Adultery My Fiancee's Happiness

[sakurasan]

Chapter 10 In the Air

Rohan and Isha sat alone.

“That was new,” Rohan said.

“That was intense,” she said.

Kunal came back freshened and took the same seat beside her.

“The past ten minutes never happened,” he said. “If I hear either of you bring it up again, I will kick his ass.”

“That is not fair,” Rohan said. “Why will you kick me if she brings it up.”

A shiver went through her at that. “Can you give him a kick right now.”

All three of them laughed.

“Anyway. I have designer friends in Mumbai,” Kunal said. “Your samples are already with them for size. Next set lands before the weekend.”

“Mumbaikar sarees. Hmm.”

“Not only sarees. Lehenga choli. Ghagra choli. Madisar. Anarkali. The lot.”

“But.”

“No buts. They are cousins of the saree only.”

“Isha, it is only for the pictures.”

She had no answer. The words would not come.

“Okay.”

Saturday morning the caravan stood in the Empress Garden parking lot. Rohan and Kunal waited at its door. Isha came out in a lehenga choli. The dupatta was thin and transparent, almost not there at all. Both men went still. Her hourglass hips showed clean through it.

Rohan went in and came out in a sherwani. Kunal went in after him and came out in one too.

“Director is also getting ready,” she said. “What is cooking today.”

“I am starring too,” Kunal said. “Wedding-hall boring is finished. This weekend we do the funny ones.”

“Nice. How exactly.”

“I make Rohan chase you. He is going to be on his knees a lot this weekend. I come in between you two, and he still has to win you.”

“Nice. A competition. I am loving it.”

All three of them laughed.

Both men let her walk two steps ahead. Neither could keep his eyes off the shake of her hips.

Inside the park Kunal stopped them in a stretch clear of people. He set the camera for the frame, then came back. The remote sat in his pocket.

“In this one I lift her and run,” he said. “Rohan chases with a rose. She tries to take it.”

They took their places. Kunal lifted her. Her belly rested on his shoulder. She leaned for the rose in Rohan’s hand. His two-day beard brushed her flank, and the lift held her there, and she went stiff under it.

After the take he showed them the frame. Rohan pointed at the screen.

“You always say I do not know how to pose. Now look who does not know.”

Isha shot back, “You are not wearing a lehenga.”

Kunal grinned. “I know the right treatment for this.”

He came in close and tickled her hips. She reached for Rohan. “Help.”

Rohan took her hands and held them out of the way. “Let him.”

Kunal tickled harder. She jerked and twisted like a fish out of water, laughing against her will, until the stiffness broke and her body went soft for the lens.

They shot through the morning.

After lunch they were back at the parking area by the caravan. She went in to change into the madisar. The cloth defeated her. She stood in blouse and petticoat, called Rohan through the screen, and asked him to help.

He looked at the folds and shook his head.

“I do not know this one.”

He called for Kunal.

Her face went sharp. Rohan read it. “He is a professional. Fixing the dress is part of his job.”

“Whatever. But you stay with me.”

Kunal stepped in. His look was flirty and quick. Her underbelly tingled before he touched her.

He took the saree and wrapped it around her. At each tuck into the petticoat his finger slid between her skin and her panties, deeper than the cloth needed. He worked that tuck around her whole waist. She almost wet her panties, her breath gone thin.

Rohan stood to the side in the groom set. He thanked the pheta that covered the hard line of his cock.

Sunday the caravan was back in the Empress Garden parking lot. Rohan and Isha went inside. Only one set of costumes waited. Kunal stood in a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts, already casual.

“Not starring today,” she said.

“Today’s theme,” Kunal said. “You two romancing. Forgetting the world in this park. My job is only behind the lens.”

Something warm moved through both of them. Every evening they already did that on a bench under a tree. This was the same thing, made into pictures.

Kunal saw the look they shared and left them a breath of it, then cut in.

“I need a lot of PDA. No shy stuff. Either of you.”

“Hmm,” Rohan said. “Lots of kisses then.”

She blushed. “Shh. Do not talk like that.”

“Okay. Get dressed quick. With these clouds I do not know how much light we have.” He stepped out.

