03-02-2026, 10:37 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
FEW DAYS LATER
Mumbai moved at full speed again.
So did Hemant.
YOD Industries stood like a giant fortress of industrial marvel across the city near the port like a shard of glass and ambition—steel, legacy, legitimacy. From the outside, it was an enterprise giant. Inside, it was Hemant Kumar’s perfect camouflage.
He stood alone in his private office, sleeves rolled up, jacket abandoned on a chair. The wall-sized smart display glowed to life, flooding the room with data streams, financial graphs, corporate trees, and satellite imagery.
TARGET: ALEXANDER FELIX
POSITION: DIRECTOR – FREGATA GROUP
Hemant’s eyes moved fast. Faster than the analysts who had compiled the data. Fregata wasn’t just a company. It was a hydra. Real estate holdings across Europe. Pharmaceutical subsidiaries in South America. Tech firms quietly absorbing startups in Asia. Banks embedded in offshore havens.
Clean on paper. Ruthless beneath it.
"A corporate maze.....perfect to hide a lot of hidden networks!" Hemant muttered.
He isolated the financial backbone. Cash flow. Asset movement. Long-term hedges. Then he saw it.
Gold.
Not symbolic. Not reserves for stability. Aggressive accumulation. Logistics-heavy distribution. Physical movement across U.S. soil. Hemant leaned closer. Fregata wasn’t just investing in gold. They were moving it. Warehouses. Private refineries. Distribution hubs masked as bullion security firms. Routes crisscrossing states under layers of shell companies.
That was when it clicked.
Hemant flicked his fingers, pulling another corporate emblem onto the screen.
REGALCORP
Their current struggle with Gold stash , a potential new tie up with a mega corporation. And—most importantly—Mehta family territory. Hemant stared at the two logos now floating side by side. Regalcorp handled shipping. Insurance. Port authority leverage. Fregata handled capital. Refining. Distribution.
"Of course" Hemant said softly.
If Regalcorp and Fregata were connected through gold, then Alexander Felix wasn’t just a distant corporate god. He was reachable. Hemant drew a red line between the two logos. The system chimed softly as the connection locked into place. This wasn’t Michael King storming a warehouse. This was Hemant Kumar tightening a noose with contracts, handshakes, and boardroom smiles.
"String by string , lets build this trap!" he said.
He minimized the screen, already planning the next move. The war was no longer loud. It was elegant. And it had just begun. When it comes to Alexander Felix , it definitely has to be a long game!
YOD Industries were silent for a few hours.
Not empty—never empty—but controlled. Every sound was filtered. Every movement logged. Every wall thick enough to swallow secrets.
Hemant sat at his workstation, eyes locked on a rotating 3D schematic.
PROJECT: ANVIL–MK7
Autonomous assault drone support system. Private military integration. Adaptive control mechanism. On the surface: defense innovation. In reality: another benchmark for YOD.
He adjusted a parameter, watching simulated troops advance under mechanical cover.
"Too slow, need to speed up the velocity vectoring!" he murmured.
The door chimed softly. Before it could open.
"Come in" Hemant said.
Raquel stepped inside. Tall. Lean. Hair neatly combed. Dressed like a corporate security consultant, carrying a slim black folder and a small encrypted drive. But he wasn’t staff. He was family. He closed the door behind him and nodded respectfully.
"Bhaijaan"
"You found something?" Hemant turned immediately, all focus shifting to him.
Raquel placed the folder on the desk and slid the drive beside it.
"I've been tracking him for weeks. Ghost trails. Dead drops. Third-party couriers. But I finally got his location"
Raquel said. Hemant’s jaw tightened.
"Lai Tong" he said.
The name tasted like rust.
For a moment, images flickered in his mind—
Father Dominic’s stitched neck. Ricky Tan’s bullet ridden body. Blood on concrete.
"Where?" Hemant asked quietly.
Raquel opened the folder. Maps. Satellite photos. Intercepted communications.
"He's in Lebanon bhaijaan, he’s under protection. Amir Hassan’s protection" he said.
Hemant’s eyes hardened instantly.
"Hassan" he repeated.
Everyone in the underworld knew that name. Lebanese army general. Turned warlord. Turned syndicate king. A man who didn’t just kill. He experimented.
"Psychotic doesn’t even begin to cover him" Hemant muttered.
Raquel nodded grimly.
"He runs a fortress now. Old Ottoman-era fort. Converted into a mountain base near Tabarja. North of Beirut. Overlooks the Mediterranean. Cyprus is right across"
He pulled up an image on the tablet.
