Adultery Whispers of forsaken desire
#1
Chapter -1

The humid Kerala air clung to Rohan’s skin as he watched his wife, Avantika, laugh with Mrs. Nair from the third floor. They were standing by the complex’s shared well, the evening sun casting long, golden shadows. But Rohan wasn’t watching the conversation; he was watching the watchers.

His eyes tracked the security guard, Sajan, leaning against his booth. The man’s gaze wasn't on the gate he was paid to monitor; it was fixed, unabashedly, on the way Avantika’s light cotton saree hugged the curve of her hip as she shifted her weight. A slow, hot curl of something unfamiliar unfurled in Rohan’s stomach. It wasn't anger. It was… interest.

From his balcony, he had the perfect vantage point. He saw Mr. Menon, the retired widower from the end block, pause his slow walk to adjust his glasses, his eyes lingering a fraction too long on the deep plunge of Avantika’s neckline. Rohan’s own breath hitched. They all want her. The thought was a bolt of lightning, thrilling and terrifying.

He’d always known she was beautiful, but this was different. This was seeing her through their eyes. A prized possession left casually in view, igniting a covetous hunger in every man who passed.

Later, as Avantika chopped vegetables for dinner, her movements efficient and graceful, Rohan came up behind her. He pressed his body against her back, his hands sliding around her waist. He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine and sandalwood.

“Sajan couldn’t take his eyes off you today,” he murmured, his lips brushing her skin.

Avantika’s hands stilled on the chopping board. She let out a soft, dismissive sound. “Don’t be silly, Rohan. He’s just a lonely old man.”

“He’s not that old,” Rohan countered, his voice low. “And he wasn’t looking at you like you were a painting, Avanti. He was looking at you like he wanted to touch.” He emphasized the word, letting his own hands drift lower, palming the swell of her hips through her thin saree.

She squirmed slightly, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “Stop it. That’s… that’s nonsense.”

But she didn’t push him away. She leaned back into his chest, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. She’s listening, he thought, a jolt of pure adrenaline shooting through him.

*

Avantika pretended to focus on the vibrant green of the beans, but her mind was reeling. Rohan’s words echoed in her ears, painting a shocking, illicit picture. Sajan? The guard with the kind, tired eyes? She’d never considered it. But now, the memory of his glance felt different, weighted. Had it lingered? A strange, fluttering warmth bloomed in her belly, entirely separate from the heat of Rohan’s body against hers.

It was confusing, this new thrum of attention. For ten years, she’d been only Rohan’s. The appreciative glances from others were just background noise. Now, with Rohan’s breath hot on her neck and his words painting her as an object of explicit desire, the noise was becoming a symphony she couldn’t ignore.

The following weekend, the residents’ association hosted an Onam celebration in the common courtyard. Fairy lights were strung between palm trees, and the air was thick with the scent of payasam and fragrant flowers. Avantika wore a deep maroon saree, the silk setting off her complexion. Rohan’s hand was a possessive brand on the small of her back as they navigated the crowd.

He guided her towards a group that included Arjun, the young college boy who lived upstairs with his parents. The boy was all limbs and nervous energy, but when he looked at Avantika, his awkwardness vanished, replaced by a brazen, youthful admiration that made her pulse skip.

“The pookalam looks beautiful, doesn’t it, Arjun?” Rohan said, his tone conversational, but his thumb was making slow, deliberate circles on Avantika’s back.

“Y-yes, sir,” Arjun stammered, his eyes flicking from the flower arrangement to Avantika’s face and then, boldly, down to the delicate gold necklace resting in the hollow of her throat. “Very beautiful.”

The crowd shifted, pressing them closer. In the crush, Arjun’s hand, holding a glass of sherbet, brushed against Avantika’s bare arm. It was a mere second of contact, skin on skin. The boy flinched as if burned, his eyes widening in apology. But he didn’t pull away immediately. The cool condensation from the glass met her warm skin, a shocking, delicious contrast.

Avantika’s breath caught. She felt the touch like a brand. She glanced at Rohan. He was watching them, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were dark, intense. He saw that. He saw, and he’s not angry.

She felt a reckless thrill. She held Arjun’s gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, a tiny, silent acknowledgment of the contact, before turning away, the ghost of his touch still tingling on her arm.

The music shifted to a popular, rhythmic film song. The energy of the crowd surged. Rohan leaned in, his mouth close to her ear, his voice a husky command that brooked no argument. “Dance with him.”

