An Innocent Beauty Continues Part2

[Deepak.kapoor]

A Moment of Passion

Vikram walked out of the room, the door clicking softly behind him… but he didn’t go far.

He leaned against the wall in the hallway, his chest heaving, his mind screaming.

That image of her—Meera sprawled across the bed, thigh exposed, blouse hanging dangerously loose, one breast almost slipping free—burned into him like fire under the skin. It wasn’t just arousal anymore. It was rage. Rage at himself for hesitating. Rage that he walked away.

"Main pagal ho raha hoon… abhi ruk gaya toh dobara moka nahi milega."
(I’m losing my mind… if I stop now, I may never get another chance.)


His hands clenched into fists. He thought of her soft lips parting as she woke, the slight flush on her chest, the innocence of that sleep mixing with raw sensuality. It twisted his insides, stoked something darker—possession.


And then… he made his decision.


He turned back.


Inside, Meera sat on the edge of the bed, still rattled but relieved. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to steady her breath. That was close… too close.


The door clicking again froze her mid-motion.


Her eyes darted up. “Vikram?”


He stepped inside, this time not with hesitation, but with a slow, predatory calm. The door closed behind him with a deliberate thud.


Meera’s pulse spiked. “Tum phir se? Maine kaha na—” (You again? I told you—)

“Bas.” His voice was low, hoarse. “Aur nahi sun sakta. Tum mujhe samajhti nahi ho, Meera. Jo maine dekha abhi…” He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. “Woh mujhe chain se baithne nahi de raha.”

(You don’t understand, Meera. What I just saw… it won’t let me rest.)

She stood up quickly, hands slightly raised as if to calm him. 

“Vikram, ruk jao. Yeh galat hai—” (Stop. This is wrong—)

“Galat? Galat toh yeh hai ki main tumse door raha jab tum mujhe khud bula rahi thi…” He gestured toward the bed, his voice deepening.

“Woh soyi hui Meera… blouse se bahar girti hui tumhari chaati… woh jhaankti hui smooth thighs…”

He took another step, closer now.

“Tum mujhe dekh rahi thi sapne mein bhi kya? Mujhe feel kar rahi thi kya?” 

(Wrong? Wrong is me staying away when your own body was calling me… that blouse barely holding you, those smooth thighs peeking out… were you dreaming of me, even then?)


“Enough!” she snapped, though her voice trembled. 

“Vikram, darwaza kholo aur jao!” 

(Open the door and leave!)

But he didn’t stop. His eyes had gone darker, his steps slower, calculated, almost animalistic.

“Meera…” he whispered, now just a breath away.

“Main tumhe chahta hoon. Abhi. Yahin.”
(I want you. Right now. Here.)

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough to make her breath hitch. He pulled her closer, his other hand grazing the bare curve of her waist where her sari had loosened.


“You know how crazy you looked, lying there like that? 


Jaise ek gift jo khula jaane ke liye wait kar raha ho.” 

(Like a gift waiting to be opened.) 

His voice dipped lower, rough and shaky with restraint slipping fast.
 
“Aur main… main rukne nahi waala.” (And I… I’m not going to stop.)

Meera’s mind raced. She pushed lightly against his chest, trying to regain space, but he didn’t budge.

“Vikram, listen to me…” Her tone was steady but urgent.

“Agar tumne aaj koi line cross ki, hum dono ke liye khatra ho jaayega.” 

(If you cross a line today, it will destroy us both.)

For a moment, he froze. His grip loosened slightly, but the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade. He cupped her face instead, his thumb brushing dangerously close to her lips.

“Khatra?” he murmured, lips curling into a dangerous smirk.

“Mujhe parwah nahi, Meera. Tum jaanti ho main tumhe chhod nahi paunga. Tum mujhe milni hi padogi…”

(Danger? I don’t care, Meera. You know I can’t let you go. You’ll have to give yourself to me…)

He leaned in closer, breath hot on her cheek, his body nearly pressing hers against the wall.

Meera stiffened, realizing the depth of his obsession. This wasn’t the same Vikram she could calm with reason. This was something unrestrained.


Vikram’s face hovered dangerously close to hers, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes clouded with unrestrained hunger. His grip on her wrist tightened, pulling her flush against him.


“Meera…” His voice was low, almost trembling.

“Ab nahi ruk sakta main. Jo maine dekha… woh mujhe pagal kar raha hai.” 

(I can’t stop now. What I saw… It’s driving me insane.)

Meera’s heart thudded. She should have pushed him away, screamed, done something… but something inside her hesitated. Why? Because deep down, buried beneath layers of fear and reason, she still had that soft spot for Vikram—the man who once made her feel desired without shame.


And he could sense it.

He released her wrist only to slide both hands around her waist, gripping firmly, pulling her sari loose even more. The silky fabric slipped, baring more of her thigh, her waist, almost half her blouse.

“Yeh tumhari galti hai, Meera…” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

“Aise soyi thi… jaise mujhse keh rahi ho, ‘Vikram, le lo mujhe… abhi.’”
(This is your fault, Meera… sleeping like that, like you were saying to me, ‘Vikram, take me… now.’)

