03-03-2026, 10:20 AM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
A few hours later, Pranitha’s hotel suite was wrapped in an eerie stillness.
Moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting pale silver lines across the floor. The room bore the quiet aftermath of passion—discarded fabrics dbangd over chairs, champagne glasses resting half-finished, the air heavy with perfume and warmth. On the king-sized bed and adjoining lounge couch, Pranitha, Alia, and Kiara slept in peaceful disarray, their breathing soft and untroubled.
Outside the hotel’s perimeter, two black vans idled in the shadows.
Inside, well-suited men adjusted silencers, checked magazines, and pulled gloves over steady hands. One of them dialed a secure number.
In the basement control room of his Ockenburgh villa, Hakim Khaled answered immediately. Multiple live feeds flickered before him as several of the men activated body cameras.
"We’re in position" one whispered.
Hakim leaned closer to the screen.
"The backdoor access is arranged. The manager has cleared the service corridor. You’ll reach their floor without disturbance"
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"According to inside scoop. There are four individuals in that suite" he added coldly.
"One man.....and three women!"
"Understood"
"No exceptions. Kill everyone" Hakim’s voice turned glacial.
The vans’ doors slid open silently. The men moved with disciplined precision through the hotel’s rear service entrance, guided by Hakim’s remote instructions. Within minutes, they reached the corridor outside the suite.
One assassin knelt, raising infrared goggles to his eyes.
He scanned the interior through thermal scope.
There was silence on the comm.
"Report" Hakim frowned.
"Three heat signatures" the man whispered.
"All stationary. Looks like… three women"
Hakim’s breath stalled.
"What?"
"No fourth signature. No male presence"
For a fraction of a second, the control room felt suffocating. Where was he? The lights in Hakim’s bunker flickered once. Then died. Darkness swallowed the room. Hakim grabbed his microphone, panic cracking through his composure.
"Status! Report from the perimeter!"
No response.
Outside his villa, his bodyguards stood frozen—MP5s raised but hands trembling. Because beyond the gates, a wall of headlights had ignited the night. Dozens of vehicles formed a tightening ring around the estate. Engines hummed low. Doors opened in synchronized motion. Triad soldiers stepped out in disciplined silence, their customized QSZ-92 pistols fitted with suppressors glinting under the beams. The bodyguards tried to lift their weapons—
But they never squeezed the triggers. Muffled bursts split the air in rapid succession. One by one, Hakim’s guards dropped before they could even shout. The villa’s grand entrance creaked open under the glow of headlights. A towering silhouette emerged from the blinding light. Black shirt. Black trousers. Gloves fitted tightly around steady hands.
Hemant.
No.
Michael King.
He walked forward without hurry, stepping over fallen bodies as if they were debris in his path. A faint wind stirred his shirt as he reached a corpse, bent down, and removed a keycard from the man’s waist.
Inside, the basement door stood sealed. Michael swiped the card. The lock beeped. The instant it clicked open, two grenades rolled across the floor. Hakim’s remaining gunmen shouted and scattered—but there was nowhere far enough. The explosion tore through the bunker. Concrete cracked. Monitors shattered. Flames and smoke filled the chamber. When Hakim regained partial consciousness, ears ringing and vision blurred, he saw shapes moving through haze.
Michael walked through the smoke carrying a hatchet. What followed was not a battle. It was a rampage. The surviving men barely lifted their weapons before the hatchet found them. Bone splintered. Steel bit deep. Efficiency replaced fury; each strike deliberate, each movement final. Then Michael stopped before Hakim. Hakim tried to crawl back, blood soaking through his suit.
"Wait—listen—we can negotiate. I’ll transfer everything. My businesses. Offshore accounts—"
Michael crouched slowly, eyes devoid of warmth.
"Rustom begged" he said quietly.
"He begged for his family"
Hakim’s lips trembled.
"You watched" Michael continued.
"You stood there in Azerbaijan and watched the Zarirs slaughter them"
The memory flashed in Hakim’s eyes. Michael rose.
"There was no mercy then"
The hatchet came down. Again. And again. Hakim’s screams echoed against shattered concrete, growing weaker with every blow until they dissolved into gurgled breaths and silence. Moments later, Sam Lin stepped through the smoke, surveying the carnage.
Hakim Khaled lay broken, bleeding out amid debris and bodies.
