6 hours ago
Chapter 17 – Five Kilometres Away [SAM POV]
Five kilometres from the apartment where Tara still lay awake, Sam Arya sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, cock half-hard against his thigh, mind replaying the night in slow, frustrated loops.
He could not sleep.
Not after coming that close.
Two weeks. That was all it had taken for the woman he had wanted to fuck for years to suddenly open the door herself.
He had watched Tara for a long time. Longer than he liked to admit. That face alone was enough — sharp, clean, unfairly beautiful. The kind of face that made a man hard just from standing near her in a meeting. Her body was quieter but no less dangerous: soft breasts that moved under her kurtas, a narrow waist, hips that filled her sarees in a way that stayed in a man’s mind long after she walked past. He had jerked off to the memory of her more times than he could count. Especially after the lift.
That evening months ago the crowd had pushed him forward. For a few long seconds his chest had crushed against her tits. He felt the soft give of them, the warmth of her body, the exact shape of her nipples through the thin fabric. He could have stepped back. He had not. He had stayed, letting the pressure continue until the doors opened. She had gone quiet after that day. Stopped unnecessary conversation. He had thought the chance was dead.
He was not desperate. His wife and kids lived in another state. Loneliness was real, but he had other women when he needed them — careful, hotel-room affairs that never reached his real life. He was a family man. He did not risk everything for ordinary sex. But Tara was different. She was the hard-to-get kind. The kind that made the hunger sharper. Taking a woman who had kept every door shut for years felt like a real conquest.
But it happened like a miracle one day, two weeks back, its an approach from Tara.
he had walked into his cabin with a tablet and a soft question about a new design application. She sat closer than necessary. Her knee almost touched his. He showed her the shortcuts. She listened. When she left she smiled at him in the corridor the next morning. Then the morning after that. The smiles were small, almost private. They felt like invitations he had not earned.
He did not trust invitations that arrived too easily.
He tested her. When she asked him to accompany her to a financier — a story that already smelled wrong — he said yes, only to watch her face. The meeting never happened. Instead she suggested coffee “to thank him properly.” The first coffee was formal. The second was less so. By the fourth evening it had become routine: she finished her work, he finished his, they left the building together, and the café table was already waiting. No one asked for the routine. It simply existed.
He did not trust how fast it moved. A woman like Tara did not suddenly start inviting a married colleague into her evenings without a reason. So he watched. He waited. He kept his hands to himself and let her make the next move.
Then came the birthday.
She called him at midnight. Her voice was warm, almost playful.
“You’re soon going to get what you’ve wished for a long time.”
He knew exactly what he had wished for.
Her under him. Legs open. That perfect face twisted while he fucked her.
When she asked that morning if he was going home for the birthday, he told her the truth: no. His family was away. That is when she invited him home for dinner. He said yes without hesitation.
In the car that evening, with her sitting beside him in a cream saree that moved every time the vehicle turned, the decision formed cleanly. He stopped at a medical shop under the excuse of buying medicine. Inside he took one single pack from a box of three, slid it into the front pocket of his jeans, and left the rest on the counter. Just in case luck decided to favour him.
The apartment was quiet when they arrived. No second pair of shoes at the door. No male voice. She went straight to the kitchen, already prepared — ready mixes, chicken bought on the way, rice steaming. He asked about her husband. She answered lightly that Jeeva would come soon, that he was delayed at the office. The words sat between them like a clock.
Hours passed. The food was ready. Still no husband.
Sam ate slowly, watching her. Around 8:15 she checked her phone. That was when the idea hit him clean and hard. He reached for the hot-water jug, pretended to be careless, and let it tip. Hot water splashed across the table, across the front of her saree, across his shirt. Steam rose. The wet fabric clung to her blouse, outlining her breasts clearly, the dark line of cleavage visible where the saree had shifted.
His intent was simple use this scenaior, appear half naked before her, use this and make a move.
She jumped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s too hot. I wasn’t careful.”
She looked down at herself. Then at him, “You should dry yourself. That’s the bedroom. I’ll bring a towel.”
Sam expected exactly the same
He went in and closed the door. He stripped off the wet shirt and hung it on the chair. When she returned with the towel she stopped for half a second at the sight of his bare chest. He took the towel. Their fingers touched. She left.
He waited.
He removed his jeans as well. The condom pack fallen when the jeans came off; he did'nt see it yet. He stood there in only his briefs, cock already thickening from the possibility. He wanted her to come back. He wanted the door to open while he was like this. He wanted to see her face when she realised he was ready to fuck her right there on her marital bed if she gave the smallest sign.
Instead her voice came through the wood, raised and urgent.
“Sam — my husband will take five minutes to arrive. He always has the habit of taking a bath the moment he comes in. Don’t take too much time. Sorry.”
The words killed the moment cold.
