02-01-2026, 12:50 PM
The short walk across the dark hallway felt like a journey across a tightrope strung over a deep chasm. Shweta tiptoed, her bare feet making no sound on the mosaic floor, but the thumping of her heart was so loud in her ears she feared it might wake the dead.
*I have to end this,* she told herself, the mantra repeating in her head with every step. *I have to end this tonight. Right now. Or I will never sleep again.*
She reached the heavy wooden door of Sumu’s room and paused, her hand hovering over the brass knob. She held her breath, listening. Silence. Was he asleep? A part of her prayed he was, that she could turn around and retreat to the safety of her husband’s side without confrontation. But deep in the marrow of her bones, she knew better. He wasn't asleep. He was waiting.
With a trembling hand, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
The room was plunged in shadow, illuminated only by the spectral, electric-blue glow of the night lamp in the corner. The air inside was crisp and cool, a jarring contrast to the humid soup of the hallway. Shweta stepped inside, and her eyes adjusted instantly to the gloom.
He was there.
Sumu was sitting on the edge of the bed, his upper body leaning back against the headboard of the divan. He was a dark silhouette against the pale grey sheets, motionless, like a predator patiently waiting in its lair. She couldn't see his face clearly in the low light, but she could feel the weight of his eyes. They were boring into her, stripping away her resolve before she had even spoken. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She pushed the door shut behind her, the click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room.
"Borda," she whispered, her voice shaking but determined. "We can't do this anymore. We have to stop."
The shadow on the bed moved. Sumu stood up slowly, unfolding his large frame with a fluid, feline grace. He didn't speak. He just started to move toward her.
Shweta’s breath hitched. She took a step back, but her shoulder blades hit the solid wood of the door. There was nowhere to go.
Sumu closed the distance, his body looming over hers, blotting out the blue light. He didn't stop until he was framing her, his presence overwhelming her senses.
"Stop?" he murmured, the word vibrating in the small space between them.
"Yes," she gasped. She brought her hands up, placing her palms flat against his bare, hard chest to push him away. "Move back."
But her strength was nothing against him. It was like trying to hold back a landslide. Sumu didn't even flinch. He reached up, tearing her hands away from his chest with effortless dominance. He pinned both her wrists together in one large hand and forced them high above her head, pressing them against the door.
In the same motion, his other arm snaked around her slender waist, yanking her forward. He sank his body into hers, crushing her soft curves against his granite hardness.
Shweta let out a small, strangled noise, stuck between the cool, hard wood of the door and the searing heat of her brother-in-law. She squirmed, trying to twist away, but his grip was iron.
"Let me go," she pleaded, though the fight was already leaking out of her voice.
Sumu lowered his face until he was inches from hers. In the blue twilight, she could see the glint in his eyes. There was no apology there, only a dark, burning hunger. This time, she didn't look away. She stared back, trying to summon a look of defiance, trying to remember the sleeping husband across the hall.
Sumu didn't seem impressed by her resistance. His free hand, the one around her waist, began to roam. It slid down the curvature of her hip, molded the softness of her buttocks through the cotton saree, and then moved up to trace the trembling skin of her stomach.
"Why, Shweta?" he asked, his voice hoarse and rough.
"I love your brother, Borda," she whispered, her voice low but surprisingly steady. "I can't hurt him. He trusts me."
"I know you love him," Sumu replied, his hand squeezing her waist possessively. "You have been with him since college. But that does not mean you need to ignore your own needs."
"No, Borda," she shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "He makes me happy."
Sumu gave a small, dark laugh that sent a shiver down her spine. "No, he doesn't. If he did, then you would not have come with me that night. You wouldn't be standing here right now. You know what you felt that night, Shweta. You know what I gave you."
"Please, Borda," she begged, desperation creeping in. "Let me go. He might wake up. He might wonder where I am."
"Shweta," Sumu whispered, leaning in to brush his nose against hers. "You know once he falls asleep, he does not wake up. He is dead to the world."
While Shweta was distracted by his logic, terrified by the truth of it, Sumu’s hand moved. His fingers found the edge of her pallu where it was tucked into her waist. With a subtle, practiced tug, he pulled the fabric free.
The saree slid off her shoulder.