A stone stronghold carved into cliffs. Reinforced walls. Radar dishes. AA guns. Barracks. Bunkers.
![[Image: Hassan-Base.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/j9nP08qj/Hassan-Base.jpg)
"Not a primary base, but strategically important. Coastal defense. Smuggling routes. Surveillance hub"
Hemant studied it in silence.
"And the security?" he asked.
Raquel hesitated.
"Heavy. Constant alert. Lebanon’s been in and out of conflict with Israel for years. That area is always on edge. Drones. Patrols. Anti-air. Private militia. Military-grade weapons"
He met Hemant’s eyes.
"Any move there is high-risk. Extreme"
Hemant didn’t look away.
"I know"
"Bhaijaan—" Raquel blinked.
"Hassan is the spine Raquel" Hemant said calmly.
"Break him, and half of AZRAEL's strength collapses"
He stood and walked to the window, looking out at Mumbai’s endless skyline.
"He shelters Lai Tong. He funds routes. He tortures rivals into submission. He spreads fear like a virus"
His reflection stared back at him.
"I can’t move forward while he’s breathing"
"So what’s the plan?" Raquel folded his arms.
Hemant turned back.
"Hassan built the fortress to be impenetrable.....I am going to build a calmity to test its might...and for that I must discuss something with Jackson Shephard"
"Jackson Shephard?" Raquel’s eyes widened slightly.
"Yes"
"Isn't he retired?" Raquel asked.
"Not exactly , he is still in service but his space of work is different. He’s part of SENTINEL now"
Hemant nodded. Raquel frowned.
"That multinational task force?"
"Precisely. Special Forces. Recon. Counter-terror. Black ops. On paper that task force is the best handpicked group of warriors in the planet!"
Hemant replied. He walked back to his desk and pulled up another file.
"SENTINEL monitors warlords, syndicate heads, rogue generals. Their job is to protect the world order , and they don't mind getting their hands dirty to make the world clean"
He continued.
"Hassan fits their profile perfectly"
Raquel leaned forward.
"You think they’re already watching him?"
"I’d be shocked if they weren’t" Hemant said.
A faint smile crossed his face—dangerous, thoughtful.
"And if they're not. I'll marinate Hassan like a turkey for them to feast!"
"I hope you know the risk involved if you do this Bhaijaan" Raquel slowly nodded.
Hemant picked up the data drive.
"I know the necessity of it if I don't Raquel!" he corrected.
He looked once more at Hassan’s fortress on the screen.
Then at Lai Tong’s hidden file beneath it.
"Hassan didn't just dig a grave for himself" Hemant said quietly.
"He dug one for Lai too!"
ONE MORNING AT A SUBURBAN GOLF COURSE OUTSIDE MUMBAI
One crisp morning, Hemant Kumar found himself at an exclusive golf course on the outskirts of Mumbai. Green stretched endlessly. Silence was broken only by soft laughter and distant swings. Mrunal Thakur stood beside him, dressed in a fitted sports skirt and polo, sunglasses resting on her nose. She teased him about his clumsy swing, her laughter light and infectious.
"You’re strong, but impatient" she said, correcting his grip.
"And you’re distracting" he replied smoothly.
She smiled.
The sun cast long shadows across the manicured fairway, painting the grass in shades of gold and emerald. Mrunal Thakur lined up her putt, the gentle curve of her hip accentuated by the snug fit of her white pleated skirt. From just a few feet away, Hemant Kumar watched, his gaze not on the ball but on the way the fabric strained slightly against the generous swell of her buttocks as she leaned forward.
"A little to the left" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that had nothing to do with her aim.
She missed the putt by an inch, the ball lipping out. Straightening, she turned to him with a playful, exasperated smile.
"You’re a terrible coach. You distracted me"
"Me?" Hemant feigned innocence, stepping closer. The breeze carried the faint, clean scent of her perfume.
"I was merely admiring the… form"
She laughed, a bright, musical sound.
"Your form was what I was admiring last week. That fitness magazine spread? Quite the visual"
Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief.
"There was a particular shot… the one where you’re in just those grey gym shorts, lifting that barbell. The lighting was very revealing"
Hemant’s smile turned wolfish. He closed the remaining distance between them, his broad shoulders blocking the sun.
"Is that so? I seem to recall a certain notification on my phone. A direct message. It said…"
He leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear.
"'My timeline has been blessed'"
A flush crept up Mrunal’s neck. She’d been bold online, shielded by a screen. Here, with his heat radiating against her, it was different. Dangerous.
