[sakurasan]

Even if they have one year the useless wimp Rohan won't do anything romantic or sexy 

I think you are like Indian parents.  right? I see u scolding Rohan more because you love that character even though sounding like hating it. No need to answer this. This is my general observation in the forum. Not specific to any person.


For me, all characters are good people. I don’t like to have villains or losers in my story. Situations can be but not characters.

[sakurasan]

Please give bigger update with sex session of Isha and Rohan where he is not able to satisfy her and she went to Kunal room once Rohan sleep( he was pretending to sleep), let watch Rohan the session between Isha and Kunal

Will try more frequent updates. But the scene u r expecting comes later. Not in next few chapters. Hope you have the patience for it.

[sakurasan]

Chapter 17 Joint Account — Part 2

Wednesday morning Rohan waited in the car outside her building. She had told him to come early, in the blazer suit they had bought yesterday. He sat in it with the engine off, going over the last four days.

Saturday at the park she had made him promise. He would take leave from Monday, and he would not go back to college until she said so. He took it. After that, except when he went home to sleep, they had been together. All four days had been odd. When Praveen called, she stepped away to take it. Rohan overheard documents, a transaction, and not enough to know what they were. He asked once.

“What was Praveen saying.”

“Family matters. He is handling it.”

He did not think any further about it.

Isha came out of the building in a red and gold wedding silk. He had seen her in many sarees. He had not seen her dressed to be married. She got in. The pallu lay across her lap. He looked at it, then at her face.

“You did not tell me you would come like this.”

“You look right. Drive.”

She kept the map on her phone and called the turns. He drove. She took him off the roads he knew. He had not wanted to question her. The suit and the bridal saree confused him anyway.

“Is this the right road.”

She saw the prank working. She was excited and wet, and it came out of her mouth.

“Trust Cathy. Keep driving.”

She bit her tongue.

“Who is Cathy.”

“No one.”

“You said it now.”

“An app. Don’t ask. Watch the road.”

He looked at her. She was watching the road. He drove.

A flower stall stood at the side of the road. She touched his arm.

“Stop.”

She pointed at a pair of thick rose garlands.

“Buy them.”

He parked. He paid and came back with them. He set them on the back seat.




“Where are we going.”

“The register office.”

His hand stopped on the wheel. Their wedding date was still ahead. She sounded as if she had set it aside and chosen today.

“Isha. What is happening.”

“I am done waiting.”

“So.”

“We should do the right thing before your birthday.”

“People will think we are going to be married.”

“Let them.”

“Are we.”

“You will see when we reach.”

“Our parents.”

“They will be there.”

He opened his mouth and shut it. He did it again. She liked it. She stopped him before the next question.

“No more questions. We are near.”

They came to a government building. From the car he could read only Register Office on the board. Praveen met them as they stepped out. His parents stood behind him. Rohan turned to the back seat for the garlands. Isha touched his arm. He looked up. The broker and the seller were at the entrance. Above them the full board read Sub-Registrar Office.

“This is for the land.”

“Yes.”

“The right thing. The register office.”

“All of it was true. I did not say marriage.”

She looked pleased.

“Your parents have taken care of the money. The building is ready for us to buy.”

He looked at her and could not find the first word.

“You did all this behind my back.”

“Sometimes a girl has to impress her man.”

“Well done.”

They went in to the document writer.

The deed was on the table. Rohan read the first page and stopped.

“Only my name is here.”

“Yes,” Isha said.

“We add yours.”

“No.”

“Isha.”

“Your grandfather wished this house for you. The money is his. It has to be your name.”

“There is no house if you are not in it with me.”

“It is your parents’ gift to you. I will not put my name on that.”

“I am not signing a house that is not yours too,” Rohan said.

Isha set her palm on the deed. “Your name or both our names, it is the same. The papers are ready. We cannot redo them.”

He turned a page. A receipt was clipped behind the draft of the sale. Her name was on the advance. The sum was what she had saved from her salary. He put his finger on it.

“This is you.”

She took her hand off the paper. She did not speak.

Rohan turned to Praveen. “Can we put her name on it.”

“We can write it again,” Praveen said. “The writer charges for a fresh set. You will have to pay for the papers.”

His father stepped in. “No issue. Redo it. If I had known before, both your names would have been on it.”

Isha stood with nothing left to refuse.

The morning slot was gone. The seller waited. The new papers came in the afternoon. Rohan signed. Isha signed after him. The building was theirs.




At the station they took the two garlands from the back seat and put them on Lata and his father.

“For the house,” Isha said.

Rohan bent and touched his father’s feet, then Lata’s. Isha followed. His father set a hand on Rohan’s head. Lata set a hand on Isha’s. Neither of them made a speech.

They saw them to the coach. The train took his parents. Rohan and Isha stayed on the platform until the last coach went.

They walked to the car. She got in. He pulled out of the station road, and the platform fell behind them.

“I am so happy now,” she said.

“Me too.” His eyes stayed on the traffic. “You made my birthday special.”

“It has not come yet.” She turned in the seat. “What treat are you going to get me.”

“I have an idea. You should not get angry.”

“What will make me angry.”

“Open that dashboard.”

She opened the glove box in front of her knee and lifted the papers. Under them lay a coupon. She drew it out. A hotel stood on a green hill, with a long pool in front of it. Under the picture it said Lonavala, five-star, seventy-five percent off.

She wanted to say yes at once. She kept a poker face.

“Are you planning to take me here.”

“I would love to. If you are ok. We can go now.”

She looked at the hill on the coupon, then at him.

“Just us,” she said. “Our first night like that.”

“I promise to be a good boy.”

He glanced over, waiting to be refused. She held his look. Who is going to allow you to be a good boy. I am a bad girl. The thought made her wet against the silk. She kept it off her mouth.

“We will make this the first of your best birthdays.”

“This place will be perfect for it.”

“How would people dress there.”

“Anything you are comfortable in.”

“I did not ask that.”

“Ok. Mostly western.”

He stopped at her building.

“Be quick. I will go home, pack, and come.”

“I am always quick. Now go.”

[sakurasan]

Chapter 17 Joint Account — Part 3

He drove home to pack. Upstairs she went to her room and took almost every piece out of the cupboard. She changed at last into a black top and blue jeans.

What to pack was harder. She had never stayed at a hotel like that. She put in most of the western clothes from the shoots. Her inners went with them. The bag would not close. She sat on it.




When she came down she was in the black top and blue jeans, the big bag banging her knee. Rohan was back, a small duffel on the seat beside him. He looked at her bag.

“One night,” he said.

“A girl has her needs.”

“If we check out in one night, bellboys will be disappointed.”

“I could not decide. So I brought the fight with me. Who cares what bellboys think. Now drive.”

She put the bag in the back. The car dipped. He looked at the mirror. She hit his arm. He drove toward the hill.

She looked the hotel up on her phone. “Long pool. A spa.”

“We can use both.”

“Tomorrow, Bhushi dam. Tiger’s Leap if we get time.”

“Early, then we come back.”

She put the phone down.

They came onto the highway. She set two fingers on the arm she had hit.

“When do we contact the builder.”

“Tomorrow. Once we are back. First thing I do.”

She drew her fingers up the inside of his arm. He held the lane.

“The floor plan is the one I approved. Right.”

“If the engineer suggests changes, you have to approve.”

“Better be.”

She traced his arm again, wrist to elbow, and his breath changed. He left the arm on the wheel.

The hills started. The sun was low. She set her hand on his neck and traced the skin above his collar. Lights showed between the hills.

“Can we have a pool.”

“I am not maintaining it.”

She turned in the seat and drew one finger along his jaw, from his ear to his chin. He leaned into her hand. The car shifted. He straightened it.

“I will. That is a yes I believe.”

She drew the line again. Her thighs pressed together.

“That is not a yes.”

He pulled into the hotel. A valet took the car. They walked toward the reception.

The receptionist smiled as they reached the desk.

“Good evening, sir. Madam. Welcome. The valley lights are just coming on.”

“One night. A deluxe room, please,” Rohan said.

She looked at the two of them, then at her screen. “I am sorry, sir. The deluxe rooms are taken. It is the holiday season. I can give you the honeymoon suite. May I book it?”

Rohan glanced at Isha.

“We will take it,” he said.

He signed. She placed the key in his hand.

“We are hosting a grand gala ball tonight. Our finest dining tables surround a beautiful, recessed center dance floor, allowing you to dine at your own pace and step directly down to dance whenever you wish.”

She turned a card to show them the grand ballroom. On it, dining tables completely encircled a lower central arena, where a couple held a classic dance pose, his hand at her waist, hers on his shoulder.




“We still have a few ringside tables available. For attire, we kindly request a tuxedo and gloves for gentlemen, and an evening gown with gloves for ladies.”

She looked at the lady on the card. “I have a dress like that. No gloves.”

He shook his head. “No tux. No gloves.”

“We keep those for guests. I can send them up. Shall I hold a table?”

“Your birthday,” Isha said. “Your choice.”

“Hold it. Send the clothes.”

“They will be up shortly.”

