Adultery Undercover Desires

[John446]

CHAPTER – 80


In Hyderabad the storm from the previous night had left the air cooler, the courtyard damp and fragrant with wet earth and blooming roses. Dinner was simple—Kavya had prepared it herself, needing the distraction of routine: aloo gobi (lightly spiced, no onion), dal tadka, jeera rice, fresh curd, and a small bowl of mango pickle she had carried from Delhi.
She set the table for three, but Danish was still in Mumbai—his flight delayed again due to lingering weather issues. He had called earlier, voice tired but excited, promising he’d be home tomorrow. That left just Kavya and Feroz.
They sat across from each other at the small dining table in the inner courtyard, the overhead bulb casting a warm yellow glow. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full of everything they weren’t saying.
Kavya served him first—two rotis, a generous spoonful of aloo gobi, dal on the side. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as if she could control the air between them by controlling the food.
“Papa… aloo gobi today,” she said softly, placing the plate in front of him. “Mummy’s recipe, but I added a little extra jeera. Hope it’s okay.”
Feroz looked at the plate, then at her. His eyes were gentle, but shadowed. “It looks perfect, beta. Thank you.”
They ate quietly at first. The clink of spoons against steel plates, the soft crunch of roti, the occasional sip of water. But the events of last night hung between them like smoke—unspoken, impossible to ignore. The way he had held her in the dark. The way his lips had moved over her neck and cleavage. The way she had pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. The guilt sat heavy in both their chests, yet they managed to talk—comfortably, carefully, like people walking on thin ice but refusing to fall through.
Feroz broke the silence first. “The dal is excellent. You’ve added hing just right.”
Kavya gave a small smile, eyes on her plate. “Papa ji likes it strong. I remembered.”
He nodded. “He’s lucky to have you looking after him.”
A beat.
“How was your day, beta?” he asked, voice gentle.
“Busy,” she said. “Lots of emails. But I finished the quarterly report. Feels good to be done.”
“That’s good. You work hard.”
“You too, Papa. I saw you watering the roses this morning. They’re looking beautiful.”
He smiled faintly. “They needed care after the storm. Nature always forgives, doesn’t it?”
Kavya’s hand paused on her roti. She looked up at him—really looked. “Sometimes… yes.”
Their eyes met for a moment longer than necessary.
The memory flickered between them: the darkness, his mouth on her neck, the way she had whispered “stop” but held him tighter. The guilt was there, sharp in both their chests, but so was the strange, unspoken comfort of last night—he had calmed her fear, held her through the terror of the dark, made her feel safe when she was most vulnerable.
They continued eating, conversation staying light: the price of vegetables in the market, how Rajesh ji was planning to plant marigolds again, how Kavya wanted to try a new paneer recipe next week.
When they finished, Kavya stood to clear the plates.
Feroz rose too. “Let me help.”
“You don’t have to, Papa.”
“I want to.”
They moved to the kitchen together. She rinsed plates at the sink; he stood beside her, drying them with a cloth. Their elbows brushed once—twice. Neither flinched away. The proximity felt different now—charged, but not frightening. Comforting, almost.
As she scrubbed a stubborn spot on a pan, Feroz reached past her for a dry dish towel on the rack. His arm brushed hers, chest close to her shoulder. He paused for a second—long enough for her to feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of his soap—and then stepped back.
“Thank you for dinner, beta,” he said quietly. “It was delicious.”
Kavya turned off the tap, wiped her hands. “You’re welcome, Papa.”
They stood there for a moment—side by side at the sink, the kitchen lamp casting soft shadows.
Neither spoke of the night before.
But the silence between them was no longer empty.
It was full—of guilt, of caring, of something neither dared name.
After dinner, the kitchen was clean, the plates washed and stacked, the faint aroma of dal tadka and ghee still hanging in the air. Kavya wiped the counter one last time, her movements slow, deliberate, as if prolonging the ordinary task could keep the night ordinary too.
Feroz stood in the doorway, kurta sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands in his pockets. He watched her for a moment—quiet, thoughtful—then spoke.
“Beta… it’s a nice evening outside. Not too humid after the rain. Would you like to go for a small walk? Just around the lane?”
Kavya paused, cloth in hand. She looked at him—really looked. His eyes were gentle, no pressure, no expectation, just an invitation to breathe the same air for a little while longer. She felt the weight of last night still sitting between them, unspoken but present, yet his voice carried none of it. Just care.
She nodded. “Yes, Papa. I’d like that.”
They stepped out together.
The lane outside was narrow, lined with old bungalows and neem trees, the air cool and fresh after the storm. Streetlights glowed soft yellow, casting long shadows. They walked side by side, not touching, but close enough that their arms brushed occasionally when the path narrowed.
