Adultery Geetha ~ teacher

[Haran000]

Geetha ascended the stairs to the upper room, her yellow frock swaying gently against her knees, the fabric whispering secrets with every step. The living room below faded into quiet shadow, but up here, the air hummed with anticipation. Her milky thighs, pale and smooth as fresh cream, caught the dim light filtering through the hallway, a tantalizing glimpse that might have stirred any lingering gaze. Yet tonight, it was for one pair of eyes alone.

She paused at the door, her fingers curling around the knob, and pushed it open with a soft creak. Inside, Bharat lay sprawled across the bed, lost in a deep slumber—or so it seemed—his face slack, a thin trail of saliva glistening on his cheek like dew on a leaf. Geetha’s lips curved in a knowing smile. She’d soon unravel the truth of his sleep, peel back the layers of pretense. Beyond the window, stars pierced the velvet dark of the sky, winking through the tangled branches of the old tree outside, as if conspiring in the night’s unfolding drama.

With the grace of a cat, she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the cool floor. She climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs, and leaned forward, her breath warm against his skin as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice a velvet coax, “wake up. It’s dark out there. You ate and crashed—get up now.”

Bharat stirred without fully awakening, his eyes still sealed shut, but a sly smile tugged at his lips. His hands found her waist, fingers digging in with possessive hunger, squeezing the soft curve before yanking her down beside him. The frock—the very one she’d impulse-bought on that whirlwind shopping spree before their arrival here—hiked up slightly, bunching against her hips. She laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes in the hush, and brushed her lips against his cheek.

“Enough of the theatrics,” she teased, propping herself on an elbow. “Get up. Won’t you eat?”

“I will,” he mumbled, his voice thick with feigned drowsiness, “but first... I want a snack.”

“Oh, you...” Geetha rolled her eyes, though her tone dripped with mock exasperation. “You scarfed down breakfast like a dog in heat.”

“Can’t a man crave an evening bite?” He cracked his eyes open at last, and the sight of her—hair tousled, frock clinging just so—ignited something feral in him. His hands returned to her waist, tracing the dip of her hips. “Did you slip into this just for me?”

She arched a brow, playful defiance sparking in her eyes. “No. For my husband.”

“Of course.” His laugh was low, edged with mock hurt. “You toy with me while he’s away, and now this line...”

“Are you pouting because I left you hanging mid-game?” Her words were light, but her gaze lingered, heavy with promise.

In answer, his left hand slipped beneath the frock’s hem, fingers grazing the warm swell of her thigh before pinching—sharp enough to draw a gasp. “Aaah... Hey!”

“Will you let me sleep beside you tonight?” His voice dropped, earnest now, laced with longing.

“Not tonight, darling.” She softened the refusal with a stroke of his arm.

“Hmmm...” He sighed, but there was no real defeat in it.

“Come on,” she urged, sliding off the bed. “Let’s eat. He’s waiting—we’ll all dine together.”

“Miss,” he said, rising reluctantly, “after dinner... can you stay with me a little? Just until I drift off. Then you can slip away.”

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with that wicked, suggestive glint that always unraveled him. “Why?”

“Just... please. Till sleep takes me.”

“Alright,” she conceded, her smile a secret shared. “I’ll stay. Now come.”

They rose together, but as they turned toward the door, Bharat’s arms snaked around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against him. His lips hovered near the nape of her neck, breath hot and insistent, on the verge of claiming a kiss.

“Let go,” she whispered, though her body betrayed her, arching just a fraction. “Control yourself—a little.”

“I want you now,” he growled, unyielding.

“I want you to take me, too, love.” Her admission was a sigh, laced with heat.

“It happened with Gautham this morning, didn’t it?” His words turned teasing, a edge of jealousy sharpening them. “Not sated by your husband, Teacher Madam?”

She touched her chest lightly, eyelids fluttering down in feigned innocence. “Un-uh...”

“You’ve got fire in your veins, Geetha.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her.

She swatted his chest in playful retaliation. “Tsk, don’t say that, darling. Try to understand.”

He bent his neck, capturing her right cheek in a lingering kiss. “You’ll come back after dinner, won’t you? We’ll see then.”

“No,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered. “Not possible tonight.”

