Adultery My Fiancee's Happiness

[sakurasan]

Chapter 9 Bait

Isha looked at the chat again. Kunal had called her beautiful. She grinned, wicked with it, and rang Rohan. He answered.

“Awake, my love?” she said.

He was surprised she had said love.

“Very well awake, my bride.”

She laughed, pleased.

“You caught my mood,” she said. “Kunal is ready to plan our pre-wedding.”

He smiled. Kunal was starting what they had agreed last night. His stomach flipped.

“That is good,” he said. “What are the details.”

“The café. Eleven. We meet him there.”

“I will be on time to pick you up.”

At the café they sat in their usual corner.

Kunal came through the door with an iPad Pro in one hand. He sat on her side and shoved her along with his hip. She made room after she was already against him. He put his arm along the seat behind her and drew her in, then woke the iPad between them.

“I picked places you might like,” he said. “Why don’t you shortlist.”

She took it in one hand and scrolled.

Rohan watched from across the table. She was tucked into Kunal’s side, his arm around her, their heads together on the screen. Rohan’s cock went hard.

Kunal took the finger she was using and scrolled on, his mouth near her hair.

She stopped on one and turned the iPad toward Rohan.

“Do you like this one? I want something we can put on the screens in the wedding hall.”

“Yes,” Rohan said.

She went for another. Kunal’s hand came down over hers on the iPad and flicked the folder away, then tried to turn the screen toward Rohan himself. She held on. They had the tablet together over the table, twisting it between their palms, her fingers sliding under his as she pulled it back. The pictures kept moving. From across the table Rohan could see their hands rubbing on the glass more than he could see what was on it.

“This one,” she said, still fighting the angle. “Rohan?”

“Not that,” Kunal said. He turned the iPad in her grip, his knuckles running over hers. “This.”

Rohan’s eyes stayed on their hands.

“Yes,” he said.

She knew he meant her. Kunal tried once more, same tangle, same heat of his palm on hers. She asked again. Rohan said yes again, still watching the hands.

Kunal’s hand left the fight.

“Yours,” he said. Rohan had sided with her. He had no choice.

He pulled her in until her ear was at his mouth. His palm covered his lips so the words stayed in her hair. His breath was warm. His thigh was still on hers.

“How about the dresses,” he whispered. “The cocktail ones. The bride in the pictures I sent you.”

Her face went hot. Rohan only saw Kunal’s hand at her ear and the colour climb her throat. Kunal watched Rohan’s face over her hair. If Rohan was going to pull her back to his side, it would be now. Rohan only watched her blush. His cock got harder.

“I am doing only sarees,” Isha said, loud enough for the table.

“Then sarees,” Kunal said. His arm was still around her. “Bride and groom. Different traditions, different days. I will tell you. He wears what matches.”

“Tell us,” Rohan said. “We will wear it.”

Kunal stood. His hip left hers last.

“Come. We pick them today.”

He took them to a big boutique. The sales manager reached him before he had crossed the floor.

“Kunal. Your usual?”

“Pre-wedding. Sarees. Groom matching. She is the bride.”

The woman looked at Isha the way she looked at his other clients and was already moving. They took pieces off the racks. Isha lifted silk that hung heavy. Then designer sarees so thin the light came through her fingers. The sales manager turned a tag into the fold before anyone could read it, then did the same on the next. Kunal kept both kinds and sent the rest back. Rohan stood with his hands in his pockets and let Kunal make the call.

“You two change,” Kunal said. “I will tell you what stays.”

The fitting rooms were down a short hall, his door on one side, hers on the other. Rohan went in with an armful of groom clothes. He came out first. Her door was still shut.

Kunal looked him over once.

“Next one. You change.”

Rohan went back in and put on the next set. The cloth was thicker than his own shirts. He came out. Her door was still shut.

“Next one,” Kunal said, and put a sherwani in his hands.

Rohan went back in a third time. The inner piece caught. The hooks sat wrong and he had to start them again. The outer layer was stiff. When he got the last hook done, he opened his door a crack. She was at the mirror now, in silk, the pallu pinned across her chest, the blouse closed under it. Kunal was already with her. His fingers set the knot, spread the pallu, pinned it at her shoulder. Isha stood still and let him. In the mirror her face was flushed.

“See. That is the fall.”