At first, the talk was light, random—safe.
“The roses are doing well this season,” Feroz said, nodding toward a neighbour’s garden. “Mine still need time.”
Kavya smiled. “They’ll bloom soon. You take good care of them.”
“Habit,” he replied. “When you lose something, you learn to nurture what’s left.”
She glanced at him, but didn’t push. They walked on.
They passed the small Hanuman temple at the corner—someone had lit diyas for the evening aarti. The faint sound of bells drifted toward them.
Papa ji used to take me to hanuman temple when I was little,” Kavya said quietly. “Every Tuesday. He’d make me promise to study hard.”
Feroz chuckled softly. “He’s a good man. Strong. Like you.”
Kavya looked down at her feet. “I don’t feel strong sometimes.”
He didn’t reply immediately. They turned back toward the haveli, the lane now quieter, the city sounds fading.
When they reached the gate, Feroz slowed. He didn’t open it right away.
“Kavya…” he began, voice lower. “Can I say something?”
She stopped, looked at him. The streetlight caught the lines on his face—years of quiet strength, years of carrying everything alone.
“Of course, Papa.”
He took a slow breath, eyes on the ground for a moment, then lifted them to hers.
“After Danish’s mother… Aisha… passed away, I thought that part of life was over for me. Danish was a child at that time. I raised him alone—no brothers, no close relatives to lean on. Conservative family, old values. I didn’t think it was right to bring another woman into the house. Didn’t want to confuse him. Didn’t want to dishonor her memory. So I didn’t. For decades. No woman. No touch. No… anything.”
He paused. His voice had gone quieter, rougher.
“It wasn’t easy. There were nights I felt… empty. Lonely in ways I couldn’t tell anyone. But I told myself it was my duty. My penance. My way of keeping the family whole.”
Kavya’s throat tightened. She had never heard him speak like this—open, raw, vulnerable.
“I built walls,” he continued. “Strong ones. And I lived behind them. Until you came.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re different, beta. Conservative, like us. ***** family—values, traditions, the way you carry yourself, the way you respect elders, the way you keep your home… I noticed it from the first day. It reminded me of Aisha in some ways. Gentle, but strong. And beautiful. Not just outside—inside. The way you care for Danish, for this house… it touched something I thought was dead.”
He looked away for a moment, then back at her.
“I never meant for anything to happen. I never planned it. But… I have a weakness. For ***** girls. Always have. Something about the grace, the quiet strength, the way you hold tradition and softness together. Aisha was one. And you… you remind me of that. More than I expected.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Kavya’s eyes filled with tears—not from fear, but from the weight of his honesty, the vulnerability he had never shown anyone.
“Papa…” she whispered.
He shook his head gently. “I’m not asking for anything. I’m not saying this to make you uncomfortable. I just… needed to say it. After last night. After everything. You deserved to know why I… why it was so hard to stop.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks now.
“I don’t hate you, Papa,” she said, voice trembling. “I never could. You’ve always been kind. Caring. You held me through the storm when I was scared to death. You didn’t take advantage. You stopped. That means more than you know.”
He nodded slowly, eyes glistening. “Thank you, beta. That’s all I needed to hear.”
They stood at the gate for another long moment—two people carrying the same guilt, the same ache, the same unspoken pull.
Then Feroz opened the gate.
“Come inside. It’s getting cold.”
Kavya nodded, wiped her cheeks, and stepped through.
They walked into the house together—side by side, not touching, but closer than before.
The door closed softly behind them.
She stepped through, then paused, turning to him.
“Papa… are you okay?” she asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. The words carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said during the walk.
Feroz looked at her—really looked. The streetlight caught the lines on his face, the tiredness in his eyes, the quiet storm that had been building for years. He closed the gate behind them with a gentle click.
“I… don’t know, beta,” he admitted, voice low and rough. “But I’m here. And I’m listening.”
Kavya took a small step closer. “If you want to talk… your heart out… I’m here. No matter how long it takes. No matter what time it is. I’m with you.”
He stared at her for a long moment—eyes glistening, throat working. Then he nodded once, small and grateful.
They walked slowly toward the main door of the house, footsteps soft on the stone path. The veranda light was on, casting a warm yellow glow across the courtyard roses. Neither hurried. The silence between them wasn’t awkward anymore—it was full, heavy with understanding.
When they reached the door, Feroz paused again.
“Come,” he said quietly. “Let’s sit.”
He led her inside, past the living room, down the corridor to her room. He didn’t question it; it felt natural now, after last night. The door was still ajar from earlier. He pushed it open, stepped inside, and waited for her to follow.
