03-03-2026, 10:01 AM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
SOMEWHERE AT THE HAGUE
The grand ballroom in The Hague shimmered beneath cascading chandeliers, crystal reflecting gold light across polished marble floors. Diplomats, industrialists, royalty-adjacent elites—every corner of influence seemed represented beneath that vaulted ceiling. Conversations overlapped in a refined hum, champagne flutes clinked, and a string quartet played something elegant and restrained.
And then Hemant and Pranitha entered.
Their arrival shifted the atmosphere almost instantly. Heads turned—not subtly, but openly. The dark velvet of Hemant’s suit absorbed the light while the maroon shimmer of Pranitha’s dress caught it, radiating it back in dazzling waves. Together, they looked less like guests and more like the evening’s centerpiece.
Whispers followed them as they moved through the crowd.
"That’s Hemant Kumar right?… of YOD Enterprise?"
"Isn’t that Pranitha Mehta from REGALCORP?"
"They look extraordinary"
Pranitha handled the attention with practiced ease, her hand resting lightly on Hemant’s arm. He, in turn, carried himself with quiet command—offering nods, brief handshakes, measured smiles. To the world, he was a visionary businessman expanding global partnerships.
But across the room, someone had gone completely still.
Hakim Khaled stood near the far balcony, a glass suspended mid-air in his trembling hand. The Algerian trader had navigated shadow economies for decades, thriving in grey markets between legality and crime. His eyes weren’t on Pranitha. They were locked entirely on Hemant.
No.
Not Hemant.
Michael King.
The name thundered inside his skull.
Hakim had believed him dead—someone long buried after the massacre of the Rustom family in Azerbaijan. That bloodbath of the Zarirs had shaken entire underground networks. Michael King’s disappearance afterward had cemented the myth. Some said he was killed. Others said he simply vanished.
But here he was.
Alive.
Refined.
Smiling in public.
The urban legend of the archangel vigilante had just walked into a ballroom.
Hakim’s pulse spiked violently. Stories of Michael King’s hunts resurfaced in his memory—the systematic takedowns of overlords who thought themselves untouchable. Cartels dismantled overnight. Crime lords vanishing without warning. The legend had grown with time, becoming something closer to folklore.
And now Hakim felt something he hadn’t felt in years.
Fear.
At that exact moment, Hemant’s gaze shifted.
Their eyes met.
It lasted barely a second—but for Hakim, it felt eternal.
In that instant, he wasn’t looking at a businessman.
He was looking at a predator who had just identified his prey. The Archangel has found his sinner!
Hakim’s mind spiraled. He imagined Michael recognizing him, recalling past dealings, connecting threads long buried. The hallucination deepened—he could almost see the faint, knowing smirk of the vigilante who dismantled empires.
The glass slipped from his hand.
It shattered on the marble floor.
A nearby waiter flinched as Hakim stumbled backward, colliding into a tray of champagne flutes. Crystal cascaded, drinks splashed across silk gowns, and a ripple of shocked murmurs spread through the ballroom.
"What on earth is his problem?" Pranitha leaned closer to Hemant.
Hemant watched Hakim retreat, his expression almost amused.
"Too much champagne, perhaps" he said lightly.
"Some men lose their balance when the night overwhelms them"
But his eyes followed every frantic step.
Hakim nearly tripped over his own shoes as he rushed toward the exit, pushing past guests, ignoring the staff calling after him. By the time he reached his car, his breathing was ragged.
He drove recklessly toward his luxury villa near Ockenburgh beach, the coastline dark and windswept under the night sky. Once inside, he descended to the basement—a converted control center lined with monitors, encrypted communication systems, and weapon crates.
He grabbed his secure phone and dialed.
Within minutes, several lethal operatives answered—men accustomed to clean, efficient elimination jobs.
"I want him dead tonight" Hakim hissed.
"Hotel name, room number—I’m sending it now"
One of the assassins paused.
"And the woman with him?"
"Kill her too" Hakim didn’t hesitate.
He ended the call and turned toward the monitors, watching as his men armed themselves. Assault rifles checked. Suppressors fitted. Vehicles prepared.
Hakim sank into his leather chair, sweat still damp on his collar despite the cold room.
For years, he had feared Michael King might return.
Tonight, he would make sure the legend ended.
Upstairs, miles away, the party still sparkled under chandeliers—unaware that somewhere in the shadows of The Hague, a hunt had just been declared.
And the ghost had been recognized.
BACK AT THE BALLROOM
The ballroom in The Hague had grown livelier as the night deepened. Conversations were looser, laughter louder, and clusters of influence shifted like constellations under chandeliers. Hemant and Pranitha moved effortlessly through it all, pausing for photographs, exchanging introductions, and collecting invitations disguised as compliments.
Near the central gallery, a familiar ripple passed through the crowd.
Two figures stood framed beneath a cascade of warm light—Alia Bhatt and Kiara Advani.
![[Image: 5eyrhdhb.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/JwMH21fv/5eyrhdhb.jpg)
Alia looked radiant in a black saree paired with a gold short-sleeved blouse intricately embroidered, the fabric dbangd in a way that accentuated her graceful, hourglass silhouette. There was an effortless confidence in her posture, a charm that had made her a sensation both on-screen and off. Kiara, beside her, shimmered in a full gold saree with delicate embroidery, the light catching every subtle movement. Petite, poised, and luminous—she carried herself with quiet magnetism.
"Well, that’s unexpected" Pranitha’s eyes sparkled.