"Are you done?" The Redpole within the Triad faction asked calmly.
"One last thing" Michael wiped the blade clean against a fallen coat.
Minutes later, the villa’s rooftop chimney bore a grim silhouette under the night sky. Hakim, barely conscious, was bound upright—left to feel every agonizing second as life slipped from him. Below, Michael stood beside a burning trash can. He removed his gloves, tossed them into the flames, and watched as they curled and blackened. Another name crossed off. Another soul erased from existence. But as the fire crackled and sirens wailed faintly in the distance, Michael King’s expression remained unchanged.
Hakim was just the beginning.
And AZRAEL’s reckoning had only just begun.
BACK AT PRANITHA'S SUITE
The hallway outside the suite was silent when Hemant returned.
He moved with practiced quiet, keycard sliding into place without a sound. Inside, the room was dim—only a bedside lamp casting a soft amber glow. The faint scent of perfume and wine still lingered in the air. Pranitha, Alia, and Kiara were asleep again, tangled in sheets that carried the warmth of the night’s indulgence.
Hemant slipped toward the main bathroom without disturbing them.
He turned on the shower, letting the water run hot. Steam rose quickly, blurring the mirror. Under the cascade, he stood still for a moment, allowing the heat to wash away the smell of smoke, of gunpowder, of blood. His knuckles bore faint redness. His shoulders carried tension not from passion—but from violence.
The first name from the list erased. Hakim Khaled was gone. When he stepped out, towel wrapped low around his waist, he paused. Pranitha was standing near the doorway in a silk robe, arms folded, watching him.
“Where did you go?” she asked softly.
Her tone wasn’t accusatory. It was curious. Concerned. He offered a faint, composed smile.
"An old friend was passing through the city. Unexpectedly. I stepped out to meet him"
"At this hour?" she tilted her head.
"I didn’t want to wake you" he replied smoothly.
"You looked… too peaceful"
"Is that supposed to be charming?" Her lips curved slowly.
"It’s honest"
"You could’ve left a note" She stepped closer, eyes trailing over his damp skin.
"I wasn't gonna go out all night....planned to return without any of you noticing" he murmured.
Her gaze darkened—not with suspicion, but with desire.
"You thought I looked good asleep?"
"Very" he said quietly.
The robe slipped slightly off her shoulder as she closed the distance between them.
"You have a way of saying things that make it hard to stay annoyed"
His hand found her waist.
"Then don’t"
Whatever faint tension had existed dissolved instantly.
She pressed her lips to his—slow at first, testing, then deepening with renewed urgency. The kiss tasted of heat and possession, of unspoken questions left suspended in favor of sensation. Her fingers slid through his damp hair; his palms traced the curve of her back beneath silk.
They moved toward the bed without breaking contact.
The sheets welcomed them again, soft and warm, and their movements were less reckless than before—more assured, more knowing. It wasn’t novelty anymore. It was connection layered over desire.
A quiet murmur escaped her lips as she pulled him closer, the robe forgotten somewhere on the floor. He responded not with haste, but with deliberate intensity—like a man who knew how fragile peace could be and wanted to claim it while it existed.
Eventually, the room returned to stillness once more.
They lay intertwined beneath the covers, the faint rhythm of distant city traffic filtering through the window. Nearby, the other women remained asleep, unaware of the storm that had passed beyond hotel walls.
Pranitha rested her head against his chest, fingers lazily tracing circles against his skin.
"You disappear mysteriously" she whispered drowsily.
"And then you come back like this"
"Like what?"
"Like you belong nowhere else"
He didn’t answer. Because his mind had already drifted elsewhere. Hakim’s name was off the list. One thread of vengeance tied. But others remained—The rest of AZRAEL. And beyond revenge, there were other questions now.
How long could he keep these worlds separated? How long before Pranitha saw the man beneath the tailored suits? How long before Sonarika uncovered the truth about his past? Hemant stared at the ceiling in the dim light, feeling the warmth of Pranitha against him, the rare stillness of a moment untouched by chaos.
He had crossed the first name off. The hunt had begun. But for the first time in years, he also felt something else forming alongside vengeance—A future that was way different than he anticipated!