Kavya entered, heart beating faster. The room still held the faint memory of last night—the rumpled bed, the candle stub on the nightstand, the air still faintly scented with her jasmine and their closeness. She sat on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed, hands in her lap.
Feroz hesitated at the door, then walked in and sat beside her—close, but not touching. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly, staring at the floor.
For a long time he didn’t speak.
Then, voice low and unsteady, he began.
There were nights… long nights… when the silence was louder than anything. When I’d lie in that big bed alone and feel… empty. Like a part of me had died with her. I never acted on it. Never looked for anyone. Decades. No touch. No warmth. Just duty. Just control.”
Kavya’s eyes filled. She reached out slowly, rested her hand on his forearm—light, comforting.
He covered her hand with his own, squeezing gently.
He looked at her—eyes wet, raw.
“I’m sorry, beta. I’m so sorry. I betrayed Danish. I betrayed you. I betrayed myself. But you… you’re the first woman I’ve touched in decades. The first softness I’ve felt. And it felt… like coming home. Like something I had forgotten was still alive in me.”
Kavya’s tears fell silently now. She squeezed his hand.
“Papa… I’m sorry too. I should have stopped you. I should have pushed you away. I love Danish. I do. But last night… I felt things I never felt before. Your strength. Your care. The way you held me through my fear. No one’s ever made me feel so safe… and so… wanted. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t pretend I didn’t want it in that moment.”
He lifted her hand, pressed a soft, fatherly kiss to her knuckles.
“Thank you, beta. For listening. For not hating me.”
“I could never hate you,” she whispered.
The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. It was Kavya who spoke first, voice soft, almost hesitant.
“Papa… can I tell you something too?”
Feroz lifted his head, eyes meeting hers in the dimness. “Of course, beta. Always.”
She took a slow breath, fingers twisting the hem of her nighty.
“I grew up in a very conservative family. *****, old Delhi values. My parents—especially Mummy—were strict. No late nights, no mixing with boys from other communities, no talking to '. boys even in college. They said it was for my protection, for tradition, for the family name. ‘Stay within your circle,’ Mummy used to say. ‘Other religions bring complications.’ I believed them. I was scared of disappointing them. I never even had a proper conversation with a boy from another faith until college.”
She paused, eyes distant.
“Then Danish came. He was… different. Kind. Respectful. He never pushed. Never made me feel like I had to choose between him and my values. Slowly, I realized… nothing was wrong with him. Nothing was wrong with loving someone from another religion. It wasn’t about faith—it was about the person. About trust. About care. My parents were angry at first—very angry—but they saw how happy I was. They came around. Slowly. But I still carry some of that old fear sometimes… that I broke something sacred.”
Feroz listened without interrupting, eyes soft, understanding.
Kavya’s voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.
“And… I always missed something else too. Fatherly love. The kind that’s… present. Caring. Protective. My father he loved me. I know he did. But he was always busy. Work, responsibilities, the pressure of being the only earning member. He provided everything—college, clothes, safety—but he wasn’t… there. Not in the small moments. Not in the dark nights when I was scared. Not in the way I needed someone to sit with me, hold me, tell me stories until the fear went away. I never had that. Until… you.”
She looked at him now, eyes glistening.
“You gave me that, Papa. Last night. In the storm. You didn’t laugh at my fear. You didn’t leave. You stayed. You held me. You talked to me like I mattered. Like my fear mattered. I’ve never had that before—not from anyone. Not even Danish, really. He loves me, but he’s young. He’s… my partner. Not my protector in that quiet, fatherly way. You are.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I feel guilty for saying it. For feeling it. Because you’re Danish’s father. But last night… when you held me… when you calmed me… I felt seen. Safe. Loved. In a way I never have. And I’m ashamed… because I wanted more. I still feel that pull. But I also feel… grateful. For the caring. For the strength. For you being there when no one else was.”
Feroz’s eyes were wet now. He reached out slowly, brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb—gentle, fatherly, reverent.
“Beta…” he whispered, voice thick. “You don’t have to feel guilty for needing care. For needing someone to hold you through the dark. That’s not wrong. That’s human. And I… I’m honoured you trusted me with that. Even after everything. Even after I failed to stop when I should have.”
Now Kavya slowly got up of the bed and said “I… I need to freshen up,” she whispered, voice hoarse from crying and the long, silent night. “Just wash my face. I’ll be right back.”
Feroz nodded “Take your time, beta.”
Kavya stood, bare feet touching the cool marble floor. She paused at the edge of the bed, looking back at him. He hadn’t moved—still sitting there, shoulders slightly hunched, hands resting on his knees as if waiting for permission to exist in this space after everything.
She hesitated, then spoke softly, almost shyly.
“Papa… if you want… you can relax here. On the bed. Lie down if you’re tired. Or just… sit. I won’t be long.”