“One more thing,” she said. “In the morning we take a guided walk. A group of guests. Seven o’clock, from the garden gate, into the jungle. Shall I add your names?”

Isha looked at Rohan. “Let us do it.”

“Put us down,” he said.

The bellhop opened the door, put their bags in the cupboard, and was gone before they had thanked him.

They walked in and stopped. The room ran so far that Isha turned and still found more of it. A king-size bed stood in the middle, with cupids hanging from the ceiling above it. On the sheet, rose petals made two hearts, with an arrow cutting through both.




Rohan went out to the balcony. The hill dropped away under him, valley and trees, and no other building in sight. The evening wind off the hills pushed his hair.

Isha went into the bathroom. It was bigger than her room in Pune. The tub was a heart, wide enough for two, with water in it. She put both hands on the rim.

She came back and dropped onto the bed. It was a water bed. It sank under her and rolled back, and the water ran away from her palm.

Rohan came in and lay down beside her. The same wave lifted her.

“Did you speak to the receptionist before,” she asked, her eyes on him to detect a lie.

She turned toward him. The bed rolled, and her breasts shook under the top.

“Why would I,” he asked.

He shifted onto his side. The water pushed up under her hip.

“Morning I pranked a wedding. Are you pranking a first night now.”

“I swear. I had no hand in this.”

He held still. The bed settled, and she kept her eyes on his face.

The clothes came. A tux, shoes, and two pairs of white cotton gloves. He changed in the bathroom and came out with the tie done wrong. She fixed it, close enough that he could still see down her top, and laughed once.



“Go down,” she told him, patting his lapel. “I need the room to get ready.”

“How long,” he asked.

“At least an hour. Go check the pool, or the lawn. Do not wait outside.”

“One hour?”

“A girl needs time. Now go.”

He took one pair of gloves and went.

[sakurasan]

Chapter 18 The Gloves — Part 1

As soon as Rohan stepped out, Isha locked the door behind him and called room service.

“Good evening. I want a birthday cake for this room.”

“Yes, madam. We have vanilla sponge, black forest, and chocolate fudge. Which would you like?”

“Chocolate fudge. Two small ones, if you can.”

“Of course. Shall I send them up now?”

“No. I will call you.”

She laid the wine silk dress across the bed, smoothing the fabric over the petals. Her arms were already waxed from the parlour, but with the high slit running up the thigh, her legs had to be hairless too.

She stripped down and left her clothes on the chair. Naked, she took the razor from her kit and stepped into the bathroom. She rested one foot on the wide rim of the tub, lathered up, and ran the blade along her calves and thighs until both legs were smooth.

Then she looked down between her thighs. She had kept herself shaved clean, but over the last six days, a short layer of dark hair had grown back across her mound. All the hearts in the room gave her an idea. She lathered around the center, taking the razor to shave the sides and the crease smooth to the skin. In even passes, she shaped the short growth into a small, neat heart on her mound, tapering the point down toward her lips. She rinsed the foam away.

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror and wiped the mist off the glass. The dark shape stood out clear against her pale skin. She imagined Rohan’s face if he saw it, his eyes going wide, his hands going clumsy. The thought sent a sudden heat between her thighs, and she grew wet under her own fingers.

Would he even see it tonight? In the car he had promised to be a good boy. She traced the trimmed point down toward her slit and looked at herself in the glass. She would let the night decide how good he stayed.

She walked back into the bedroom.

The dress waiting on the bed was daring. The neckline plunged low, the slit ran high up her thigh, and the wine silk clung to every curve of her hips. Tonight was Rohan’s birthday, and she wanted him breathless the moment she walked into the hall.

From a pouch in her bag, she took the stick-on cups and seamless nude thong Savita had given her when altering the dress. Anything else would leave lines under cloth this tight.

She pressed the cups against her breasts, lifting them into the swell she wanted. They held firm, leaving her shoulders bare and the deep cut of her back clean. Then she pulled on the thong. The cloth sat flush against her skin, cut high enough at the hips that even if the slit swung open, no line would show.

She stepped into the dress, pulled the side zipper shut, and smoothed the fabric down. Not a single ridge showed through. With every step she took, the slit parted along her bare leg.

She picked up the phone and told room service to bring the cake up.

Outside, the evening wind off the hills had turned cold. Rohan walked through the garden and made his way into the lobby, where guests were already drifting toward the banquet hall. At the entrance he gave his name, and a steward led him to their two-seater table by the edge of the dance floor.

He had come early, and the hall was filling slowly. A few pairs were already dancing as the band played, moving upright with small steps, the way he had seen in classic films. With each song, more couples stepped down to join them.

A waiter brought him a glass of wine. Rohan took a sip and watched the floor.




There were fewer women dancing than men. Along the wall, men without partners waited in a line, watching the couples turn.

Between songs, a man stepped out from the wall and touched another dancer’s shoulder. The first man bowed to his partner and left the floor. The lady stayed where she was. The new partner took her gloved hand, the music began again, and they moved into the turn.

Rohan watched a second tap, and then a third. Most ladies agreed, but the choice remained theirs. Once, when a man stepped forward to cut in, the woman gave a slight shake of her head. The man bowed and returned to the wall, leaving the couple to dance another song together.

Upstairs, the knock came. She took the box at the door and hid it in the cupboard behind the extra pillows. She picked up her gloves and went down to find him.




By then the hall was almost full. Couples filled the dance floor, and most of the tables around it were taken.

Rohan raised his glass to take another sip, then stopped.

Isha had just walked in.

Her dark hair fell loose across her bare shoulders. The wine dress clung to her waist and the swell of her hips, catching the chandelier light above. In front, the neckline plunged low, showing the rise of her breasts and the pale hollow between them. She held the white gloves loose in one hand.

She stepped down toward the tables. With each stride, the long slit parted, showing her smooth leg all the way to the upper thigh.




A waiter carrying a silver tray stopped in the aisle. Along the edge of the dance floor, men waiting by the wall turned their heads to follow her walk.

Rohan could not pull his eyes away. He had seen the shoot photos. He had zoomed into the frames on his phone late at night. But a picture had edges, and a screen was flat. Seeing her in the flesh was completely different. The sway of her hips, the soft shift of her breasts with each step, the easy tilt of her chin, it hit him with a force that made his breath catch.

This was not a locked studio. She was out in the open, in a hall full of strangers. Every man near the floor was watching the woman who was about to marry him.

Isha looked across the tables, scanning the ringside tier. Her eyes swept past the dancers, searching the room until she spotted him.

Her gaze locked on his face, and a slow smile curved her lips. She paid no attention to the heads turning around her and walked straight toward his table.

Rohan pushed his chair back and stood up. His mouth had gone dry.

Just as she pulled her chair in, a waiter set a glass of wine before her. He told them dinner was ready whenever they wished to begin, bowed, and stepped away.

Isha laid her gloves on the white cloth. Rohan sat back down, his eyes still fixed on her, hardly blinking.

A warm flutter rose low in her belly. That stunned look on his face was something she could live on forever. She raised a hand and waved her fingers before his eyes.

“Hello,” she teased. “Earth to Rohan.”

He blinked, letting out a breath. “Sorry. You are stunning.”

“I can see it on your face.”

Rohan took a sip of his wine to wet his throat. She looked at his glass, then at hers.

“Since when do we drink,” she asked.

“Come on. It is just wine. Take a sip.”

“Only because the birthday boy asked.”

She lifted the glass and took a sip. The tart fruit rolled over her tongue, leaving a dry warmth down her throat. Across the small table, they kept their eyes on each other, taking sips until both glasses were empty. The unfamiliar alcohol sent a pleasant, loose warmth through her veins. Every few moments her gaze drifted to the recessed floor, watching the gowns swirl to the strings.

Rohan set his empty glass down.

“Shall we dance,” he asked.

She looked at the floor, then back at him. “Have you ever danced like this?”

“Never. What about you?”

“I am good at phugdi,” she said with a small laugh. “This looks very different.”

“Then you know how to move. Let us just copy the others.”

A song ended with a slow sweep of the violins. On the floor, couples paused and bowed to each other.

Rohan picked up his gloves. Isha picked up hers. They drew the white cotton over their fingers, smoothed the cuffs at their wrists, and stepped down toward the floor.

Other couples took their places around them.

The band began a steady, low waltz. Rohan took her left hand in his right, their gloved fingers interlocking. He placed his other hand at the curve of her hip. The silk was smooth and tight under his gloved palm, his fingers wrapping around to the dip of bare skin where the back plunged low. Isha set her free hand on his shoulder.

For the first few steps they watched an older couple nearby, copying their feet. One step to the side, then a turn. Rohan kept his eyes on his shoes, his jaw tense.

“Look up,” she whispered.

He looked at her face. A teasing smile sat on her mouth.




As they moved, she realized the rhythm was easy to follow, not nearly as complicated as it had looked from the table. She stepped in closer until the tips of her shoes almost touched his.

She rested her cheek against his chest.

Through his shirt and the wool of his tuxedo jacket, she felt the steady thud of his heart. Her breath warmed the silk of his tie. Looking down, Rohan had an open view down the plunge of her neckline. Her breasts rose with every breath, pressed so close to his chest that he felt their warmth through his clothes. The fresh scent of her hair rose to his nose.