She gasped, shivering—not entirely from fear. Why am I not fighting harder?

Her hands pressed against his chest. “Vikram… hum aise nahi kar sakte…” (We can’t do this…)

He silenced her by gripping her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. His look was raw, desperate, like a man drowning.

“Main nahi ruk raha.” (I’m not stopping.)

And then his mouth crashed onto hers.

It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim, hard and hungry. His tongue pushed past her parted lips, searching, demanding, and despite herself, a soft moan slipped from Meera’s throat. She hated it, hated how that part of her still responded.


Her hands pushed weakly at first, but then clutched at his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, the other pulling her sari completely free.


Her breath hitched as he whispered against her lips,

“Teri chaati… abhi bhi mere sapno mein aati hai…”
(Your breasts… I still dream about them…)

His hand kneaded one through the thin blouse, his thumb rolling over her nipple until it stiffened under his touch.

“Vikram…” she whispered again, but this time it lacked conviction. That soft spot—those unspoken memories—left her confused, trembling.


“You feel this too, Meera…” he murmured, lips trailing down her neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks.

“Mat jhooth bol ki tujhe nahi chahiye main…” (Don’t lie that you don’t want me…)

She shuddered as his other hand slid down her bare thigh, gripping it firmly, hoisting her up. In one fluid motion, he pressed her back against the wall, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“See?” he growled softly.

“Tere pair khud mujhpar aa gaye…” (Your legs came to me on their own…)

Meera closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out the storm of emotions. He’s wrong. He’s wrong… isn’t he? Yet her body betrayed her, arching slightly when his hard penis pressed against her pussy through their clothes.


His breathing was ragged, wild, and his hands were everywhere now—gripping, pulling, squeezing—like a man starving after too long a wait.


“Ab main nahi rukunga, Meera…” he said against her ear, voice raw, shaky with passion and fury alike.

 “Chahe tum mana karo… chahe tum chaho…” (I’m not stopping now, Meera… whether you say no… or yes…)

Vikram’s grip was unyielding, his body pressed tight against hers as if even a breath of space would break the spell. His voice trembled with hunger, raw and unrestrained.

“Tum samajhti ho na, Meera… main kitna intezaar kiya hai.” (You know, Meera… how long I’ve waited.)

Meera’s lips parted to respond, to stop him, but the words died in her throat when his mouth claimed hers again—hungry, punishing, almost desperate.

She should have pushed him away. She knew that. But her hands betrayed her, clutching at his shoulders instead, fingers curling into his shirt as if searching for balance. That soft spot she’d buried for him, the way he once made her feel desired beyond reason, came rushing back like a wave she couldn’t stop.

His hands roamed freely now, sliding under her blouse, finding her bare skin. She gasped when his fingers cupped her breast directly, kneading it with a low, guttural moan escaping his lips.

“Yeh… wahi feel… jo kabhi bhooli nahi…” (This… the same feeling I could never forget…)

Her breath hitched, a small whimper slipping out unbidden.

“You feel it too, Meera…” he whispered, lips trailing down her neck, biting and sucking until she shivered. 

“Mana mat karo…” (Don’t deny it…)

One hand gripped her thigh again, lifting her with ease, pressing her against the wall, his hips grinding into her pussy. She gasped sharply at the sensation, his hard penis pressing right where she was already sensitive, her body betraying her mind.

“Dekha?” he murmured against her ear, voice husky.

“Tera body khud keh raha hai haan…” (See? Your body is saying yes…)

“Vikram…” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut, torn between fear and the heat pooling inside her.

He lowered her slightly, fingers fumbling at her sari until it pooled around her waist, his hands sliding beneath, gripping the curve of her bare hips. Her blouse shifted further, one breast almost spilling free entirely. He paused for a brief moment—just to look at her.

“Meera…” His voice was rough, almost reverent.

“Tu itni khoobsurat hai ki dimaag kharab ho jaata hai mera…” (You’re so beautiful you drive me insane…)

And then his mouth was on her chest, sucking hungrily, his tongue circling her nipple through the thin fabric before tugging it down, baring her fully. She gasped, one hand flying to his head—meant to push him away, but instead holding him there.

Her body arched, betraying her final defense.

He kissed her again, deeper, rougher, one hand sliding lower between her thighs. She whimpered against his lips but didn’t resist, her nails digging into his back as he pressed against her core, fingers teasing over fabric.

And then, in a shattering moment of weakness, Meera let go—not just of his shirt, but of her resistance.

Her legs wrapped tighter around him, her lips parted to his kiss willingly now, a soft moan escaping as her body melted into his. She could feel herself trembling—not just from fear, but from the intensity of the moment, from that dangerous, intoxicating mix of her soft spot for him and his unrelenting dominance.

“Take me… Vikram…” she whispered finally, almost inaudible, but it was all he needed.

His eyes burned with triumph and hunger, and he carried her to the bed, laying her down, their bodies tangling as if this moment had been waiting for years.