He looked up at her, surprise flickering in his eyes, then something softer—gratitude, perhaps.
“I’ll stay,” he said quietly. “If that’s okay with you.”
She nodded, small and quick. “It is. And… if you want to talk more… I’m here. No matter how long. I’m not going anywhere.”
Feroz’s throat worked. He gave her a small, tired smile—the first real one since the storm began.
“Thank you, beta.”
Kavya turned and walked to the attached bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.
Inside, she leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection in the dim mirror. Her eyes were puffy from crying, cheeks streaked, hair tangled. She turned on the tap—cold water—and splashed her face, letting it run over her skin, trying to wash away the heat of the night, the shame, the lingering ache in her body. She looked at herself again—really looked—and whispered to her reflection:
“What are you doing, Kavya?”
But the answer didn’t come.
She patted her face dry with a towel, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Kavya stepped out of the washroom after a few minutes, face freshly washed, hair loosely tied back, the cool water still leaving faint droplets on her neck and collarbone. She wore the same cut-sleeve kurta and salwar from earlier—sky-blue cotton with a deep neckline that dipped low enough to reveal the soft swell of her cleavage when she moved. The fabric was light, slightly damp from the steam, clinging in places to her skin.
Feroz had shifted while she was gone. He was now resting against the carved wooden headboard, legs stretched out on the bed, back supported by pillows, hands folded in his lap. His kurta was slightly rumpled, sleeves still rolled up, the top button undone from the heat of the night. He looked tired—deep shadows under his eyes—but calm, almost serene in the dim gray pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains.
Kavya walked back to the bed slowly, bare feet silent on the marble floor. She hesitated for a second at the edge, then climbed up and sat beside him, leaning back against the headboard as well. Their shoulders were close—almost touching—but not quite. She drew her knees up slightly, arms wrapped loosely around them, mirroring the way she used to sit when she was small and scared.
They stayed like that.
Complete silence.
No words. No need for them.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Feroz glanced sideways at her. Kavya’s eyes were closed, head tilted back against the headboard, long lashes resting on her cheeks, lips slightly parted. In the soft light she looked peaceful, vulnerable, beautiful in a way that made his chest ache. The deep neckline of her kurta had slipped a little to the side, exposing the smooth curve of her shoulder and the upper swell of her breast. Her armpits were visible when she shifted—smooth, pale, a faint sheen of moisture from the humid night.
He watched her for a long moment, guilt and tenderness warring inside him.
Then, very softly, he whispered:
“You can sleep if you want, beta. I’m here.”
Kavya’s eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked at him—really looked—searching his face in the dim light. She didn’t answer with words. Instead she unfolded her legs and lay down on the bed, on her back, head on the pillow, arms resting at her sides. The kurta shifted with the movement, neckline dipping lower, cleavage more pronounced, the soft rise and fall of her breasts visible with each breath.
Feroz didn’t get up to leave.
Instead he reached over and turned off the small bedside lamp (the power had returned earlier, though they hadn’t noticed). The room plunged back into darkness, but he switched on the small night bulb on the wall—low-wattage, warm amber, just enough to see outlines and shadows, not enough to banish the intimacy.
Kavya’s eyes opened wider when the light changed. She turned her head toward him.
Their eyes met.
In that soft amber glow, they simply looked at each other—long, searching, unguarded. No words. Just the weight of everything that had happened, everything they felt, everything they couldn’t say.
Feroz moved slowly—carefully, as if afraid to break the moment. He slid down beside her, lying on his side facing her, close enough that their breaths mingled. His hand lifted—hesitant—and settled gently on the side of her waist, fingers splaying over the soft cotton of her kurta, thumb resting just above the curve of her hip. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… there.
Kavya felt it—the warmth of his palm through the fabric, the gentle pressure, the caring behind it. She didn’t pull away.
Instead she turned her face fully toward him.
Their eyes met again—deeper this time, more vulnerable.
Feroz closed the gap slowly.
He leaned in, inch by inch, until his lips brushed her forehead—soft, lingering. Then her temple. Then the apple of her cheek.
Kavya’s eyes fluttered closed.
Feroz looked down at her in the dim amber glow of the night bulb, their faces only inches apart. The room was still and quiet now, the storm reduced to a faint drizzle tapping the windows like hesitant fingers. The weight of their earlier conversation—the raw confessions, the shared guilt, the unspoken longing—hung between them like a fragile thread, binding them closer even as it threatened to snap.
Kavya’s eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion and emotion. Her breathing was slow, deep, but her fingers remained curled into the front of his kurta, not tightly, but enough to keep him from moving away. It was a small gesture—almost unconscious—but it said everything: stay.
