Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Amit didn’t question her further. Instead, he stepped toward her, closing the space between them with the ease of habit, of intimacy shaped by years of shared routines. His hand reached for her arm. The touch was familiar, loving.
 
And yet tonight, it felt different.
 
Not wrong.
 
But intrusive, like it crossed into a part of her that no longer felt entirely his.
 
He gently turned her toward him, his hand settling at her waist, thumb pressing lightly as if to anchor her there.
 
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.
 
Priya let herself be pulled closer. Her body responded automatically, guided by memory, by muscle, by the countless times she had stood like this before. But her mind drifted, slipping away despite her efforts.
 
Lost in the ghost of Ravi’s kiss.
In the way that single moment had burned itself into her awareness.
 
Amit’s hands were warm. Steady. Familiar.
They should have been enough.
 
They weren’t.
 
When Amit’s lips brushed the side of her neck, just below her ear, Priya’s body tensed before she could stop it. She felt the heat of his breath against her skin, felt the tenderness in the gesture.
 
And yet…
 
Her thoughts spiraled instantly, uncontrollably.
 
“Ravi’s lips were here.”
 
The comparison came without mercy. She couldn’t stop herself from remembering how it had felt when Ravi kissed her there, not tentative, not cautious.
 
Deliberate. Certain.
 
Amit’s kiss was gentle. Tender.
A sensation shaped by familiarity.
 
Ravi’s had been…
 
“Stronger. More insistent. Like he needed to be closer. Like he couldn’t hold back.”
 
Amit kissed her neck again, lingering softly. But all Priya could feel was the pulse of Ravi’s lips, the way he had stayed there, as though reluctant to let go.
 
That kiss had felt like a promise.
 
Dangerous. Forbidden.
 
“Why am I comparing the two?”
“Why can’t I just feel this moment with Amit?”
 
She closed her eyes, trying to ground herself, trying to stay present. She focused on Amit’s breath, his warmth, the familiar rhythm of him.
 
His lips moved to the curve of her jaw, slow and affectionate, a kiss shaped by years of shared life.
 
And still…
 
“Ravi kissed me here too.”
“But his kiss was hungry.”
“His lips were firmer.”
“He didn’t pull back.”
“He wanted more.”
 
Her breath grew shallow, heat blooming in her chest, a response she didn’t want, didn’t welcome, didn’t understand.
 
“Why am I even thinking of him?”
“Amit is my husband.”
“Amit should be the one who makes me feel this way.”

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