The deep, velvety silence of the hotel suite was broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of four exhausted bodies. A sliver of moonlight cut across the vast bed, illuminating a landscape of tangled limbs and discarded silk. Hemant stirred, a deep-seated ache of satisfaction in his muscles, but a new, familiar heat was already coiling low in his belly. The scent of sex and sweat was a potent perfume in the still air.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting. At the far edge of the king-sized expanse, he saw movement. Pranitha was propped up on an elbow, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder as she leaned over a sleeping Alia. Her mouth was latched onto one of Alia’s pert, dusky nipples, sucking gently but insistently. Alia, in her partial consciousness, let out a soft, dreamy moan, her back arching slightly off the mattress, offering her breast more fully.
A jolt of pure, electric arousal shot through Hemant. God, she’s insatiable. He was surprised by the immediacy of his own renewed hardness, pressing insistently against the sheets. He turned his head and found Kiara sleeping soundly beside him, her nude body a warm, smooth curve in the dim light. The sight of her, so vulnerable and beautiful, was irresistible. He shifted closer, the heat of her skin radiating against him. He began to grind his erection slowly against the swell of her buttock, the friction delicious through the thin layer of dried sweat on their skin. He relished the feel of her—the soft give of her flesh, the smoothness of her skin.
"Pranitha" Hemant whispered, his voice rough with sleep and desire.
"Let’s have sex. It’s not a safe night for Kiara, and I am a little horny…"
Pranitha detached from Alia’s nipple with a soft, wet pop. She glanced over, her eyes gleaming in the dark. She giggled, a low, husky sound.
"I’m a little occupied, babe. You’ll have to wait your turn"
She dipped her head again, her tongue swirling around Alia’s areola, eliciting another muffled groan. Hemant let out a frustrated sigh, his hips still moving in a slow, grinding rhythm against Kiara. A few minutes later, Pranitha looked up again, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"You know....there are other ways to have sex on unsafe days. Places that are… always safe"
She said, her voice a teasing sing-song,
"What do you mean?" Hemant paused, confused for a moment.
Pranitha chuckled softly, finally leaving Alia’s breast alone. She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist.
"I mean, there’s another place to stick that magnificent cock of yours in her"
She nodded toward the still-sleeping Kiara. The implication dawned on him.
"Anal? Has she… has she done it before?"
Pranitha’s grin was wide and knowing.
"Hemant, she’s a Bollywood actress. Of course she’s done it. The question is, will you be her costar tonight?"
The idea sent a fresh wave of heat through him. He turned his full attention to Kiara. His hands, which had been resting on her hip, slid around to cup her small, perfect breasts. He thumbed her nipples, feeling them pebble into hard points under his touch. He leaned down and took one into his mouth, sucking gently, then with more pressure.
Kiara stirred with a soft sigh, then a sharp intake of breath as pleasure pierced her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused for a second before focusing on him.
"H-Hemant?"
Her whisper woke Alia, who blinked and stretched, noticing Pranitha now positioned between her thighs, her mouth already descending.
"Next Round already?"
Alia mumbled, a smile in her voice, before Pranitha’s tongue silenced her with a low moan.
Pranitha, while eating Alia out, reached for her overnight case again. This time, she pulled out a different toy—a double-ended dildo, longer and more flexible than the strap-on. She coated each end with clear lubricant, her eyes locked on Hemant’s progress.
Hemant focused on Kiara. He kissed her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself and him.
"I am sorry Kiara" he murmured against her lips.
"But I am really horny"
Kiara’s expression grew pensive, even as her body responded to his touch. She broke the kiss, her voice small.
"I feel bad… that we couldn’t do it tonight.....its not just the unsafe days Hemant.....I’m actually scared. I saw how hard you fucked Alia. I felt the bed shake"
She shivered. Hemant cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.
"Look at me, Kiara. I won’t do anything you don’t want. Ever. Your comfort, your pleasure… that’s the only rule"
She searched his eyes, seeing only earnest honesty.
"I don’t mind the idea" she whispered.
"I’ve… enjoyed it before. But the fear of pain, and your….your size…"
"We’ll go as slow as you need" he promised, his voice a low rumble.
"I’ll make you feel every inch, and we stop the second you say"
The trust that blossomed in her doe eyes was breathtaking. She leaned in and kissed him, not with shyness, but with a sudden, passionate hunger that took him by surprise. Her tongue delved into his mouth, exploring, claiming. It was their first real kiss, and it was electric. He moaned into her, tasting her, savoring the softness of her lips.