“As you wish.” Resignation colored his tone, but his eyes promised pursuit.

“Come on—he’s waiting.”

### Dinner and Disclosure

Downstairs, the dining room glowed under the warm halo of the overhead light, a sanctuary of scents: spiced rice steaming in bowls, curry simmering with cumin and mystery. Gautham sat at the head of the table, patient as a sentinel, his fingers drumming idly on the wood. As Geetha and Bharat descended, hand in invisible thread, he looked up, his gaze steady—first on Bharat, then flicking to Geetha with that knowing glint she both loved and feared.

She guided Bharat to his seat, her hands efficient yet tender as she ladled food onto his plate, then her own. Gautham watched the quiet ritual, the air thick with unspoken currents. Bharat met his eyes briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between them, before both men dropped their gazes to their meals. Geetha settled between them, a bridge of flesh and fabric, and the clink of spoons against plates filled the hush.

“Which stream for intermediate?” Gautham broke the silence, his voice casual, probing.

Bharat glanced up once, fork pausing mid-air. “BiPC, sir.”

Gautham’s brow quirked. “Why ‘sir’? Did Geetha put you up to it?”

She laughed, light and deflecting. “Why would I? He fell into the habit on his own.”

“Because...” Bharat shifted, cheeks warming, “you’re the teacher’s husband.”

Gautham chuckled, the sound easing the tension like a balm. “Haha... Never mind. After you eat, there’s an iPad on the side table—take it, play around. It’ll fend off boredom. Just log out before we head out.”

“Okay, Gautham garu,” Bharat replied, the honorific slipping out like old habit.

Geetha hid her smile behind a sip of water, a secret bloom in her chest.

Gautham nodded. “Hmmm... Tomorrow morning, we’re off to Montreal, then a flight to Buffalo.”

“A flight?” Geetha echoed, surprise lifting her voice.

“Yes.” He spooned rice with practiced calm.

Bharat leaned forward. “So early?”

“It’s a seven-hour haul to Montreal. Flight’s at six a.m.—best to beat the rush.”

“We might freeze out there,” Geetha murmured, rubbing her arms at the thought.

“It’ll be fine,” Gautham assured, his tone a steady anchor.

Bharat shrugged. “I’m game. Can’t wait to see it.”

“We’ll head out early, meander back before dusk. Or crash there if it runs long.”

“Alright...” Geetha’s agreement was soft, her mind already wandering to frost-kissed paths.

“Oh, Bharat—you said BiPC. Doctor in the making?”

“Not set on medicine,” Bharat admitted, swallowing a bite. “Anthropology’s my pull. But a medical undergrad fits the bill.”

Gautham’s eyes lit with recognition. “My buddy Shiva did the same route. You know him, yeah?”

“Hmmm...” Bharat nodded, noncommittal.

Geetha interjected gently. “Shiva planted the seed—Bharat saw it take root.”

“That’s solid,” Gautham said, approval warming his words. “And your badminton? Still in the game?”

“I love the shuttle,” Bharat confessed, a spark igniting in his voice.

“Not just love—do you want to go pro? Be elite?”

“Yes.” The word hung heavy, laced with dream and doubt.

“Decide smart now, and you’ll soar. Get serious—starting today.”

Bharat swallowed hard, rice sticking in his throat. “I want to go national...” A sigh escaped, carrying the weight of ambition.

“Don’t bury it under books,” Gautham pressed. “If the court calls louder, answer it.”

“But...” Bharat hesitated, fork trembling slightly.

“Tell me.”

“If I chase badminton full-throttle, money’s tight at home. That’s why Shiva sir’s entrance—free ride through college. Then I can play without the chains.”

Geetha’s hand found his shoulder before he could spiral further, a grounding touch. “You’ve got that free spot locked in. No fees, no worries.”

Bharat blinked, confusion clouding his face as he turned to Gautham for confirmation.

“I’ll square it with Shiva,” Gautham said firmly. “If sports is your fire—and you’re dead set on greatness—play without the noose of cash. Focus.”

“But...”

“No buts, no what-ifs,” Geetha cut in, her voice a gentle command. “We talked it through, love. We’re not strangers—don’t stare at us like we are.”

“It’s not that, Miss,” Bharat protested weakly.

Gautham leaned in. “You dodging study strife or not?”