Kunal’s hand rose and settled the pallu at her chest, on the cloth over her breast. Rohan stayed in the gap and watched until Kunal stepped back. Rohan’s cock was hard.

“These,” Kunal said. “Pack them.”

Rohan came out and looked at her.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said.

They kept going. Silk first, then the designer ones, and more groom sets. Kunal stood her at the mirror in front of Rohan now, that saree sitting low on her hip, fingers on her tummy, on the curve of her hip, spreading the pallu. Isha stood still. Rohan watched and stayed hard. Then Kunal turned and fixed Rohan’s collar, tugged the sherwani straight, closed a hook Rohan had missed. Isha saw that and told herself it was work. He did it to both of them.

He put her back at the mirror and his palm went under the pallu at her waist, on the knot. Her breath caught. He smiled at the mirror, not at Rohan.

“These,” Kunal said. “Pack them.”

Isha and Rohan went back to change into their own clothes. When they came out, Kunal was at the counter.

“It is paid.”

“I will pay,” Rohan said.

“Studio property.”

“Let the studio take it,” she said.

Rohan looked at her, then at Kunal, and let it go.

“This weekend,” Kunal said. “I will message the time.”

He went.

Rohan left her at her building and came home. Kunal shut the hall door. They looked at each other, and both of them smiled.

“I had my doubts about you,” Kunal said. “I thought you would chicken, seeing me so close to her.”

Rohan thought of the theatre, Kunal’s arm around her in the dark, and the two of them walking out still holding hands. That was why he had been composed today.

“Didn’t I say I am truly in it.”

Kunal looked at him, then went to his room.

In his head the saree was already off her and he was inside her, and his cock went hard in his trousers. He stayed with that thought.

Across town she lay in bed. Kunal’s fingers had teased her midriff while he helped her dress, and her pussy had tingled to every swipe. She called it imagination. If he had done anything bad, Rohan would not have watched. Kunal was a professional. She was not going to think like a naive village girl.

Then she put Rohan’s hands where Kunal’s had been and rubbed her pussy to him doing it in public, until her thighs shook and she came with her mouth shut.

---

The next day after lunch she was scrolling her phone when his message landed.

Kunal: Madam, are you free

Isha: Free now, sir. What is it.

Across town Kunal grinned at the sir. She had not let him have the last word.

Kunal: The blouses from yesterday. They need a proper fit before the weekend.

Isha: Okay, director.

Kunal: You are doing too much ?

Isha: You started it. What do you actually need.

Kunal: They have to sit on you. Not hang. I will take you to my tailor.

Isha: There is a good one downstairs in my building. We can go there.

His plan to take her out alone crumbled.

Kunal: Then good.

He was not one to fall. He started his next trick.

A set of files followed. A woman stood in a studio against an empty wall, in a blouse and nothing else, the pallu dropped in her lap. The cloth was a second skin. It held her breasts as if it was not there at all if not for the different color.

Isha: She looks so good. Have I seen her somewhere.

Kunal: Jewellery ad. The one in the theatre that day.

Isha: Oh. That one. Her eyes are a lot. She looks like she is going to eat you.

He had shot that set the morning after he had her. The girl had still been hungry for him. That was the look he wanted on the screen. Isha had seen it.

Kunal: She was a fond one. That is not why I sent it. You will look better than her. The blouse just has to sit like this.

She wanted the best pictures. She would do what he said for that.

Isha: I will get the blouse before the weekend. That look I do not think I can do.

Kunal: We will get there soon.

That evening Rohan picked her up. In the car she told him she had to see Savita. Kunal wanted the new blouses altered before the weekend. Rohan said yes. He was not following the tailor talk. He heard Kunal’s name. Then an unlikely thought came. What if she stopped loving him if Kunal kept coming closer. He wanted to hold her. Dropping her now would hurt.

He turned off the usual road.

“Where are we going.”

“You will see.”

He took her to a big park and walked her to a tree away from the path. He put his head in her lap and held her hips. She smiled, played with his hair, and talked about her day. He listened to her voice more than the words.

When it was dark he drove her home.

At the gate she said, “We are doing this every day, right.”

“Every day. I have no other place I want to be.”