The violins finished on a held chord. Isha stayed tucked against his lapel, her fingers locked tight in his glove. Neither of them loosened their hold.

The band started the next piece. The tempo lifted, the strings moving with a quicker bounce.

Couples began to glide across the floor in wider turns. Rohan moved with them, his steps easier now that he knew where to place his feet. As they turned, the high slit of her dress parted. Her bare thigh brushed against his trouser leg with each pivot, bare skin pressing dark wool.

Isha shifted her hand from his shoulder to the center of his chest. Her palm pressed flat against his shirt, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs.

“You dance well,” she said.

“I am only following you.”

“Liar.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright under the chandelier lights. He looked at her face, then down at the curve of her lips. Surrounded by turning strangers, the room felt as if it had narrowed to the space between their bodies.

The musicians wasted no time before starting the third piece. The rhythm quickened sharply. Around them, couples began spinning in fast, sweeping circles.

They tried to match the faster turns. Her dress swirled around her ankles, the slit flying open with each swing.

On a sharp pivot, Rohan misjudged his footing. The toe of his shoe caught her heel. He lost his balance and stumbled forward.

Isha gasped, hooking both arms around his neck. Rohan’s hands clamped hard around her waist to keep them from falling.

Their bodies collided flush together in the middle of the floor. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and her hips pressed tight to his thighs. He felt the curve of her stomach through the silk, and the heat of her bare leg between his knees.

Isha buried her face in the crook of his neck and let out a breathless laugh.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Lost my feet.”

“Hold me tighter,” she told him.

He pulled her closer, his gloves pressing the small of her back. She guided his first step, finding the beat again, and they slipped back into the turn. She kept her forehead under his chin until the song finished on a long, ringing note.

As the music stopped, they stepped back to catch their breath, creating space between them.

A silver-haired British man in his fifties stepped forward from the wall. He reached out and tapped Rohan’s shoulder.

Remembering what he had watched from the table, Rohan bowed to Isha and stepped aside to give way.

Isha froze. She had been upstairs getting ready while the dance started, and had no idea about the custom. Her eyes went wide, looking at Rohan, scared.

Rohan met her gaze. With a nod, his eyes told her it was all right. He backed away and took a place among the men waiting along the wall.

Isha looked around the floor. On every side, other men were cutting in, and women were taking their hands without fuss. Not wanting to be the odd one out, she stayed in her place.

The British gentleman bowed with old-fashioned courtesy. “May I, miss?” he asked in a mild voice.

Isha placed her gloved hand in his.

Her fear vanished as soon as they began to move. He kept an arm’s length of space between them, his posture upright. His hand rested light against her side, never pressing or pulling her closer. He stepped with steady precision, guiding her turns like an uncle leading a niece at a family function. Isha relaxed, matching his steps with an easy rhythm. The earlier stiffness left her ankles, and her body warmed to the floor.




From the wall, Rohan watched them across the room. The British gentleman’s steady turns had carried Isha toward the center of the hall, far from where Rohan stood. Only a few feet from her, a lean Indian man in a dark tailored suit was commanding the floor. He moved with effortless rhythm, hitting every beat with sharp footwork, other couples following his line.

The violins wound down, and the British gentleman brought Isha to a neat stop. He stepped back and offered a small bow. “Thank you, young lady.”

Isha dipped her head with a warm smile.

From the far end of the room, Rohan pushed off from the wall, stepping forward to reclaim her hand for the next song.

The distance was too great. The lean man was already right beside her. He released his partner, pivoted on his heel, and stepped directly in front of Isha with a bold grin. He extended a gloved hand. “May I?”

Isha saw Rohan starting across the hall, then looked at the lean man’s outstretched glove. The wine and the quick turns had shaken off her nerves, humming warm in her veins. She placed her fingers in his palm.

The band struck up a fast swing, the brass section blaring with energetic horns while the drums kicked into a driving beat.

Rohan stopped at the edge of the floor. A thick, swelling heat took his chest, holding him where he stood.

[sakurasan]

Sorry to say that this update is boring

Sorry bro. In that case , you may have to skip next few chapters. It is going to be like this only

[sakurasan]

It’s awasome update and build up of something awasome, please keep posting regularly

Lucifer- pls add gif as earlier

Thanks for the support bro. 

Lucifer will add gifs when a scene needs that only. It will suit only sex scenes

[sakurasan]

Chapter 18 The Gloves — Part 2

The lean man pulled Isha right into the rhythm. His gloved hand caught the small of her bare back, pressing her close as he launched into a rapid series of turns. Isha matched him stride for stride. Her hips swayed with the sharp count of the horns, her heels snapping against the polished wood.

Every turn whipped the skirt outward. The slit opened high up her left side, exposing her bare thigh under the chandeliers. Men lining the wall turned their heads to watch her legs.

Rohan watched his fiancée moving in another man’s arms. He saw the confidence in her posture, her head thrown back, her upturned dark eyes flashing with delight. The lean man was bold with his hold. When the trumpets spiked, he shifted his hand from her waist to her ribs, his fingers resting just below the swell of her breast. He spun her out to the length of his arm, then reeled her back so fast her chest brushed his lapels.

Isha felt the man’s grip at her ribs, firm against her side. The rush of wind from the spin cooled the sweat along her neck. The speed of his lead took her breath away. She had no need to guess a step; his hands directed where to throw her weight.

In the middle of the floor, the lean man planted his feet. He slid one gloved arm deep under her left thigh, right through the parted slit, and hooked her leg up onto his hip. Isha gripped his shoulder and leaned back into the hold. Her bare thigh lay along his tuxedo. The silk fell away from her hips and clung tight across her belly and breasts. He turned with her weight on that hip. She felt his glove under her thigh and the heat of his body against the inside of her leg. Her standing heel barely met the wood.




A couple near them cheered.

Rohan felt his mouth go dry, a heavy thrum settling deep in his groin as he watched the man hold her bare thigh on his hip. Turning her like that for the ballroom to see sent a jolt through his veins that made his knees feel light. She was his, yet here she was, in the center of the room for everyone to see.

The man let her leg down off his hip and swept her straight into a deep back drop. He went down on one knee, supporting her spine inches above the parquet. Isha arched over his forearm, his arm taking her weight, the silk tight across her breasts, her throat bare.

As she hung over his arm, Isha’s eyes found Rohan through the crowd.

She looked straight at him. Her face was flushed with laughter, and her gaze stayed locked on his. She did not look away. In that suspended second, with another man’s arm under her back and his chest hovering over hers, her smile was only for Rohan.

The lean man hauled her back to her feet in one fluid lift, spinning her twice before the final drum roll hit.

People along the wall clapped. The lean man kept hold of her fingers, his chest heaving, his grin showing he wanted another round.

Rohan did not wait. He crossed the floor before anyone else could move. He reached them before the applause died down and tapped the lean man’s shoulder.

The lean man turned, his brow rising as he saw Rohan. A flicker of reluctance crossed his face, his fingers releasing Isha’s glove with obvious regret. He gave Rohan a wry nod, bowed to Isha, and backed away into the crowd.

Isha let out a breath, her cheeks glowing red. She looked at Rohan, her eyes bright and laughing.

The tempo did not jump. The band eased into a slow waltz, the cello carrying a long melody.

Rohan gathered her close, his right hand settling on the bare skin at the dip of her back. Isha rested both hands against his lapels, leaning into his chest. Her body was hot through the silk, her breath warm against his jaw. They moved in an easy turn, her head resting beneath his chin. After the wild spins with the stranger, the familiar hold was steady ground.

When the last chord trailed off, she stayed against his chest for a beat.

“I am starving,” she murmured.

Rohan chuckled, pressing his chin to her hair. “Then let us eat.”

He offered his arm. Isha curled her gloved hand through his elbow, and they walked off the floor to their ringside table.

A waiter pulled her chair out. Isha sat down. Rohan took his seat across from her. They peeled off their white gloves and laid them beside the silver cutlery.

The waiter brought soup, warm bread rolls, and platters of chicken and roasted vegetables. He poured fresh wine into their glasses, set a water pitcher between them, and stepped away.

Isha was hungry. She broke a roll, dipped her spoon into the broth, and ate with relish. Under the white tablecloth, she had slipped her feet out of her heels. Her bare foot found Rohan’s shin, her toes resting warm against the skin above his sock.




Rohan took his fork and ate, watching her across the candle. The food was good, but his throat was still warm from the sight of her on the floor.

Between bites, they watched the room. Isha broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the broth. “This is much better than the college canteen,” she remarked.

“Anything is better than the canteen,” Rohan answered, taking a bite of chicken. “You like the wine?”

“It is nice. It makes the long day feel far away.” Her toes pressed against his calf, kneading the muscle under his trouser leg. “You look very handsome in that tux.”

“You are the one turning every head in the room.”

“Smooth talker,” she teased, watching him across the candle. “Eat your dinner.”

They finished their plates at an easy pace. The waiter cleared the platters and left them with the wine.