“Yes...”

“Then I’m in your corner. I’ll tag along if needed—chat with your folks too. Since you wove into our world, we won’t let you scbang by.”

“Hmmm...” Bharat’s murmur was a knot loosening.

“Even down the line, job hunts turning sour? I’ve got a spot here. No fretting over futures or favors—chase what lights you up.”

Silence fell then, thick as the curry’s steam. Bharat poked at his plate; Geetha and Gautham exchanged a glance, words unneeded. The meal wound down in companionable quiet, plates scbangd clean, hands washed under the faucet’s rush.

### An Unexpected Act

Geetha cleared the table with brisk efficiency, stacking plates in the sink as the men retreated to the living room. Bharat sank into the couch, limbs heavy with the day’s undercurrents, while Gautham lingered in the kitchen’s threshold, drawn by the sway of her hips as she wiped the stove. He crossed to her in three strides, his hand catching her wrist mid-motion, halting the cloth’s dance. With a gentle but insistent pull, he spun her against the cabinet, his palms framing her waist, bodies aligning like puzzle edges.

“Is it alright?” he whispered, eyes searching hers, a teasing lilt beneath the heat. “Your lover’s college tab’s covered—no more scbanging pennies.”

She smiled faintly, a flush creeping up her neck. “What lover?”

“Then... a boyfriend?” His grin widened, playful challenge.

Her finger pressed to his lips, silencing the jest. “Why frame it that way? You’re my boyfriend, my lover—my husband.”

He laughed, the sound rich and freeing, before stepping back to thumb through his phone’s glow—company missives demanding attention. With a final glance, he joined Bharat on the couch.

Bharat had claimed the iPad, thumbing open Instagram’s endless scroll, faces and feeds blurring into distraction. Geetha followed soon after, perching beside him, her thigh brushing his in casual intimacy.

“Hey,” she said, nudging his arm, “did you tell your girl you’re here?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, not looking up.

Gautham perked from his screen. “Oh? Already got a girlfriend?”

Bharat clammed up, cheeks burning.

“What do you mean ‘already’?” Geetha teased, her laugh bubbling like champagne. “The hero’s timeline is accelerating—everything’s happening now.”

“Miss...” Bharat groaned, awkwardness twisting his features.

“It’s fine, kid,” Gautham soothed, setting his phone aside. “Spill.”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Listen,” Gautham said, voice dropping to earnest steel, “whatever flies here—talks, touches, secrets—stays locked when you head home. Got it?”

“No... I mean, yes—I won’t breathe a word.”

“Don’t hold back with me. Be easy, open—okay?”

“Okay...”

Gautham pressed on, deliberate. “Geetha filled me in: the kisses, the caresses, glimpsing her bare, that painting session.”

Bharat’s gaze plummeted to his lap, heat flooding his face.

“I’m not pissed—at either of you.”

“Hmmm...” Bharat’s response was a ghost of sound.

“That canvas? Damn good work.”

“.....”

“Say thanks,” Geetha prodded, elbowing him lightly. “Why the mute act?”

“Thanks, sir,” he mumbled.

“But another one?” Gautham ventured, eyes glinting mischief. “This time, her fully bare?”

Geetha’s cheeks ignited, a wildfire bloom. “Oh, have you lost it?”

Gautham barked a laugh. “Easy—hold up. You game?”

“No, sir,” Bharat rushed, shaking his head. “Bare? It’d scream her—folks would clock Geetha Miss in a heartbeat.”

“What if no face? Abstract it—shadows, curves. Fair?”

Geetha’s blush deepened to crimson; she couldn’t stifle it, launching herself onto Gautham’s lap, hand clapping over his mouth amid her giggles. “Stop! No paintings, no nonsense.”

Bharat, emboldened, chimed in: “Yeah... that could work, actually.”

“Really?” She whirled on him, threat laced with mirth. “I’ll pinch you raw, you mutt.”

“Hey, what’s the harm?” Gautham grinned, peeling her hand away. “Free artist on tap—why waste it?”

“Tsk, enough.” She squirmed, half-hearted. “You’re pimping me out nude to him, you lunatic.”

Gautham silenced her with a kiss—lips firm, claiming—leaving her breath caught, body still as stone.