"I just wanted to let the man responsible know..." she retorted, her voice barely a whisper.
"That I appreciated.....those visuals...and the blessing"
"And what about blessings in person?"
His hand came up, not touching her, but hovering near the small of her back, tracing the air above the tantalizing curve where her skirt met her blouse.
"Do you prefer those to be hidden, Mrunal? Or enjoyed…in the open?"
Her breath hitched. The golf course was deserted, the last of the other players having retreated to the clubhouse half an hour ago. It was just them, the whispering pines, and the thrilling, reckless tension snapping between their bodies. This is insane, part of her mind screamed. The other part, the part thrumming with a sudden, liquid heat, was already leaning into his space.
"What did you have in mind?" she breathed.
His answer was a hand finally settling on her hip, fingers splaying possessively over the soft wool of her skirt.
"Something adventurous"
His gaze was incendiary, dropping to her lips, then dragging slowly down her body, worshipping every inch of her pear-shaped silhouette.
"I’ve been watching you all morning. The way this skirt just contains you. It’s been a special kind of torture"
Without another word, he took her hand. His grip was firm, assured. He led her off the green, not toward the path, but into a small, dense copse of mature pine trees at the edge of the fairway. The needles were soft underfoot, and the thick trunks formed a natural, secluded alcove, shielding them completely from the open course.
The moment they were enveloped in the green shadows, he spun her to face him. There was no more pretense, no more playful banter. His mouth crashed down on hers in a kiss that was all consuming heat and desperate need. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching the crisp cotton of his polo shirt as she kissed him back just as fiercely, her tongue meeting his in a slick, hungry duel.
His hands were everywhere—tangling in her hair, sliding down her spine to cup her through the skirt, squeezing the full, glorious weight of her ass. A low groan vibrated from his chest into her mouth.
"Fuck, you feel even better than ever" he growled against her lips.
He walked her backwards until her shoulder blades met the rough bark of the widest pine. Breaking the kiss, he looked at her, his eyes dark with pure lust.
"Turn around" he commanded, his voice rough.
"Hold onto the tree"
A thrill of pure, unadulterated sin shot through her. She obeyed, turning and bracing her palms flat against the rugged trunk. She felt him step close, his hard body pressing against her from behind. One hand slid around her waist, dipping beneath her blouse to find the bare skin of her stomach, while the other gathered the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up around her hips.
The cool air kissed the exposed skin of her thighs, her buttocks. She heard the rustle of his clothing, the tear of a foil packet, the soft snap of latex. Then his hands were on her hips again, positioning her. She felt him, the thick, blunt head of his cock nudging against her damp panties.
"These are in the way"
He murmured, and with a quick, firm tug, he ripped the delicate lace aside. The sound was obscene in the quiet grove.
He didn’t wait. With one hand splayed on her lower back, he guided himself into her. Mrunal gasped, her head falling forward as he filled her in one slow, inexorable stroke. He was so big, stretching her perfectly, the friction so intense it bordered on sweet pain. She was achingly wet, her body welcoming him with a clench that made him hiss.
"God, yes..ahh..… just like that"
Hemant breathed, his hips flush against her ass. He stayed there for a second, buried to the hilt, letting them both feel the shocking intimacy of the connection. Then he began to move.
His thrusts started slow and deep, each one a deliberate, grinding penetration that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her. Her fingers clawed at the bark. With each push forward, her body was pressed harder against the tree, the unyielding wood a counterpoint to the hard, driving force behind her.
"So fucking perfect" he chanted, his pace steadily increasing.
"This body… this ass…"
The sounds were filthy, lewd. The wet, rhythmic slap of their bodies joining, the rustle of their clothes, his ragged breaths, her stifled whimpers. She bit down on her own knuckle, then brought a hand up to cover her mouth, terrified a scream would tear from her throat as the pleasure built into a crushing wave.
Hemant’s hands gripped her hips like vices, holding her steady as he pistoned into her. He was relentless, chasing his own pleasure with a single-minded focus, but every groan, every strained curse told her he was feeling it just as intensely. The world narrowed to this: the scent of pine and sex, the rough bark under her palms, the incredible, burning stretch of him moving inside her, hitting a spot deep within that made stars burst behind her closed eyelids.
She was close, so close. The coil in her belly tightened to a breaking point. Her muffled cries became constant, pleading sounds against her palm.
"Cum for me" he demanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, erratic.
"CUM on my cock, Mrunal. Let me feel it"
It was the command in his voice that shattered her. The orgasm ripped through her without warning, a violent, convulsive wave that locked her muscles and stole the air from her lungs. A silent scream shook her frame as she pulsed around him, the intense contractions milking him relentlessly.