He stood frozen, cock still half-hard, anger rising sharp in his chest. She had known exactly how close he was. She had shut it down deliberately. He dressed quickly. When he picked up the jeans the pocket was empty. The condom was gone — somewhere on the floor, under the bed, against the wall. He had no time to search. A soft knock sounded. He opened the door with his face controlled.
Outside, Tara had already shifted every vessel to one side of the table. The chairs stood at odd angles. The air still smelled of spice and hot water.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “I’m sorry for the mess.”
He let his eyes drop once more to the wet front of her saree, to the clear shape of her breasts. She noticed. She immediately adjust the fabric.
“Goodbye, Sam. Sorry I could not treat you well. It’s all messy.”
“I have equal share in that,” he answered. Then he left telling dry yourself, dont catch cold.
In the car he sat for a full minute before starting the engine. The missing condom bothered him less than the speed with which she had closed the door on him. She knew what he wanted. She had felt the intention the moment he spilled the water. If she found the condom later and said nothing, that silence itself would mean she was willing to keep the door open.
He drove home, showered, and lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, cock still restless.
She knows I came prepared to fuck her, he thought. And she didn’t ask about the condom. That means either she is pretending not to see… or she is ready to let it happen next time.
He closed his eyes, already deciding he would push harder.
Morning at Tara's house
Jeeva was still in the bathroom when she knelt beside the bed and reached under it. Her fingers closed around the small square packet. She quickly decided to placed that in the box she usually hold it, but she don't remember taking one out of it and keep it ready — a quiet contingency in case the experiment ever went further than planned. But the colour was wrong. Same brand, different shade, a faint printed flavour she had never bought.
She stared at it.
The house had been cleaned thoroughly the previous morning after Jeeva left early. No one else had entered the bedroom except Sam, for those few minutes while he dried his shirt.
Her eyebrow rose once, slowly.
So he had walked into her house with a condom in his pocket. He had come ready to fuck her on her own bed if the chance appeared.
The realisation did not shock her as much as it should have. It settled instead like a quiet confirmation. The experiment had selected the right man. She wanted. Tara has her own secret, she wanted a right man for her intent, not sex.
She pushed the foreign packet deeper under the bed, beside the one that belonged to her, and stood up before the bathroom door opened.
Both of them — five kilometres apart and in the same house — now knew exactly what the other intended.
The real test had only just begun.
Now Tara realise how dangerous the game is, she wanted to take control, before Sam smells it.
Five kilometres from the apartment where Tara still lay awake, Sam Arya sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, cock half-hard against his thigh, mind replaying the night in slow, frustrated loops.
He could not sleep.
Not after coming that close.
Two weeks. That was all it had taken for the woman he had wanted to fuck for years to suddenly open the door herself.
He had watched Tara for a long time. Longer than he liked to admit. That face alone was enough — sharp, clean, unfairly beautiful. The kind of face that made a man hard just from standing near her in a meeting. Her body was quieter but no less dangerous: soft breasts that moved under her kurtas, a narrow waist, hips that filled her sarees in a way that stayed in a man’s mind long after she walked past. He had jerked off to the memory of her more times than he could count. Especially after the lift.
That evening months ago the crowd had pushed him forward. For a few long seconds his chest had crushed against her tits. He felt the soft give of them, the warmth of her body, the exact shape of her nipples through the thin fabric. He could have stepped back. He had not. He had stayed, letting the pressure continue until the doors opened. She had gone quiet after that day. Stopped unnecessary conversation. He had thought the chance was dead.
He was not desperate. His wife and kids lived in another state. Loneliness was real, but he had other women when he needed them — careful, hotel-room affairs that never reached his real life. He was a family man. He did not risk everything for ordinary sex. But Tara was different. She was the hard-to-get kind. The kind that made the hunger sharper. Taking a woman who had kept every door shut for years felt like a real conquest.
But it happened like a miracle one day, two weeks back, its an approach from Tara.
he had walked into his cabin with a tablet and a soft question about a new design application. She sat closer than necessary. Her knee almost touched his. He showed her the shortcuts. She listened. When she left she smiled at him in the corridor the next morning. Then the morning after that. The smiles were small, almost private. They felt like invitations he had not earned.
He did not trust invitations that arrived too easily.
He tested her. When she asked him to accompany her to a financier — a story that already smelled wrong — he said yes, only to watch her face. The meeting never happened. Instead she suggested coffee “to thank him properly.” The first coffee was formal. The second was less so. By the fourth evening it had become routine: she finished her work, he finished his, they left the building together, and the café table was already waiting. No one asked for the routine. It simply existed.
He did not trust how fast it moved. A woman like Tara did not suddenly start inviting a married colleague into her evenings without a reason. So he watched. He waited. He kept his hands to himself and let her make the next move.
Then came the birthday.