Introductions were quick and warm. Alia’s smile widened as she looked Hemant over with playful curiosity.
"You two are stealing the spotlight tonight" she said, her tone light but undeniably flirtatious.
"Careful, or we’ll have to compete"
"I wouldn’t dare compete with legends" Hemant offered a measured grin.
"Flattery works. Keep going" Alia laughed softly.
Kiara glanced at him, her smile gentler, a little shy but intrigued.
"You clean up very well"
She added, almost as an aside, though her eyes lingered a second longer than necessary.
Pranitha observed the exchange with amused calm, her hand resting possessively yet casually at Hemant’s side.
"I did pick the suit" she said with a playful tilt of her head.
"Clearly, you have excellent taste" Alia replied, raising her glass.
The four of them shared easy banter—cinema, business, travel, the peculiar overlap between power and publicity. Hemant noticed how naturally Pranitha fit into this circle—no awe, no performance. She belonged here. And tonight, so did he.
When the party eventually thinned and the night air outside turned crisp, Hemant and Pranitha returned to their hotel suite, heels and dress shoes clicking softly across polished floors.
The door closed behind them.
Pranitha kicked off her heels first, stretching slightly before turning to him with an expression that was half amusement, half confession.
"There’s something I didn’t tell you"
Hemant loosened his cufflinks.
"I knew it....those ladies were oogling me in a different way"
She walked closer, fingers trailing along his lapel.
"Well....we had plans for a private slumber party. Just me, Alia, and Kiara"
He blinked.
"Slumber party?" he repeated carefully.
She smiled at his reaction.
"Okay fine......we were planning for a night of fucking....I was meant to have a night of carnal pleasure with these beautiful ladies!!"
Her gaze sharpened slightly. Hemant was momentarily silent, processing.
"And my arrival ruined this?" he asked.
"On paper yes......but it doesn't have to be ruined you know"
She laughed softly. Her fingers slipped into his hand.
"I was thinking—why not make it more interesting? After all today was indeed a special day for me because you are here so.....why don't you help me with the party and tag along?"
There it was. An invitation not just to a foursome—but to her world.
Hemant had known Pranitha’s lifestyle leaned toward the bold, the elite, the unashamedly open. He had admired that about her from a distance. Tonight, he was being offered not just a front-row seat. But to participate with her
"If you mean tag along by indulging with those lovely ladies.....I am quiet nervous considering you are around"
He admitted slowly.
"That’s fair"
He studied her face—confident, expectant, but not pressuring. This wasn’t recklessness. It was choice. Exploration. Trust.
"I was skeptic about your lifestyle and...."
"And now?" she asked softly.
A faint, dangerous smile curved at the edge of his mouth.
"Now I’m curious"
Her eyes darkened with satisfaction.
"You’ll be fine.....just do the stuff you did with Ananya...though not with Kiara as she is a shy type.."
"Ugghh....don't tell me she will also call me Daddy"
"Don't worry.....Alia just prefers her partner to be strong and powerful in bed....she doesn't care about wordplay and other kinks...."
She murmured. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You seem to be too excited regarding this night"
Pranitha rose onto her toes, brushing her lips near his ear.
"Lets just say after that mind blowing performance at the beach I wanna watch my man perform!!!"
The air between them shifted again—charged, anticipatory.
For Hemant, who had navigated wars, syndicates, and assassins without flinching, this felt like stepping into a different but familiar kind of unknown.
And strangely— He wasn’t afraid of it anymore.
Hemant stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, Noordwijk’s night lights twinkling like scattered diamonds below, but his focus was fractured. The memory of the party—the sly glances, the brush of silk against his arm, the way Alia Bhatt’s eyes had held his while her lips curved around a suggestive compliment—still buzzed under his skin.
Pranitha emerged from the bedroom, having shed her couture gown for a sheer black robe. Her smile was a knowing, wicked thing.
"Nervous?" she asked, her voice a low purr.
"A little" Hemant admitted, turning to face her. The revelation of her planned 'slumber party' with the two Bollywood stars had been a shock, but the kind that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat straight to his core. Pranitha’s world, the secret lifestyle of the elites, was now his to taste.
"Like I said , be the 'Alpha' Kumar Mrunal and Ananya are talking about"
She glided closer, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"Tonight, Alia and Kiara will be part of your secret shenanigans. Consider it my gift!"
A soft knock at the suite door made his heart thump. Pranitha answered, and there they were. Alia, radiant and confident in a simple silk slip that did nothing to hide the famous, tempting curve of her hourglass figure. Kiara, a vision in gold-embroidered silk pajamas, her doe eyes wide with a shyness that was somehow more alluring than any boldness.
"We thought maybe we should give the lovebirds their privacy"
Alia said, her grin playful as she stepped inside, her gaze locking onto Hemant. Pranitha laughed, a rich, unfettered sound.
"Oh, no. No walking back now. A commitment is a commitment"
"And how, exactly, does this work?" Alia’s eyes sparkled.
Pranitha’s only answer was that same, enigmatic grin. Next things you know , Alia Bhatt , one of the biggest actresses of Bollywood was laying nude and bare in Pranitha's king sized bedroom. Alia was moaning profusely as Pranitha had buried her face between her legs. They were a tangle of bare limbs on the crisp white sheets. Eventually Pranitha came above after glistening Alia's pussy lips with her saliva , Pranitha straddled Alia’s hips, their mouths meeting in a kiss that was all hunger and no hesitation. Their lips moved with a practiced, mad passion. Alia’s hands gripped Pranitha’s back, pulling her closer. The sound of their kissing, wet and deep, filled the room. When they finally broke apart, Alia groaned, her head falling back.