Feroz felt it. Felt the vulnerability in her grip, the trust, the quiet plea not to leave her alone in the aftermath of everything they had poured out.
He closed the gap.
Slowly.
His forehead came to rest gently against hers, noses brushing, breaths mingling in the small space between them. His hand—the one not cradling her head—slid up her arm, fingers trailing lightly over the bare skin from elbow to shoulder, then settled on the side of her neck, thumb resting against her pulse. It fluttered under his touch—fast, alive, mirroring his own racing heart.
Kavya’s fingers tightened in his kurta, pulling him that last fraction closer. Her eyes fluttered closed completely, lashes dark against her cheeks. A soft sigh escaped her lips—relief, surrender, exhaustion all at once.
Neither spoke.
They just stayed like that—foreheads touching, noses brushing, breaths syncing in the quiet. Feroz’s hand on her neck moved in the slowest, softest caress—thumb stroking the line of her jaw, fingers threading gently into the hair at her nape. Kavya’s hand on his kurta relaxed slightly, but didn’t let go; her palm flattened against his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat beneath.
They were both so vulnerable in that moment—stripped bare by the deep talk they’d shared. Feroz had laid open decades of loneliness, of sacrifice, of buried desire. Kavya had confessed her own emptiness—the lack of fatherly presence in her childhood, the way she had craved exactly what he gave her tonight: steady arms, calm words, unwavering protection. They had exposed wounds neither had ever shown anyone else, and in doing so, they had become raw, tender, almost fragile with each other.
Feroz shifted—just enough to lie down fully beside her again, pulling her gently with him. She followed without resistance, curling into his side, head on his shoulder, one arm dbangd across his chest, fingers still loosely holding his kurta. He turned toward her, wrapping both arms around her now—one across her back, hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other resting low on her waist, thumb brushing slow arcs over the soft cotton of her kurta.
She sighed again—deeper this time, a sound of pure relief—and nuzzled closer, face tucking into the crook of his neck. Her breath warmed his skin, steady and slow, as if she were finally allowing herself to let go. Feroz pressed his lips to the top of her head
Kavya’s fingers flexed once in his kurta—acknowledgment, gratitude—and then relaxed completely. Her body melted against his, heavy with exhaustion, safe in his arms.
He held her like that—gently, protectively—his own eyes open, staring into the dim room. Guilt still lingered in his chest, sharp and familiar, but so did the overwhelming tenderness. He wasn’t alone in the dark. And neither was she.
He felt the warmth of her—her bare shoulder against his arm, the gentle press of her breasts through the deep neckline of her kurta, the smooth curve of her thigh resting over his. The guilt still simmered in his chest, sharp and familiar, but so did the ache of wanting her closer—after decades of nothing, her softness was like oxygen to a man who had forgotten how to breathe.
Slowly, almost without conscious decision, he shifted.
His face turned toward her neck again, nose brushing the warm skin just below her ear. He snuggled in—slowly, deliberately—nose pressing gently into the soft hollow where her pulse fluttered. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the jasmine, the faint floral lotion, the warm musk of her skin after the humid night. His lips parted slightly, the faintest brush of his lower lip against her throat as he exhaled hot breath over her pulse point.
Kavya sighed—a small, sleepy sound—and tilted her head just a fraction, offering more of her neck without words.
That small movement undid him.
His arms tightened around her—slow and steady, hugging her close, pulling her body flush against his. One hand slid up her back, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades, the other settling low on her waist, palm warm against the curve of her hip through the thin cotton. He held her like that—tight but careful, possessive yet protective—his chest pressed to hers, heartbeat thudding against hers.
Then he shifted again.
With gentle pressure, he rolled them—slow, careful, never breaking contact. His body came over hers completely —legs straddling her hips, knees planted on either side of her waist, weight braced on forearms so he didn’t crush her. He hovered above her, close enough that every inch aligned: chest flattening her breasts through the kurta, hips settling over hers, the hard length of him pressing firmly against her lower abdomen through their clothes.
Kavya’s breath hitched softly. Her legs instinctively parted slightly beneath him, salwar riding up a little, bare thighs brushing the outsides of his knees. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling into his kurta—not pushing him away, but holding him there, anchoring him.
In the dim light, their faces were inches apart. He looked down at her—eyes dark, conflicted, filled with guilt and raw need. She looked up at him—eyes wide, vulnerable, shimmering with the same mix of shame and longing.
Neither spoke.
He lowered his head slowly—forehead resting against hers for a heartbeat—then dipped lower, nose brushing her cheek, then her jaw, then settling into the curve of her neck again.