When they parted, both were breathless. Without a word, Kiara gathered a mix of their saliva in her palm. She reached behind herself, her face flushing as she smeared the warm, slick fluid over the tight, pink pucker of her asshole. The contact made her shiver, a gasp escaping her.
Hemant positioned himself behind her, both on their sides in a spooning position. He guided his cock, rock-hard and throbbing, to her prepared entrance. The broad, spongy head pressed against her.
"Breathe out, Kiara" he whispered.
Kiara exhaled in a shaky gust, and he pushed forward, just an incremental fraction. Her body resisted, a ring of intense, hot pressure clenching around the tip. He held still, letting her adjust.
"Okay?" he breathed.
"Y-yesss...just slow" she gasped.
He obeyed, feeding himself into her millimeter by agonizing millimeter. The sensation was incredible—a tight, velvety, scorching heat that hugged his shaft in a vice-like embrace. He watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted in a silent ‘O’. He saw the moment the sharp edge of pain began to blur into a feeling of intense, overwhelming fullness.
"Oh… god…"
Kiara groaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as he finally, fully bottomed out inside her. She was stuffed, stretched to her limit, but the pain was already receding, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that bordered on pleasure. A single tear of intense sensation leaked from the corner of her eye.
Pranitha, now positioned with the double-ended dildo, had impaled herself on one end and was guiding the other into a moaning Alia. She saw Kiara’s tear and smiled.
"How does he feel, Kiara? all of him wrapped inside you?"
"The… the best feeling… ever" Kiara’s voice was a strangled moan.
Then Hemant began to move. This was a different Hemant. Gone was the dominant, pounding beast from hours before. His hips rolled with a tender, exquisite slowness. He withdrew almost completely, then slid back in with a gentle, rolling thrust that made Kiara whimper. He focused on the sensation—the incredible tightness, the way her body gradually began to accept him, to clench around him in a rhythm of its own.
Alia, getting fucked by Pranitha with the shared dildo, was stunned. She turned her head, watching the careful, loving rhythm of Hemant’s hips against Kiara’s backside.
"Fuck" Alia breathed, her own pleasure momentarily forgotten.
"Look at him. He’s… so different with her" She met Pranitha’s gaze.
"No wonder he’s your man. The control… the adaptability"
Pranitha, driving the dildo into Alia with rough, deep strokes, could only nod, her own breaths coming in sharp gasps. Their session was a contrast—a fierce, competitive pounding of plastic and flesh, their moans and screams filling the air.
Kiara’s sounds were different. Soft grunts, sharp intakes of breath, low moans that sometimes edged into a pained gasp. Every time she made that sound, Hemant would freeze, dial his movements back to near-stillness, whispering assurances against her neck until she relaxed and nodded for him to continue. She loved it. She loved the palpable care, the way her well-being was his paramount concern.
The slow, deep friction was building a fire in them both. Hemant could feel his climax approaching, a tight coil in his gut.
"Kiara… I’m going to cum" he grunted, his voice thick.
She turned her head, her eyes glazed with passion.
"Do it" she whispered, a fierce determination in her voice.
"Its in a safe space anyways....ahhh...do it!" she said with a slight mix of giggle and moan.
Her permission was the final release. He increased his pace, but only slightly—a firm, steady rhythm that pushed her towards her own peak. To their mutual shock, her orgasm crested with his. Her body clenched around his invading length in a series of violent, fluttering spasms as she cried out, a gush of her own fluids soaking the sheets beneath them. Hemant’s own release followed, a roaring tide of pleasure. He buried himself deep and pulsed, jet after hot, thick jet of cum flooding her rectum, marking her insides as his.
A minute later, with twin, screaming climaxes, Pranitha and Alia joined them, their shared orgasm making them both squirt messily onto the dildo and the already-soaked bed.
Pranitha collapsed, spent. She rolled onto her side, facing Hemant and Kiara. Kiara had shifted, now facing Hemant, snuggling into his chest as he held her close, his softening cock still nestled within her. He looked over Kiara’s head and met Pranitha’s eyes, giving her a slow, satisfied wink.