Around the arena, tables were emptying. The hotel dimmed the chandeliers, leaving amber light over the floor. The band took a slower turn. The trumpets and loud drums stopped. The pianist played long, low chords, and the violins drew out quiet notes. Couples on the floor moved closer, holding each other tight and swaying in place.

Rohan set his glass down. “Let us head up to the room,” he said.

Isha looked at the floor, then at him. “Already? The night is young.”

“It is late,” he said. “We have been on our feet since morning.”

“The wine woke me up,” she told him, her sole rubbing up the side of his knee. “I am not tired at all. I want to be back on the floor.”

“Isha.”

“It is only slow songs now, Rohan. Just one.”

She slipped into her heels and stood up. Rohan picked up their gloves. They pulled the cotton on, stepped down to the floor, and he drew her close.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his palms pressing the bare skin at her back. Isha let her weight settle against him. She looped her arms around his neck, her fingers curling behind his collar, and rested her cheek against his throat.

With the music dragging out slow notes, Rohan took her full weight against his chest, swaying them in place. He felt the heavy warmth of her breasts flattening into his front, and the sink of her hips against his thighs with each slow pivot. The slit hung open, her bare leg resting against his trousers, almost as if he were carrying her as they swayed.

The song finished on a held chord. Rohan loosened his hold, shifting his hands to her waist to guide her toward the stairs.

“Upstairs now?” he asked.

Isha kept her arms around his neck, looking up with a teasing smile. “One more. Please. Just one.”

Rohan gave in with a soft laugh. “Just one.”

He pulled her back in. She leaned into him again, resting her forehead under his jaw while they swayed under the amber lights until the final note died away.

As they stepped back to catch their breath, a tap came on Rohan’s shoulder.

A well-built man had stepped in, offering his gloved hand. Rohan moved to give way, but Isha’s fingers tightened on his glove, holding him fast. Seeing the man wait, Rohan worked his fingers free from hers and stepped back to the wall.

Isha did not know she could refuse. With the man waiting and guests watching from the tables, she placed her hand in his. Her eyes followed Rohan to the wall. She looked at him as if he had given her away.

Rohan met her gaze and gave a small, helpless nod. He stayed where he was.

The band continued with another slow song. The man took her waist and drew her close until her front met his. Their steps were small, carrying them across the floor toward the far corner.

Isha kept her eyes locked on Rohan. She felt the man’s chest against her breasts and his glove steady at her waist. The slow steps kept her in that contact.

When a turn finally pulled her gaze toward the steps, the man looked down her neckline.

Rohan saw that look from the wall. Isha’s eyes were on the steps.

Having just carried her in his arms, Rohan knew the exact weight and warmth resting against that man's chest. He knew how soft her breasts felt pressed against a shirt, and the heat of her bare thigh against wool. He was tense and horny.

The song ended on a drawn-out note.

The man kept her pressed to his chest through the few seconds between songs, his arm across her back, her face turned toward the wall. The men along the wall saw his broad shoulders and how tight he held her. They stayed where they were.

Rohan wanted to cut in. The want made his legs feel heavy. He looked at Isha’s face for a sign. It was blank. Before he could decide, the man started moving her into the next song.

The music turned slower with her still against his chest, and he pulled her in tighter. He crushed her breasts against him. His hand moved down from her waist and gripped the top of her ass, holding her flush to his front. She felt uncomfortable the moment his hand took her there. This was her first time at a dance like this, and she did not know if she should do something about it. She stepped into the turn and brought them back across the floor, toward Rohan. On the next turn his thigh came through the open slit and pressed the inside of her bare leg, and his gloved fingers shifted onto that skin.

Rohan was close enough now that she could read his face.

From the wall, Rohan saw the man’s hand on her ass and the man’s leg between her bare thighs, the white glove against her skin. Rohan’s mouth tightened. His hands closed into fists at his sides. He took one step onto the floor to go to her. Her eyes were already on him, and she was still in the man’s arms. He stopped.

Over the man’s arm, Isha found Rohan’s face. He was clenching his jaw. For the first time, he looked possessive for her. That look made her happy, and she stopped thinking about what the other man was doing. Her eyes stayed on Rohan.



After the second song, she drew her hand back from the man’s glove.

“Thank you,” she said.

She left him in the corner of the floor and walked to the wall. She reached out, took Rohan by the wrist, and looked into his face.

“The room,” she said.

[sakurasan]

Chapter 18 The Gloves — Part 3

They left the hall and took the lift up in silence. At the end of the quiet corridor, they stopped outside the honeymoon suite door.

Rohan took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

They stepped inside. The room was warm and still, the rose petals untouched on the bed under the hanging cupids.

Isha kicked off her heels and went straight into the bathroom.

By the time she came back out, Rohan had already changed. His rental tuxedo lay folded on the chair, with his white dress shirt thrown across the back. Through the glass door, she saw him standing out on the balcony in shorts and a t-shirt, leaning his forearms on the stone railing and looking out over the dark valley.

With the room to herself, Isha unzipped the side of her dress. She stepped out of the silk and laid it across the luggage bench. She peeled off the stick-on cups and put them back into her pouch, leaving herself in only the seamless nude thong.

She looked at her packed suitcase, then glanced at the chair. Rohan’s white formal shirt hung over the wood.

She walked over and picked it up. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and buttoned two buttons in the middle, leaving the collar and upper chest open. The hem fell past her hips, barely covering the high-cut curve of the nude thong, leaving her long legs bare.

She unlocked the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony.

The cold hill wind hit her at once. A shiver ran across her skin, and her nipples tightened into sharp points, pushing visibly against the white cotton.

Rohan turned around at the sound of the sliding glass.

His breath caught. He stared at her, his eyes taking in her bare legs, the white shirt barely reaching her hips, and her erect nipples straining the fabric.

Two wicker lounge chairs sat by the stone balustrade, facing the black drop of the valley. Rohan sat down in one, his bare knees cold in the night air.

Isha walked past him and sank into the other chair, curling her legs onto the cushion. The white shirt fell loose over her thighs.

“You brought that huge bag and you put on my dirty shirt,” he said, his voice low.

Isha lifted the collar to her nose and inhaled. “It smells like you,” she murmured.

She shifted back against the wicker and swung both legs across the space between their chairs, resting her calves across his thighs. With her legs stretched out, the hem of the shirt rode up past her hips. Her bare feet were cold against his skin.

“Press my feet,” she ordered, curling her toes against his shorts. “They hurt from all that dancing.”

Rohan took her feet into his hands. His thumbs pressed into the tight curve of her arches, working the sore muscles while her heels rested in his palms. “You would not quit the dance floor.”




Isha leaned back against the wicker, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

“I wanted to dance with you,” she said, curling her toes against his chest.

As he worked her arches, his gaze drifted past her ankles along her bare legs, and his breath caught. With her thighs parted across his lap, he had an open view between them. He had never heard of a nude thong. To his eyes, she wore nothing under his shirt. Yet between her thighs there was no hair or slit, only smooth, unbroken flesh that matched her skin. He forced his eyes back to her feet, his thumbs pressing on instinct, his mind spinning without the courage to ask.

She saw where his eyes had drifted. She acted as if she had not noticed. He would not be able to keep up his good-boy act for long.

“You were lazy,” she said. “You passed your work to other men.”

“I did not pass anything,” he said.

He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the ball of her foot, kissing the skin while his thumbs worked her toes.

A warm shiver ran up her leg. He had never kissed her feet before. No man did that unless he worshiped a woman, placing her above his own pride. She knew in that second how deeply he loved her. The thought tightened her throat. She could have reached down and pulled him into her arms, but she refused to acknowledge it in words. She was not going to let him off so easily.

She let out a breath, her toes curling against his lips, and kept her voice on the dance floor.

“You just backed away to the wall.”

“It was only dancing,” he reasoned, his hands sliding up to cup her ankles, his thumbs rubbing the tight cords behind her heels. He leaned down and kissed the bone of her ankle. “And they have rules to avoid direct contact.”

Isha arched an eyebrow, laughing softly. “They kissed me.”

“They only kissed your hand. That too over gloves,” Rohan said quickly, his palms smoothing up the sides of her calves to work out the stiffness. “That is standard manners in that kind of crowd.”

“Indeed. But what if?”

“It is a posh crowd. No one imposes on anyone,” Rohan said. His hands glided higher, kneading the soft curve of her calves, his throat tightening as his palms neared her knees. “It is like travelling in a crowded bus. People are close, bodies bump into each other, but nobody thinks anything of it.”

Isha stared at him, then burst into a laugh.

In her head, she knew no bus in Pune felt like that. The last man was barely dancing. He had gripped the top of her ass tight, crushed her breasts against his chest, and held her like that. She had seen Rohan ready to take that man on. Now he was acting like it was nothing. She let him think she believed him. Aloud, she only shook her head.

“A bus?” She laughed. “You will say anything to defend your laziness.”

His hands moved past her knees, smoothing along the skin of her thighs to the crease of her hips. His thumb brushed a thin ridge of cloth. He paused, tracing the seamless edge. It matched her skin so closely it had fooled his eyes. She was wearing panties after all.