"God, woman. I thought you’d be all over your man tonight. Proven wrong again"
Their attention—was ripped away by a soft, shuddering gasp.
Beside them, Kiara was laying nude and bare voicing out a choked, beautiful moan. Her nerves were on fire as Hemant was between her legs eating her out. He feasted on her. His tongue explored her folds, firm and deliberate, before circling the tight, desperate bud of her clit. Kiara’s hips jerked off the bed. A high, keening sound escaped her lips. Her hands fisted in the sheets, then flew to his hair, not pushing him away but holding him there.
"Damn....I guess he knows what he is doing!"
Alia murmured, propping herself up on an elbow to watch, her own arousal evident in her flushed skin and heavy-lidded eyes. Pranitha chuckled, her gaze drinking in the sight of her man between the actress’s legs.
"He might have some skills I need to investigate later" Pranitha mused, her voice husky.
"I was already smitten by him after the pounding he gave me this evening at the nude beach"
"I love a good pounder"
Alia grinned, wicked and wild. Then she lay back, spreading her own legs. Pranitha’s eyes lit with fire. She slid down Alia’s body, replacing the space between her thighs with her mouth. The room dissolved into a symphony of wet, sucking sounds and escalating moans. Hemant doubled his efforts on Kiara, licking and sucking with a focused intensity, driven by the competitive energy and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of the woman unraveling beneath him. Kiara was no longer silent. Her moans were continuous now, a melodic, broken stream of pleasure as she arched her back, pressing herself harder against his mouth.
Beside them, Alia was vocal, her groans deeper, more guttural.
"Yes, just like that… fuck, right there!"
Her hand found Kiara’s, and their fingers laced together, a bond of shared, overwhelming sensation. Hemant could feel Kiara tightening, her inner muscles fluttering around his probing tongue. Her cries became sharper, more urgent. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them, and her entire body bowed off the mattress.
"Hemant!" she cried out his name as both a prayer and a curse.
It was a close contest, but Pranitha won. With a final, powerful suck on Alia’s clit, she sent the actress over the edge. Alia’s scream was raw and loud as her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing under Pranitha’s relentless mouth.
The sound seemed to trigger Kiara’s own climax. With a final, drawn-out lick, Hemant pushed her into the abyss. Her orgasm wasn’t loud; it was a total physical collapse. Her moan cut off into a silent, open-mouthed gasp. Her body spasmed over and over again, her grip on his hair becoming almost painful, her thighs trembling violently against his ears. For a long moment, she simply shook, waves of pleasure coursing through her until she finally went limp, breathing in ragged, shallow pants.
As she slowly floated back, her voice was a dazed, breathless whisper.
"I… I felt like my soul was sucked out"
Alia, recovering beside her, laughed weakly, her body still humming.
"Join the club, darling"
She turned her head, her gaze landing on Hemant, now kneeling between Kiara’s splayed legs, his mouth glistening. Her eyes, dark with renewed hunger, traveled down his body. Alia breathed, her grin returning, full of promise. The silence that followed Kiara’s breathless confession was soft, filled with the hum of afterglow. She shifted, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks as she looked from Hemant to Pranitha.
"I… I’m not on the safest day for it" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I can’t do penetrative sex tonight. Not… not the risky kind"
Her doe eyes flickered with a mix of disappointment and genuine sorrow.
"It feels unfair. To him, and to me. I want… more"
Hemant, still kneeling on the bed, felt a surge of protective warmth. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead.
"It’s okay, Kiara. There are no rules here except pleasure"
It was then that he moved to sit back on his heels, and as he did, the full, rigid length of his arousal was unveiled, standing thick and proud against his abdomen. A collective, sharp intake of breath filled the room.
Alia’s eyes, already dark with hunger, widened. A slow, predatory grin spread across her face. "Well, hello" she purred, her gaze locked on him.
"I’m calling dibs on the real thing. No offense, darling" she added, nodding to Pranitha.
Pranitha simply chuckled, already sliding off the bed.
"None taken. I have other plans"
She moved to a sleek, expensive-looking overnight case, retrieving a harness and a sizable, realistic dildo made of deep, flesh-toned silicone. She began strapping it on with practiced ease.
"Kiara, my sweet, you may not get the real meat tonight, but I promise you’ll feel filled"
Kiara watched, a new kind of nervous excitement replacing her shyness as Pranitha approached, the strap-on swaying with each step.
"Just… gentle, please? I like it slow"
"Of course"
Pranitha whispered, kneeling between Kiara’s freshly splayed thighs. She guided the silicone tip, slick with a dab of lube from the nightstand, to Kiara’s entrance.
"Just relax. Tell me what feels good"
As Pranitha began to press forward, a low, trembling moan escaped Kiara’s lips. The sound was soft at first, then grew, blooming into the room as Pranitha slowly, inch by exquisite inch, sheathed herself inside the actress.
"Ohhh… oh, Pranitha…"
The moans were soon joined by a different, more urgent sound: Hemant’s low, ragged grunts.
Alia hadn’t waited. She’d crawled to him, her small hands wrapping around the base of his shaft, her eyes locked on his as she took him into her mouth. She was, as her reputation might suggest, an artist. There was no tentative exploration. She took him deep, her throat relaxing in a way that made his vision blur, then pulled back, her tongue swirling around the crown in tight, torturous circles before diving down again. She used her hands in tandem, twisting and stroking what her mouth couldn’t take. It was a symphony of sensation—wet, warm, and unbearably skilled.