The cool air from the air conditioner hit her exposed chest instantly, raising goosebumps across her skin. Shweta gasped, realizing she was now standing before him with her chest heaving beneath the thin, worn fabric of her blouse.
Sumu didn't wait. His palm moved up, hovering over her breast for a second before cupping it. He didn't press hard; he just held the weight of her, his thumb finding the center. He rubbed her sensitive nipple through the cotton. It was already hard, betraying her completely.
Shweta involuntarily arched her back, her body seeking the friction even as her mind screamed to stop.
"Please, Borda... let me go..." she started to say, the words fragile.
Sumu moved his hand from her wrists to her chin, gripping her jaw with his fingers. He tilted her head upwards, angling her face towards his. He brought his lips so close they brushed against hers, a ghost of a kiss.
"Shhh," he hushed her.
She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes fluttered closed automatically at the proximity, her senses overwhelmed by his scent—musk and desire. Her lips parted in anticipation, her breath coming out in short, jagged puffs that mingled with his.
Sumu kept his lips hovering against hers, teasing her, denying her the contact she suddenly craved.
"Forget everything, Shweta," he whispered against her mouth. "Let's go to the bed together. I'll show you pleasure you have never felt before."
His words were a spell, weaving through the fog of her morality. His whole body pressed into hers, and she felt it—the hard, undeniable ridge of his erection poking firmly against her navel through the layers of clothes.
"Ani is not here for the whole week," Sumu continued, his voice a seductive rumble. "Nobody else comes to this floor. This will be our own paradise."
Shweta started to shiver violently at his words. The temptation was agonizing. The allure of not spending her nights alone in her hard, empty bed, of not staring at the ceiling in frustration... the promise of someone to keep her warm, to fill the void that Ani’s exhaustion had left behind.
Lust twisted in her lower abdomen, a hot, liquid coil that crumbled her last shred of resolve. She had already crossed the boundary. She had already tainted the sanctity of her marriage on the stairs, in the hallway, in his bed. Why should she deny herself the pleasure she knew—she *knew*—this man could give her?
She opened her eyes, looking into the dark depths of his, and saw her own reflection surrendering.
In a breathy whisper, barely audible over the hum of the AC, she said the words of her final defeat.
"Take me, Borda... finish me."
*I have to end this,* she told herself, the mantra repeating in her head with every step. *I have to end this tonight. Right now. Or I will never sleep again.*
She reached the heavy wooden door of Sumu’s room and paused, her hand hovering over the brass knob. She held her breath, listening. Silence. Was he asleep? A part of her prayed he was, that she could turn around and retreat to the safety of her husband’s side without confrontation. But deep in the marrow of her bones, she knew better. He wasn't asleep. He was waiting.
With a trembling hand, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
The room was plunged in shadow, illuminated only by the spectral, electric-blue glow of the night lamp in the corner. The air inside was crisp and cool, a jarring contrast to the humid soup of the hallway. Shweta stepped inside, and her eyes adjusted instantly to the gloom.
He was there.
Sumu was sitting on the edge of the bed, his upper body leaning back against the headboard of the divan. He was a dark silhouette against the pale grey sheets, motionless, like a predator patiently waiting in its lair. She couldn't see his face clearly in the low light, but she could feel the weight of his eyes. They were boring into her, stripping away her resolve before she had even spoken. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She pushed the door shut behind her, the click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room.
"Borda," she whispered, her voice shaking but determined. "We can't do this anymore. We have to stop."
The shadow on the bed moved. Sumu stood up slowly, unfolding his large frame with a fluid, feline grace. He didn't speak. He just started to move toward her.
Shweta’s breath hitched. She took a step back, but her shoulder blades hit the solid wood of the door. There was nowhere to go.
Sumu closed the distance, his body looming over hers, blotting out the blue light. He didn't stop until he was framing her, his presence overwhelming her senses.
"Stop?" he murmured, the word vibrating in the small space between them.
"Yes," she gasped. She brought her hands up, placing her palms flat against his bare, hard chest to push him away. "Move back."
But her strength was nothing against him. It was like trying to hold back a landslide. Sumu didn't even flinch. He reached up, tearing her hands away from his chest with effortless dominance. He pinned both her wrists together in one large hand and forced them high above her head, pressing them against the door.