“Listen,” he murmured against her skin, “he swore silence, right? It’s fine.”

Bharat edged closer, voice husky with persuasion. “Yes, Miss... I’d kill to sketch it.”

Gautham’s laughter boomed, filling the room.

She shot back, direct as a dart: “Zip it, both of you.”

“Not tonight,” Gautham conceded, though his eyes danced. “But opportunity knocks... who knows?”

“What ‘who knows’? It’s a no. Have you two plotted against me?”

Bharat inched nearer still, fingers tangling in her hair, gently turning her face to his. “Please, Miss... Sir’s idea’s gold.”

“Don’t.” Her protest was breath, not steel.

Gautham’s hand found the small of her back, urging her forward with inexorable calm. Their lips met—Bharat’s and Geetha’s—in a collision of shock and spark. Eyes flew wide, bodies rigid as marble. No one had scripted this: a husband guiding his wife into another man’s kiss, right there in the lamplight’s glow.

Bharat jerked back first, the air between them crackling with the aftershock.

Words evaporated, leaving only the thud of pulses.

### Questions and Uncertainty

For an eternal heartbeat, questions surged like a tidal wave, drowning thought. *Did Gautham orchestrate that?* The query echoed in every mind—even his own, a flicker of recklessness he hadn’t fully owned. Bharat’s doubts crystallized: *He’s engineering this. No man shares his wife like a toy.* Suspicion slithered in—Gautham concealed depths, shadows Bharat couldn’t chart.

Geetha’s storm raged fiercest, a maelstrom of confusion. *Why does he wave it all away like mist?* It clawed at her, this lightness where she craved gravity. Gautham alone held the compass: time with Bharat poisoned her like slow venom, consent a bitter pill he swallowed for her sake. This kiss? A ripple, mere circumstance’s cruel jest.

She locked eyes with him, searching for anchors. He held her stare, nerves coiled tight beneath his calm, awaiting the verdict.

“Sir,” Bharat stammered at last, rising unsteadily, “I... I’ll crash. Sorry.”

Geetha’s hand snagged his, tethering him. “Darling...”

“It’s alright,” Gautham interjected, voice even. “That’s why you’re here—not for blueprints or busywork.”

“No, sir. I won’t wedge between you.”

Gautham drew Geetha nearer, his gaze piercing hers like sunlight through leaves. “Your wish—speak it.”

“Um...” She faltered, adrift. “As you wish.”

“Bharat,” Gautham said, turning to the young man, “no lectures from me. Pull her close whenever the pull strikes. While you’re under this roof, let’s weave the three of us tight—like this.”

Geetha gaped, stunned into silence, her eyes darting to Bharat. His hands shook, fine tremors betraying the quake within.

“What’s wrong?” Gautham prompted, scanning their faces.

“Nothing,” Bharat muttered, voice frayed. “I’m out—sleep.”

“Alright... Night.”

Bharat fled to his room, door clicking shut like a full stop.

Geetha whirled on her husband, whisper sharp. “What was *that*?”

“Don’t overthink,” he soothed, cupping her face. “It’s fine by me. I... wanted it. It stirs something.”

“I love you,” she breathed, vulnerability cracking her armor.

He kissed her then—deep, reaffirming. “Hmmm...”


Geetha glanced up from the dim, amber glow of the living room lamp, its light pooling like molten honey on the faded rug beneath her feet. The air carried the faint, earthy tang of rain-soaked soil from the garden outside, mingling with the subtle musk of the evening's lingering warmth. Her pulse quickened as she caught sight of Bharat in the shadowed doorway, his broad frame etched against the deeper gloom of the hallway. He tilted his head toward the stairs, a silent beckoning that hummed through her veins like the low thrum of distant thunder, his dark eyes glinting with unspoken intent.

"I'll put him to sleep and come," she murmured to Gautham, her voice a soft hush against the quiet tick of the wall clock, its pendulum slicing through the stillness like a metronome of domestic rhythm.

"Come fast," he replied, his timbre gravel-rough from the day's end, laced with the quiet urgency of their intertwined lives. The faint scent of his sandalwood cologne clung to him, a familiar anchor in the cooling air. "We have to wake up early tomorrow."

