[shellyshalini]

Episode 22 : Behind the Half-Open Door

Minutes earlier, the doorbell had rung again—insistent, demanding. I stood frozen in the living room, still naked, my skin prickling under Bikram’s gaze. The cool air kissed every inch of my exposed flesh—my breasts, my stomach, the damp curls between my thighs.

“Open it,” Bikram said, his voice soft but with absolute authority. “You know the rules. No clothes until I say otherwise.”

I wanted to argue, but the words died on my lips. Sunny was on the other side, and if I didn’t answer, he’d wonder why. He might even call Rohan. Panic clawed at my chest. Then I remembered the bathroom towel—a small, thin thing that barely wrapped around my hips. It would have to do.

I hurried to the bathroom, splashed water on my hair, and twisted the towel around my body. It was short, the hem grazing my thighs, my breasts pressed against the fabric. I looked at myself in the mirror—wet strands clinging to my shoulders, my nipples clearly outlined against the damp cotton. But it was better than nothing.

“Bikram,” I whispered, “don’t come out. Whatever happens, stay inside.” He didn’t answer, but I felt his eyes on me as I turned back to the door—a dark, possessive weight that made my pulse quicken.

I cracked the door open, keeping my body half-hidden behind it. Sunny stood there with a plastic bag in his hand, wearing a wide, knowing grin. His eyes immediately dropped around me before meeting my gaze again.

"Shelly, kya kar rahi thi? Itna time kyun laga darwaza kholne mein? Kal Mohit tumse kuch pyaaz le gaya tha. Main wahi lautane aaya hoon.

"Shelly, what were you doing? Why did it take you so long to open the door? Mohit borrowed some onions from you yesterday. I've come to return them."

"Haan, Sunny. Main naha rahi thi," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm despite my racing heart. "Tum pyaaz rakh lo. Mujhe wapas nahi chahiye."

"Yes, Sunny. I was taking a bath. You can keep the onions. I don't need them back."

"Nahi, aise kaise? Yeh tumko rakhna parega" He held the bag out toward me. As I reached for it, our fingers brushed briefly. "Arre... tum to sirf towel mein ho" He smiled faintly. "Par bahut achchi lag rahi ho"

"No, you should take them." As I reached for the bag, our fingers brushed. "Oh... you're still wrapped in just a towel. You look very nice today."

I tried to pull the bag from his hand, but he held on.

Sunny said "Shelly main andar aake piyaaz rakh deta hoon. Warna tumhara haath aur ganda ho jayega."

"Let me come inside and keep the onion? Otherwise your hands will get even dirtier."

"Nahi, main sambhal loongi," I said, finally pulling the bag free. "Ab tum jao. Maine pyaaz le liye."

"No, I'll manage," I said, finally tugging the bag free. "You should go now. I've taken the onions."

He stepped back but didn't leave. Instead, he did the unexpected and pull my towel with one hand. The towel slipped, falling to the floor in a soft heap. I stood completely exposed behind the door—my breasts, my stomach, the dark triangle between my legs—all are exposed.

I gasped, shoving him hard against the doorframe. “Bahut ho gaya!” I pushed him out and slammed the door shut, my hands trembling. Through the wood, I heard his muffled laugh "Sāli bahut attitude dikhāti hai. Sirf towel pehenke hi darwāza khol diyā. Ek din tujhe room mein le jake kutti jaroor banaungi”

"Whore, showing so much attitude,one day I will take her to our room and make her our bitch for sure"

I didn’t wait for more. I grabbed the fallen towel and wrapped it around myself, but it was too late. He might have seen everything—my breasts, my pussy, the wetness that had started to gather between my thighs. My face burned with shame and something else—a strange, forbidden thrill. The image of his eyes devouring my naked body replayed in my mind, and a hot pulse throbbed deep in my core.

I leaned against the closed door, my body trembling with a mix of anger and shame. The cool wood pressed against my bare back, grounding me as I tried to process what had just happened. My nipples were still hard, pebbled against the rough fabric. I could feel the slickness between my legs, a shameful evidence of my arousal.

I turned to face Bikram, who was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, a satisfied smile on his lips. “You enjoyed that,” I said, my voice shaking with anger—but also with something else. A raw, hungry need that I couldn’t deny.