She called him at midnight. Her voice was warm, almost playful.
“You’re soon going to get what you’ve wished for a long time.”
He knew exactly what he had wished for.
Her under him. Legs open. That perfect face twisted while he fucked her.
When she asked that morning if he was going home for the birthday, he told her the truth: no. His family was away. That is when she invited him home for dinner. He said yes without hesitation.
In the car that evening, with her sitting beside him in a cream saree that moved every time the vehicle turned, the decision formed cleanly. He stopped at a medical shop under the excuse of buying medicine. Inside he took one single pack from a box of three, slid it into the front pocket of his jeans, and left the rest on the counter. Just in case luck decided to favour him.
The apartment was quiet when they arrived. No second pair of shoes at the door. No male voice. She went straight to the kitchen, already prepared — ready mixes, chicken bought on the way, rice steaming. He asked about her husband. She answered lightly that Jeeva would come soon, that he was delayed at the office. The words sat between them like a clock.
Hours passed. The food was ready. Still no husband.
Sam ate slowly, watching her. Around 8:15 she checked her phone. That was when the idea hit him clean and hard. He reached for the hot-water jug, pretended to be careless, and let it tip. Hot water splashed across the table, across the front of her saree, across his shirt. Steam rose. The wet fabric clung to her blouse, outlining her breasts clearly, the dark line of cleavage visible where the saree had shifted.
His intent was simple use this scenaior, appear half naked before her, use this and make a move.
She jumped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s too hot. I wasn’t careful.”
She looked down at herself. Then at him, “You should dry yourself. That’s the bedroom. I’ll bring a towel.”
Sam expected exactly the same
He went in and closed the door. He stripped off the wet shirt and hung it on the chair. When she returned with the towel she stopped for half a second at the sight of his bare chest. He took the towel. Their fingers touched. She left.
He waited.
He removed his jeans as well. The condom pack fallen when the jeans came off; he did'nt see it yet. He stood there in only his briefs, cock already thickening from the possibility. He wanted her to come back. He wanted the door to open while he was like this. He wanted to see her face when she realised he was ready to fuck her right there on her marital bed if she gave the smallest sign.
Instead her voice came through the wood, raised and urgent.
“Sam — my husband will take five minutes to arrive. He always has the habit of taking a bath the moment he comes in. Don’t take too much time. Sorry.”
The words killed the moment cold.
He stood frozen, cock still half-hard, anger rising sharp in his chest. She had known exactly how close he was. She had shut it down deliberately. He dressed quickly. When he picked up the jeans the pocket was empty. The condom was gone — somewhere on the floor, under the bed, against the wall. He had no time to search. A soft knock sounded. He opened the door with his face controlled.
Outside, Tara had already shifted every vessel to one side of the table. The chairs stood at odd angles. The air still smelled of spice and hot water.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “I’m sorry for the mess.”
He let his eyes drop once more to the wet front of her saree, to the clear shape of her breasts. She noticed. She immediately adjust the fabric.
“Goodbye, Sam. Sorry I could not treat you well. It’s all messy.”
“I have equal share in that,” he answered. Then he left telling dry yourself, dont catch cold.
In the car he sat for a full minute before starting the engine. The missing condom bothered him less than the speed with which she had closed the door on him. She knew what he wanted. She had felt the intention the moment he spilled the water. If she found the condom later and said nothing, that silence itself would mean she was willing to keep the door open.
He drove home, showered, and lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, cock still restless.
She knows I came prepared to fuck her, he thought. And she didn’t ask about the condom. That means either she is pretending not to see… or she is ready to let it happen next time.
He closed his eyes, already deciding he would push harder.
Morning at Tara's house
Jeeva was still in the bathroom when she knelt beside the bed and reached under it. Her fingers closed around the small square packet. She quickly decided to placed that in the box she usually hold it, but she don't remember taking one out of it and keep it ready — a quiet contingency in case the experiment ever went further than planned. But the colour was wrong. Same brand, different shade, a faint printed flavour she had never bought.
She stared at it.
The house had been cleaned thoroughly the previous morning after Jeeva left early. No one else had entered the bedroom except Sam, for those few minutes while he dried his shirt.
Her eyebrow rose once, slowly.
So he had walked into her house with a condom in his pocket. He had come ready to fuck her on her own bed if the chance appeared.
The realisation did not shock her as much as it should have. It settled instead like a quiet confirmation. The experiment had selected the right man. She wanted. Tara has her own secret, she wanted a right man for her intent, not sex.
She pushed the foreign packet deeper under the bed, beside the one that belonged to her, and stood up before the bathroom door opened.
Both of them — five kilometres apart and in the same house — now knew exactly what the other intended.
The real test had only just begun.
Now Tara realise how dangerous the game is, she wanted to take control, before Sam smells it.
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