Rohan’s clothes were easy. Hers was a mint-gold tissue embroidered stitched saree set, lace-strap sleeveless blouse. She went behind the curtain. He dressed fast at the mirror. She got the blouse on and stared at the rest. The stitched saree made no sense in her hands.

“I am ready,” Rohan said. “Do you need help.”

She knew he would be no use either.

“Call Kunal.”

“Right away.”

He went. Kunal came in with a grin.

“Man ready for the job.”

“Help me.”

He sorted the saree, held it open like a barrel, and nodded for her to step in. She moved. He stopped her.

“You cannot do this with a petticoat.”

A tremor went through her. She stood like a deer in headlights.

“Quick. We are losing light.”

She untied the knot. The petticoat fell. She stepped into the open cloth as fast as she could. He pulled it up and zipped her in. As he fixed the fall, her breasts rose and fell under the lace-strap blouse with no bra. He sat her facing the mirror and worked the makeup from behind her, the sky forgotten. She started to relax.

The shoot began. She and Rohan liplocked through frame after frame, at least twenty times that day. By the break he did not even want lunch. He had already taken so much of her mouth he felt full. All day she wore the look of a seductress. It sent a shiver through both men. Neither wanted to admit it.

That night she tossed and turned in bed. Standing in just her panties before Kunal flashed again and again. That had been the danger, she told herself. From that moment to now the heat had not left. Her pussy was still hungry. She wanted to book a cab, go to Rohan’s room, and ravage him where he slept.

At the same hour Kunal sat at his computer editing the day’s frames. She had shaken over dropping the petticoat. On the stool she breathed hard while he fixed her, breasts bouncing in that lace-strap top, and from his angle he had a clear look inside. He saw her nipples. His cock went huge. He turned her to the mirror and did the whole makeup from behind after that, her body hiding his crotch so she would not see it. His cock stood hard in his shorts again now. He stopped on a shot of her looking into the lens just after a kiss. The look was intense. He had seen that face on girls already deep in heat. He was on the right track. This was no longer help for Rohan. It had gone far past that. He wanted to bed that beauty. He decided to escalate.

Her phone lit while her thumb hung over the taxi app. A notification landed. She opened it. Files from Kunal. As they loaded, the previews looked like couples in a garden. She took them for today’s work. Then the first image opened full. A different couple. More forest than park. What caught her eye was the bare skin. They did not seem to be wearing anything.

He had sent implied nudes. A girl behind a tree, side silhouette with no cloth. A couple in a hug, objects placed to hide what mattered. More of the same.

She did not know how to answer. She dropped the phone and put both hands on her pussy, working her labia hard, rubbing until sleep took her without her noticing.

For now, blue ticks. He went to sleep happy.

The next day he toned it down. A couple on white sand, bikini bottoms only, the rest of them bare to the light. He sent the set and waited. Blue ticks. No reaction.

The afternoon after that her replies landed. Thumbs-down on every frame. Kunal grinned at the phone. She had not told him to stop sending. That was the first win. The thumbs-down was the second. He kept going.

Sunday he took them trekking above Kune Falls.

“Kunal, how much longer,” Rohan said.

“Don’t worry. Just one kilometre more.”

“What is today’s theme,” she said.

“You two are going to be acrobatic dancers.”

“Can we really pull that off.”

“We throw you in the air a couple of times,” Kunal said, grinning, “and it will come out fine. Trust your director.”

They reached an empty stretch with the upper falls in view and the stream running past.

“No caravan today,” she said.

“Not possible up here. See that small tent. I set it up for you.”

“Isha, you first,” Rohan said. “Kunal will take an hour on you anyway. I am dipping in the river.”

Kunal and Isha started toward the tent. Rohan went for the water.

Kunal’s hand settled on her back and drew her in close enough that only she heard.

“So. All thumbs-down.” He pulled a sad face.

“You are one big bad boy, aren’t you. Why send those to me.”

“Maybe.” He tipped his head, eyes on hers. “But aren’t they beautiful. You know how much thumbs-down hurts an artist. Especially from a girl who looks like you.”

“They were beautiful. I looked at them many times. But they are never for me.”

