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

[cutekomal]

Act 8: The Fantasy jar

Priyanka had been fidgeting all evening, her eyes flicking toward the corner table as though something hidden there pulsed with its own quiet heartbeat. Sameek noticed, of course. He always noticed. His gaze lingered on her face while she folded clothes too carefully, while she pretended to check her phone, while she walked to the kitchen without really needing to.

Finally, when he leaned back in his chair and said, “What are you hiding?” she froze.

“I’m not hiding anything,” she said quickly, too quickly.

He arched an eyebrow. “Priya.”

Her lips curved nervously. She crossed the room, bent down, and from beneath a scarf brought out a glass jar. It was heavy enough that her hands shook as she carried it. She set it on the bed between them, the sound of the glass against wood soft but loud in the hush of their room. Inside were small slips of folded paper—dozens of them, each hand-written in her careful script.

“What’s this?” Sameek asked, his tone amused but curious.

“A game,” she murmured, sitting on her heels, fingers playing with the jar’s lid. “I… made it for us.”

His gaze sharpened. “Explain.”

Her throat worked. “Twenty slips. Each one has… a fantasy. A dare. Something we’d never try otherwise. Tonight, or any night we choose… we draw one. And whatever’s written, we have to do it.”

His eyes dropped to the jar, then back to her. A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “You wrote them all?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“And we have to do them?”

“Rules are rules.” She tried to sound playful, but her pulse betrayed her in the jump of her voice.

He leaned forward, hand brushing hers as he unscrewed the lid. “You surprise me every day, Priyanka.” His tone was low, dangerous. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

Her stomach clenched. She wanted him to draw the first chit and feared it all the same.

His fingers rustled among the papers, selecting one at random. He unfolded it slowly, his eyes scanning the neat handwriting. Then he laughed under his breath.

“‘Sit in my lap while we eat dinner from the same plate.’” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You call this a fantasy?”

She flushed. “It’s… intimacy. I like when we share food.”

“Intimacy,” he repeated, savoring the word. “Get the plate.”

Her laugh was shaky, but she obeyed. She returned with rice and curry, still steaming, and settled on his lap, facing him. The chair creaked under their combined weight. He held the plate steady in one hand, spoon in the other, feeding her first before tasting himself. She leaned against him, the warmth of his body seeping through her. Each time their lips brushed the same spoon, her stomach fluttered.

“This feels like love,” she whispered once, unable to stop herself.

His lips brushed her ear. “That’s because it is.”

By the time the plate was empty, her heart was pounding in a rhythm that had little to do with food.

“Next,” he said, setting the dish aside.

She reached into the jar this time, her hands trembling as she pulled a slip. She unfolded it and groaned.

“What is it?” Sameek demanded.

Her cheeks flamed. “It says… ‘Kiss me like you did the first time we ever kissed, but don’t stop.’”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “Come here.”

She slid off his lap only for him to pull her into his arms again, this time with deliberate force. His lips found hers, not tentative like that first kiss had been, but with the hunger that memory had carried all these years. He kissed her until she was breathless, until her body melted against his, until she clutched his shirt as though she’d drown without him.

When he finally pulled back, she was trembling. “That chit should’ve had a warning label,” she whispered.

He only chuckled and reached for the jar again. Another slip, another unfolding. “‘Stand naked at the window while I watch you.’”

Her breath caught. “Sameek…”

“You wrote it,” he reminded her.

She swallowed hard, then slowly rose. With fumbling fingers she pulled her kurti over her head, let her shorts fall, discarded bra and panties in a pile on the chair. The cool air licked her bare skin as she walked to the window. She pulled the curtain aside just enough, standing with her back to him, goosebumps rising along her arms.

She felt his gaze burn hotter than the night air.

“Turn your head,” he ordered.

She did, their eyes meeting in the glass’s faint reflection. His hand stroked himself lazily through his pants, not hiding it. The sight made her thighs press together involuntarily.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Every inch.”

Her cheeks burned, but pride flared in her chest too. She turned back, closing the curtain at last, her body tingling as she returned to him.

