feel the tension coiling inside her, the unbearable tightening that begged for release.

But he didn’t let her fall easily. His hand slid between them, finding her with ruthless accuracy, his thumb circling where she was most sensitive, drawing a cry that tore from her lungs. Her head fell back, throat bared, and he took the opportunity to drag his mouth down her neck, biting, marking, worshipping.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She forced her heavy lids open, meeting his gaze through the blur of ecstasy.

“Come for me, Priyanka.”

The words tipped her over the edge. Her body clenched violently around him, her cry filling the room as wave after wave tore through her, her nails raking down his back. He held her through it, thrusting deep, prolonging her ecstasy until she was limp against him, trembling, gasping for air.

And still he wasn’t finished. With a growl, he lifted her, turning, laying her back onto the bed without ever leaving her. His weight settled over her, his thrusts resuming with a force that stole her breath. She welcomed it, legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper, her voice breaking on his name again and again.

“Sameek… oh God…”

Her plea was his undoing. He drove into her with raw hunger, his control snapping, his groans filling her ears as he spilled inside her, claiming her all over again in the most primal way. She clung to him, her body shuddering as his release triggered another tremor through her own.

When the storm finally ebbed, he collapsed against her, chest heaving, their sweat-slicked bodies tangled in exhaustion and heat. She stroked his hair, her lips brushing his temple, her heart still racing with the echo of everything they had just unleashed.

Neither spoke for a long time. Only the sound of their breathing filled the quiet, slow and steady, like two survivors washed ashore after a tempest.

Then, softly, she whispered, “So… now I know what the benefits are.”

He lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark but softened with something deeper. “That was just your signing bonus,” he murmured, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

She laughed weakly, hugging him tighter, her body still trembling from the force of it. “Then I can’t wait to see what promotion feels like.”

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking gently. “Stay with me long enough, Priyanka, and you’ll own the whole company.”


She gasped softly, her hands resting against his thighs, her whole body trembling from the force of his release. She closed her eyes, letting it mark her, letting it sink into her bones as something more than lust. Something eternal.

For a long moment there was only the sound of their breathing, harsh and uneven in the heavy air.

Then she laughed softly, breathless and trembling. “So… does that mean I’m hired?”

When the heat had ebbed into a softer warmth, she tilted her head back, her lips brushing the line of his jaw. “You know,” she whispered, “every company talks about growth. Promotions. Next-level roles. Do I get that here too?”

His chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through his chest. “What are you applying for now?”

She pretended to think, her eyes sparkling though her voice was husky with exhaustion. “Maybe… senior partner. Someone who doesn’t just obey but helps set the rules.”

His gaze darkened, amused and aroused all over again. “Ambitious,” he murmured. “You think you’ve earned that?”

Her lips brushed his ear. “I think I’ll earn it every night until you can’t imagine not giving it to me.”

He growled softly, pulling her tighter. “Careful what you wish for. The next level has harder tests.”

She smiled, eyes closing as sleep tugged at her, her body sore and sated. “Then test me,” she whispered. “As many times as you want.”

He kissed her temple, his hand stroking her hair, his voice a rumble in the quiet. “I will. And you’ll pass. Every single time.”

And in the golden hush of that room, with the world outside still damp from the rain, they lay tangled together, two souls who had turned an interview into a ritual of possession, of love, of desire that knew no ceiling and no end.