Feeling her climax, Hemant lost his rhythm. With a guttural, choked roar, he drove into her one final, shuddering time and held, his own release surging into the condom. He collapsed against her back, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades, his entire body trembling with the force of his climax.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, joined, breathing in ragged unison, the aftershocks twitching through their connected bodies. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. The separation felt shocking, leaving her empty and slick.
They fumbled with their clothes in the dim light, the silence now charged with a different energy—spent, satisfied, and buzzing with the adrenaline of what they’d just done. Mrunal smoothed her skirt down, her legs still unsteady. She turned to find Hemant watching her, a smug, utterly male satisfaction in his eyes.
She managed a shaky smile.
"Well, Mr. Kumar. Your idea of a post-game drink is… quite adventurous"
He stepped forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch now surprisingly tender.
"As long as you enjoy it..." he said, his voice back to that low, teasing rumble.
"I’m open to all sorts of adventurous things"
THAT NOON IN MUMBAI
A few hours later, Hemant wrapped up a decisive meeting at one of Mumbai’s elite hotels. Contracts signed, expectations aligned—another quiet win. He decided to take a breather at the hotel lounge, the kind that smelled of polished wood and expensive coffee, the city humming faintly beyond the glass.
That’s when he noticed her.
Meghna.
She looked nothing like the sharp-edged corporate silhouette he remembered. Today, she wore a green cotton saree, its fabric soft, adorned with colorful embroidery that caught the warm lounge lights. A simple sleeveless strap blouse complemented it—tasteful, bold—revealing just enough skin to command attention. She approached with a smirk that hadn’t changed at all.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, already sliding into the seat beside him.
"Sure" Hemant gave a measured nod.
"So, how are you, Mr. Fortune Cover?" Meghna said, crossing one leg over the other,
"Doing fine, didn’t expect to see you here" he replied evenly.
"I’ve been noticing your… rise. Quite impressive. From that loser employee at Quadron to this"
She chuckled. Her eyes flicked over him, unapologetic. Hemant smiled faintly.
"I was expecting you to ridicule my past."
"I had my reasons back then," Meghna said, her tone shifting.
"But I’ll admit— you’ve changed. If you were always like this, maybe Sonarika wouldn’t have gone looking for Vikram."
She watched him closely, waiting for a reaction.
There was none.
Meghna’s smirk deepened, this time tinged with surprise.
"Huh. So you really have moved on."
She shifted closer, their shoulders nearly touching.
"You’re not that same innocent, mild-mannered guy anymore. The one who used to cower when Sandeep pulled his antics—until Sonarika had to step in. This Hemant?"
She gestured subtly toward him.
"He’s… different. Hardened. Precise. No excuses."
"Is that your way of saying you prefer rich misogynists now?" Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"No. You don’t fit that category" She laughed softly.
He turned slightly toward her, curious despite himself.
"You’re not about alpha, omega, dom, sub—none of that nonsense" Meghna continued.
"You seize the moment. You act like you matter in it. You don’t look down on women, and you don’t kneel either. You uplift. You demand respect, and somehow, that makes women feel… elevated around you"
"It’s rare" Her voice lowered.
Hemant remained quiet, letting her words hang.
"I was pissed at myself that night" she admitted, eyes steady on his.
"When I came onto you. But later I realized—you gave me something I didn’t know I was missing. A man who doesn't submit to my power game , but rather the one who matches my spirit in that game"
She hesitated, then added.
"I’m seeing Disha now. Your ex-assistant. We’ve had our fun" A small, knowing smile.
"But she still idolizes you"
Hemant didn’t react, though he absorbed every word.
"I get it now" Meghna said.
"You’re classy. Regal. And now you know how to handle a confident woman without trying to cage her. Funny thing is—Sonarika leaving you? That might’ve been the best thing that happened to you."
They were close now. Too close. Meghna could feel his breath, the calm steadiness of his gaze. For a moment, she searched his face as if trying to reconcile memory with reality.
"I still can’t believe this is the same Hemant I once despised" she murmured.
She stood, smoothing her saree, eyes lingering on him.
"Goodbye… for now. We’ll meet again. Places like this."
Her parting smile was slow, sensual, deliberate.
As she walked away, Hemant exhaled quietly. He wasn’t shaken—but he was alert. Meghna was many things, and harmless wasn’t one of them.
Handle with care, he thought.
He finished his drink, composure intact, and rose—fully aware that his world had shifted, and that attention, like power, required discipline to wield.