"Hmm," she assented, the syllable vibrating softly in her throat as she watched him turn, his bare feet whispering across the cool terracotta tiles toward their bedroom, the sound fading into the house's nocturnal hush.

With a quiet resolve, Geetha ascended the stairs, each creak of the worn wooden treads a conspiratorial murmur under her soles, the banister's smooth varnish slick beneath her palm like polished stone warmed by hidden sun. She slipped into Bharat's room like a secret exhaled into the night, the door's latch clicking shut with a decisive snick that sealed them in twilight's velvet embrace. The air here was alive, laced with the crisp, mineral bite of the river wafting through the open window, carrying whispers of wet pebbles and wild jasmine from the banks below.

Bharat wasted no time, his fingers hooking the hem of his T-shirt and peeling it upward in one fluid, unhurried motion. The fabric rasped softly against his skin, releasing a faint, sun-warmed scent of cotton and the subtle salt of his day's sweat as it whispered to the floor. He stretched out on the bed, the mattress sighing beneath his weight, sheets cool and crisp like fresh linen against his bare back, gooseflesh rising in the draft from the window. Outside, the ancient tree's branches swayed in the night breeze, their leaves rustling like a lover's sigh, stirring the gauzy curtains into a hypnotic flutter that danced shadows across the walls—ethereal veils of silver moonlight threading the room like liquid mercury.

"Miss, this room is heaven," Bharat drawled, his voice a lazy rumble that vibrated through the mattress, propping himself on an elbow with a faint creak of springs. "I can see the river from here, all silver and restless, its surface rippling like black silk under the moon. And I can't stand the AC—too sterile, like breathing through ice—so I cracked the window wide. Feel that? The night's breath on your skin."

"You're comfortable?" Geetha asked, her tone a tender probe laced with the faint husk of anticipation, already inhaling the mingled aromas of his skin—earthy, vital, with an undercurrent of the river's clean, loamy freshness.

"I'd be more so with you here," he confessed, his wink a spark of mischief in the dimness, his lips curving in a slow, predatory smile that pulled at her like gravity. The words hung in the air, tasting of promise on her tongue, unspoken yet palpable.

She climbed onto the bed without hesitation, the sheets whispering cool silk against her calves as she settled astride his feet, her hands capturing his in a grip that was both anchor and surrender—his palms roughened by calluses, warm and faintly damp, pulsing with the steady throb of his veins. Tilting her head, she offered the soft curve beneath her neck, the skin there flushed and sensitive, prickling under the room's caress. Bharat's fingers loosened from hers, sliding up to her shoulders with a deliberate drag of fingertips, the heat of him seeping through her thin frock like embers against frost. He drew her down beside him with a firmness that brooked no resistance, the mattress dipping to cradle them in a shared hollow. Easing her onto the linens, he nestled his face into that vulnerable hollow, his stubble a faint, teasing rasp against her collarbone, his breath hot and rhythmic, carrying the faint, clean tang of mint from his earlier tea.

"Miss, I'm not in the mood," he whispered against her pulse point, the words muffled and honest, vibrating through her like a plucked string. "I just... I like lying like this. Close. Your heartbeat under my cheek—it's like the river, steady and deep."

Stroking his hair with featherlight fingers, the thick strands coarse yet silken between her knuckles, she hushed him, inhaling the subtle, sun-baked scent of his scalp. "Then lie still. No words." The air between them thickened with the night's symphony: the distant lap of water on stone, the intermittent chirp of crickets threading the breeze, the faint rustle of leaves like secrets exchanged.

His eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing her skin like moth wings, and in the span of two heartbeats, he surrendered to sleep, his weight a comforting anchor on her chest—solid, unyielding, his breaths deepening to a slow, resonant rhythm that synced with hers, rising and falling in tandem. She pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead, the salt of his skin blooming salty-sweet on her lips, a taste like the sea carried inland. Gently, she shifted him onto the pillow, his form curling instinctively into the dent she'd left, a soft exhale escaping him like a sigh of contentment. The door sighed open and closed without a sound as she stole away, descending once more to the sanctuary of her husband's room, the stairs' creaks now a fading echo in her ears.