Hemant’s hips jerked involuntarily. He could feel the explosive pressure building at the base of his spine, far too quickly. She’s going to make me come just like this. With a groan of effort, he tangled his hands in her dark hair and gently but firmly pulled her off. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to his glistening tip.
"Hey, I wasn’t done—" Alia looked up, her expression one of mock indignation.
He didn’t let her finish. In one fluid motion, he pushed her onto her back, her body sinking into the mattress. He loomed over her, lining the broad, leaking head of his cock against her soaked folds. He rubbed it through her slickness, teasing her entrance, feeling her body tremble beneath him.
"Don’t… don’t tease m—" Alia squirmed, a frustrated growl in her throat.
He didn’t.
He pushed forward, not with a slow entry, but with one powerful, driving thrust that buried him to the hilt in one stroke.
"AAAAGHHHHH!"
Alia’s scream was one of pure, shocked sensation—a cry torn from her lungs at the sudden, complete fullness. Her back arched, her nails digging into his shoulders. For a moment, he stayed there, embedded fully, letting them both feel the incredible, clutching tightness of her. Then he began to move. Slow, deliberate pulls back, then pushes forward, each stroke a deep, measured conquest.
"Fuck… fuck" Alia panted, her head thrashing side to side. After a few of these deep, possessive thrusts, she managed to turn her head toward Pranitha, who was steadily rocking into a now-moaning Kiara.
"Ahh...ahhh...No wonder…ahaa… you fancy him…ahh...so much...mhmm..Pranitha!"
Pranitha, her own breathing labored, laughed.
"Don’t go easy on her, Hemant! Just like Ananya, she prefers her men to dominate her"
That was all the signal he needed.
The slow, steady pace began to quicken. The sound in the room changed. The wet, rhythmic slide of flesh against flesh grew louder, faster. It was soon underscored by the sharp, percussive thwup… thwup… THWUP of his balls slapping against her ass with every deep drive. Alia’s moans escalated into continuous, ragged cries, each thrust punching the air from her lungs.
Kiara, lost in the sensation of Pranitha’s steady thrusts, was pulled from her haze by the sheer, visceral violence of the sound next to her. She turned her head, eyes wide, watching the powerful muscles in Hemant’s back and ass coil and release with animalistic grace. She was flabbergasted. He moves like a beast.
Her attention was brutally redirected when Pranitha, inspired by the sight, unconsciously picked up her own pace, thrusting harder into Kiara’s yielding body.
"Ah! Pranitha, slower" Kiara gasped, her hands coming up to press against Pranitha’s hips.
"Not… not so hard. Please"
Pranitha immediately softened her movements, returning to a gentle, deep rhythm, but her eyes remained fixed on her husband. He was glistening now, a sheen of sweat coating his powerful form. Droplets fell from his chin and chest, landing on Alia’s heaving breasts and flushed face, mingling with her own sweat. They were a mess of slick, straining bodies.
Eventually, with a guttural sound, Hemant rolled onto his back, pulling Alia with him so she now straddled his hips.
"Your turn" he grunted.
Alia needed no further invitation. She rose on her knees, then sank down onto him with a force that made them both cry out. She set a furious, punishing pace, riding him with a wild abandon that made her dark hair fly around her shoulders. Sweat droplets flew from her skin, catching the low light like tiny diamonds.
"She’s… so wild" Kiara watched, stunned.
Pranitha, still moving gently inside her, nodded.
"That’s his specialty. It’s never just one person in control. For him, it’s mutual. A shared… fucking"
Alia, hearing them, threw her head back with a hoarse laugh.
"She’s… ah!… damn right! I’m the luckiest woman… oh god… on this planet right now!"
But her bravado was fading, her movements becoming more ragged, her powerful thighs trembling with strain. She was exhausted, dripping sweat, but utterly consumed. The climax, when it hit her, was cataclysmic. Her body locked, her back bowing in a sharp arc. A raw, shattered scream tore from her throat as she came, her inner muscles clamping down on Hemant’s cock in a series of vicious, milking pulses.
"FUCK! YES! YOU… ARE… SO… GOOD!"
She spasmed, her pussy gripping him like a vise, but Hemant wasn’t done. The feel of her climax triggered his own urgent need. In a swift motion, he flipped her onto her back again, returning to missionary. He didn’t slow. He pounded. Deep, hard, relentless strokes that hammered into her oversensitive core while she was still convulsing in the aftershocks.
Alia’s screams died into choked, silent gasps. Her eyes rolled back, her body jerking uncontrollably beneath his assault. She was being pushed past pleasure, into a realm of sheer, overwhelming sensory overload.
Kiara’s own release came then, a soft, trembling wave that made her cry out and cling to Pranitha, who held her through it, spent from her own efforts.
Hemant saw stars. The coiling pressure snapped. With a final, animalistic groan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted. His hips jerked forward in short, sharp pulses as he emptied himself inside her in thick, hot bursts. Alia’s body, already in a state of shocked bliss, could only take it. Her eyes were shut, her mouth slack. Not a sound emerged.
He collapsed on top of her, both of them slick and heaving. A moment of heavy silence passed.
Pranitha, disentangling herself from a blissful Kiara, peered over. Alia was utterly still, her breathing deep and even.
"Is she…?" Kiara whispered, worried.
Pranitha leaned closer, then giggled, a sound of pure delight.
"She’s fine. Look at her. Hemant didn’t just fuck her. He fucked the soul right out of her body. She’s just…..enjoying the bliss of that powerfully satisfying sex!!"