(TO BE CONTD)
Mumbai moved at full speed again.
So did Hemant.
YOD Industries stood like a giant fortress of industrial marvel across the city near the port like a shard of glass and ambition—steel, legacy, legitimacy. From the outside, it was an enterprise giant. Inside, it was Hemant Kumar’s perfect camouflage.
He stood alone in his private office, sleeves rolled up, jacket abandoned on a chair. The wall-sized smart display glowed to life, flooding the room with data streams, financial graphs, corporate trees, and satellite imagery.
TARGET: ALEXANDER FELIX
POSITION: DIRECTOR – FREGATA GROUP
Hemant’s eyes moved fast. Faster than the analysts who had compiled the data. Fregata wasn’t just a company. It was a hydra. Real estate holdings across Europe. Pharmaceutical subsidiaries in South America. Tech firms quietly absorbing startups in Asia. Banks embedded in offshore havens.
Clean on paper. Ruthless beneath it.
"A corporate maze.....perfect to hide a lot of hidden networks!" Hemant muttered.
He isolated the financial backbone. Cash flow. Asset movement. Long-term hedges. Then he saw it.
Gold.
Not symbolic. Not reserves for stability. Aggressive accumulation. Logistics-heavy distribution. Physical movement across U.S. soil. Hemant leaned closer. Fregata wasn’t just investing in gold. They were moving it. Warehouses. Private refineries. Distribution hubs masked as bullion security firms. Routes crisscrossing states under layers of shell companies.
That was when it clicked.
Hemant flicked his fingers, pulling another corporate emblem onto the screen.
REGALCORP
Their current struggle with Gold stash , a potential new tie up with a mega corporation. And—most importantly—Mehta family territory. Hemant stared at the two logos now floating side by side. Regalcorp handled shipping. Insurance. Port authority leverage. Fregata handled capital. Refining. Distribution.
"Of course" Hemant said softly.
If Regalcorp and Fregata were connected through gold, then Alexander Felix wasn’t just a distant corporate god. He was reachable. Hemant drew a red line between the two logos. The system chimed softly as the connection locked into place. This wasn’t Michael King storming a warehouse. This was Hemant Kumar tightening a noose with contracts, handshakes, and boardroom smiles.
"String by string , lets build this trap!" he said.
He minimized the screen, already planning the next move. The war was no longer loud. It was elegant. And it had just begun. When it comes to Alexander Felix , it definitely has to be a long game!
YOD Industries were silent for a few hours.
Not empty—never empty—but controlled. Every sound was filtered. Every movement logged. Every wall thick enough to swallow secrets.
Hemant sat at his workstation, eyes locked on a rotating 3D schematic.
PROJECT: ANVIL–MK7
Autonomous assault drone support system. Private military integration. Adaptive control mechanism. On the surface: defense innovation. In reality: another benchmark for YOD.
He adjusted a parameter, watching simulated troops advance under mechanical cover.
"Too slow, need to speed up the velocity vectoring!" he murmured.
The door chimed softly. Before it could open.
"Come in" Hemant said.
Raquel stepped inside. Tall. Lean. Hair neatly combed. Dressed like a corporate security consultant, carrying a slim black folder and a small encrypted drive. But he wasn’t staff. He was family. He closed the door behind him and nodded respectfully.
"Bhaijaan"
"You found something?" Hemant turned immediately, all focus shifting to him.
Raquel placed the folder on the desk and slid the drive beside it.
"I've been tracking him for weeks. Ghost trails. Dead drops. Third-party couriers. But I finally got his location"
Raquel said. Hemant’s jaw tightened.
"Lai Tong" he said.
The name tasted like rust.
For a moment, images flickered in his mind—
Father Dominic’s stitched neck. Ricky Tan’s bullet ridden body. Blood on concrete.
"Where?" Hemant asked quietly.
Raquel opened the folder. Maps. Satellite photos. Intercepted communications.
"He's in Lebanon bhaijaan, he’s under protection. Amir Hassan’s protection" he said.
Hemant’s eyes hardened instantly.
"Hassan" he repeated.
Everyone in the underworld knew that name. Lebanese army general. Turned warlord. Turned syndicate king. A man who didn’t just kill. He experimented.
"Psychotic doesn’t even begin to cover him" Hemant muttered.
Raquel nodded grimly.
"He runs a fortress now. Old Ottoman-era fort. Converted into a mountain base near Tabarja. North of Beirut. Overlooks the Mediterranean. Cyprus is right across"
He pulled up an image on the tablet.
