Fantasy Priya's Designs

[Rabbitshru]

The site was nearly empty now. Only a single security light burned near the entrance. She took the lift alone this time, heart hammering. When the doors opened on twelve, Vikram was waiting in the open doorway of the model apartment. The space behind him was dark except for the spill of city light through the unglazed windows.
He didn’t speak. He simply stepped aside to let her in, then closed the door behind them. The click of the latch sounded final.
Priya turned to face him, anger and need twisting her voice. “What the fuck was that in the lift?”
Vikram moved in until her back met the cool concrete wall. One hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip.
“You didn’t stop me,” he said. “You stood there and let my cock press against your ass while another man was two feet away. And now you’re wet enough to soak your panties. I can smell it on you.”
She should have pushed him away. Instead her hands fisted in his shirt.
He kissed her then — hard, claiming, no hesitation. His tongue pushed into her mouth as his other hand yanked her kurti up and found her breast, squeezing roughly through the bra. She moaned into his kiss, the sound shameful and needy. He broke away only to pull the kurti over her head and toss it aside, then unhooked her bra with practiced efficiency. Her breasts spilled free into the warm night air. He bent and sucked one nipple hard, teeth grazing, while his hand shoved down the front of her pants again.
Two thick fingers pushed straight into her cunt. She was dripping. The wet sound was obscene in the empty concrete space.
“Fuck— Vikram—”
“Quiet,” he growled against her breast. “Or someone might hear. Wouldn’t want that, would you?”
He fucked her with his fingers, fast and deep, thumb grinding her clit until her knees buckled. She came again, harder than in the car, biting his shoulder to muffle the cry. Her body shook against the wall.
He didn’t give her time to recover. He turned her around, pressed her front against the cool concrete, and yanked her pants and panties down to her thighs. She heard his belt, the rasp of his zipper. Then the hot, heavy weight of his cock slid between her ass cheeks before he angled down and pushed into her cunt in one long, relentless thrust.
Priya gasped, forehead pressed to the wall. He was thick, stretching her in a way Rahul never had. He bottomed out and held there, letting her feel every inch.
“This is what you owe me,” he said, voice rough in her ear. “For saving your reputation. For keeping your little mistake from your husband.” He pulled back and thrust hard. “Say thank you.”
She shook her head, pride and lust fighting. He fucked her harder, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
“Say it.”
“Thank you,” she gasped, the words torn out of her as he drove into her. “Fuck— thank you for fixing it—”
He groaned, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the open space. Anyone walking the corridor outside could have heard. The risk made her clench tighter around him. He reached around and rubbed her clit again, and she came a third time, legs giving out, only his body pinning her to the wall keeping her upright.
Vikram followed seconds later, burying himself deep and pulsing hot inside her. She felt every spurt, the obscene fullness of it.
For a long moment they stayed like that, breathing hard. Then he pulled out slowly. She felt his cum begin to trickle down her thigh. He turned her around, kissed her again — slower this time, almost tender — and tucked himself away.
“Clean yourself up,” he said quietly. “Then go home to Rahul. Tell him the meeting ran long. And remember — this stays between us. The mistake. And this.”
Priya pulled her clothes back on with shaking hands. Her thighs were sticky. Her cunt still throbbed. She looked at him in the half-light — older, powerful, completely in control — and felt something shift inside her chest. Not just lust. Something darker and more dangerous.
She had begged him once tonight.
She had a feeling she would beg him again.
And somewhere beneath the guilt and the fear, a new, electric certainty was already forming: she didn’t want this to stop.