“Never say never.” Softer now. She drew breath to protest. “Don’t answer. We will not do anything you do not like. Come. Get dressed for today.”

She went into the tent. The costume was a thin white Bengali silk saree with a red border. The blouse was strapless, seashell cups in front, a scarf tie at the back.

She had sensed he would pull something like this after last week. She had come prepared: strapless bra, boyshorts underneath.

She put on the saree. She took off her own blouse. She could have tied the cups in front and turned the piece around herself. The pictures had worn down her resistance to showing him more skin. She wanted Kunal to come in and help her dress. She held the blouse to her chest and called out.

“Can you come in and help me.”

From the stream Rohan looked back. Kunal and Isha walked toward the tent like lovers, his hand on her back. Kunal was making progress. If Rohan kept giving them this privacy, maybe he would get the dream he had asked for: Isha satisfied. That was why he had always left them the caravan. Even today he had said Kunal would take an hour, a clue so Kunal would stay with her.

Now he saw her call him into the tent. Kunal went in. Rohan’s pulse kicked. His conscience knew Kunal would only help her dress. His head painted it differently. The tent walls went clear. Kunal was stripping her and taking her there. When he first asked Kunal, his mind had been only on her pleasure. Now, for a second, he wished he could really see them together. A voyeur’s need rose in him. He scolded himself for how uncivil the thought had become. Her pleasure was the point, not his eyes. He turned into the water and let them have the tent.

Inside the tent she stood with her back to the flap. Both hands held the seashell cups hard to her breasts, the pallu folded over them. She heard him come in.

“Knot them.”

Kunal sucked in a breath at the sight. The bare line of her back. The strapless bra. The saree already around her hips. He stepped in close and set his fingers at the bra clasp first. She had half expected that. The hooks opened. She let the bra fall, pulled it free from under the cups, and dropped it on the floor. His hands took the scarf ends at her back and drew the blouse tight until the cups sat firm on her. He tied the knot.

He turned her to face him. The pallu stayed in one of her hands.

He looked at her.

“Wrong wrap. You cannot dance in this.”

She put the pallu in his hand. He found the tucked end at her waist and pulled. The white cloth came free. She turned as he drew it, slow circle after slow circle, the red border sliding off her hips, her thighs, until the whole length was in his arms and her back was to him in the strapless blouse alone.

She stayed that way a second longer than she needed. She smiled to herself. Boyshorts, not panties like last week. From behind, they held her like skin, tucked into the crack of her ass. The cloth held every round with nothing left to guess. His cock went hard in his shorts.

He turned her to face him. Eyes on the saree in his hands, then on her.

He started at her waist. The first wrap went low and tight. His knuckles brushed her belly as he tucked the cloth under her waistband, finger to skin, and pulled until it bit. She drew a breath and stayed. He walked the tuck around her, palm sliding over her hip, the small of her back, the other hip, each press seating the cloth. Heat climbed through her. She turned when his hand asked her to turn.

He gathered the front into fan pleats, one fold at a time between her thighs. His fingers worked between her thighs, cloth warm against her pussy. She shifted her feet wider so he could set the fan clean. Her pussy pushed against the thin cloth as his knuckles passed. She let it. He locked the pleats at her waist with a hard tuck and his thumb stayed a beat too long on the soft skin above the waistband.

Another wrap went higher and tighter, cloth climbing her ribs. His hands smoothed it under her breasts, around her back, across her belly. Her nipples pressed the seashell cups. Her mouth stayed open. He lifted her arm for the pallu, ran it over her shoulder, fingers trailing the side of her breast as he set the fall. The wrap sat locked at the waist, fan clean in front, body free to be thrown and caught.

He stepped back once and looked at her.

“Now you can dance. Let’s go.”

“No makeup today?”

“Only natural,” he said. “Water will wash it off anyway.”

They came out of the tent sooner than Rohan had hoped. His face fell for a second. He left the stream and went in to change.

The shoot began at the edge of the water. Kunal wanted Rohan to throw her and catch her. Rohan froze with his hands on her waist.

“What if she breaks her leg.”

“We are standing in water,” Kunal said. “Worst case she gets wet.”