He snuggled in deeper this time—face pressing fully into the warm hollow of her throat, nose dragging along the soft skin, inhaling her scent in long, greedy pulls. His lips parted, brushing feather-light kisses along the side of her neck—slow, reverent pecks that turned into open-mouthed tastes, tongue flicking out to trace her pulse. He moved to the other side, kissing passionately now—lips sucking gently at the tender flesh, tongue swirling over the sensitive spots that made her gasp and arch beneath him.
Kavya’s hands tightened on his shoulders, nails digging lightly through the fabric. Her head fell back against the pillow, throat exposed, offering more. Soft moans escaped her lips—low, needy, unashamed—as his mouth worshipped her neck, then dipped lower to the deep neckline of her kurta. He kissed the upper swells of her breasts, lips open, tongue tracing the inner curves, tasting the soft skin above the fabric. The kurta’s deep neckline allowed him access; he nuzzled the shadowed valley between her breasts, inhaling her warmth, lips brushing the soft mounds, sucking gently at the tender flesh.
The kisses lasted—minutes stretching into what felt like forever—his mouth moving passionately over her neck, then down to her cleavage. He kissed the deep valley between them, nose nuzzling, lips parting wide to taste every inch.
Kavya’s moans grew louder, body arching into every kiss, hands clutching his hair, pulling him tighter.
They moved together in the dark—bodies speaking what words never could— guilt and desire twisting tighter with every kiss, every soft moan that spilled from her lips.
Feroz's mouth was relentless now, his resolve shattered in the thick, humid darkness of the room. The storm outside had quieted to a distant rumble, but inside, the air crackled with tension—every breath, every shift of their bodies amplified in the absolute black. The faint gray pre-dawn light was still too weak to pierce the curtains fully, leaving them in shadows that hid nothing and revealed everything through touch and sound. The mattress creaked softly under their weight, the thin sheet tangled at their feet, the room heavy with the scent of jasmine from her hair, the faint musk of sweat on their skin, and the raw, intimate aroma of arousal rising between them.
His face was buried in the curve of her neck, lips open, tongue tracing slow, passionate paths along the right side. He started at the hollow beneath her ear—sucking gently at the tender skin, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles over her pulse point, which fluttered wildly under his mouth. The taste of her was addictive—salt from her skin, the subtle sweetness of her lotion, the warmth of her body heating up with every kiss. His stubble scbangd lightly, leaving faint red trails that burned in the humid air, making her shiver. He kissed lower, lips sealing over the delicate tendon of her throat, sucking harder now, teeth grazing just enough to draw a soft gasp from her.
Kavya’s hands moved instinctively—fingers sliding up from his shoulders to thread through his hair, caressing the short strands at his nape, nails scbanging his scalp lightly. She pulled him closer—gently at first, then with more urgency—arching her back off the bed to press her neck harder into his mouth. The movement pushed her breasts up against his chest, the deep neckline of her kurta slipping lower, exposing more of the soft swells.
Encouraged by her touch, Feroz switched to the left side—mirroring the passion. His lips parted wider, tongue dragging a long, wet stripe from her collarbone up to the spot just below her jaw. He sucked there—deep, possessive—lips pulling the skin between them, tongue laving the pulse point in slow, rhythmic circles. Kavya moaned softly—a low, breathy sound that vibrated through her throat and into his mouth, sending a jolt straight to his core. Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging lightly, guiding him, urging him on without words.
He moved lower—lips trailing down her throat to the deep valley of her cleavage. The kurta’s neckline had slipped even further in her arching; the upper swells of her breasts were bare, soft and full, nipples hard and straining against the thin cotton. He kissed there—slow, passionate pecks that turned into open-mouthed sucks, tongue flicking out to trace the inner curves, tasting the warm, shadowed skin between them.
Feroz groaned against her skin—the sound low and vibrating through her breasts—his mouth never stopping, kissing both sides of her neck again before returning to her cleavage. He sucked passionately at the inner curves, tongue dipping into the deep valley, tasting every inch of exposed skin, lips sealing over the upper swells one by one, drawing out more soft moans from her that only made him hungrier, more intense.
The room was filled with the sounds of their passion—her soft, breathy moans, the wet slide of his lips on her skin, their ragged breaths mingling in the humid air. The darkness held them, intimate and absolute, and the boundaries between father-in-law and daughter-in-law had blurred beyond recognition.
They stayed like that—his mouth worshipping her neck and cleavage, her body arching into every kiss, hands caressing his hair, pulling him closer— slow, intense, unstoppable.
After what felt like forever—perhaps ten minutes, perhaps more—Feroz finally lifted his head.
His breathing was heavy, ragged, chest heaving against hers. He rested his forehead against hers, noses brushing in the darkness, breaths mingling hot and fast. Their lips were close—close enough that every exhale brushed the other’s mouth—but he didn’t kiss her there. Not yet. He just stayed, forehead to forehead, eyes locked in the dim amber glow of the night bulb, both of them trembling with the intensity of what had already happened and what still hovered between them.