A stone stronghold carved into cliffs. Reinforced walls. Radar dishes. AA guns. Barracks. Bunkers.
"Not a primary base, but strategically important. Coastal defense. Smuggling routes. Surveillance hub"
Hemant studied it in silence.
"And the security?" he asked.
Raquel hesitated.
"Heavy. Constant alert. Lebanon’s been in and out of conflict with Israel for years. That area is always on edge. Drones. Patrols. Anti-air. Private militia. Military-grade weapons"
He met Hemant’s eyes.
"Any move there is high-risk. Extreme"
Hemant didn’t look away.
"I know"
"Bhaijaan—" Raquel blinked.
"Hassan is the spine Raquel" Hemant said calmly.
"Break him, and half of AZRAEL's strength collapses"
He stood and walked to the window, looking out at Mumbai’s endless skyline.
"He shelters Lai Tong. He funds routes. He tortures rivals into submission. He spreads fear like a virus"
His reflection stared back at him.
"I can’t move forward while he’s breathing"
"So what’s the plan?" Raquel folded his arms.
Hemant turned back.
"Hassan built the fortress to be impenetrable.....I am going to build a calmity to test its might...and for that I must discuss something with Jackson Shephard"
"Jackson Shephard?" Raquel’s eyes widened slightly.
"Yes"
"Isn't he retired?" Raquel asked.
"Not exactly , he is still in service but his space of work is different. He’s part of SENTINEL now"
Hemant nodded. Raquel frowned.
"That multinational task force?"
"Precisely. Special Forces. Recon. Counter-terror. Black ops. On paper that task force is the best handpicked group of warriors in the planet!"
Hemant replied. He walked back to his desk and pulled up another file.
"SENTINEL monitors warlords, syndicate heads, rogue generals. Their job is to protect the world order , and they don't mind getting their hands dirty to make the world clean"
He continued.
"Hassan fits their profile perfectly"
Raquel leaned forward.
"You think they’re already watching him?"
"I’d be shocked if they weren’t" Hemant said.
A faint smile crossed his face—dangerous, thoughtful.
"And if they're not. I'll marinate Hassan like a turkey for them to feast!"
"I hope you know the risk involved if you do this Bhaijaan" Raquel slowly nodded.
Hemant picked up the data drive.
"I know the necessity of it if I don't Raquel!" he corrected.
He looked once more at Hassan’s fortress on the screen.
Then at Lai Tong’s hidden file beneath it.
"Hassan didn't just dig a grave for himself" Hemant said quietly.
"He dug one for Lai too!"
ONE MORNING AT A SUBURBAN GOLF COURSE OUTSIDE MUMBAI
One crisp morning, Hemant Kumar found himself at an exclusive golf course on the outskirts of Mumbai. Green stretched endlessly. Silence was broken only by soft laughter and distant swings. Mrunal Thakur stood beside him, dressed in a fitted sports skirt and polo, sunglasses resting on her nose. She teased him about his clumsy swing, her laughter light and infectious.
"You’re strong, but impatient" she said, correcting his grip.
"And you’re distracting" he replied smoothly.
She smiled.
The sun cast long shadows across the manicured fairway, painting the grass in shades of gold and emerald. Mrunal Thakur lined up her putt, the gentle curve of her hip accentuated by the snug fit of her white pleated skirt. From just a few feet away, Hemant Kumar watched, his gaze not on the ball but on the way the fabric strained slightly against the generous swell of her buttocks as she leaned forward.
"A little to the left" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that had nothing to do with her aim.
She missed the putt by an inch, the ball lipping out. Straightening, she turned to him with a playful, exasperated smile.
"You’re a terrible coach. You distracted me"
"Me?" Hemant feigned innocence, stepping closer. The breeze carried the faint, clean scent of her perfume.
"I was merely admiring the… form"
She laughed, a bright, musical sound.
"Your form was what I was admiring last week. That fitness magazine spread? Quite the visual"
Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief.
"There was a particular shot… the one where you’re in just those grey gym shorts, lifting that barbell. The lighting was very revealing"
Hemant’s smile turned wolfish. He closed the remaining distance between them, his broad shoulders blocking the sun.
"Is that so? I seem to recall a certain notification on my phone. A direct message. It said…"
He leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear.
"'My timeline has been blessed'"
A flush crept up Mrunal’s neck. She’d been bold online, shielded by a screen. Here, with his heat radiating against her, it was different. Dangerous.
"I just wanted to let the man responsible know..." she retorted, her voice barely a whisper.
"That I appreciated.....those visuals...and the blessing"
"And what about blessings in person?"