Through the week Kunal kept sending more and more pre-wedding pictures, a lot every day. She reacted with a thumbs-up, a heart, a scared face, a thumbs-down. Hearts and thumbs-up were the poses she was ready for. He was already sending only his milder work. At the start she sent the scared face on many of them. Later in the week he watched similar ones turn into thumbs-up.

Saturday Rohan drove her out of the city.

“Where is Kunal.”

“Ahead of us. He left before sunrise.”

“Why. We are the ones getting photographed.”

“He takes men to set the lights and clear the place. Then he sends them off before the couple walks in.”

“He should do that for us also.”

“I told him. He said we are not some random booking. For us he stays and does extra.”

“So Kunal.”

The road thinned. An old temple sat off it, stone and weeds, no name board. Kunal was waiting beside a small caravan. He took them both in. At the back a cloth screen made a change room. In front of it, stools and a mirror for makeup. The costumes were already behind the screen.

“You first,” Kunal said.

Isha went in. Rohan and Kunal waited outside. When she came out she was in silk, pallu pinned, blouse closed. She sat at the mirror. Rohan went behind the screen.

Kunal stood over her with a small kit. He did her face. Then he put powder on her tummy, on her back, and along the line of her cleavage.

“This stops the shine,” he said. “Sweat will ruin the frame.”

She sat still and let him.

When Rohan came out, Kunal held up the brush.

“You too.”

“I will do it myself,” Rohan grinned. “Anyway, the eyes are going to be only on the bride.”

Kunal snorted and took them to the temple steps.

They stood in the doorway. He clicked. They moved to the broken wall, then the inner court. He came in close to her ear, close enough that she felt his breath, and told her the correction. She moved Rohan. Chin down. His hand on her waist. Pallu to the right, kept on her.

They went back to the caravan and she changed. Another silk. Then a third. Makeup quicker. Steps, a stone trough, the same ear, the same way she told Rohan where to stand. By late morning the stone was hot. Rohan drove her home. Kunal stayed with the caravan.

Sunday they shot at Aga Khan Palace, lawns still wet from the night rain. She came out of the caravan in the diamond-studded sheer bridal saree from the boutique. Rohan was still changing.

Kunal drew the pallu until it covered only one side of her blouse.

“The blouse has so much work. It is a crime if you do not show it.”

She looked down. One cup sat in the open. She stood still and let him.

He took a small roll from the bag. The tape was clear. He peeled a strip and both sides caught on his fingers.

“What is that.”

“Fashion tape. It holds. The pallu will not move.”

He pressed it to the blouse, then the pallu onto it. He pressed more under the saree, onto her skin. She felt the cool of it.

Rohan came out in a sherwani.

They shot on the wet lawn. He placed their hands and went back to the camera. The saree went thin in the light.

“This one I do not get,” Rohan said. “Show me.”

Kunal held her the way he meant, then put Rohan there and went back to the lens.

By late afternoon Rohan drove her home.

Tuesday evening they were on their bench under the big tree. Rohan slept in her lap. Her phone buzzed against her thigh. Kunal had sent the weekend pictures. She scrolled with one thumb and kept the other in Rohan’s hair.

Isha: You did it again. We look like we rule that palace.

Kunal: Perfect for a wedding hall.

Isha: You do not sound happy.

Kunal: They still do not have my signature. Anyone could have taken them.

She had an idea what he meant. She pushed that thought away and typed something safer.

Isha: You are being modest. You owned these. They are all yours.

Kunal: That is cute. You look at my work more than you admit. You know what is not there.

Isha: I agree. The others are more beautiful than ours.

Kunal: No. These are the beauty. The others are sexy. And that is still not what I meant. Do not go shy on me now. We are friends. Say the thing you are already thinking.

She opened the other couples and scrolled until she was sure. She still could not type it. She looked at Rohan asleep in her lap, and that made her brave.

Isha: Those girls’ boobs have eyes.

Kunal laughed at the phone. Boob eyes. She could not say nipples, and that shy little rename went straight to his cock.

Kunal: Eyes. I like that. Good catch. That signature of mine is missing. Or layered to hide.

A chill went through her. She wondered if she was ready for that.

Isha: That will be too bold for me.

Kunal: It is all right. You being comfortable in the pose is what matters.

She read it twice. He had let her off that easily.

Saturday Rohan could not take off. Sunday they drove to Sinhagad.