“Ok. I agree everyone cut in,” he said.

“That is what I have been saying,” she said. “But you could have come in after one song.”

“That dancer fellow was right beside you, and fast.”

“What about that big guy. The song had a gap.”

“I was looking at someone else.”

“Liar. Your eyes were on me the whole time.”

She pulled her legs from his lap. Instead of staying in her chair, she slid across the small gap between them, stepped onto the cold tiles, and curled right into his lounge. She crowded into the wicker beside him, tucking her legs against his hip. Her bare thigh pressed flush along his shorts, her skin radiating heat against his, her face only inches from his cheek.

“If you had looked at anyone else, then you would have known.”

“All eyes were on you only.”

“All eyes are fine. What about yours.”

Rohan looked at her nipples pushing against his shirt. He pinched them both at once.

“Mine were on these.”

She remembered her plan. She looked at her phone. It was ten minutes to midnight.

“Wait here,” she said. “Come inside only when I say. No looking back.”

She went inside and pulled the curtain shut across the glass door.

Just as the clock was about to hit midnight, she called out, “Come in.”

Rohan stepped inside and stopped in surprise, his cock going hard in an instant. Isha lay on the bed in only her panties. Two small chocolate fudge cakes rested on top of her bare breasts, with a lit candle burning in the center of each. The dark cream held to her skin. Rohan walked to the side of the bed. As the clock hit twelve, she sang, “Happy birthday.”

[sakurasan]

Chapter 19 Closing Eyes — Part 1

Isha lay on the bed in only her panties, the two fudge cakes on her bare breasts, and watched Rohan.

He stood at the side of the mattress. The flames stood straight in the cream. His eyes were wide on her chest. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

She looked at him. He was in a trance, and she thought, I am going to break this good boy tonight.

Rohan came close. His knees met the edge of the bed, and the heat of the two flames reached his mouth. He had never seen a grown woman's breasts live. All his knowledge of them had come from porn. His heart and his cock pulsed in the same beat. Just behind this fudge lay the breasts of his girl. The breasts he had seen in his dream every night were finally going to be live.

“Baby,” she said, “you can stare the full night.”

“Thanks.”

“What thanks. Blow the candles before the fire alarm triggers.”

“Sorry.”

He laughed once, bent over the cakes, and blew. “Happy birthday, good boy,” she said again. “Make a bad wish.” The flames went out.

She took the candles out of the fudge. She raised herself a little, and the cakes rose on her chest.

“Now feast your treat.”

Rohan sat on the bed at her left side. He bent to her left breast and put his mouth on the fudge, over the hole the candle had left. That was where her nipple had to be. He licked slowly into the hole. The cream was thick, and it smeared his nose and both cheeks as his face worked in the cake.

“Eat it fully,” she said. “If you dirty the bed, you are going to pay.”

“I can see the towel below you.”

“I know you will be clumsy.”

“You will see now how clean I eat my plate.”

He licked faster. The candle hole was a small well of fudge, and he dug at the bottom of it. Her nipple came up in the center. The areola spread around it, and past that a ring of bare skin, still walled in by the dark cream. He kept his tongue in the well until the nipple stood free, tipped with fudge, the areola bare, her skin pale at the rim, and the rest of that breast still under the cake.

“You can't free just one girl,” she said. “The other is crying.”

“Rescue coming.”

He swung a leg over her and straddled her hips. His cock lay between them under the shorts, and she felt the hardness. She could not tell his size through the shorts. She was happy. Her plan was working.

He lowered his face to her right breast and bit into the fudge. His teeth went through the cream and closed on her skin.

“You are becoming a tiger,” she said.

“Yes. I am going to eat the cake and what is below too.”

He bit again. The print of his teeth stood on her right breast, fudge caught in the mark. The sting hit her at once. It ached, and she wanted the next bite. She lifted that breast into his mouth.

The softness under his teeth made him bite harder. He felt the mark form, her skin giving and then holding the shape of his teeth. His cock pressed into her hips with the bite. He set a second mark beside the first, closer to the cake, where her nipple was still hidden. Chocolate and the taste of her skin were in his mouth. He wanted to eat down through the fudge until that nipple was in his teeth too.

She looked at the marks. They ached at the edge of the fudge, and the ache pleased her. The hardness stayed pressed between them. Heat came through his shorts, and then she felt him pulsing. She pushed her right breast against his mouth for the next mark.

He bit where the cake still covered her right nipple. The fudge broke, the nipple came up, and the skin around it showed. He raised his head. He could see both nipples now, and the skin around them. Both stood an inch out from her skin. He looked from the left to the right, and he felt proud.

“Do they always stand like this?”

“No. Only when some animals rub on me.”

“How many animals got them like this?”

“Four.”

“Only four?”

“Tonight's four.”

“That means it was like this all evening,” he said.

She felt shy to admit it.

“How is the taste?” she asked. “Did I choose the right cake for you?”

“It is too good.”

He bent to the side of her right breast. His tongue traced the curve, and the fudge loaded thick on it. His cheek rubbed the breast as his face turned. He felt how soft it was under that rub. He came up, kissed her on the lips, and pushed his tongue into her mouth. The cake was sweet and heavy between them. She licked it off his tongue. Her mouth was warm around it. She let his tongue go.

He turned to the side of her left breast. His tongue traced that curve and gathered another load, and his cheek rubbed across her as he worked. The breast shifted under his cheek. Fudge from his face smeared her skin. He came up and fed her again. She sucked the cream from his tongue. He felt the pull of her mouth until the tongue was clean, and then she released him.

Cake still sat on the outer side of her right breast. He set his cheek there. His tongue traced under the remaining fudge, and his cheek rubbed over a tooth mark while the tongue filled. The mark was warm against his cheek. He kissed her and gave her that tongue. She sealed her lips around it and sucked it in. Her mouth drew the tongue deeper, past the cake, and she sucked along it. He felt her lips tight and the pull taking him in. She kept sucking.

He went back to the side of her left breast and loaded his tongue a fourth time. His cheek pressed into her breast while his tongue traced the last thick cream. He slid that tongue into her mouth. She sucked it in again, and she thought, this is a cock. She chewed. The tongue was soft. Her teeth met through it, and the chew landed as a bite. The fudge spread between them. The bite was sharp, and her mouth stayed hot around it. She held him there. Then she opened her teeth.

“You bit me.”

“I thought it was something else,” she said.

“That is my tongue.”

“Sorry. Is it paining?”

“Not as paining as this,” he said.

His mouth dropped onto her chest. He bit her right breast, a small sharp bite, then another beside it, then another, fast, across the curve and over the marks he had already left. He caught the nipple in his teeth, let it go, and bit the skin under it. He moved to the left breast and the bites kept coming, around that nipple, down the side, and over the top. Fudge smeared his teeth. Each bite was shallow and quick, and the next one landed before the sting of the last had faded. She caught his hair. Both nipples stood among the bites, and he took each one in a quick nip and went on.

He sealed his mouth on her right breast and sucked. The pull was hard. He took the left and sucked that harder. She felt how wild he was. He was more forceful than Kunal.

She wondered how a man who acted like a saint could be this wild in bed. It made her more excited. The pain of the bites reached her as pleasure. She was happy. He was marking her as his. She did not tell him. If she told him, he would stop at once.

“Now I know why you always want many kids,” she said.

He lifted his mouth off her breast. “What is that?”

“I think you will drink all my milk and not give any to the kids.”

“That is a really interesting idea.”

He put his mouth back on her and sucked, as if he were already trying it.

Her body was shivering. She did not say she could not hold his weight. He knew. He got off her and lay on the bed at her right side.

“You said you would clean the plate. There is still cake between my breasts.”

“I kept it for this.”

He scooped the fudge from between her breasts onto his fingers. He set a finger on her belly button and drew the first letter of his name around it, with her belly button in the center. She took the cream from his fingers and drew the first letter of her name across his. He changed a curve. She pushed his hand and drew her line thicker. They both stayed on it, fingers in the fudge, her stomach under their hands, until the two letters had become one symbol. Others could see the letters in it only if one of them pointed them out.




“We should put this at the entrance of our home,” she said.

“Very good idea. Let me draw it on paper.”

“No need. Pick up my phone.”

Her phone was on the table, already pointed at the bed. He picked it up. The screen showed it was recording.

“Were you recording?”

“That’s my gift for you.”

He was happy. She was giving him the video. He could watch it every night. He aimed the phone at the symbol on her belly and took a picture. His hand stopped there. He did not lift the camera to her breasts.

“Don’t feel shy, birthday boy. Click me full.”

“Thank god for today.”

He stood on the bed and shot down at her. She lay on her back and posed for him, arms above her head, the mark on her belly, her breasts in the frame. He took picture after picture. Then he lay down beside her, and they looked at them.

“I will send it to you tomorrow,” she said.

“I am putting it as a poster in my room.”

“Idiot. What if others see.”

“They will feel envy of me.”

“Shameless. Then I am not sending it to you.”

“I was kidding. I will never show it to anyone.”

“Good.”

