Misc. Erotica The Goddess (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

I did not step back.

Even with the clear suspicion in his eyes I took one more slow step closer, close enough now that the evening air between us felt thinner. My voice stayed soft, almost careful.
“I am not here to cause trouble, Arjun,” I said.
“I only thought you looked like you needed help finding them.”
His jaw remained tight. He did not move away, but he also did not relax. The black shorts sat low on his hips, and the slight thickness I had noticed earlier had not disappeared. If anything it had grown a little more defined while he kept looking at me.
I let my hand rise slowly and rest lightly against his forearm.
The moment my palm settled on him I felt the heat of his body and the way the hard line of his forearm tightened under my touch. A short, controlled breath left his nose. He looked down at my hand as if the contact itself was dangerous, yet he still did not pull away. The rough texture of his forearm under my fingers sent a quiet pulse of awareness through me. The unfinished ache between my legs answered it at once, low and heavy.
“You should go back to your village,” he said, his voice lower than before.
“This is not a place for you right now. I have work that cannot wait.”
I kept my fingers on his forearm and let my thumb move once, slowly, along the warm, hard surface. The small movement made his breathing change. I heard it. Guilt followed immediately — the memory of the promise I had made to the Goddess on the bus — but I did not remove my hand. The longer I stayed touching him, the more the restless heat in my pussy spread upward into my stomach.
“You are always in a hurry,” I said softly.
“Even when you used to wait for me on the river path, you still looked like a man who never had enough time. Maybe that is why you never asked me properly.”
The words landed. I saw it in the way his eyes narrowed and then dropped, just for a second, to my mouth and then to the place where my yellow saree pallu rested over my breasts. The thickness in his black shorts became clearer, heavier. He shifted his weight once, as if trying to ease the growing pressure of his cock without acknowledging it. The black cloth stretched a little tighter across the growing shape.
“Stop talking like that,” he muttered.
“I don’t have time for this. Muthu and Balu should have been back by now. The longer I stand here the more risk I take.”
I moved my hand from his forearm to his chest.
My palm settled against the hard, warm plane of his chest, directly over his heart. His chest was slightly damp from the earlier anger and the heat of the evening. Under my hand I felt how fast his heart was beating. The rhythm was too strong, too quick for anger alone. I left my hand there, feeling every heavy beat against my palm, while the same unfinished need that had followed me all day pulsed deeper between my thighs. My nipples had tightened inside the white bra; I could feel them pressing against the cups with every breath.

Arjun’s hand came up and closed around my wrist.
His grip was not gentle, but he did not push me away. He held my hand there against his chest, trapped between the urge to remove it and the stronger urge to keep it exactly where it was. His cock was visibly harder now, pushing thick and heavy against the front of the black shorts. The shape of it was clear. He was still trying to control his breathing, still trying to keep his mind on the Goddess idol locked inside the ambulance and the escape that was slipping later and later, but his body was answering me in the same honest way it always had on the river path.
“You think I don’t know what you are doing?” he said, his voice rough.
“You appear after my men vanish. You speak softly. You put your hand on me. You think I will forget what is waiting in that vehicle and follow you into the trees like a fool?”
I left my hand on his chest and looked up at him. The heat of his body under my palm, the hard length clearly outlined in his black shorts, the conflict in his eyes — all of it pressed against the guilt I carried and the restless, unsatisfied throb in my pussy at the same time.
“I am not asking you to forget anything,” I said quietly.
“I am only standing here. You are the one who has not told me to leave.”
For a long moment neither of us moved. The evening insects hummed around us. The ambulance sat silent behind him. His fingers remained closed around my wrist, and under my palm his heart continued to beat too fast. The suspicion was still there in his eyes, the urgency of the smuggled idol still pressed against his thoughts, but the years of wanting me were rising harder and harder against both of them.

I could feel the exact place where his control was beginning to thin — in the grip that would not release my wrist, in the thick shape straining against his black shorts, and in the way he had not yet stepped back.