Pranitha’s gaze drifted lower, to where a thick, pearly trail of Hemant’s cum was already seeping out from between Kiara’s ass cheeks, tracing a path down her thigh. He really filled her, Pranitha thought with a thrill of vicarious pleasure.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
Moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting pale silver lines across the floor. The room bore the quiet aftermath of passion—discarded fabrics dbangd over chairs, champagne glasses resting half-finished, the air heavy with perfume and warmth. On the king-sized bed and adjoining lounge couch, Pranitha, Alia, and Kiara slept in peaceful disarray, their breathing soft and untroubled.
Outside the hotel’s perimeter, two black vans idled in the shadows.
Inside, well-suited men adjusted silencers, checked magazines, and pulled gloves over steady hands. One of them dialed a secure number.
In the basement control room of his Ockenburgh villa, Hakim Khaled answered immediately. Multiple live feeds flickered before him as several of the men activated body cameras.
"We’re in position" one whispered.
Hakim leaned closer to the screen.
"The backdoor access is arranged. The manager has cleared the service corridor. You’ll reach their floor without disturbance"
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"According to inside scoop. There are four individuals in that suite" he added coldly.
"One man.....and three women!"
"Understood"
"No exceptions. Kill everyone" Hakim’s voice turned glacial.
The vans’ doors slid open silently. The men moved with disciplined precision through the hotel’s rear service entrance, guided by Hakim’s remote instructions. Within minutes, they reached the corridor outside the suite.
One assassin knelt, raising infrared goggles to his eyes.
He scanned the interior through thermal scope.
There was silence on the comm.
"Report" Hakim frowned.
"Three heat signatures" the man whispered.
"All stationary. Looks like… three women"
Hakim’s breath stalled.
"What?"
"No fourth signature. No male presence"
For a fraction of a second, the control room felt suffocating. Where was he? The lights in Hakim’s bunker flickered once. Then died. Darkness swallowed the room. Hakim grabbed his microphone, panic cracking through his composure.
"Status! Report from the perimeter!"
No response.
Outside his villa, his bodyguards stood frozen—MP5s raised but hands trembling. Because beyond the gates, a wall of headlights had ignited the night. Dozens of vehicles formed a tightening ring around the estate. Engines hummed low. Doors opened in synchronized motion. Triad soldiers stepped out in disciplined silence, their customized QSZ-92 pistols fitted with suppressors glinting under the beams. The bodyguards tried to lift their weapons—
But they never squeezed the triggers. Muffled bursts split the air in rapid succession. One by one, Hakim’s guards dropped before they could even shout. The villa’s grand entrance creaked open under the glow of headlights. A towering silhouette emerged from the blinding light. Black shirt. Black trousers. Gloves fitted tightly around steady hands.
Hemant.
No.
Michael King.
He walked forward without hurry, stepping over fallen bodies as if they were debris in his path. A faint wind stirred his shirt as he reached a corpse, bent down, and removed a keycard from the man’s waist.
Inside, the basement door stood sealed. Michael swiped the card. The lock beeped. The instant it clicked open, two grenades rolled across the floor. Hakim’s remaining gunmen shouted and scattered—but there was nowhere far enough. The explosion tore through the bunker. Concrete cracked. Monitors shattered. Flames and smoke filled the chamber. When Hakim regained partial consciousness, ears ringing and vision blurred, he saw shapes moving through haze.
Michael walked through the smoke carrying a hatchet. What followed was not a battle. It was a rampage. The surviving men barely lifted their weapons before the hatchet found them. Bone splintered. Steel bit deep. Efficiency replaced fury; each strike deliberate, each movement final. Then Michael stopped before Hakim. Hakim tried to crawl back, blood soaking through his suit.
"Wait—listen—we can negotiate. I’ll transfer everything. My businesses. Offshore accounts—"
Michael crouched slowly, eyes devoid of warmth.
"Rustom begged" he said quietly.
"He begged for his family"
Hakim’s lips trembled.
"You watched" Michael continued.
"You stood there in Azerbaijan and watched the Zarirs slaughter them"
The memory flashed in Hakim’s eyes. Michael rose.
"There was no mercy then"
The hatchet came down. Again. And again. Hakim’s screams echoed against shattered concrete, growing weaker with every blow until they dissolved into gurgled breaths and silence. Moments later, Sam Lin stepped through the smoke, surveying the carnage.
Hakim Khaled lay broken, bleeding out amid debris and bodies.
"Are you done?" The Redpole within the Triad faction asked calmly.