In the same motion, his other arm snaked around her slender waist, yanking her forward. He sank his body into hers, crushing her soft curves against his granite hardness.
Shweta let out a small, strangled noise, stuck between the cool, hard wood of the door and the searing heat of her brother-in-law. She squirmed, trying to twist away, but his grip was iron.
"Let me go," she pleaded, though the fight was already leaking out of her voice.
Sumu lowered his face until he was inches from hers. In the blue twilight, she could see the glint in his eyes. There was no apology there, only a dark, burning hunger. This time, she didn't look away. She stared back, trying to summon a look of defiance, trying to remember the sleeping husband across the hall.
Sumu didn't seem impressed by her resistance. His free hand, the one around her waist, began to roam. It slid down the curvature of her hip, molded the softness of her buttocks through the cotton saree, and then moved up to trace the trembling skin of her stomach.
"Why, Shweta?" he asked, his voice hoarse and rough.
"I love your brother, Borda," she whispered, her voice low but surprisingly steady. "I can't hurt him. He trusts me."
"I know you love him," Sumu replied, his hand squeezing her waist possessively. "You have been with him since college. But that does not mean you need to ignore your own needs."
"No, Borda," she shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "He makes me happy."
Sumu gave a small, dark laugh that sent a shiver down her spine. "No, he doesn't. If he did, then you would not have come with me that night. You wouldn't be standing here right now. You know what you felt that night, Shweta. You know what I gave you."
"Please, Borda," she begged, desperation creeping in. "Let me go. He might wake up. He might wonder where I am."
"Shweta," Sumu whispered, leaning in to brush his nose against hers. "You know once he falls asleep, he does not wake up. He is dead to the world."
While Shweta was distracted by his logic, terrified by the truth of it, Sumu’s hand moved. His fingers found the edge of her pallu where it was tucked into her waist. With a subtle, practiced tug, he pulled the fabric free.
The saree slid off her shoulder.
The cool air from the air conditioner hit her exposed chest instantly, raising goosebumps across her skin. Shweta gasped, realizing she was now standing before him with her chest heaving beneath the thin, worn fabric of her blouse.
Sumu didn't wait. His palm moved up, hovering over her breast for a second before cupping it. He didn't press hard; he just held the weight of her, his thumb finding the center. He rubbed her sensitive nipple through the cotton. It was already hard, betraying her completely.
Shweta involuntarily arched her back, her body seeking the friction even as her mind screamed to stop.
"Please, Borda... let me go..." she started to say, the words fragile.
Sumu moved his hand from her wrists to her chin, gripping her jaw with his fingers. He tilted her head upwards, angling her face towards his. He brought his lips so close they brushed against hers, a ghost of a kiss.
"Shhh," he hushed her.
She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes fluttered closed automatically at the proximity, her senses overwhelmed by his scent—musk and desire. Her lips parted in anticipation, her breath coming out in short, jagged puffs that mingled with his.
Sumu kept his lips hovering against hers, teasing her, denying her the contact she suddenly craved.
"Forget everything, Shweta," he whispered against her mouth. "Let's go to the bed together. I'll show you pleasure you have never felt before."
His words were a spell, weaving through the fog of her morality. His whole body pressed into hers, and she felt it—the hard, undeniable ridge of his erection poking firmly against her navel through the layers of clothes.
"Ani is not here for the whole week," Sumu continued, his voice a seductive rumble. "Nobody else comes to this floor. This will be our own paradise."
Shweta started to shiver violently at his words. The temptation was agonizing. The allure of not spending her nights alone in her hard, empty bed, of not staring at the ceiling in frustration... the promise of someone to keep her warm, to fill the void that Ani’s exhaustion had left behind.
Lust twisted in her lower abdomen, a hot, liquid coil that crumbled her last shred of resolve. She had already crossed the boundary. She had already tainted the sanctity of her marriage on the stairs, in the hallway, in his bed. Why should she deny herself the pleasure she knew—she *knew*—this man could give her?
She opened her eyes, looking into the dark depths of his, and saw her own reflection surrendering.
In a breathy whisper, barely audible over the hum of the AC, she said the words of her final defeat.
"Take me, Borda... finish me."
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