“How are you sure.”

Isha tipped her head at Kunal.

“You throw me. Let him learn.”

Kunal grinned and took her waist. He threw her. She left the water and came back into his hands, his grip hard on her hips, then her thighs, then the round of her ass as he set her down laughing. Rohan watched and still would not try the high throw. The rest of the day she posed more with Kunal than with him, lifts and catches with his hands learning the same places again and again for the lens.

On the ride home she still felt that grip on her hips, her thighs, her ass.

Monday a new file landed. A girl in a halter-neck top, back fully open. After a run of thumbs-down, the scared face came back.

Kunal: Want to try this next.

Isha: No way.

Kunal: Okay.

Through the week he watched. A few of the earlier thumbs-down flipped to the scared face. He kept sending.

Thursday he sent a woman in a tribal saree, side pose. The frame gave almost no detail. She was not wearing a blouse. Isha sent a thumbs-up.

Kunal: We are doing this then. This weekend.

Isha: No.

Kunal: No?

Isha: Yes.

Kunal: We have a yes from you.

she first wanted to argue that was a yes to no. but She could already see his sad puppy face. She typed okay.

Kunal: Great. Pack your bags. We leave for Amboli Friday night.

Friday night Isha stood at the gate with one bag and watched the empty road. She wore a soft cotton saree from her old collection, blouse to match, easy for a long night drive. The thought would not leave her. This weekend she would stand in front of Kunal with no blouse on. Last week he had unhooked her bra, and the feel of it was still echoing in her back. That had felt too intimate. She decided not to pack one for the trip. Her breasts moved free now with every breath inside the blouse.

The car rolled up. Kunal at the wheel in a short sleeveless kurta and pyjama, arms open to the night. Rohan shotgun in a t-shirt and jeans. She pulled the back door. Camera gear filled the seat to the roof. No place for her.

“Can you two geniuses tell me where I am supposed to sit.”

Rohan tapped his lap.

“Here.”

Irritation and heat hit her together. She threw the bag onto the gear pile and climbed across his thighs, cotton saree riding up as she settled. Her bare breasts shifted under the blouse against his chest.

“I am sixty kilos. Can you survive the trip.”

“I am going to carry you like this all my life. This world and the next.”

“Big talk, lover boy.”

Kunal laughed once from the wheel.

“My plan was the bike. But your fiancé forced me here.”

“A long drive tonight, rain any minute,” Rohan said. “Bike is risky.”

The irritation left her. The logic was clean.

“Yeah. Rohan is right. We can adjust.”

The drive went on.

“Where are we going in Amboli,” she said.

“Estate owned by a client who is also a friend,” Kunal said. “Vintage house. Forest. Meadow at the back. Gatekeeper stays far from the house. Cook comes twice a day, leaves food, cleans, goes. Perfect for private shoots. I have used it a lot.”

“Sounds like the best.”

“We should keep the best for last, right,” he said.

Only then it landed. This adventure with Kunal was ending. This month had been different: the roads, the shoots, the posing. Her parents had never taken her on a vacation. She had turned down Rohan’s travel plans more than once. She cursed herself for ever thinking it would run forever. She kept her voice light.

“Yeah. All good things have to come to an end.”

“Someone sounds like she will miss me,” Kunal said. “Don’t worry. I will hang with you both even after you marry. I am not giving my friend away completely.”

“Another big talker. Let’s see.”

“You will see.”

By eleven they stopped for a restroom break. Kunal and Rohan were back at the car first. Rohan had pulled on a thick sweater. When she came out, he was behind the wheel.

“Come,” Kunal said, and patted his thigh.

She paused. Protest rose, then died. Rohan was at the wheel and did not mind his fiancée on another man’s lap. Why should she. She climbed on the same way, across Kunal’s thighs, her back to the door. Her weight settled as the drive began.

“Sorry, Isha,” Rohan said. “He needs to start work early tomorrow.”

“She will not mind,” Kunal said. His arms came around her. “Don’t you, beautiful.”

She left that hanging. Saying yes would make the lap official. His tattoo sat close under her eyes. She traced a line on his forearm.

“Is it all just random calligraphy.”