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
The grand ballroom in The Hague shimmered beneath cascading chandeliers, crystal reflecting gold light across polished marble floors. Diplomats, industrialists, royalty-adjacent elites—every corner of influence seemed represented beneath that vaulted ceiling. Conversations overlapped in a refined hum, champagne flutes clinked, and a string quartet played something elegant and restrained.
And then Hemant and Pranitha entered.
Their arrival shifted the atmosphere almost instantly. Heads turned—not subtly, but openly. The dark velvet of Hemant’s suit absorbed the light while the maroon shimmer of Pranitha’s dress caught it, radiating it back in dazzling waves. Together, they looked less like guests and more like the evening’s centerpiece.
Whispers followed them as they moved through the crowd.
"That’s Hemant Kumar right?… of YOD Enterprise?"
"Isn’t that Pranitha Mehta from REGALCORP?"
"They look extraordinary"
Pranitha handled the attention with practiced ease, her hand resting lightly on Hemant’s arm. He, in turn, carried himself with quiet command—offering nods, brief handshakes, measured smiles. To the world, he was a visionary businessman expanding global partnerships.
But across the room, someone had gone completely still.
Hakim Khaled stood near the far balcony, a glass suspended mid-air in his trembling hand. The Algerian trader had navigated shadow economies for decades, thriving in grey markets between legality and crime. His eyes weren’t on Pranitha. They were locked entirely on Hemant.
No.
Not Hemant.
Michael King.
The name thundered inside his skull.
Hakim had believed him dead—someone long buried after the massacre of the Rustom family in Azerbaijan. That bloodbath of the Zarirs had shaken entire underground networks. Michael King’s disappearance afterward had cemented the myth. Some said he was killed. Others said he simply vanished.
But here he was.
Alive.
Refined.
Smiling in public.
The urban legend of the archangel vigilante had just walked into a ballroom.
Hakim’s pulse spiked violently. Stories of Michael King’s hunts resurfaced in his memory—the systematic takedowns of overlords who thought themselves untouchable. Cartels dismantled overnight. Crime lords vanishing without warning. The legend had grown with time, becoming something closer to folklore.
And now Hakim felt something he hadn’t felt in years.
Fear.
At that exact moment, Hemant’s gaze shifted.
Their eyes met.
It lasted barely a second—but for Hakim, it felt eternal.
In that instant, he wasn’t looking at a businessman.
He was looking at a predator who had just identified his prey. The Archangel has found his sinner!
Hakim’s mind spiraled. He imagined Michael recognizing him, recalling past dealings, connecting threads long buried. The hallucination deepened—he could almost see the faint, knowing smirk of the vigilante who dismantled empires.
The glass slipped from his hand.
It shattered on the marble floor.
A nearby waiter flinched as Hakim stumbled backward, colliding into a tray of champagne flutes. Crystal cascaded, drinks splashed across silk gowns, and a ripple of shocked murmurs spread through the ballroom.
"What on earth is his problem?" Pranitha leaned closer to Hemant.
Hemant watched Hakim retreat, his expression almost amused.
"Too much champagne, perhaps" he said lightly.
"Some men lose their balance when the night overwhelms them"
But his eyes followed every frantic step.
Hakim nearly tripped over his own shoes as he rushed toward the exit, pushing past guests, ignoring the staff calling after him. By the time he reached his car, his breathing was ragged.
He drove recklessly toward his luxury villa near Ockenburgh beach, the coastline dark and windswept under the night sky. Once inside, he descended to the basement—a converted control center lined with monitors, encrypted communication systems, and weapon crates.
He grabbed his secure phone and dialed.
Within minutes, several lethal operatives answered—men accustomed to clean, efficient elimination jobs.
"I want him dead tonight" Hakim hissed.
"Hotel name, room number—I’m sending it now"
One of the assassins paused.
"And the woman with him?"
"Kill her too" Hakim didn’t hesitate.
He ended the call and turned toward the monitors, watching as his men armed themselves. Assault rifles checked. Suppressors fitted. Vehicles prepared.
Hakim sank into his leather chair, sweat still damp on his collar despite the cold room.
For years, he had feared Michael King might return.
Tonight, he would make sure the legend ended.
Upstairs, miles away, the party still sparkled under chandeliers—unaware that somewhere in the shadows of The Hague, a hunt had just been declared.
And the ghost had been recognized.
BACK AT THE BALLROOM
The ballroom in The Hague had grown livelier as the night deepened. Conversations were looser, laughter louder, and clusters of influence shifted like constellations under chandeliers. Hemant and Pranitha moved effortlessly through it all, pausing for photographs, exchanging introductions, and collecting invitations disguised as compliments.
Near the central gallery, a familiar ripple passed through the crowd.
Two figures stood framed beneath a cascade of warm light—Alia Bhatt and Kiara Advani.
Alia looked radiant in a black saree paired with a gold short-sleeved blouse intricately embroidered, the fabric dbangd in a way that accentuated her graceful, hourglass silhouette. There was an effortless confidence in her posture, a charm that had made her a sensation both on-screen and off. Kiara, beside her, shimmered in a full gold saree with delicate embroidery, the light catching every subtle movement. Petite, poised, and luminous—she carried herself with quiet magnetism.
"Well, that’s unexpected" Pranitha’s eyes sparkled.
Introductions were quick and warm. Alia’s smile widened as she looked Hemant over with playful curiosity.
"You two are stealing the spotlight tonight" she said, her tone light but undeniably flirtatious.