He put the phone aside and licked her belly clean. His tongue dug into her belly button. She jerked under it, ticklish, and he came up.

“See. The plate is clean.”

He tried to stand. She caught his hand.

“Not so fast.”

She scooped the cream off both his cheeks and rubbed it on her knees. He bent and licked it off. She traced a finger up her thighs, and his tongue followed her finger. She rubbed the rest on the skin just below her panty, where her thighs joined.

She thought of him as a fish, and she was leading him to her pussy. If he moved her panty, he wanted to fuck her, and she was going to make him the bad boy she wanted.

He licked the cream from that join. The smell of her pussy met him there. His nose pressed the panty over her, and his chin pushed up into the cloth from below, so his face was on her pussy through the panty while his tongue cleaned the skin under it. Each lick brought his chin harder against her, and the smell stayed in every breath.

His face was wedged at her crotch. The musk of her pussy had him. If he stayed even a moment, he would fuck her. He stood up.

“I am calling dibs on the bathroom.”

He washed his face.

She had been sure, and she had been that close. The game was not over. She cleaned the bed and went to the bathroom. He was already done.

“All yours, milady.”

He came out. She started the shower. She had seen him hard in his shorts when he went to the bathroom. She thought she would finish fast and go catch her fish.

Rohan lay on his stomach, and the day ran through his mind. He knew she would be perfectly willing if he fucked her. His heart and his mind were pulling two ways.

His heart said their love was strong. A big cock could not threaten it. He was five inches, an ordinary size, and that was normal for making love. He had read journal after journal that said so. He had even read studies of women whose husbands had bigger cocks and who cheated all the same, and studies that said a smaller husband left a woman comfortable. Those pages had settled him. Get naked, his heart said. When she comes out, she will take the rest.

His mind said, should we take this risk. What if the porn sites are true. What if her body prefers Kunal to him. He could give up anything in his life except her. He could not imagine a future without her. Control your cock until you tie the knot. Be selfish for one thing in your life.

The mind won. He lay as he was and started to thrust against the bed. The dance floor was in his head, and her breasts. He came in five minutes and drifted to sleep in that same position.

The fudge had left her breasts, her belly, and her thighs buttery and sticky. They would not come clean. She soaped them and soaped them again. The shower ran long.

When she came out, he was already snoring, mild and steady. She put on a panty and lay next to him. She pulled his sleeping face to her breasts and whispered, “Today you won the battle, good boy. But the war is not over yet.”

They slept the night like that, his face between her breasts, holding each other.

[sakurasan]

Any idea when we can upload images again

[sakurasan]

Chapter 19 Closing Eyes — Part 2

Rohan was lying in a valley between two white hills. The hills were warm. He pressed his palm into one slope, and it sank in and pushed his hand back out, and the whole hill wobbled for a long time after he let go. He laughed and stood up. The ground gave under his foot and tossed him up a little, and he floated down slowly, as if the air had decided to hold him. He took another step and went higher. Soon he was running, every step a spring, and both hills shook behind him each time he landed.

On top of each hill sat a round pink peak. He climbed the nearer one. It was softer than anything he had ever touched. He sat at the top, pushed off, and slid all the way down on his back, and the hill jiggled behind him until he reached the bottom and rolled to a stop in the valley.




The whole land smelled warm and sweet, a smell he knew. Birds sang in the trees on the ridge, and one of them whistled like a collegeboy calling his friend home. A small stream ran past his feet, and he followed it down the valley.

At the end of the stream stood a well with a low stone wall. He leaned over the edge. It was full to the brim with milk, white and still. He remembered what she had said about drinking all her milk and leaving none for the kids. He grinned, cupped his hands, and bent down to drink.




A ring came from somewhere past the hills, tring tring, tring tring.

He looked up at the ridge. None of the birds made that sound. He bent to the milk again. The ring came again, closer, and the milk shivered in the well. He tried to scoop it, and it ran through his fingers. The ring came a third time, so loud now that the hills shook with it, and the valley went pale around him.

Rohan opened his eyes. The honeymoon suite was in broad daylight. His face was pressed between her breasts. One arm was around her waist, and one leg lay across her thighs. He was holding her the way he held his pillow at home. The warm smell was her skin. Isha lay asleep with her arms around his head. Her hair was spread over the pillow, her lips were parted, and her breathing was slow and peaceful. To him she looked as beautiful as the most beautiful mermaid in the world.

The phone on the side table rang again.

He lifted her hands off his head, laid them on the sheet, and picked up the phone. He lay back with it at his ear, and she turned in her sleep and pressed her face into his chest.

“Good morning, sir. This is the reception. Your trek group is gathering at the garden gate. The walk starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes. We will be there.”

He put the phone down. Isha had not moved. Her cheek was on his chest, and she was still asleep.

He slid down the bed until his face was level with her breasts. In her sleep her nipples had gone soft. He took the left one between his teeth and bit it.

She jerked. Her eyes stayed shut. She pushed his head away with one hand. “Go away.”

He bit the right one.

“Rohan.” She rolled onto her side and pulled the pillow over her head. “Let me sleep.”

“The trek starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Let it start. I will come for the next one.”

“We signed for it.”

“You signed. I only said yes.”

She pulled the sheet up to her chin. He tugged it down. She tugged it back. He slid his hand under the sheet and pinched her nipple, and she kicked at him without looking, laughing into the pillow.

He leaned over the pillow. “Who is lazy now?”

She went still under the pillow. On the balcony she had called him lazy for passing her to other men. Now he had thrown the word back at her, and she could hear the grin in his voice. She threw the pillow at his face.




“Fine. Ten minutes. And wipe that grin off your face.”

She went to her suitcase and took out her gym clothes and the sports bra she had packed with them. She looked across the room at Rohan, who was pulling on his shorts. She thought, yesterday you survived as a good boy, but today you are going to yield to me. I am going to tease you until you beg.

She pulled on a tight grey crop top with nothing under it. It ended above her navel and clung to her bare breasts, and her nipples, still tender from his teeth, showed through the cotton. She pulled on black capri track pants with white stripes down the sides. They hugged her hips and her ass. She tied her hair up high and turned around with the sports bra hanging from one finger.




“This bra is not right,” she said. “It pinches me here.” She ran a finger under her breast, through the top. “Should I just go like this?”

Rohan looked up from his laces and stopped. His eyes went to her chest and stayed there. Both nipples pressed clear points into the grey cotton. He could see their exact shape.

“Like this?”

She turned sideways to the mirror and touched the tips of two fingers to her nipples through the top. “It is not showing, right?”

It was showing. Anyone could see it from across a garden. He swallowed.

“It is not showing.”

“Good.” She tossed the bra onto the bed.

He had lied because he wanted to see her like this all day. But every man on that path would see it too, and that sat hot in his chest.

“The wind outside is cold,” he said at last.

“Then I will wear a hoodie.”

She took a navy zip-up hoodie from her bag, pulled it on, and zipped it to her chin. He did not know if he was relieved or disappointed. She smiled and walked out. He knew exactly what she was doing, and she was not even hiding it. His cock was hard before he reached the door. He pulled his t-shirt down over the front of his shorts and followed her to the lift.

About twenty people stood at the garden gate with water bottles. There were a few couples, a family with two teenagers, a group of five young men in caps, and the guide, a thin local man with a bamboo stick. None of the men who had felt her last night was there, and Isha felt at ease.

“Good morning,” the guide said. “This is an easy trek, family level. Even uncles and aunties come back smiling. If anyone wants night treks or rappelling down the fort walls, take my number after the walk. Through the hotel it costs double. With me, it is half. And no leopard has been seen here for two years.”

One of the young men, in a red cap, raised his hand. “And if he comes in the third year?”

“Then you run.”

“Faster than the leopard?”

“No. Faster than your friends.”

The whole group laughed. Rohan laughed too.

The path left the gate and went into the trees. The ground was red earth packed hard, with roots running across it, and the morning was cool and green. Ten minutes in, the hotel roofs were gone behind the trees. Isha stopped, unzipped the hoodie, and pulled it off.

She held it out to him. “Carry this. I am hot.”

He tied it around his hips. Her nipples stood hard against the cotton, and the heat in his groin rose. Seeing them inside four walls, with only the two of them in the room, was one thing. Out here, anyone on the path could see them, and that made it far more intense. When she shifted her weight, her whole breast moved, not just the nipple, and the short top showed every bounce above her bare stomach. She saw sweat on his face in that cold wind. She was turning him on, and it made her happy. She turned and walked on.

Soon the path tipped up into a slope of rough stone steps. Isha went up ahead of him to tease him with her ass, and Rohan was left looking at it. With the hoodie gone, the thin black pants hid almost nothing. They clung so tight they looked painted on, and the seam ran up between her cheeks. With each step up the stones, one cheek lifted and tightened while the other dropped and shook. He wished he could record it. He would have watched it every night.

The five young men in caps were a few steps ahead of her. The one in the red cap turned to say something to his friend, and his eyes landed on her chest. Her breasts were bouncing with every step. He turned back and whispered to the others. One by one they slowed until they had fallen back on either side of her, two on one side and three on the other, and the narrow steps had no room left for a sixth man. Rohan climbed faster, but he could not get past them. He was stuck a few steps behind, and from there he could see everything.




