Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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He could have stayed where he was, lingering in the space she had just vacated, but instead, he chose distance. It felt like restraint carved directly into his muscles, deliberate and necessary.
 
They stood there, close, but no longer touching.
 
The boundary had been approached.
 
And respected.
 
Priya didn’t look at him right away. Her heartbeat felt louder than the running fan, louder than the hum of the kitchen. It pulsed in her chest, insistent, as if echoing the question that had been hanging in the air between them:
 
What happens now?
 
She had allowed something intimate, invited it, really, and the realization sent a quiet tremor through her chest. The vulnerability was undeniable, settling into her bones with a strange mix of warmth and unease.
 
That could have gone further, she thought, and for the briefest moment, a thread of desire flickered within her, unbidden. And I didn’t stop it.
 
But the thought didn’t frighten her.
 
That frightened me.
 
Her mind raced, the weight of it pressing on her like the still air in the kitchen. She had made a choice.
And that choice wasn’t about pulling away because it was wrong. It was about what happens next, what would happen if she didn’t stop this now, what it would mean for both of them if she let it continue.
 
She turned, finally, meeting his eyes.
 
Ravi’s expression wasn’t hungry.
It wasn’t triumphant.
 
It was… careful.
 
As if he were asking a question without words.
 
Is this still okay?
 
The rawness of his gaze caught her breath. There was no impatience there, no claim. Only attention. Care. The consideration in his eyes told her everything, he wasn’t looking at her as a conquest, as something to possess.
He was looking at her as though waiting for her permission to exist in this moment with her, as though every action, every word from him depended on how she answered.
 
She gave a small nod, not encouragement, not retreat.
 
Acknowledgment.
 
“That’s enough for now,” she said softly, her voice steady, though a little breathless. She gestured toward the counter, needing something solid, something ordinary, to anchor them both. “We should finish cooking.”
 
Ravi nodded at once.
 
“Of course.”
 
No disappointment.
No resistance.
 
That, more than anything, told her how close they had come.
 
They returned to their tasks, but something fundamental had shifted. The air between them was not heavy, but it was alive with possibility, with a tension that hummed quietly under the surface, subtle and persistent.

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