Incest Little sis Anjali and her friends

[prasannas2001]

 
He brought her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers, and gently kissed her knuckles.
 
It was a courtly, old-world gesture, but it burned with a modern, undeniable heat.
 
Mamta let out a soft gasp, her eyes fluttering closed. It had been so long since a man had touched her with such reverence, such desire.
 
Her husband's touches were perfunctory, familiar.
 
This was fire.
 
This was a spark threatening to ignite a decade's worth of dry tinder.
 
"Rohan," she breathed, his name a plea and a surrender all at once.
 
"Tell me to stop, Mamta," he murmured, his face now just inches from hers, his breath warm on her lips. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will.
 
I'll walk out that door and never bother you again."
 
She couldn't. She couldn't form the words.
 
She could only shake her head, a silent, desperate admission of her own longing.
 
That was all he needed. He closed the remaining distance and kissed her.
 
It wasn't a kiss of a boy. It was the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted.
 
It was slow and deep and impossibly tender, yet filled with an undercurrent of barely restrained passion.
 
He wasn't claiming her mouth; he was worshipping it.
 
He kissed her with a skill and sensitivity that left her breathless, her mind reeling.
 
Her body, which had been dormant for so long, responded with a ferocity that shocked her.
 
Her other hand came up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
 
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their faces flushed.