There, the bedside lamp cast a golden halo over Gautham, its warm light gilding the fine hairs on his bare chest, which rose and fell in the lamplight's soft, flickering embrace—a single moth batting against the shade, casting erratic shadows like unspoken desires. He lay sprawled beneath the blanket drawn only to his waist, the cotton whispering against his hips with each subtle shift, the air heavy with the intimate musk of his skin, warmed by the day's residue and the faint, spicy trace of his aftershave. Geetha shut the door with a quiet finality, the latch's click a punctuation in the hush, a flush of shyness warming her cheeks like a sip of forbidden wine as she bit her lower lip, tasting the faint copper tang of it.

She approached like a shadow seeking light, the floorboards cool and smooth underfoot, curling into his lap as a child might seek solace—her frock's hem riding up to expose the velvet warmth of her thighs against his. Her head nestled against the steady drum of his heart, a muffled thunder beneath her ear, its rhythm quickening at her touch, carrying the clean, soapy scent of his recent shower mingled with the deeper, primal earthiness of him.

He dbangd an arm around her, pulling her flush against him with a low hum of satisfaction, their bodies aligning in the instinctive geometry of long familiarity—his skin fever-hot against hers, the fine crispness of chest hair tickling her cheek like whispers of silk. "Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice a pout-soft murmur, laced with the ache of unspoken questions, her breath feathering warm across his collarbone.

"I don't know," Gautham admitted, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her back through the thin fabric—light, teasing strokes that sent shivers cascading like cool water down her spine. "It just... felt right in the moment. Like the air needed it."

She shifted upward, fluid as water over stone, straddling his waist with a faint rustle of sheets, the heat of him radiating through the blanket like a hidden hearth. Cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the faint stubble along his jaw—rough as sandpaper kissed by salt—she locked her gaze onto his, the intensity stripping away the veils of the day. Their breaths mingled, close enough to taste—his warm and faintly sweet with the echo of dinner's cardamom, hers quickened with jasmine from her hair oil.

"Let's sleep," he suggested, though his eyes betrayed the lie, dark and dilated like storm clouds heavy with rain, his voice a gravelly plea wrapped in restraint.

"You can't just say that," she chided, her lips brushing his chin in a feather of a kiss, the skin there tasting of faint salt and the day's faint bitterness, teasing the resolve from him like thread from a loom.

"Can't I?" His hands found the hem of her frock, fingers slipping beneath to slide it upward from her shoulders to bunch at her waist, the fabric whispering like dry leaves over her skin, exposing the curve of her to the cool air's teasing nip and his reverent gaze—pupils flaring at the sight of her, flushed and luminous in the lamplight. He bent his head, lips trailing fire along the line below her neck, each press a bloom of heat that drew a soft, involuntary "Mmmmmm" from her throat, vibrating low and throaty, tasting of surrender on her tongue as she arched into it.

The world narrowed to the press of skin on skin, slick with the first sheen of shared warmth, as Gautham rose with a faint groan—the sound raw, elemental, like gravel under boot. Positioning himself between her thighs with a deliberate grace, the mattress dipped and creaked in protest, he reached for the pillow beside them, its downy softness yielding as he slipped it beneath her waist to cradle her just so—an act of quiet devotion that lifted her hips in invitation, the linen cool against her heated back. Then, without prelude or pause, he entered her, a slow, inevitable union that blurred the edges of where one ended and the other began—velvet heat enveloping him, a gasp tearing from her lips like silk ripping, the air thickening with the sharp, intimate scent of their arousal, musky and alive.

They clung to each other like storm-tossed vessels finding harbor, bodies slick and sliding in a timeless rhythm—fingernails grazing sweat-damp skin, leaving faint trails of fire; warm breaths tangling in ragged harmony, tasting of salt and shared sighs; groans weaving into the night's symphony, low and guttural, punctuated by the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh and the distant, soothing lap of the river beyond the walls. The cool room enveloped them, a balm of crisp air against the fever they kindled, shadows leaping across the ceiling like wild spirits in the lamp's glow, until exhaustion claimed its due—a final, shuddering crest that left them trembling, spent, the aftershocks rippling like echoes on water. Lulled by the echo of their shared sighs, the faint metallic tang of release lingering on their lips, they drifted into sleep.
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To be continued………………

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How Goutham gonna react when he finds out the fuck?

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From now on, English and Telugu will get updates at a time.