Slowly—very slowly—his left hand moved.
It started at her neck—fingers sliding down the side of her throat, tracing the delicate line where his lips had just been. The touch was light, reverent, but deliberate. His palm followed, gliding over her collarbone, then lower—brushing the outer curve of her right breast through the kurta. He didn’t grab, didn’t squeeze—just rubbed the side of it in a slow, gentle stroke, feeling the soft fullness, the way it gave under his touch. Kavya’s breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her lips. His hand continued its path—down her side, over the dip of her waist, along the flare of her hip, until it rested on the bare skin of her outer thigh, fingers splaying wide, thumb stroking the smooth flesh.
He paused there—hand warm on her thigh, thumb circling slowly—then slid it underneath her, palm cupping the small of her back.
With gentle pressure, he lifted.
Kavya let him guide her—her body pliant, trusting—until she was sitting up,
Their eyes met again in the low light—his dark, conflicted, filled with guilt and raw need; hers wide, vulnerable, shimmering with the same storm of emotions.
Feroz’s hands moved to the hem of her kurta.
He gripped the fabric at her waist—slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wanted.
She didn’t.
In one smooth, fluid motion, he lifted it up—over her hips, past her waist, over her breasts, and finally over her head. The kurta slipped off her arms and he tossed it aside, landing somewhere in the shadows.
Kavya was left in her black bra—simple, lace-trimmed, the cups barely containing the full swell of her breasts, nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric. Her skin glowed in the amber light—smooth shoulders, bare arms, deep cleavage rising and falling with her quick breaths, stomach soft and slightly quivering.
She didn’t cover herself.
She just looked at him—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed with shame and desire.
Feroz’s gaze raked over her—slow, reverent, hungry. He drank in every detail: the way her breasts rose with each breath, the deep valley between them, the smooth skin of her arms and shoulders, the slight tremble in her thighs.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for his own kurta.
He pulled it over his head in one slow motion—revealing a chest that was still decently shaped for his age: broad shoulders, a light dusting of graying hair across his pecs, a soft but strong stomach from years of discipline. Not the body of a young man, but the body of a man who had lived—strong, capable, mature.
He tossed the kurta aside.
Their eyes stayed locked.
Then he leaned down—slowly, deliberately—until his bare chest brushed hers.
The first touch of skin on skin was electric.
His chest pressed against her breasts, crushing them gently, the coarse hair on his chest rubbing against her nipples through the lace of her bra. The sensation made her gasp—sharp, stunned—pleasure spiking through her. Her nipples hardened further, pushing against the fabric, rubbing against his skin with every breath.
Feroz groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of them.
He lowered his head again—lips finding her neck once more.
The kisses were more passionate now—open-mouthed, sucking, tongue swirling over the pulse points on both sides. He kissed the right side deeply, sucking hard enough to draw a sharp gasp from her, then switched to the left, tongue tracing the tendon, lips sealing over the tender flesh. His stubble scbangd deliciously, leaving more faint red marks. He kissed lower—back to her cleavage—lips parting wide, tongue dipping into the deep valley between her breasts. With her kurta gone, he had full access; he kissed the soft, bare skin, sucking gently at the upper swells, tongue swirling over the curves, tasting every inch of exposed flesh.
Kavya’s moans were louder now—soft, breathy, needy. Her hands clutched his bare shoulders, nails digging into his skin, pulling him closer. The feeling of his chest crushing her breasts, the coarse hair rubbing her nipples through the lace, the heat of his mouth on her cleavage—it was overwhelming, pleasure spiking through her in waves.
Feroz groaned against her skin, hips shifting slightly above her—his hardness pressing against her lower abdomen, throbbing with need—but he didn’t grind, didn’t thrust. He kept the focus on her neck and cleavage—kissing passionately, sucking, tasting, worshipping every inch with a hunger that bordered on reverence.
While kissing her neck his fingers found the thin bra strap on her right shoulder.
He hooked it gently—index finger sliding beneath the lace edge—and pulled it down.
The strap slipped slowly over the smooth curve of her shoulder, falling away to rest against her upper arm. The right cup of her bra loosened, the fabric shifting, exposing more of the soft, rounded swell of her breast. Now, with the strap down, the upper half of her breast was bare—golden skin glowing in the amber light, the dark edge of her areola just visible above the lace.
Kavya’s breath hitched—sharp, audible. Her fingers in his hair tightened, tugging him closer instead of pushing him away.