"Careful, or we’ll have to compete"
"I wouldn’t dare compete with legends" Hemant offered a measured grin.
"Flattery works. Keep going" Alia laughed softly.
Kiara glanced at him, her smile gentler, a little shy but intrigued.
"You clean up very well"
She added, almost as an aside, though her eyes lingered a second longer than necessary.
Pranitha observed the exchange with amused calm, her hand resting possessively yet casually at Hemant’s side.
"I did pick the suit" she said with a playful tilt of her head.
"Clearly, you have excellent taste" Alia replied, raising her glass.
The four of them shared easy banter—cinema, business, travel, the peculiar overlap between power and publicity. Hemant noticed how naturally Pranitha fit into this circle—no awe, no performance. She belonged here. And tonight, so did he.
When the party eventually thinned and the night air outside turned crisp, Hemant and Pranitha returned to their hotel suite, heels and dress shoes clicking softly across polished floors.
The door closed behind them.
Pranitha kicked off her heels first, stretching slightly before turning to him with an expression that was half amusement, half confession.
"There’s something I didn’t tell you"
Hemant loosened his cufflinks.
"I knew it....those ladies were oogling me in a different way"
She walked closer, fingers trailing along his lapel.
"Well....we had plans for a private slumber party. Just me, Alia, and Kiara"
He blinked.
"Slumber party?" he repeated carefully.
She smiled at his reaction.
"Okay fine......we were planning for a night of fucking....I was meant to have a night of carnal pleasure with these beautiful ladies!!"
Her gaze sharpened slightly. Hemant was momentarily silent, processing.
"And my arrival ruined this?" he asked.
"On paper yes......but it doesn't have to be ruined you know"
She laughed softly. Her fingers slipped into his hand.
"I was thinking—why not make it more interesting? After all today was indeed a special day for me because you are here so.....why don't you help me with the party and tag along?"
There it was. An invitation not just to a foursome—but to her world.
Hemant had known Pranitha’s lifestyle leaned toward the bold, the elite, the unashamedly open. He had admired that about her from a distance. Tonight, he was being offered not just a front-row seat. But to participate with her
"If you mean tag along by indulging with those lovely ladies.....I am quiet nervous considering you are around"
He admitted slowly.
"That’s fair"
He studied her face—confident, expectant, but not pressuring. This wasn’t recklessness. It was choice. Exploration. Trust.
"I was skeptic about your lifestyle and...."
"And now?" she asked softly.
A faint, dangerous smile curved at the edge of his mouth.
"Now I’m curious"
Her eyes darkened with satisfaction.
"You’ll be fine.....just do the stuff you did with Ananya...though not with Kiara as she is a shy type.."
"Ugghh....don't tell me she will also call me Daddy"
"Don't worry.....Alia just prefers her partner to be strong and powerful in bed....she doesn't care about wordplay and other kinks...."
She murmured. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You seem to be too excited regarding this night"
Pranitha rose onto her toes, brushing her lips near his ear.
"Lets just say after that mind blowing performance at the beach I wanna watch my man perform!!!"
The air between them shifted again—charged, anticipatory.
For Hemant, who had navigated wars, syndicates, and assassins without flinching, this felt like stepping into a different but familiar kind of unknown.
And strangely— He wasn’t afraid of it anymore.
Hemant stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, Noordwijk’s night lights twinkling like scattered diamonds below, but his focus was fractured. The memory of the party—the sly glances, the brush of silk against his arm, the way Alia Bhatt’s eyes had held his while her lips curved around a suggestive compliment—still buzzed under his skin.
Pranitha emerged from the bedroom, having shed her couture gown for a sheer black robe. Her smile was a knowing, wicked thing.
"Nervous?" she asked, her voice a low purr.
"A little" Hemant admitted, turning to face her. The revelation of her planned 'slumber party' with the two Bollywood stars had been a shock, but the kind that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat straight to his core. Pranitha’s world, the secret lifestyle of the elites, was now his to taste.
"Like I said , be the 'Alpha' Kumar Mrunal and Ananya are talking about"
She glided closer, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"Tonight, Alia and Kiara will be part of your secret shenanigans. Consider it my gift!"
A soft knock at the suite door made his heart thump. Pranitha answered, and there they were. Alia, radiant and confident in a simple silk slip that did nothing to hide the famous, tempting curve of her hourglass figure. Kiara, a vision in gold-embroidered silk pajamas, her doe eyes wide with a shyness that was somehow more alluring than any boldness.
"We thought maybe we should give the lovebirds their privacy"
Alia said, her grin playful as she stepped inside, her gaze locking onto Hemant. Pranitha laughed, a rich, unfettered sound.
"Oh, no. No walking back now. A commitment is a commitment"
"And how, exactly, does this work?" Alia’s eyes sparkled.
Pranitha’s only answer was that same, enigmatic grin. Next things you know , Alia Bhatt , one of the biggest actresses of Bollywood was laying nude and bare in Pranitha's king sized bedroom. Alia was moaning profusely as Pranitha had buried her face between her legs. They were a tangle of bare limbs on the crisp white sheets. Eventually Pranitha came above after glistening Alia's pussy lips with her saliva , Pranitha straddled Alia’s hips, their mouths meeting in a kiss that was all hunger and no hesitation. Their lips moved with a practiced, mad passion. Alia’s hands gripped Pranitha’s back, pulling her closer. The sound of their kissing, wet and deep, filled the room. When they finally broke apart, Alia groaned, her head falling back.