When she reached for the jar, he caught her wrist. “You enjoyed that more than you admit.”

She smiled shyly. “Maybe.”

The next slip she drew made her laugh nervously. “‘Climb onto the kitchen counter and touch myself while you watch.’”

Sameek’s eyes darkened. “Let’s go.”

The kitchen was dim, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound. She hopped up onto the counter, legs dangling, the cold granite against her skin. Her fingers slid down her body, finding her heat as his eyes devoured her. She gasped softly, arching, knowing he was watching every flick of her wrist, every shudder of her breath.

“You’re glowing,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Stop staring,” she managed.

“I’ll never stop.”

Her moan filled the kitchen, bouncing off tile and steel. When she finally slid off the counter, her legs were weak. He caught her, steadying her against his chest, his lips brushing her temple.

They returned to the bedroom in silence, both breathless.

He drew the next chit. His laugh was deep, vibrating in his chest. “‘Wear only a towel and fetch clothes from the balcony.’”

Priyanka groaned. “You’re cruel to me.”

“You’re cruel to yourself,” he corrected. “Go on.”

She wrapped the towel tight, heart pounding as she stepped into the night air of the balcony. The city murmured below. She bent to pick up the dry clothes, the towel threatening to slip. A laugh bubbled from her throat as she rushed back inside, slamming the balcony door shut.

“See?” Sameek teased. “You love being dared.”

“I hate it,” she argued, but her smile betrayed her.

They took turns, slip after slip, each one peeling another layer from them. One dared them to whisper their dirtiest story while the other listened with hands tied behind their back. Another demanded a selfie taken on the terrace, their bodies hidden but obvious in their nakedness. The risk sent jolts of adrenaline through her veins, the laughter mixing with moans, the playfulness with raw heat.

And still, the jar sat heavy with unopened slips.

At last, Priyanka’s hand brushed against one folded paper that felt different—thicker, as though she had pressed too hard when writing it. She knew before she even unfolded it. Her stomach dropped, heat rising in her chest.

Sameek noticed her stillness. “Read it.”

Her lips parted. “I… can’t.”

“You wrote it. You follow the rules.” His voice was steady, commanding.

Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper. The words stared back at her, her own handwriting suddenly foreign. She looked up at him, eyes wide, heart hammering.

His brows furrowed. “What does it say?”

She swallowed, her voice a whisper. “It says… ‘Let me tell you the darkest fantasy I’ve never dared to speak. And then… make me live it.’”

The room went silent.

Her breath came shallow, the jar forgotten between them. His eyes were locked on hers, searching, weighing, hungry.

“Then speak,” he said softly, dangerously.

Her body quaked. She knew what she had written, knew what it meant to bring it into the air. But the rules were rules. And more than that, she trusted him. With everything.

She licked her lips, gathering courage. “Sameek…” Her voice cracked. “It’s not something I’ve ever admitted. Not even to myself. But when I wrote this slip, I knew… one day, I’d want you to hear it.”

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her trembling skin. “Tell me,” he murmured.

Her breath shuddered out. “Sometimes… when I’m touching myself… I imagine being… used.” Her voice cracked on the word, shame and arousal tangling in her throat. “Not gently. Not tenderly. Just… owned. Taken. Like I don’t get a choice. Like I’m just… yours to do anything with.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Her eyes flew open, searching his face for disgust, for judgment. But all she saw was hunger — raw, startled hunger — and something else, something that steadied her: pride.

“You want to be broken open by me,” he said slowly, voice thick.

Her face burned. “I know it sounds ugly.”

“It doesn’t.” His grip tightened on her jaw, not painful but firm, grounding. “It sounds like trust. It sounds like you giving me the deepest part of you.”

Her eyes filled with tears she hadn’t expected. “I was scared you’d think less of me.”

“Never.” His lips brushed hers, feather-light. “Priyanka, you’re the only woman I’ll ever worship. And if part of that worship is owning you the way you crave… then that’s what I’ll give you.”

A sob of relief slipped from her throat. She collapsed into his chest, arms around his neck, trembling with the release of the secret she had held too long. He held her tightly, one hand stroking her hair, whispering against her ear.