The red cap looked at her for a moment. “Sorry. Have I seen you somewhere?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I am sure I have. Some ad, maybe?”

She laughed. “I teach.”

“Where?”

“At Pune University.”

While she smiled at the red cap, the boy on her left leaned forward a little and looked past her arm at the side of her breast.

“No way,” the red cap said. “We are at Deccan college of Management. MBA, final year.” He shook his head. “Thank god you are not in our college.”

“Why?”

“We would have been sitting in your class instead of cutting it for movies.”

Isha laughed with her eyes on him. Behind her, the tall one in the white cap dropped half a step back to look at her ass. He caught a friend’s eye and raised his eyebrows. Rohan saw how it worked. Whoever was talking kept her eyes on his face, and the rest of them looked wherever they liked. Isha had no idea.

“It would be tough to call you ma’am, looking like that,” the white cap said.

She turned to him, and the moment she did, the red cap’s eyes dropped to her breasts.

“Try,” she said.

He straightened up like a boy caught by the head of department. “Good morning, ma’am.”

The other four burst out laughing. One of them pressed a hand to his heart behind her back, and the rest had to swallow their laughs. Rohan’s cock stood fully hard, and he tugged the hoodie lower around his hips.

“Very good,” she said. “Now walk.”

Isha glanced back once. Rohan’s eyes were on her, and the hoodie around his hips was doing a poor job. That was the only look she had dressed for.

The red cap followed her glance to Rohan. “Ma’am, the gentleman behind us. Brother?”

“Fiancé.” She lifted her left hand and turned it so the ring caught the sun.

The five of them looked at the ring, then at Rohan, then at each other. Their shoulders dropped together, like a team that had lost the match in the last over.

The red cap recovered first. “Now I remember where I saw you, ma’am. The jewellery ad. Engagement collection.”

Isha burst out laughing.

He turned and called back to Rohan. “Congratulations, sir. You have ruined five careers.”

Rohan laughed before he could stop himself. Inside, he was laughing for a different reason. Five young men had been trying their best lines on her, and she had lifted his ring to them without even looking back at him. Warmth spread through his chest, and he walked a little taller.

“Eyes on the path, all of you,” she said. “If one of you breaks a leg, my fiancé is not carrying anybody.”

They laughed and walked on beside her, and this time their eyes stayed on the path.

The path ran down to a stream. Flat stones crossed the water in a crooked line. The boy in the red cap stepped onto the first stone and held out his hand.

“Allow me. Those stones look slippery.”

Rohan stepped past him and took her hand himself.

While she balanced on the first stone, he pinched her ass hard through the pants. She squealed and nearly went into the water.

“Rohan!”

“Balance,” he said.

The young men laughed. He wanted them to see it.

On the far bank he put his arm around her and rested his hand on her ribs, right under her breast, his thumb against the lower curve. When the guide stopped to point at a grey hornbill in a tree, Rohan kissed her temple. When the young men caught up again, he bent and bit the side of her neck.

“What has got into you?” she whispered.

“Nothing.”

She knew what it was. He was showing every man on that path that she was his. She liked it more than she would ever tell him, and with his thumb under her breast, her nipples stood harder against the top.

[sakurasan]

Chapter 19 Closing Eyes — Part 3

The waterfall was small, a white rope of water falling off a black rock into a round pool. The group stopped to rest, and Isha sat on a flat rock at the edge of the pool. Spray blew off the pool, and within a minute the front of her grey top was damp. It stuck to her breasts, and her nipples showed darker through the wet cotton. Water ran down her bare stomach into the waistband. Rohan saw the young men see it. He moved to stand in front of her and handed her his water bottle.




“Do not drink from the pool,” the guide said. “Upstream there is a village. They also have buffaloes.”

The boy in the red cap lowered his cupped hands. “Too late.”

The group laughed again, and this time Isha laughed hardest.

The way down was a forest road, wide enough for a jeep, with dry leaves along the edges. Halfway down she started to limp.

“My heels are hurting.”

“From the stones?”

“From last night. Somebody made me dance all night.”

“I only passed you on. They did the dancing.”

“Exactly. You passed me to them, so now you carry me.”

He crouched on the road. She climbed onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He caught her thighs and stood. Her breasts pressed into his back through her damp top and his shirt, and her breath was warm at his ear.




One of the young men, a tall one in a white cap, came alongside.

“Need a hand? We can do shifts.”

“No. I am fine.”

“Sure? It is a long way down.”

“I am sure.”

The young man smiled and dropped back, and the group walked down the road behind them.

Rohan knew what they were looking at. Where his hands held her thighs, the black pants pulled tight across her ass, and every step he took showed them that round ass sitting on his arms. For a moment he was angry with them. Then pride came over the anger. She was on his back. They could walk behind her and look all the way down the hill, and that was all they could do.

Neither of them knew what else the boys could see. With her legs spread wide, the pants had slid low. Above the waistband, the top of the crack between her cheeks showed, and the thin white string of her thong ran straight down into it. The white cap saw it first and nudged the red cap. None of the five said a word. They only slowed a little to keep the view.

“They are all looking at my ass,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Are you angry?”

“A little.”

“And?”

“And you are on my back, not theirs.”

She smiled into his neck and bit his ear.

Five minutes further down, the road bent, and the group passed them and went ahead, out of earshot. Isha put her lips to his ear.

“You are getting slow, good boy.”

“You are getting heavy.”

“Then you should have said yes to the white cap. Poor boy offered so nicely.”

Rohan’s hands tightened on her thighs.

“I am only thinking of you,” she said. “You are panting.”

“I am not panting. I think you were eyeing his back.”

She put her chin on his shoulder. “His back did look wider.”

He slid his palms back under her and hitched her higher. His fingers spread wide over her ass cheeks, and his fingertips met at her crotch from both sides, with her pussy lips in the gap between them. She bit her lip.

“There is no shift,” he said. “I am doing all of them.”

“All the way down?”

“All the way to the room.”

She laughed into his neck. A minute ago he had been tired, and now he was nearly running down the hill. He passed the group at the next bend and kept going until they were ten feet behind.

His fingertips were still pressed into her crotch, and through the thin pants they found her damp and warm. He slowed down.

He turned his head to her ear. “One look at a wider back, and you are already like this.”

“Like what?”

He pressed his fingertips in a little. “Like this.”

Her face went hot. “That is from the waterfall.”

“That was long back.”

“It was a very wet rock.”

He opened his mouth, and she knocked her sneaker against the knot of the hoodie at his front.

“One more word,” she said, “and I kick lower.”

He laughed and walked. It had started the moment his grip tightened and he said there was no shift, and she knew it. She was keeping that win from him.

Back in the room, both of them were dripping with sweat. Her grey top was stuck to her back, and his t-shirt was dark down the middle.

“You go and bathe first,” he said. “I will wait.”

She caught his wrist and pulled him toward the bathroom.

“The tub is big enough for two.”

“Isha.”

“What? You carried me down a hill. Now you are shy of water?”

The tub sat in the middle of the bathroom floor, shaped like a heart, with gold taps at the point. She turned them on full and stripped her top over her head. Her pants went next, and she stood in only her panty while the tub filled. Rohan stood by the door with his shirt in his hands.

“Do you need help with that?”

He pulled his shorts down and stood in his brief. He kept his hips turned a little away from her, hiding how hard he already was.

She stepped into the warm water and sank down to her shoulders. He got in at the other end. The heart was big, but their four legs had to share it. Her feet found his thighs first. His shins slid along hers. Soon their legs were knotted in the water, her calf hooked over his knee, his foot pressed against the side of her hip, and every time one of them moved, the other got pulled along.



“Stop kicking me,” she said.

“I am not kicking. My leg has nowhere to go.”

“Then give it to me.” She pulled his foot into her lap and pressed her thumbs into his sole. “You carried me. My turn.”

He groaned and let his head fall back against the rim.

After a while she let his foot go and reached for the shampoo. She knelt up in the water in front of him. Her wet breasts were level with his face as she worked the shampoo into his hair, her fingers rubbing his scalp. He sat still and stared at her nipples a few inches from his mouth.

“Close your mouth. Water will go in.”

“Let it.”

Then he saw the marks. Small red bites ran over both her breasts, around the nipples and up the soft top curve, where his teeth had gone last night. Some had turned purple at the centre. He touched one with his fingertip and traced the little curve his teeth had left.

“I did all this?”

“Who else?”

“I went mad last night. Does it hurt?”

“Only when you look at them like a crime scene.”

He bent and kissed the one on top of her left breast. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Each one felt nice.” She looked down at them. “I wish they would never fade.”

He looked up at her. The guilt had left his face. “Then I will have to make them darker.”

Then it was his turn. She turned around and sat between his knees with her back to him, and he soaped her shoulders and down her spine. His hands slid around to her front, and he soaped her breasts slowly, cupping them, the soap making them slippery in his palms. She leaned back against his chest and let him.