"God, woman. I thought you’d be all over your man tonight. Proven wrong again"
Their attention—was ripped away by a soft, shuddering gasp.
Beside them, Kiara was laying nude and bare voicing out a choked, beautiful moan. Her nerves were on fire as Hemant was between her legs eating her out. He feasted on her. His tongue explored her folds, firm and deliberate, before circling the tight, desperate bud of her clit. Kiara’s hips jerked off the bed. A high, keening sound escaped her lips. Her hands fisted in the sheets, then flew to his hair, not pushing him away but holding him there.
"Damn....I guess he knows what he is doing!"
Alia murmured, propping herself up on an elbow to watch, her own arousal evident in her flushed skin and heavy-lidded eyes. Pranitha chuckled, her gaze drinking in the sight of her man between the actress’s legs.
"He might have some skills I need to investigate later" Pranitha mused, her voice husky.
"I was already smitten by him after the pounding he gave me this evening at the nude beach"
"I love a good pounder"
Alia grinned, wicked and wild. Then she lay back, spreading her own legs. Pranitha’s eyes lit with fire. She slid down Alia’s body, replacing the space between her thighs with her mouth. The room dissolved into a symphony of wet, sucking sounds and escalating moans. Hemant doubled his efforts on Kiara, licking and sucking with a focused intensity, driven by the competitive energy and the sheer, overwhelming sensation of the woman unraveling beneath him. Kiara was no longer silent. Her moans were continuous now, a melodic, broken stream of pleasure as she arched her back, pressing herself harder against his mouth.
Beside them, Alia was vocal, her groans deeper, more guttural.
"Yes, just like that… fuck, right there!"
Her hand found Kiara’s, and their fingers laced together, a bond of shared, overwhelming sensation. Hemant could feel Kiara tightening, her inner muscles fluttering around his probing tongue. Her cries became sharper, more urgent. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them, and her entire body bowed off the mattress.
"Hemant!" she cried out his name as both a prayer and a curse.
It was a close contest, but Pranitha won. With a final, powerful suck on Alia’s clit, she sent the actress over the edge. Alia’s scream was raw and loud as her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing under Pranitha’s relentless mouth.
The sound seemed to trigger Kiara’s own climax. With a final, drawn-out lick, Hemant pushed her into the abyss. Her orgasm wasn’t loud; it was a total physical collapse. Her moan cut off into a silent, open-mouthed gasp. Her body spasmed over and over again, her grip on his hair becoming almost painful, her thighs trembling violently against his ears. For a long moment, she simply shook, waves of pleasure coursing through her until she finally went limp, breathing in ragged, shallow pants.
As she slowly floated back, her voice was a dazed, breathless whisper.
"I… I felt like my soul was sucked out"
Alia, recovering beside her, laughed weakly, her body still humming.
"Join the club, darling"
She turned her head, her gaze landing on Hemant, now kneeling between Kiara’s splayed legs, his mouth glistening. Her eyes, dark with renewed hunger, traveled down his body. Alia breathed, her grin returning, full of promise. The silence that followed Kiara’s breathless confession was soft, filled with the hum of afterglow. She shifted, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks as she looked from Hemant to Pranitha.
"I… I’m not on the safest day for it" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I can’t do penetrative sex tonight. Not… not the risky kind"
Her doe eyes flickered with a mix of disappointment and genuine sorrow.
"It feels unfair. To him, and to me. I want… more"
Hemant, still kneeling on the bed, felt a surge of protective warmth. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead.
"It’s okay, Kiara. There are no rules here except pleasure"
It was then that he moved to sit back on his heels, and as he did, the full, rigid length of his arousal was unveiled, standing thick and proud against his abdomen. A collective, sharp intake of breath filled the room.
Alia’s eyes, already dark with hunger, widened. A slow, predatory grin spread across her face. "Well, hello" she purred, her gaze locked on him.
"I’m calling dibs on the real thing. No offense, darling" she added, nodding to Pranitha.
Pranitha simply chuckled, already sliding off the bed.
"None taken. I have other plans"
She moved to a sleek, expensive-looking overnight case, retrieving a harness and a sizable, realistic dildo made of deep, flesh-toned silicone. She began strapping it on with practiced ease.
"Kiara, my sweet, you may not get the real meat tonight, but I promise you’ll feel filled"
Kiara watched, a new kind of nervous excitement replacing her shyness as Pranitha approached, the strap-on swaying with each step.
"Just… gentle, please? I like it slow"
"Of course"
Pranitha whispered, kneeling between Kiara’s freshly splayed thighs. She guided the silicone tip, slick with a dab of lube from the nightstand, to Kiara’s entrance.
"Just relax. Tell me what feels good"
As Pranitha began to press forward, a low, trembling moan escaped Kiara’s lips. The sound was soft at first, then grew, blooming into the room as Pranitha slowly, inch by exquisite inch, sheathed herself inside the actress.
"Ohhh… oh, Pranitha…"
The moans were soon joined by a different, more urgent sound: Hemant’s low, ragged grunts.
Alia hadn’t waited. She’d crawled to him, her small hands wrapping around the base of his shaft, her eyes locked on his as she took him into her mouth. She was, as her reputation might suggest, an artist. There was no tentative exploration. She took him deep, her throat relaxing in a way that made his vision blur, then pulled back, her tongue swirling around the crown in tight, torturous circles before diving down again. She used her hands in tandem, twisting and stroking what her mouth couldn’t take. It was a symphony of sensation—wet, warm, and unbearably skilled.