His hand came up, not touching her, but hovering near the small of her back, tracing the air above the tantalizing curve where her skirt met her blouse.
"Do you prefer those to be hidden, Mrunal? Or enjoyed…in the open?"
Her breath hitched. The golf course was deserted, the last of the other players having retreated to the clubhouse half an hour ago. It was just them, the whispering pines, and the thrilling, reckless tension snapping between their bodies. This is insane, part of her mind screamed. The other part, the part thrumming with a sudden, liquid heat, was already leaning into his space.
"What did you have in mind?" she breathed.
His answer was a hand finally settling on her hip, fingers splaying possessively over the soft wool of her skirt.
"Something adventurous"
His gaze was incendiary, dropping to her lips, then dragging slowly down her body, worshipping every inch of her pear-shaped silhouette.
"I’ve been watching you all morning. The way this skirt just contains you. It’s been a special kind of torture"
Without another word, he took her hand. His grip was firm, assured. He led her off the green, not toward the path, but into a small, dense copse of mature pine trees at the edge of the fairway. The needles were soft underfoot, and the thick trunks formed a natural, secluded alcove, shielding them completely from the open course.
The moment they were enveloped in the green shadows, he spun her to face him. There was no more pretense, no more playful banter. His mouth crashed down on hers in a kiss that was all consuming heat and desperate need. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching the crisp cotton of his polo shirt as she kissed him back just as fiercely, her tongue meeting his in a slick, hungry duel.
His hands were everywhere—tangling in her hair, sliding down her spine to cup her through the skirt, squeezing the full, glorious weight of her ass. A low groan vibrated from his chest into her mouth.
"Fuck, you feel even better than ever" he growled against her lips.
He walked her backwards until her shoulder blades met the rough bark of the widest pine. Breaking the kiss, he looked at her, his eyes dark with pure lust.
"Turn around" he commanded, his voice rough.
"Hold onto the tree"
A thrill of pure, unadulterated sin shot through her. She obeyed, turning and bracing her palms flat against the rugged trunk. She felt him step close, his hard body pressing against her from behind. One hand slid around her waist, dipping beneath her blouse to find the bare skin of her stomach, while the other gathered the fabric of her skirt, bunching it up around her hips.
The cool air kissed the exposed skin of her thighs, her buttocks. She heard the rustle of his clothing, the tear of a foil packet, the soft snap of latex. Then his hands were on her hips again, positioning her. She felt him, the thick, blunt head of his cock nudging against her damp panties.
"These are in the way"
He murmured, and with a quick, firm tug, he ripped the delicate lace aside. The sound was obscene in the quiet grove.
He didn’t wait. With one hand splayed on her lower back, he guided himself into her. Mrunal gasped, her head falling forward as he filled her in one slow, inexorable stroke. He was so big, stretching her perfectly, the friction so intense it bordered on sweet pain. She was achingly wet, her body welcoming him with a clench that made him hiss.
"God, yes..ahh..… just like that"
Hemant breathed, his hips flush against her ass. He stayed there for a second, buried to the hilt, letting them both feel the shocking intimacy of the connection. Then he began to move.
His thrusts started slow and deep, each one a deliberate, grinding penetration that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her. Her fingers clawed at the bark. With each push forward, her body was pressed harder against the tree, the unyielding wood a counterpoint to the hard, driving force behind her.
"So fucking perfect" he chanted, his pace steadily increasing.
"This body… this ass…"
The sounds were filthy, lewd. The wet, rhythmic slap of their bodies joining, the rustle of their clothes, his ragged breaths, her stifled whimpers. She bit down on her own knuckle, then brought a hand up to cover her mouth, terrified a scream would tear from her throat as the pleasure built into a crushing wave.
Hemant’s hands gripped her hips like vices, holding her steady as he pistoned into her. He was relentless, chasing his own pleasure with a single-minded focus, but every groan, every strained curse told her he was feeling it just as intensely. The world narrowed to this: the scent of pine and sex, the rough bark under her palms, the incredible, burning stretch of him moving inside her, hitting a spot deep within that made stars burst behind her closed eyelids.
She was close, so close. The coil in her belly tightened to a breaking point. Her muffled cries became constant, pleading sounds against her palm.
"Cum for me" he demanded, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, erratic.
"CUM on my cock, Mrunal. Let me feel it"
It was the command in his voice that shattered her. The orgasm ripped through her without warning, a violent, convulsive wave that locked her muscles and stole the air from her lungs. A silent scream shook her frame as she pulsed around him, the intense contractions milking him relentlessly.