The caravan sat at the foothill, set the way it had been last weekend. Kunal waved them in. Isha went behind the screen and pulled it shut. She started to change, old blouse off, and his message came back as a thought. Her hands found the bra hooks and held. Fear rose in her chest. She took the bridal blouse and put it on over the bra, then came out.

Kunal looked at her. Something in his face dipped and then held still. She could not tell if he was disappointed or if she was inventing it.

They shot a quick set in the foothills. He put them closer than last week. She felt the heat of Rohan’s body against hers and Kunal’s eye on both of them, and it climbed through her as they held each frame.

Back in the caravan she changed alone. In the mirror her nipples stood hard under the blouse. She stared. That was what his other girls had. The look that made a picture stay. Her face went hot. She wanted hers to stay too.

She unhooked the bra and left it on the stool.

The next set Kunal had laid out was thin Japanese silk, blouse the same cloth. She put it on, pulled the pallu to cover only one side of the blouse, and stepped out as Rohan went in to change.

Kunal saw her nipples poking through at once. His face lit like a stadium bulb. That look made her feel special. She laughed, proud of what she had done. His eyes answered hers.

He took the foundation and worked it onto her skin in slow strokes. He had the pallu off her shoulder for it. She stood with her hands open, the cloth in one fist.

Rohan came out. Kunal’s face was close to her stomach. Her breasts pushed the thin blouse toward him as if they were an offering, rising and falling as she breathed. Rohan was too naive to notice the missing bra. The scene made his cock go hard. He mumbled an excuse and went outside fast so they would not see.

He waited by the caravan for more than half an hour before they came out.

Then they climbed. At first Rohan and Isha walked together, Kunal behind them for mid-hill frames. Higher up the path turned sharp. Rohan went ahead quick. On the hard steps Kunal had to lift her and hold her until she found her feet again.

At the top they shot against stone, sky, a broken wall, the drop. Whenever her nipples softened under the silk, Kunal said it in the open. “Your eyes are closing.”

The first time she stared. He put his palm flat on his own chest. She understood. The private joke alone pulled them hard again. When it did not, she turned her back, pinched them through the cloth when she was sure neither man could see, and faced the lens with them standing.

That night she lay in bed with the day still on her skin. Rohan saw none of it, she thought. He does not even know. Only Kunal and I do. The thought made her press her thighs together.

Sleep took her. In the dream Rohan came to touch her, the way he had on the other nights. The face stayed his. The touch did not. It felt different, naughty under a familiar smile. She looked down. The hands and body on her were Kunal’s, tattoos and all, and her pussy jerked.

Two days later Kunal called them to the café. Same corner. Same seats. He sat on her side again and drew her in. As they began to talk his hand found hers. Mild at first. Then his fingers locked through hers, firm, and she felt the strength in his grip.

“The clothes from the boutique are done,” Kunal said. “We need new ones.”

“New ones already,” Rohan said. “Those looked so expensive. You are spending like a madman.”

“Nonsense. I am doing what is needed. Nothing extravagant. A beauty like her deserves that much.”

“No. Give me the bills. I will pay them.”

“Nothing doing. You save for the wedding. This bill is not your worry.”

“At least cut down on what comes next.”

“Not possible. I only do the best job. If you feel bad, assume I am spending from your share of the studio.”

The men kept at it. Isha could hear every word, but her mind was elsewhere. What are these two thinking, she thought. I am a woman. I am sensitive. Kunal is holding me like I am another man in the room, skin on skin, and Rohan will not even glance at his fiancée stuck against someone else.

“Back me here,” Rohan said.

“Back me,” Kunal said, almost with him.

Both faces turned to her. Rohan looked sure she would speak for him.

“This is your problem,” she said.

She was looking at Rohan. His face went blank.

“Excuse me.”

“See. You take so much pleasure helping others. You never let anyone help you.”

“It is not like that.”

“You call Kunal family all the time. Then what is the real problem if he spends for us. Would you not do the same?”

“I would. But.”

“No buts. Give him the pleasure of helping you at least once.”

Rohan sat with his mouth open. The words would not come. She had nailed it.

Kunal’s face broke. Tears stood in his eyes. He pulled her into a hard hug and kept thanking her against her hair. She did not know what else to do, so she held him and murmured that it was all right.

Rohan saw the tears. He had never seen Kunal cry. This hug was not one of his tricks. It was real.