"One last thing" Michael wiped the blade clean against a fallen coat.
Minutes later, the villa’s rooftop chimney bore a grim silhouette under the night sky. Hakim, barely conscious, was bound upright—left to feel every agonizing second as life slipped from him. Below, Michael stood beside a burning trash can. He removed his gloves, tossed them into the flames, and watched as they curled and blackened. Another name crossed off. Another soul erased from existence. But as the fire crackled and sirens wailed faintly in the distance, Michael King’s expression remained unchanged.
Hakim was just the beginning.
And AZRAEL’s reckoning had only just begun.
BACK AT PRANITHA'S SUITE
The hallway outside the suite was silent when Hemant returned.
He moved with practiced quiet, keycard sliding into place without a sound. Inside, the room was dim—only a bedside lamp casting a soft amber glow. The faint scent of perfume and wine still lingered in the air. Pranitha, Alia, and Kiara were asleep again, tangled in sheets that carried the warmth of the night’s indulgence.
Hemant slipped toward the main bathroom without disturbing them.
He turned on the shower, letting the water run hot. Steam rose quickly, blurring the mirror. Under the cascade, he stood still for a moment, allowing the heat to wash away the smell of smoke, of gunpowder, of blood. His knuckles bore faint redness. His shoulders carried tension not from passion—but from violence.
The first name from the list erased. Hakim Khaled was gone. When he stepped out, towel wrapped low around his waist, he paused. Pranitha was standing near the doorway in a silk robe, arms folded, watching him.
“Where did you go?” she asked softly.
Her tone wasn’t accusatory. It was curious. Concerned. He offered a faint, composed smile.
"An old friend was passing through the city. Unexpectedly. I stepped out to meet him"
"At this hour?" she tilted her head.
"I didn’t want to wake you" he replied smoothly.
"You looked… too peaceful"
"Is that supposed to be charming?" Her lips curved slowly.
"It’s honest"
"You could’ve left a note" She stepped closer, eyes trailing over his damp skin.
"I wasn't gonna go out all night....planned to return without any of you noticing" he murmured.
Her gaze darkened—not with suspicion, but with desire.
"You thought I looked good asleep?"
"Very" he said quietly.
The robe slipped slightly off her shoulder as she closed the distance between them.
"You have a way of saying things that make it hard to stay annoyed"
His hand found her waist.
"Then don’t"
Whatever faint tension had existed dissolved instantly.
She pressed her lips to his—slow at first, testing, then deepening with renewed urgency. The kiss tasted of heat and possession, of unspoken questions left suspended in favor of sensation. Her fingers slid through his damp hair; his palms traced the curve of her back beneath silk.
They moved toward the bed without breaking contact.
The sheets welcomed them again, soft and warm, and their movements were less reckless than before—more assured, more knowing. It wasn’t novelty anymore. It was connection layered over desire.
A quiet murmur escaped her lips as she pulled him closer, the robe forgotten somewhere on the floor. He responded not with haste, but with deliberate intensity—like a man who knew how fragile peace could be and wanted to claim it while it existed.
Eventually, the room returned to stillness once more.
They lay intertwined beneath the covers, the faint rhythm of distant city traffic filtering through the window. Nearby, the other women remained asleep, unaware of the storm that had passed beyond hotel walls.
Pranitha rested her head against his chest, fingers lazily tracing circles against his skin.
"You disappear mysteriously" she whispered drowsily.
"And then you come back like this"
"Like what?"
"Like you belong nowhere else"
He didn’t answer. Because his mind had already drifted elsewhere. Hakim’s name was off the list. One thread of vengeance tied. But others remained—The rest of AZRAEL. And beyond revenge, there were other questions now.
How long could he keep these worlds separated? How long before Pranitha saw the man beneath the tailored suits? How long before Sonarika uncovered the truth about his past? Hemant stared at the ceiling in the dim light, feeling the warmth of Pranitha against him, the rare stillness of a moment untouched by chaos.
He had crossed the first name off. The hunt had begun. But for the first time in years, he also felt something else forming alongside vengeance—A future that was way different than he anticipated!