Feeling her climax, Hemant lost his rhythm. With a guttural, choked roar, he drove into her one final, shuddering time and held, his own release surging into the condom. He collapsed against her back, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades, his entire body trembling with the force of his climax.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, joined, breathing in ragged unison, the aftershocks twitching through their connected bodies. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. The separation felt shocking, leaving her empty and slick.
They fumbled with their clothes in the dim light, the silence now charged with a different energy—spent, satisfied, and buzzing with the adrenaline of what they’d just done. Mrunal smoothed her skirt down, her legs still unsteady. She turned to find Hemant watching her, a smug, utterly male satisfaction in his eyes.
She managed a shaky smile.
"Well, Mr. Kumar. Your idea of a post-game drink is… quite adventurous"
He stepped forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch now surprisingly tender.
"As long as you enjoy it..." he said, his voice back to that low, teasing rumble.
"I’m open to all sorts of adventurous things"
THAT NOON IN MUMBAI
A few hours later, Hemant wrapped up a decisive meeting at one of Mumbai’s elite hotels. Contracts signed, expectations aligned—another quiet win. He decided to take a breather at the hotel lounge, the kind that smelled of polished wood and expensive coffee, the city humming faintly beyond the glass.
That’s when he noticed her.
Meghna.
She looked nothing like the sharp-edged corporate silhouette he remembered. Today, she wore a green cotton saree, its fabric soft, adorned with colorful embroidery that caught the warm lounge lights. A simple sleeveless strap blouse complemented it—tasteful, bold—revealing just enough skin to command attention. She approached with a smirk that hadn’t changed at all.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, already sliding into the seat beside him.
"Sure" Hemant gave a measured nod.
"So, how are you, Mr. Fortune Cover?" Meghna said, crossing one leg over the other,
"Doing fine, didn’t expect to see you here" he replied evenly.
"I’ve been noticing your… rise. Quite impressive. From that loser employee at Quadron to this"
She chuckled. Her eyes flicked over him, unapologetic. Hemant smiled faintly.
"I was expecting you to ridicule my past."
"I had my reasons back then," Meghna said, her tone shifting.
"But I’ll admit— you’ve changed. If you were always like this, maybe Sonarika wouldn’t have gone looking for Vikram."
She watched him closely, waiting for a reaction.
There was none.
Meghna’s smirk deepened, this time tinged with surprise.
"Huh. So you really have moved on."
She shifted closer, their shoulders nearly touching.
"You’re not that same innocent, mild-mannered guy anymore. The one who used to cower when Sandeep pulled his antics—until Sonarika had to step in. This Hemant?"
She gestured subtly toward him.
"He’s… different. Hardened. Precise. No excuses."
"Is that your way of saying you prefer rich misogynists now?" Hemant raised an eyebrow.
"No. You don’t fit that category" She laughed softly.
He turned slightly toward her, curious despite himself.
"You’re not about alpha, omega, dom, sub—none of that nonsense" Meghna continued.
"You seize the moment. You act like you matter in it. You don’t look down on women, and you don’t kneel either. You uplift. You demand respect, and somehow, that makes women feel… elevated around you"
"It’s rare" Her voice lowered.
Hemant remained quiet, letting her words hang.
"I was pissed at myself that night" she admitted, eyes steady on his.
"When I came onto you. But later I realized—you gave me something I didn’t know I was missing. A man who doesn't submit to my power game , but rather the one who matches my spirit in that game"
She hesitated, then added.
"I’m seeing Disha now. Your ex-assistant. We’ve had our fun" A small, knowing smile.
"But she still idolizes you"
Hemant didn’t react, though he absorbed every word.
"I get it now" Meghna said.
"You’re classy. Regal. And now you know how to handle a confident woman without trying to cage her. Funny thing is—Sonarika leaving you? That might’ve been the best thing that happened to you."
They were close now. Too close. Meghna could feel his breath, the calm steadiness of his gaze. For a moment, she searched his face as if trying to reconcile memory with reality.
"I still can’t believe this is the same Hemant I once despised" she murmured.
She stood, smoothing her saree, eyes lingering on him.
"Goodbye… for now. We’ll meet again. Places like this."
Her parting smile was slow, sensual, deliberate.
As she walked away, Hemant exhaled quietly. He wasn’t shaken—but he was alert. Meghna was many things, and harmless wasn’t one of them.
Handle with care, he thought.
He finished his drink, composure intact, and rose—fully aware that his world had shifted, and that attention, like power, required discipline to wield.
(TO BE CONTD)
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