Feroz groaned softly against her throat, the sound vibrating through her skin. He kissed lower—lips trailing down the newly bared shoulder, open-mouthed and warm, tongue flicking out to taste the smooth skin. He sucked gently at the curve where shoulder met collarbone, then kissed along the top of her breast—slow, passionate pecks that deepened into wet, lingering sucks. His stubble scbangd lightly, leaving faint red trails across the pale swell.
His right hand mirrored the motion on her left side—fingers finding the other strap, sliding it down with the same careful slowness. The left cup loosened, falling away slightly, exposing the upper curve of her left breast. Now both straps hung loose on her arms, the bra barely clinging to her, cups slipping lower, revealing more and more—until the tops of her areolas peeked above the lace, dark against her skin, nipples hard and straining.
Kavya moaned—higher, more desperate—her back arching further, pressing her breasts into his mouth. Her hands clutched his hair, tugging gently, guiding him, encouraging him. Her body trembled beneath him—pleasure spiking through her in waves, every suck, every swirl of his tongue sending sparks straight to her core.
Feroz groaned against her skin—the sound low and primal—his mouth never stopping, moving from one breast to the other, kissing and sucking the soft, exposed swells with passionate, open-mouthed reverence
Feroz’s mouth moved lower, The black bra beneath was thin lace, the cups barely containing her fullness, nipples visibly straining against the material—dark, erect peaks that betrayed how aroused she was.
He paused for a heartbeat, lips hovering just above the swell of her right breast, breath hot against her skin. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to the soft mound through the lace.
The first contact was slow—lips sealing over the upper curve, sucking gently, tongue flicking out to trace the edge of the lace. The fabric grew damp almost immediately, clinging wetly to her skin as he sucked harder, drawing the soft flesh deeper into his mouth. He could feel her nipple—hard, insistent—pressing against his tongue through the thin barrier. He swirled slowly around it, teasing the peak, sucking with deliberate pressure until the lace was soaked, translucent, molding perfectly to the shape of her breast.
Kavya gasped—sharp, stunned—her back bowing off the bed, pressing herself harder into his mouth. A soft, broken moan tore from her throat, hands flying to his hair, fingers threading and tugging as pleasure spiked through her like lightning. She had never felt anything like this—the focused, relentless attention, the way he worshipped her with such slow, reverent hunger. Her nipple throbbed under his tongue, the wet lace amplifying every swirl, every suck, sending jolts straight to her core.
He moved to the left side now, repeating the worship—lips sealing over the upper swell, sucking gently at first, then harder, tongue circling the hardened peak through the bra. The lace grew completely wet, clinging transparently to her skin, outlining every detail of her nipple as he drew it deeper into his mouth. He could feel it clearly now—hard, sensitive, pulsing against his tongue—and he lavished it with slow, wet attention, sucking rhythmically, tongue flicking back and forth, then swirling in tight circles.
Feroz alternated between her breasts—right, then left—mouth never leaving her skin for more than a second. He sucked passionately, tongue swirling, lips pulling the wet lace deeper, tasting her through the fabric, feeling every tremor, every arch of her body.
He shifted his lower body carefully—slowly parting her legs with his knees. One knee nudged gently between her thighs, then the other, until her legs opened wider. He settled fully between them now—his hips lowering, the hard length of him pressing firmly against her salwar. The new position brought him closer, deeper into the cradle of her hips, the heat of her core radiating against him even through the layers.
Kavya gasped softly at the shift—her thighs quivering as they framed his hips, the pressure of him settling between her legs sending a fresh wave of heat through her body. Her hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in lightly, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, her legs parted further, allowing him to settle completely—hips aligning, hardness nestling against the damp heat between her thighs.
Feroz groaned low against her breast—the sound muffled, vibrating through the wet lace. His hips rocked once—slow, instinctive—grinding gently against her, feeling the slick warmth through the fabric. He didn’t thrust hard; he simply held there, letting her feel the full weight of him, the unyielding heat, the promise of more.
Feroz paused for a long, trembling moment—his mouth still hovering over the damp lace of her bra, lips swollen from sucking her breasts, breath hot and uneven against her skin.
He lifted his head slowly, eyes locking on hers in the dim light. Kavya’s gaze was wide, glassy—pupils blown, lips parted on shallow gasps, cheeks flushed with heat and shame. Neither spoke. The weight of everything they had done, everything they felt, pressed down on them like the humid air itself.
He shifted again—slowly, deliberately—settling his hips fully between her parted thighs. His knees nudged her legs wider, guiding them apart with gentle but firm pressure until he could settle completely in the cradle of her hips. His hardness pressed firmly against her core through the thin layers of their clothes—hot, insistent, throbbing with every heartbeat. Kavya’s breath hitched sharply, a soft whimper escaping her .