[SilverArrow]

Rakesh’s breathing had deepened. The medicine and the falling temperature were pulling him under, but not completely — his eyelids still fluttered at long intervals, and the occasional small shift of his shoulders showed he remained faintly aware of the room.

Monica sat on the edge of the bed, ice pack held carefully against his forehead. The thin robe had loosened again; the soft weight of her bare breasts moved freely underneath whenever she adjusted the cold pack. She kept her voice low and even.

“Temperature is better now, jaan… just sleep…”

Ranga moved quietly. He sat down on the same side of the bed, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers in the dim light. For several long seconds he did nothing. Then his hand closed around her free wrist.

Monica’s body tensed.

He guided her hand slowly, deliberately, across the short distance and pressed her palm against the hard shape inside his open trousers. The heat of him registered instantly through the fabric. Monica’s fingers curled in pure reflex, then tried to pull away.

“Ranga—” she breathed, the protest so quiet it was almost only air. “Don’t… not here…”

He did not release her wrist. He kept her hand exactly where it was, forcing her fingers to shape themselves around the thick, rigid length. With his other hand he reached for the edge of Rakesh’s blanket and drew it across both their laps, covering the point where her hand disappeared into his trousers. Only then did he push the fabric down far enough for her bare skin to meet his.

Monica’s breath shook once. She kept the ice pack perfectly steady on her husband’s forehead.

“I’m serious…” she whispered, still barely audible. “He’ll notice…”

Ranga’s reply was only a low sound against her ear.

“Then don’t let him. Keep talking to him. And keep your hand moving.”

She swallowed. For a long moment her hand stayed still around him, the thick shaft heavy and hot against her palm. Then, with the same controlled precision she used for the ice pack, she began to stroke his hard erect penis!
The movement was slow, experienced, and unwilling all at once. Her fingers closed firmly, sliding from base to head in even, measured pulls. When she reached the tip of the cock she gave a small, deliberate twist with her wrist — the kind of practiced motion that showed she knew exactly how to work a cock even while every part of her mind rejected the setting. The blanket hid everything. From Rakesh’s angle there was only his wife leaning over him with an ice pack and the quiet shape of Ranga sitting close beside her.
Monica’s voice stayed soft and wifely.



“That’s it, jaan… breathe slowly… the fever is going down…”


At the same time her left hand continued its filthy, expert work under the blanket. She stroked Ranga with short, tight pulls, thumb brushing the wet head on every upward movement, fingers squeezing just enough to make the shaft flex in her grip. The contrast was absolute: the gentle, caring pressure of the ice pack in one hand, the slow, sassy, unwilling handjob in the other.


Ranga’s breathing deepened. He kept one hand lightly over hers under the blanket, not forcing the pace, only ensuring she did not stop. Every time Rakesh’s eyelids twitched, Monica’s stroking hand froze for a second. Every time the ice pack needed adjusting, she performed the motion with perfect calm while her other hand kept the thick cock sliding through her fist.


“You’re good at this,” Ranga murmured, so low only she could hear. “Even when you hate it.”


Monica’s jaw tightened. She answered him only by giving the next stroke a sharper twist at the head, a small, sassy act of defiance that still served him. Then she leaned closer to Rakesh and spoke in the softest voice she owned.


“Sleep now Rakesh… we’re right here… nothing to worry about…”


Under the shared edge of the blanket her hand never stopped. The wet sound of skin on skin was completely muffled. The ice pack remained steady. And in the dim bedroom, with her husband drifting in and out of fevered awareness only centimetres away, Monica continued the double task — one hand nursing, the other delivering a controlled, filthy, unwilling handjob that neither of them was willing to end.


Ranga’s hand stayed lightly over Monica’s under the blanket, keeping her fingers wrapped around the thick, hard length of him. He spoke in a low, even voice close to her ear.


“Chalo , let’s go to the bedroom.”


Monica’s stroking hand faltered for half a second. Her reply came out in a sharp, low hiss that still managed to stay unheard for Rakesh.


“Have you completely lost it? He’s barely stable. I’m not walking away from my husband who’s still fighting this just because you decided the monitoring period is over. Sit down and keep your hands to yourself.”


Ranga reached across with his free hand and laid his palm flat against Rakesh’s forehead. He kept it there for several long seconds.


“Fever’s fully down,” he said, still quiet. “There is no risk now. He’s stable.”


Monica let out a short, incredulous breath through her nose. Her hand under the blanket continued its slow, tight strokes almost automatically.


“Stable doesn’t mean you get to drag me into the next room like this is some hotel. He’s not even properly asleep yet. His eyes are still opening every few minutes. How exactly do you expect me to just stand up, leave him here, and walk into the bedroom with you while he’s lying right there? Use your brain for once.”


Ranga turned his head toward the bed.
“Rakesh bhai. How are you feeling now?”
Rakesh’s eyes opened halfway. The voice that came out was hollow and thin.
“I’m… okay.”

Ranga looked straight at Monica, the meaning clear.
“See.”

Rakesh’s gaze drifted to his wife. The drowsiness was heavier now. He managed a small nod in her direction.
“You both… go rest. I’m fine.”

Monica’s jaw tightened. Her hand kept moving under the blanket — a deliberate twist at the head, a firmer squeeze — even as she leaned closer to Rakesh with the softest version of her voice.

“Can you actually manage and get to sleep properly please? We’re right here ..please don’t worry .. Just try to sleep Jaan!”


Rakesh’s eyes were already closing again.

“I’m sleepy… I’ll sleep.”
The words settled into the quiet room. Monica’s fingers gave Ranga one last, sharp, almost punishing stroke under the blanket before she slowly withdrew her hand. The absence of his cock in her grip left her palm warm and faintly slick. She adjusted the ice pack one final time with care, then stood.


Ranga rose with her. The blanket fell back into place over Rakesh’s legs. Neither of them spoke as they moved.
The walk from the edge of the bed to the bedroom door took longer than the actual distance required. Monica stepped carefully, the thin robe shifting with every movement, the soft weight of her nude breasts swaying underneath. She paused once at the side of the bed to make sure Rakesh’s breathing had fully evened out, her expression still carrying the leftover sass of the argument. Ranga waited behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.


Then she stepped through into the master bedroom.

Ranga came after her. The door closed behind them with a quiet, final click. The distance between the two rooms was only a few metres, but the shift in air and the sudden absence of Rakesh’s breathing made the space feel completely separate.