The deep, velvety silence of the hotel suite was broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of four exhausted bodies. A sliver of moonlight cut across the vast bed, illuminating a landscape of tangled limbs and discarded silk. Hemant stirred, a deep-seated ache of satisfaction in his muscles, but a new, familiar heat was already coiling low in his belly. The scent of sex and sweat was a potent perfume in the still air.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting. At the far edge of the king-sized expanse, he saw movement. Pranitha was propped up on an elbow, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder as she leaned over a sleeping Alia. Her mouth was latched onto one of Alia’s pert, dusky nipples, sucking gently but insistently. Alia, in her partial consciousness, let out a soft, dreamy moan, her back arching slightly off the mattress, offering her breast more fully.
A jolt of pure, electric arousal shot through Hemant. God, she’s insatiable. He was surprised by the immediacy of his own renewed hardness, pressing insistently against the sheets. He turned his head and found Kiara sleeping soundly beside him, her nude body a warm, smooth curve in the dim light. The sight of her, so vulnerable and beautiful, was irresistible. He shifted closer, the heat of her skin radiating against him. He began to grind his erection slowly against the swell of her buttock, the friction delicious through the thin layer of dried sweat on their skin. He relished the feel of her—the soft give of her flesh, the smoothness of her skin.
"Pranitha" Hemant whispered, his voice rough with sleep and desire.
"Let’s have sex. It’s not a safe night for Kiara, and I am a little horny…"
Pranitha detached from Alia’s nipple with a soft, wet pop. She glanced over, her eyes gleaming in the dark. She giggled, a low, husky sound.
"I’m a little occupied, babe. You’ll have to wait your turn"
She dipped her head again, her tongue swirling around Alia’s areola, eliciting another muffled groan. Hemant let out a frustrated sigh, his hips still moving in a slow, grinding rhythm against Kiara. A few minutes later, Pranitha looked up again, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"You know....there are other ways to have sex on unsafe days. Places that are… always safe"
She said, her voice a teasing sing-song,
"What do you mean?" Hemant paused, confused for a moment.
Pranitha chuckled softly, finally leaving Alia’s breast alone. She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist.
"I mean, there’s another place to stick that magnificent cock of yours in her"
She nodded toward the still-sleeping Kiara. The implication dawned on him.
"Anal? Has she… has she done it before?"
Pranitha’s grin was wide and knowing.
"Hemant, she’s a Bollywood actress. Of course she’s done it. The question is, will you be her costar tonight?"
The idea sent a fresh wave of heat through him. He turned his full attention to Kiara. His hands, which had been resting on her hip, slid around to cup her small, perfect breasts. He thumbed her nipples, feeling them pebble into hard points under his touch. He leaned down and took one into his mouth, sucking gently, then with more pressure.
Kiara stirred with a soft sigh, then a sharp intake of breath as pleasure pierced her sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused for a second before focusing on him.
"H-Hemant?"
Her whisper woke Alia, who blinked and stretched, noticing Pranitha now positioned between her thighs, her mouth already descending.
"Next Round already?"
Alia mumbled, a smile in her voice, before Pranitha’s tongue silenced her with a low moan.
Pranitha, while eating Alia out, reached for her overnight case again. This time, she pulled out a different toy—a double-ended dildo, longer and more flexible than the strap-on. She coated each end with clear lubricant, her eyes locked on Hemant’s progress.
Hemant focused on Kiara. He kissed her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself and him.
"I am sorry Kiara" he murmured against her lips.
"But I am really horny"
Kiara’s expression grew pensive, even as her body responded to his touch. She broke the kiss, her voice small.
"I feel bad… that we couldn’t do it tonight.....its not just the unsafe days Hemant.....I’m actually scared. I saw how hard you fucked Alia. I felt the bed shake"
She shivered. Hemant cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.
"Look at me, Kiara. I won’t do anything you don’t want. Ever. Your comfort, your pleasure… that’s the only rule"
She searched his eyes, seeing only earnest honesty.
"I don’t mind the idea" she whispered.
"I’ve… enjoyed it before. But the fear of pain, and your….your size…"
"We’ll go as slow as you need" he promised, his voice a low rumble.
"I’ll make you feel every inch, and we stop the second you say"
The trust that blossomed in her doe eyes was breathtaking. She leaned in and kissed him, not with shyness, but with a sudden, passionate hunger that took him by surprise. Her tongue delved into his mouth, exploring, claiming. It was their first real kiss, and it was electric. He moaned into her, tasting her, savoring the softness of her lips.