“Say it clearly. I need to hear you ask me.”

Her breath shuddered. She pulled back enough to meet his eyes, her lips trembling. “Sameek… I want you to use me tonight. I want you to make me yours in every way. No gentleness. No hesitation. Just… take me.”

Something inside him snapped. His mouth crushed hers, a kiss of possession, of answered prayers. He lifted her easily, tossing her onto the bed, her hair spilling across the sheets. She gasped as he loomed over her, stripping his clothes in sharp, decisive motions until he was bare and hard and magnificent.

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, his body covering hers completely. “You trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Then tonight, you’re mine.”

His mouth descended on her throat, biting, sucking, marking her until she writhed beneath him. His hands roamed her body with a roughness that made her gasp, squeezing her breasts, tugging at her nipples until she cried out. He forced her legs apart with his knee, grinding against her heat until she moaned helplessly.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice ragged.

“I’m yours!” she cried, arching against him. “Do anything you want!”

Her words unleashed him. He released her wrists only to flip her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, pressing her face into the sheets. She moaned into the fabric as his hand spread her, his breath hot against her ear.

“This is what you wanted?” he growled, thrusting hard into her, filling her in one brutal stroke.

Her scream was muffled by the pillow, her body clenching violently around him. “Yes!”

He slammed into her again and again, his hands gripping her hips, his pace merciless. Her breasts bounced against the sheets, her nails clawing at the fabric as pleasure and pain blurred into one overwhelming tide.

“You’re mine,” he groaned, thrusting deeper. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

“Yes, Sameek, yes!” she sobbed, her body quaking, her hair sticking to her damp face.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so her cries spilled into the air. He bit her shoulder, his teeth sinking just enough to make her gasp. His other hand slid beneath her, finding her clit, rubbing harsh circles that sent her spiraling.

Her body convulsed, the orgasm ripping through her so violently she screamed his name, her vision blurring with tears of release. He didn’t stop. He pounded into her trembling body, chasing his own climax, his grunts filling the room.

When he finally let go, he roared her name, his body shuddering as he poured himself into her, collapsing over her back, his chest heaving against her slick skin.

For a long moment, neither moved. The only sounds were their ragged breaths, the pounding of their hearts, the hum of life outside their cocoon.

At last, he kissed her damp shoulder, gently this time. “Are you okay?”

Her answering laugh was broken but bright. “More than okay. I’ve never felt so… free.”

He rolled her onto her back, brushing damp hair from her face, his eyes softer now, filled with something that made her chest ache. “You scared me for a second,” he admitted. “Not because of what you asked. But because I realized… there’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.”

Her tears spilled then, unashamed. She cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss that was tender, unhurried, the opposite of the frenzy that had just consumed them.

“I gave you the darkest part of me,” she whispered. “And you turned it into love.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “That’s all I ever want to do.”

They lay tangled together, her leg dbangd over his, his arm tight around her waist. The jar still sat on the bedside table, half full of unexplored slips, but neither reached for it again.

“Sameek?” she murmured after a while.

“Mm?”

“Why do you think I wrote that chit?”

He kissed her hair. “Because you wanted me to see all of you. Even the part you were afraid of.”

She nodded against his chest. “And you still chose me.”

“I’ll choose you every time,” he said simply.

Silence settled again, warm and safe. She smiled into his skin. “Next time we open the jar… maybe we start lighter again.”

He chuckled. “We’ll see. I like surprises.”

She pinched his side weakly. “You just like seeing me squirm.”

“That too.” His grin was audible in the dark.

Her laughter faded into a sigh of contentment. Sleep tugged at her, but before she drifted, she whispered the words she hadn’t dared write on any slip of paper, words too big for paper, too fragile to risk in ink.

“I love you, Sameek.”

His arms tightened around her. “I know. I love you too, Priyanka. To the moon and back.”

And as the night deepened, with the jar of fantasies waiting for another day, they surrendered to the sweetest one of all: the fantasy that wasn’t fantasy at all, but the life they were building together, slip by slip, night by night, forever.