“You tell me.”

She twisted the arm to see clean. The letters locked.

“Wow. It is Rohan’s name.”

Rohan’s eyes left the road for a second. He had never looked that close. He had never known.

“You should not have done this.”

“Why will I not,” Kunal said. “It is my skin.”

“You wear his name. You two are worse than a couple.”

Both men protested at once.

She laughed and, without thinking, kissed his arm where the first letter of Rohan’s name sat.

Above the talk, everything stayed light. Under it, both of them were already elsewhere.

The moment she had settled on his lap, her scent had closed around him. Raw organic musk from warm skin, thicker at her neck and under her arms, the soft animal heat of a body that had waited too long. When she leaned in to read the tattoo, honey from her hair mixed into that musk and went straight to his head. He held his cock down by will alone, soft cloth and pyjama fighting a losing war. Then her mouth touched his arm. Heat punched straight to his groin. His cock thickened hard under the cleft of her ass, a thick hot ridge, and pulsed once, twice, lifting her a fraction with every beat.

Through her saree and his clothes she felt a penis for the first time in her life. A hot iron rod under her ass, alive, knocking up in slow heavy throbs that fluttered her pussy with every pulse. She had no word for it. Only that it was shameless. She had sat on Rohan’s lap so many times and never once felt this from him. He always kept himself in check. First time on Kunal and his cock was already drumming under her, no control at all. Guilt flicked through her chest for even feeling it. Her pussy answered louder. Shut up. We are finally getting to know a cock.

After a moment of silence she started a new topic. The talk died as sleep took them. Kunal’s arm came around her waist. His other hand rested higher, palm open on the side of her ribcage, the edge of his thumb almost under the outer curve of her breast. She looped both arms around his neck for balance and felt his breath at her temple as the drive went on.

Whenever Rohan could take his eyes off the road he looked at them. The two of them asleep like that. His cock ached. He watched and watched and almost came from the sight alone.

After a while looking was not enough. He lowered the window a fraction. Cold air slid into the car.

Still asleep, both of them hunted warmth and locked tighter. Kunal’s hands went under her pallu, found the bare skin of her midriff, and pressed in on both sides for her heat. The pallu slipped to her waist. Her free breasts rose close to his face. She pulled his head in. Her breasts were his pillow. His mouth sat in her cleavage. Hot breath poured down between soft bare flesh.

The new sight almost finished Rohan. He prayed not to come without a touch. He did not stop. On empty stretches he changed speed so their bodies slid on each other, her breasts dragging across Kunal’s cheek and arm, both of them pulling tighter after every slide.

Once she half woke. Her breasts were rubbing on Kunal’s arms. His nose was almost in her cleavage. She saw Rohan driving with a smile and fixed her pallu, then slept again. It slipped when he slowed them into the next slide.

They reached by three. The house was vintage, rooms enough for all of them. Rohan and Isha took rooms side by side. Kunal took the one opposite.

By nine Kunal and Isha were up and at breakfast. Rohan was still knocked out from the drive. Kunal brought a dark cotton saree, the cloth almost half the usual width, fashion tape in his other hand.

“Wear it like last week’s wrap,” he said. “But this one stops above the knee.”

“Sure. I learnt that wrapping. Will do.”

“After you are ready, come to my room. Makeup is there. And wake your sleepyhead fiancé.”

“Poor guy. He drove all night.”

She bathed and dressed. No blouse. The thin dark cloth wrapped high and tight the way he had taught her, cut off above her knees, thighs bare to the morning. She taped the pallu across her bare chest until it held, soft cotton stuck to skin, breasts only a layer of cloth and tape from open air. She cracked her door, checked the hall was empty, and went to Rohan’s room first.

“Isha,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “You look gorgeous.”

She had been too shy to warn him she would come blouseless. She had braced for him to reject it, tell her to cover up. He only stared, mouth soft, eyes dragging from her chest down her bare midriff to the short fall of cloth on her thighs. No complaint. Only hunger.

“Kunal gave me this. Here is yours. He asked us for makeup.”

“You go ahead. I will join after I get ready.”

“Breakfast is ready. Don’t forget that too.”