When they parted, both were breathless. Without a word, Kiara gathered a mix of their saliva in her palm. She reached behind herself, her face flushing as she smeared the warm, slick fluid over the tight, pink pucker of her asshole. The contact made her shiver, a gasp escaping her.
Hemant positioned himself behind her, both on their sides in a spooning position. He guided his cock, rock-hard and throbbing, to her prepared entrance. The broad, spongy head pressed against her.
"Breathe out, Kiara" he whispered.
Kiara exhaled in a shaky gust, and he pushed forward, just an incremental fraction. Her body resisted, a ring of intense, hot pressure clenching around the tip. He held still, letting her adjust.
"Okay?" he breathed.
"Y-yesss...just slow" she gasped.
He obeyed, feeding himself into her millimeter by agonizing millimeter. The sensation was incredible—a tight, velvety, scorching heat that hugged his shaft in a vice-like embrace. He watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parted in a silent ‘O’. He saw the moment the sharp edge of pain began to blur into a feeling of intense, overwhelming fullness.
"Oh… god…"
Kiara groaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as he finally, fully bottomed out inside her. She was stuffed, stretched to her limit, but the pain was already receding, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that bordered on pleasure. A single tear of intense sensation leaked from the corner of her eye.
Pranitha, now positioned with the double-ended dildo, had impaled herself on one end and was guiding the other into a moaning Alia. She saw Kiara’s tear and smiled.
"How does he feel, Kiara? all of him wrapped inside you?"
"The… the best feeling… ever" Kiara’s voice was a strangled moan.
Then Hemant began to move. This was a different Hemant. Gone was the dominant, pounding beast from hours before. His hips rolled with a tender, exquisite slowness. He withdrew almost completely, then slid back in with a gentle, rolling thrust that made Kiara whimper. He focused on the sensation—the incredible tightness, the way her body gradually began to accept him, to clench around him in a rhythm of its own.
Alia, getting fucked by Pranitha with the shared dildo, was stunned. She turned her head, watching the careful, loving rhythm of Hemant’s hips against Kiara’s backside.
"Fuck" Alia breathed, her own pleasure momentarily forgotten.
"Look at him. He’s… so different with her" She met Pranitha’s gaze.
"No wonder he’s your man. The control… the adaptability"
Pranitha, driving the dildo into Alia with rough, deep strokes, could only nod, her own breaths coming in sharp gasps. Their session was a contrast—a fierce, competitive pounding of plastic and flesh, their moans and screams filling the air.
Kiara’s sounds were different. Soft grunts, sharp intakes of breath, low moans that sometimes edged into a pained gasp. Every time she made that sound, Hemant would freeze, dial his movements back to near-stillness, whispering assurances against her neck until she relaxed and nodded for him to continue. She loved it. She loved the palpable care, the way her well-being was his paramount concern.
The slow, deep friction was building a fire in them both. Hemant could feel his climax approaching, a tight coil in his gut.
"Kiara… I’m going to cum" he grunted, his voice thick.
She turned her head, her eyes glazed with passion.
"Do it" she whispered, a fierce determination in her voice.
"Its in a safe space anyways....ahhh...do it!" she said with a slight mix of giggle and moan.
Her permission was the final release. He increased his pace, but only slightly—a firm, steady rhythm that pushed her towards her own peak. To their mutual shock, her orgasm crested with his. Her body clenched around his invading length in a series of violent, fluttering spasms as she cried out, a gush of her own fluids soaking the sheets beneath them. Hemant’s own release followed, a roaring tide of pleasure. He buried himself deep and pulsed, jet after hot, thick jet of cum flooding her rectum, marking her insides as his.
A minute later, with twin, screaming climaxes, Pranitha and Alia joined them, their shared orgasm making them both squirt messily onto the dildo and the already-soaked bed.
Pranitha collapsed, spent. She rolled onto her side, facing Hemant and Kiara. Kiara had shifted, now facing Hemant, snuggling into his chest as he held her close, his softening cock still nestled within her. He looked over Kiara’s head and met Pranitha’s eyes, giving her a slow, satisfied wink.
Pranitha’s gaze drifted lower, to where a thick, pearly trail of Hemant’s cum was already seeping out from between Kiara’s ass cheeks, tracing a path down her thigh. He really filled her, Pranitha thought with a thrill of vicarious pleasure.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
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