Avantika’s head whipped around. “What?”

“Dance. With. Arjun.” The words were punctuated by the pressure of his fingers on her waist. “I want to see it.”

Before she could process the shock, Rohan had gently propelled her forward, right into the space where Arjun was moving awkwardly to the beat. The boy looked startled, then his face broke into a wide, disbelieving grin.

The space was tight. There was no room for formal dance. It was just bodies moving in rhythm. Arjun’s movements were initially shy, but the beat, the crowd, and Avantika’s proximity intoxicated him. His hands found her waist, tentative at first. The heat of his palms seeped through the thin silk of her saree, so different from Rohan’s familiar touch. It was younger, hesitantly eager.

Avantika let herself move, her hips swaying to the pulsing music. She could feel the eyes of others on them—the envious glances of the other men, the curious looks of the women. But most of all, she could feel Rohan’s gaze, a laser beam of heat from the sidelines, watching his wife dance in another man’s arms.

Emboldened, Arjun’s grip tightened. He pulled her just a fraction closer as they turned. His thigh brushed against hers. The rough texture of his denim jeans against the smooth slide of her silk saree was maddening. His breath ruffled the hair at her temple. He was so close she could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something fresh and spicy.

She let her head fall back a little, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the song crescendoed. The movement brought her body flush against his for a single, electrifying moment. She felt the lean, hard line of him, the proof of his youthful arousal pressed against her abdomen.

A wave of pure, unadulterated heat flooded her. It was wrong. It was exhilarating. Her own body was responding, a deep, aching throbbing beginning to pulse between her legs. She was dancing on the edge of a precipice, and Rohan was there, not pulling her back, but pushing her forward.

The song ended with a final, crashing beat. The crowd erupted in applause. Arjun released her, his face flushed, his eyes dazed and full of a worshipful awe. Avantika stumbled back a step, her own heart hammering against her ribs. She sought out Rohan in the crowd.

He was right there. He didn’t look angry or jealous. His eyes were blazing with a fierce, possessive pride. He stepped forward, slipping an arm around her, pulling her away from Arjun and into the shadows at the edge of the courtyard. His body was rigid with a tension that was entirely sexual.

He spun her to face him, his back to the party. The noise of the celebration faded into a distant hum. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her blazing skin. His voice was a ragged, hungry whisper in her ear, meant only for her.

“Did you feel him? Against you?”
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#2
Beautiful plz continue nice one
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#3
Chapter-2

The heat from Rohan’s palm on her cheek was nothing compared to the fire his words ignited in her belly. The party’s noise was a muffled drumbeat against the roaring in her ears.

Did you feel him? Against you?

She could only nod, her voice stolen by the raw hunger in his whisper. Her skin was still humming from the press of Arjun’s lean, youthful body, but it was Rohan’s possessive grip that set her ablaze now.

“He’s just a boy, Rohan,” she managed to breathe out, a weak defense that sounded hollow even to her.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath a hot caress. “But you’re not. And you felt him. I saw it. I saw the way your breath hitched when his thigh slid between yours.” His fingers tightened subtly on her waist. “Tell me.”

It was a command, a dark and thrilling summons. The confession tumbled out, a hushed, shameful truth. “I felt him. He was… hard. Through his clothes. Against my hip.”

A low, gratified groan rumbled in Rohan’s chest. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, and what she saw there wasn’t anger, but a triumphant, blinding lust. For her. For what had just happened. “God, Avantika. Watching you… the way everyone was watching you… it was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss that tasted of claiming and encouragement. It was nothing like the careful, familiar kisses of their married life. This was feral. This was a man unleashed by his own secret fantasies, and he was pouring all of that dark energy into her.

Later, in the sanctum of their bedroom, the facade of the party fell away. Rohan didn’t speak. He just looked at her, his dark eyes devouring her as she stood by the bed, the silks of her saree still clinging to her curves.

“Take it off,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Slowly.”

Her fingers, trembling slightly, went to the pin at her shoulder. The silk whispered as it pooled at her feet, leaving her in just a crimson blouse and petticoat. The air felt cool on her exposed skin, raising goosebumps.

“The blouse.”

She obeyed, turning her back to him, presenting him with the long line of hooks. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he stepped close, his heat enveloping her. His fingers, so much more deft than her own, began the agonizingly slow process of undoing each clasp. With every tiny pop, she felt a corresponding jolt deep within her.

