Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Just the heartbeat pounding beneath her blouse.
The warmth at her side.
The silent question pressed into her shoulder.
 
Her lips parted again, trembling.
Her fingers, trapped in Amit’s steady hold, twitched, a reflexive gasp without sound.
 
Ravi felt the shift.
Felt the tremor.
Felt the way her breath stumbled against him.
 
He almost pulled back.
Almost.
 
But then, she didn’t stiffen.
She didn’t recoil.
She didn’t lift her shoulder.
She allowed the moment to continue.
 
That small, unspoken permission, silent, terrified, real, made something ache inside him.
 
He breathed quietly.
And the scent of jasmine and sandalwood clung to him, warm and intoxicating.
 
Priya’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, just one second, overwhelmed by the closeness, by the war raging inside her.
 
Amit’s thumb stroked her hand again, tender, unconscious.
Ravi’s breath warmed her shoulder, gentle, aching, alive.
 
Her body felt split in half.
 
One side safe.
One side burning.
One side familiar.
One side forbidden.
One side bound by vows.
One side bound by desire.
 
Her thoughts spiraled, trembling:
 
“I can’t… I can’t betray him… he trusts me… he’s holding my hand…”
“…but why does it feel so right when Ravi touches me… why does it feel like my body listens only to him…”
 
Her heart raced.
Her breath trembled.
Her fingers curled.
Her muscles coiled like springs ready to snap.
 
She wasn’t sure she could endure another second of this tension.
 
And yet…
 
She leaned the slightest fraction toward Ravi, so tiny it could have been accidental.
But not accidental.
Not to him.
 
He felt it instantly.
Her shoulder softened beneath him.
Her body eased, a fraction, an inch.
Her breath came warmer, closer, fragile.
 
A silent confession in a single, trembling movement.
 
The movie roared in the background, bright, loud, meaningless.
All that mattered was the woman caught between two worlds.
 
One holding her hand.
One holding her in his breath.
 
The tension thickened until the air itself felt heavy, molten, unbearable.
Her pulse hammered.
Her senses sharpened.
Every nerve alight, alive, trembling.
 
Her saree whispered against Ravi’s arm.
The faint brush of skin across fabric made her shiver subtly.
Every glance, every movement became amplified in her mind.
 
She imagined letting go, letting Ravi lean closer, letting herself forget Amit’s presence, but her conscience clamped down, a sharp reminder of vows, loyalty, love, and fear.
 
Her lips parted again as a soft sigh escaped, tiny, almost inaudible.
Her fingers twitched in Amit’s hold, tiny, nervous movements that mirrored the war inside her.
 
Her eyes flicked sideways, just enough to meet Ravi’s gaze, then darted back, a stolen, dangerous glance.
 
“Don’t let this happen… don’t look… don’t feel… but I can’t stop it…”
 
And in that dark theater, in the flickering glow of the screen, Priya whispered inside her breaking heart:
 
“Please… someone stop me… because I can’t stop myself…”
 
 
 

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