She left while he was still looking. Kunal’s door closed behind her.

Kunal whistled when she entered. Heat climbed her face. He sat her on the bed, cleaned her skin, and started temporary tattoos down her bare back and along her arms. His fingers lingered. He flirted through every line and took his time. Nearly an hour. He was almost done when Rohan came in dressed.

“You are ready,” Kunal said. “Get your groom ready quick.”

She began matching tattoos on Rohan.

The morning shoot went clean. Rain took the rest of the day indoors.

After dinner the wood chimney kept the main room warm. Isha had changed into a thin nighty from her bag. Nothing under it. The fire made that feel natural. Kunal sat beside her, camera between them, and went on with lens, exposure, and holding still for a slow shutter.

“Frame me,” he said.

She lifted the camera. He stood in the firelight and walked her through the settings with his finger on the dial until she got a clean shot of his face.

“Good. You have an eye.”

Pride warmed her more than the chimney.

Rohan stood from the chair, already heavy-eyed from the drive.

“I am done for tonight,” he said. “Wake me if you need me.”

He went to his room. The door stayed slanted open. In a few minutes his breathing turned slow and even.

He put the camera in her hands.

“Now you try on a person who moves.”

He stepped into the firelight. He pulled his kurta over his head and tossed it on the chair. She stared and forgot the camera for a second. Broad shoulders and a wide upper back narrowed to a tight waist, an inverted triangle standing in front of her. His stomach showed six hard ridges down to the dark line of hair. Heat climbed her face. He struck a simple pose, arms loose, chin lifted.

“Shoot.”

She clicked. He came behind her to check the small screen, chin at her neck, chest against her back, his front rubbing her through the thin nighty as he tilted the camera in her hands. From Rohan’s room came a mild snore. Neither of them spoke.

“Again,” he said, and moved to a new pose.

This time when he walked back to the fire she saw it. A thick line in his shorts, heavy enough to shift and swing with every step. She had no word for it. Heat ran straight to her pussy.

She still held the camera. Her eyes kept dropping to his shorts and jumping away. Her voice came out thin.

“Your life feels like a dream. Do you always love it.”

He took the camera from her hands and set it on the chair. He stepped closer, bare chest almost at her face, and smiled.

“Most times.”

“When do you like it the most.”

“Helping girls prepare gifts for their men.” He winked.

Heat climbed her neck. She laughed once, short, and pushed two fingers into his chest. He caught her wrist and turned her palm up, tracing one line with his thumb.

“Why don’t you try a gift set for Rohan. My poor boy will have a blast if you surprise him on the honeymoon.”

“I do not want you putting me in your third folder.”

His thumb stopped. Then he laughed under his breath and drew the line again, slower.

“So he ratted me.”

“He cannot keep secrets from me.”

He guided her to the sofa with his palm on her lower back and sat her next to him.

“I sent you only from the intimate folder. Not Explicit.”

She went still. Intimate was the second drive. Explicit the third. She had never opened Explicit. Curiosity for what lived there sharpened in her chest.

“Has Rohan also seen these pics.”

“He is no saint. You just tamed him to wait till marriage.”

“Is that not how all couples do.”

“Each their own.” His thumb found her palm again.

“You know I cannot pose like those.”

“I never asked for those. For the gift set, surprise him in western clothes. Modern ones. He has never seen you like that. It will shock him. I know you are not comfortable. We have to go past comfort sometimes.”

“If you think that will surprise him, I am fine. I really want to do something nice for him.”

“He will go bonkers.”

“How are we going to do that.”

“Next two weeks I am free on weekdays. Evenings. I will tell Rohan we are doing bridal specials. He drops you at the studio.”

“All indoor.”

“Blue screen and props. We will take care.”

“Okay. Let us do it then.”

He grinned and tugged her toward the rug by the chimney.

“Sit between my legs. Let me pamper my model.”

She settled between his thighs. His fingers dug into her scalp, hard enough that she gasped. Then a moan slipped out. He worked her neck the same way, thumbs pressing deep, and she tipped her head to give him more. Under the nighty his palms ran down her bare back with that same hard rub. She moaned again, softer, and leaned into him.