When the last hook gave way, he didn’t remove it. He pushed the material aside, baring her back to the warm night air. His lips found the notch of her spine, and he placed a single, open-mouthed kiss there. She gasped, her head falling forward.

“Tell me what you thought about,” he murmured against her skin, his hands coming around to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her choli. “When you were dancing with him.”

“I… I thought about the music,” she lied, her voice breathy.

His thumbs circled her nipples, already taut and aching. They peaked insistently against his palms. “Liar.” He pinched them gently, and a bolt of pure lightning shot straight to her core. She cried out, her knees buckling. He held her up, his body a solid wall behind her.

“The truth, Avantika.”

“I thought… I thought about his hands,” she confessed in a rush, the words torn from her. “How young they were. How strong they felt on my back. I wondered what they would feel like… here.” She brought her own hands up to cover his, pressing them harder against her breasts.

Rohan moaned, a sound of pure, undiluted need. He spun her around, his mouth crashing down on hers again as his hands frantically pushed her petticoat down her hips. It joined the saree on the floor. He broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked at her, standing naked before him, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the window.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze worshipful. “And everyone wants you. Sajan watches you fetch the paper every morning. Old Mr. Menon’s eyes follow you all the way to the elevator.” He pushed her gently back onto the bed, following her down, covering her body with his. “And that boy… that boy wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.”

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. “And it makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.” He guided her hand down, pressing her palm against the rigid, straining outline in his trousers. The sheer size of him, the heat, made her whimper. She’d felt his arousal before, countless times, but this was different. This was an arousal fueled by something new, something dangerous and intoxicating.

He made love to her then, but it was unlike any time before. It was a reclamation. A celebration of the attention she’d received. Every thrust was punctuated with a hungry whisper.

“This is mine,” he grunted, driving into her depths, making her arch off the bed. “But the way he looked at you… that’s mine, too.”

She climaxed around him with a shattered cry, her nails digging into his back, the image of Arjun’s dazed, desirous eyes flashing behind her own eyelids. His own release followed, a roar muffled against her neck.

They lay tangled together, slick with sweat, the room silent except for their ragged breathing. His fingers traced idle patterns on her stomach.

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice soft now. “The attention?”

She turned her head to look at him, seeing the vulnerability beneath the dominant facade. She nodded slowly. “It was… exciting. It made me feel…” She searched for the word. “Alive.”

A slow, possessive smile spread across his face. “Good.”

The next afternoon, Avantika found herself in the local market, the scents of ripe mangoes and fresh jasmine filling the humid air. The memory of the night before was a constant, warm hum under her skin. She was selecting okra when a voice spoke beside her.

“The smaller ones are less fibrous, Amma.”

She turned to see Sajan, the complex’s security guard, out of his uniform. He wore a simple, clean shirt and mundu, his broad shoulders and rugged face making him look more like a farmer than a watchman. His eyes, usually guarded, held a genuine warmth.

“Oh. Thank you, Sajan,” she said, offering a shy smile.

“My pleasure.” He pointed to a vendor across the way. “The coconut over there is fresh today. Good for curry.”

They fell into step, a seemingly casual meeting. As they navigated the crowded aisle, a passerby jostled Avantika from behind. She stumbled forward, and Sajan’s hand shot out instantly to steady her. His grip was firm, his palm rough and calloused against the bare skin of her arm. It was a practical touch, but it lingered a moment too long. The heat of it seared her. Her eyes flew to his. There was no mistaking the flicker of intense awareness in his gaze before he carefully, politely, released her.

“Sorry, Amma. The crowd…” he muttered, looking away, but a faint flush crept up his neck.

Her own heart was hammering. “It’s… it’s okay. Thank you.”

She hurriedly paid for her vegetables and walked away, the ghost of his touch burning on her skin. She didn’t look back, but she could feel his eyes on her the entire way out of the market. A secret, thrilling shiver ran down her spine. That evening, as Rohan helped her unpack the shopping, his hand brushed over the exact spot on her arm where Sajan had held her.

He paused. Looked at her. His dark eyes, so perceptive, narrowed just a fraction. A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.

“You’ve been in the sun today,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the skin. “You’re burning.”
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#4
Hi dear author,

Very very great and erotic start. Please kindly continue the story, waiting for another update!

You have a gold mine here... don't lose it!

All the best!
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#5
Good Start. Keep it going
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#6
Nicely done. Please continue
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