Hemant’s hips jerked involuntarily. He could feel the explosive pressure building at the base of his spine, far too quickly. She’s going to make me come just like this. With a groan of effort, he tangled his hands in her dark hair and gently but firmly pulled her off. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to his glistening tip.
"Hey, I wasn’t done—" Alia looked up, her expression one of mock indignation.
He didn’t let her finish. In one fluid motion, he pushed her onto her back, her body sinking into the mattress. He loomed over her, lining the broad, leaking head of his cock against her soaked folds. He rubbed it through her slickness, teasing her entrance, feeling her body tremble beneath him.
"Don’t… don’t tease m—" Alia squirmed, a frustrated growl in her throat.
He didn’t.
He pushed forward, not with a slow entry, but with one powerful, driving thrust that buried him to the hilt in one stroke.
"AAAAGHHHHH!"
Alia’s scream was one of pure, shocked sensation—a cry torn from her lungs at the sudden, complete fullness. Her back arched, her nails digging into his shoulders. For a moment, he stayed there, embedded fully, letting them both feel the incredible, clutching tightness of her. Then he began to move. Slow, deliberate pulls back, then pushes forward, each stroke a deep, measured conquest.
"Fuck… fuck" Alia panted, her head thrashing side to side. After a few of these deep, possessive thrusts, she managed to turn her head toward Pranitha, who was steadily rocking into a now-moaning Kiara.
"Ahh...ahhh...No wonder…ahaa… you fancy him…ahh...so much...mhmm..Pranitha!"
Pranitha, her own breathing labored, laughed.
"Don’t go easy on her, Hemant! Just like Ananya, she prefers her men to dominate her"
That was all the signal he needed.
The slow, steady pace began to quicken. The sound in the room changed. The wet, rhythmic slide of flesh against flesh grew louder, faster. It was soon underscored by the sharp, percussive thwup… thwup… THWUP of his balls slapping against her ass with every deep drive. Alia’s moans escalated into continuous, ragged cries, each thrust punching the air from her lungs.
Kiara, lost in the sensation of Pranitha’s steady thrusts, was pulled from her haze by the sheer, visceral violence of the sound next to her. She turned her head, eyes wide, watching the powerful muscles in Hemant’s back and ass coil and release with animalistic grace. She was flabbergasted. He moves like a beast.
Her attention was brutally redirected when Pranitha, inspired by the sight, unconsciously picked up her own pace, thrusting harder into Kiara’s yielding body.
"Ah! Pranitha, slower" Kiara gasped, her hands coming up to press against Pranitha’s hips.
"Not… not so hard. Please"
Pranitha immediately softened her movements, returning to a gentle, deep rhythm, but her eyes remained fixed on her husband. He was glistening now, a sheen of sweat coating his powerful form. Droplets fell from his chin and chest, landing on Alia’s heaving breasts and flushed face, mingling with her own sweat. They were a mess of slick, straining bodies.
Eventually, with a guttural sound, Hemant rolled onto his back, pulling Alia with him so she now straddled his hips.
"Your turn" he grunted.
Alia needed no further invitation. She rose on her knees, then sank down onto him with a force that made them both cry out. She set a furious, punishing pace, riding him with a wild abandon that made her dark hair fly around her shoulders. Sweat droplets flew from her skin, catching the low light like tiny diamonds.
"She’s… so wild" Kiara watched, stunned.
Pranitha, still moving gently inside her, nodded.
"That’s his specialty. It’s never just one person in control. For him, it’s mutual. A shared… fucking"
Alia, hearing them, threw her head back with a hoarse laugh.
"She’s… ah!… damn right! I’m the luckiest woman… oh god… on this planet right now!"
But her bravado was fading, her movements becoming more ragged, her powerful thighs trembling with strain. She was exhausted, dripping sweat, but utterly consumed. The climax, when it hit her, was cataclysmic. Her body locked, her back bowing in a sharp arc. A raw, shattered scream tore from her throat as she came, her inner muscles clamping down on Hemant’s cock in a series of vicious, milking pulses.
"FUCK! YES! YOU… ARE… SO… GOOD!"
She spasmed, her pussy gripping him like a vise, but Hemant wasn’t done. The feel of her climax triggered his own urgent need. In a swift motion, he flipped her onto her back again, returning to missionary. He didn’t slow. He pounded. Deep, hard, relentless strokes that hammered into her oversensitive core while she was still convulsing in the aftershocks.
Alia’s screams died into choked, silent gasps. Her eyes rolled back, her body jerking uncontrollably beneath his assault. She was being pushed past pleasure, into a realm of sheer, overwhelming sensory overload.
Kiara’s own release came then, a soft, trembling wave that made her cry out and cling to Pranitha, who held her through it, spent from her own efforts.
Hemant saw stars. The coiling pressure snapped. With a final, animalistic groan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted. His hips jerked forward in short, sharp pulses as he emptied himself inside her in thick, hot bursts. Alia’s body, already in a state of shocked bliss, could only take it. Her eyes were shut, her mouth slack. Not a sound emerged.
He collapsed on top of her, both of them slick and heaving. A moment of heavy silence passed.
Pranitha, disentangling herself from a blissful Kiara, peered over. Alia was utterly still, her breathing deep and even.
"Is she…?" Kiara whispered, worried.
Pranitha leaned closer, then giggled, a sound of pure delight.
"She’s fine. Look at her. Hemant didn’t just fuck her. He fucked the soul right out of her body. She’s just…..enjoying the bliss of that powerfully satisfying sex!!"
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
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