He lightened his hands once, waiting for her to stop him. She only pressed back into his palms. He brought one hand around to her belly and rubbed slow circles under the thin cloth. Her breath went short. His fingers drifted lower, toward her pussy.

From Rohan’s room came a cough.

She sat up fast. His hand fell away.

“Let me check on him.”

In Rohan’s room he lay on his side, still out, one arm under the pillow. He had slept through the cough. Guilt sat heavy in her chest. She lay down beside him, put her arms around him, and shut her eyes there. Going back to the fire felt impossible.

Kunal watched the slanted door a moment, then left them alone and went to his own bed.

In the morning Rohan woke and found her there. He kissed her head and went to get ready.

Clouds sat low when Kunal led them out. Today was the final shot. Isha wore the short blouseless saree again, pallu taped across her bare chest. Rohan matched her in the same dark cloth. Kunal had on a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts.

He took them to a cliff barely fifty metres from the house. The top sat level with the yard, but they had to drop ten feet and climb ten feet to reach the flat circle of rock, wide enough for a pose and not much more.

“One shot today,” Kunal said. “On top of that. When we stand there, the two mountains behind you do the work.”

He climbed the side closer to the house first and set the camera with the zoom locked. Then he came back and walked them through the pose with his hands.

“Too complex,” Rohan said. “Show us.”

Kunal climbed. Rohan lifted Isha up to him. Kunal hauled her onto the rock, then Rohan went to the camera.

Kunal lifted her again. He set her on his hip. Her right leg wrapped behind him, her left came across the front, thighs closed over his belt so her pussy sat hard against his hip bone through the thin saree. His right hand caught her left thigh and straightened the leg. His left hand braced her bare spine and tipped her back until she hung almost perpendicular to him, breasts lifted under the taped pallu, throat open to the sky. Wind yanked at the cloth. He pinched the edge between his fingers and held it so her chest stayed covered for the lens.

He leaned in. Their mouths were a breath apart. The demo should have stopped there. Skin on skin from hip to breast did the rest. Her eyes shut. Her lips parted. He kissed her.

She took it. They froze like that, mouths locked, her body hanging off his strength.

Behind the camera Rohan clicked and clicked. Kunal had given him the vogue hold he promised. Isha was not fighting it. A shiver ran through her where her inner thigh gripped Kunal’s hip, and Rohan caught that too.

The kiss ran long. Kunal pushed his tongue into her mouth. She let it in, wet and deep, and at that second lightning split the sky. They broke. He set her on her feet. Fat raindrops hit the rock.

“Rohan, take the camera home. Now,” Kunal shouted.

Rohan grabbed the gear and ran for the house as the rain opened hard. Kunal stood over Isha and cupped his palms above her head. Water sheeted through his fingers and soaked them both. He scanned the drop for a way down. Rain killed the fashion tape. The pallu loosened and she clapped both hands over it, holding the wet cloth to her chest. Wind tugged hard. For a second the edge slipped and he saw the side of her breast, soft and rain-wet, before she dragged the pallu tight again. He yanked his sleeveless t-shirt over his head and pulled it down over her. She let go of the cloth only long enough for the shirt to cover her. The wet cotton stuck to her tits and nipples.

Wind shoved her into him. She hugged his bare torso to stay upright. Her face came level with his chest, the inverted triangle hard under rain, water pouring off his nipples in thin streams. The kiss on the rock was still in her mouth. She put her lips on his nipple and drank the rain off it.

He felt it. He looked down. She looked up. He took her mouth again. This time both tongues pushed in at once, fighting for depth, spit and rain mixing as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. Thunder rolled over them and neither cared.

Rohan came back from the house with umbrellas. Rain cut the view to grey. The next lightning flash showed them locked together, kissing. He stepped closer. Another flash gave him the full picture.

They were not stopping. Kunal’s hands had gone up under her wet saree. Both palms gripped her bare ass and squeezed, fingers digging in, pulling her pussy against the thick line in his shorts. Her moan went into his mouth. The kiss did not break. Thunder rolled over the cliff and neither of them looked his way.

Rohan stood in the rain with the umbrellas and watched.