The soap washed away into the water, and they stayed like that. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he folded his arms around her waist. The warm water came up to their necks. She closed her eyes. He felt her breathing slow down, her back rising and falling on his chest, her skin soft and slippery on his. For a long time the only sound was the tap dripping into the tub.

After a while she sat forward to give him room, and his finger began to move on her wet back. He drew one slow line between her shoulder blades, then a curve around it. By the second stroke she knew the shape. It was their symbol.

“I think I will tattoo our symbol,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yes. Now choose where I should put it.”

His hand went down under the water and pinched her ass cheek. “How about here?”

She jumped, and water slopped over the rim. “You are very naughty.” She settled back between his knees. “I hope Kunal knows a good female artist.”

“Why another one? Kunal can do it.”

She twisted around and hit his chest. “You are too much.”

“What? I know he does it well.”

Isha went still for a breath. Then she turned back around.

“Then I will make him do yours first.”

“Please. I am scared of needles.”

“I am not accepting that excuse.”

He went back to drawing on her back. “We may have to add our kids’ names in the symbol.”

“Then let us decide them now, and we mark you with it.”

“I like this. Not the tattoo. But let us decide the names.”

“Okay. You go first.”

“Our first son should be Ishan.”

“Then our daughter will be Rahini.”

“And the next…”

“Stop. Don’t keep going.” She leaned back against his chest. “I am not tattooing a whole family tree on you.”

He laughed into her hair. She could feel him hard behind her, held just away from her back. He was still being good. The water was getting cold anyway.

“I am getting out,” she said.

“I am closing my eyes.”

She stood up in the tub and stepped out onto the mat. She looked back. He was sitting with his head against the rim and his eyes squeezed shut, like a boy playing hide and seek. She almost laughed. He really was closing them.

She hooked her thumbs into her wet panty and pushed it down her legs. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and threw it. The wet cloth hit him in the face with a slap. She turned and walked away.

Rohan opened his eyes at the impact and pulled the cloth off his face. Then he saw her.

She was walking away from him, fully naked, and he was seeing her bare back for the first time in his life. Her wet hair hung down past her shoulder blades, and water ran out of it in thin lines down her spine. Her back narrowed into her waist, and on each side of her spine, just above her ass, sat a small dimple. Below them, her ass was bare. It was round and full and pale, still wet from the tub, and with each step one cheek lifted and the other dropped, the soft flesh shaking a little as her heel came down. Where her ass met her thighs there was a soft crease, and through the gap between her thighs he could see the light from the bedroom. Her wet feet left prints on the marble.

His mouth hung open.

At the bathroom door she stopped with her back to him.

“Bring my panty when you come,” she said, and walked into the bedroom.

[sakurasan]

Chapter 19 Closing Eyes — Part 4

He sat in the cold water with her wet panty in his hand. He could still see her ass moving away from him. He pushed his brief down under the water, wrapped her panty around his cock, and stroked. The cloth was wet and still warm from her. He closed his eyes and saw the dimples, the shaking cheeks, the gap between her thighs. He came in less than a minute, into her panty, and sat there breathing hard.

He rinsed the panty under the tap, wrung it out, and hung it on the towel rail. He dried off, tied a towel around his waist, and came out.

Isha was already dressed. She stood at the mirror in a fitted black strapless dress that ended at her knees. Padding stitched into the bodice pushed her breasts up, and the neckline sat so low that most of each breast was bare above the cloth. She was putting in an earring and watched him in the mirror.




“Where is my panty?”

He stopped in the middle of the room in his towel.

“I washed it.”

She looked at him in the mirror a moment longer. Then she smiled and put in the other earring.

“Your hand is on my ass in every single photo.”

Rohan kept his eyes on the road. The expressway ran down the ghat in long curves, and in the mirror the sun had already gone behind the hills. Isha sat sideways in the passenger seat with her bare feet up on the dashboard, swiping through her phone.




“Not every photo,” he said.

“Tiger’s Point.” She held the phone up near his face. The two of them stood at the railing with the valley behind them, and his hand sat on her ass like it had been stuck there with glue.




She swiped. “Bhushi Dam. Same hand.” She swiped again. “The chikki shop. Even with the chikki uncle in the frame.”

“He was busy with the chikki.”

“He gave us one packet extra, free. Do you know why?”

“Because I am a good customer.”

“Because he was watching your hand.”

Rohan laughed. “What could I do? Somebody went out without a panty.”

“Somebody washed my panty.”

“Somebody had four more in her bag.”

She swiped to the next photo instead of answering.

“And that dress,” he said. “Every time you climbed a step, it got caught in your ass. Somebody had to pull it out before the whole of Lonavala saw.”

“So it was public service.”

“Social service. Free of cost.”

All afternoon his hand had gone back there, a little bolder at every stop, and each time she had leaned into it.

She stopped swiping. “And this one.”

At the next straight stretch she turned the screen to him. He had lifted her off the ground with both hands under her ass, her legs locked around his waist, and his face was pressed to her breast above the dress, his teeth on the bare skin. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were squeezed shut.

He looked for one second and put his eyes back on the road. His ears went hot.

“I felt so shy,” she said. “That poor aunty only asked us to come closer for the photo. She did not ask you to eat me.”

“Don’t lie. You enjoyed it.”

“And her? She should be embarrassed by you.”

“She took four photos. She was not embarrassed. She was envying you.”

“You are becoming impossible.”

She zoomed into the corner of the photo. “And look at uncle.”

A few steps from the railing, the aunty’s husband stood holding her handbag and staring at the sky like he was counting clouds.

“Poor man,” Rohan said. “Thirty years of marriage, and he is holding her bag.”

“That will be you.”

“I will hold your bag.” He took one hand off the wheel and put it on her thigh. “And other things.”

She lifted his hand by the wrist and put it back on the wheel. “Both hands. I want to reach Pune alive.”

She put the phone face down in her lap. For a while they drove without talking, and the lights of the first Pune exits came up ahead.

“What was your best moment?” she asked. “The whole trip. Only one.”

“All of it.” He kept his eyes on the road. “These two days were like a dream. You were an angel, and you showed me heaven.”

“No. That is not an answer. Choose the best one.”

He glanced at her face and changed his answer. “The candles. My heart stopped.”

“Only your heart?”

He laughed. “And this morning.”

“That is two.”

“Then I am cheating. When I woke up, the sun was lying all over your body. For the first time in my life, I was jealous of the sun.”

“Then why didn’t you block it?”

“I tried. My face was not big enough.”

She laughed and hit his arm.

“What was yours?” he asked.

Her real answer was the big man’s second song last night, when she looked over his arm and saw Rohan possessive for her for the first time. She did not feel like saying it, because it would remind him of her in that man’s arms.

“Mine is midnight too. Your face when you saw the cakes. You forgot to breathe.”

“I remember breathing.”

“You forgot. I counted.” She pulled her feet down from the dashboard and tucked them under her. “And the tub. Before the names.”

“We were not even talking then.”

“That is why.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. He drove into the city with one hand, and this time she let him.

“So how is campus?” Isha asked. “Still no vacation for you?”

They had stopped for dinner at a small Punjabi place ten minutes from her building. He could have dropped her first. He was not ready to.




“These two days were my vacation.” He smiled at her across the table.

“And now?”

He tore his naan in half. “Now work. Everything has piled up.”

“Like what?”

“The bridge courses are over, so there are no students. That part is easy.”

“Then you are alone on campus?”

“In our block, yes.” He dipped the naan in the dal. “I have to start on the syllabus changes.”

“You have more than a week.”

“It will not be enough.”

She stirred her lime soda with the straw. “I was planning to clean my lab anyway. Why don’t you take me with you? I can help you also.”

“It will be only you and me in the whole block.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Sounds wonderful.”

He thought of the empty block, the long corridors with nobody in them, and her lab door that locked from the inside. He drank half his glass of water.

“Pass the pickle,” she said, as if she had asked for nothing at all.

[sakurasan]

Chapter 20 Out for Delivery — Part 1

Friday morning Isha walked toward the car. She was in a saree, the pallu across her chest, the steel lunch carrier in both hands. Rohan was in the car.




He still could not stop thinking about the last two days, when she had attacked him in short clothes.

He felt pity for everyone around them, gorgeous casualties of the curves peeking out.

“Good morning, madam,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Don’t start.”

“I am only saying good morning.”

“I know the meaning of the look.”

He laughed. “I was just remembering a wild cat from Lonavala.”

“This is my campus dress. I cannot dress like that here.”

“Campus is empty.”

“It does not matter.”

He looked at the carrier, then at the road, and drove. In the campus parking she got out, and he took the carrier. They walked to their block, where the corridor lay in shade.

“It feels like a ghost town,” she said.

“This month, very few are on campus. None on our side.”

“If I shout, you will come for me. Right.”

“I will think about it. What is your plan today.”

“I will be in the lab. Cleaning.”

“That is a big job.”

“Months of dust. It is a real job.”

“All right. We meet for lunch, then.”

“Yes. I will call you.”

She took the carrier and went ahead to her lab. He took his keys and went up to his room. He saw the long list of syllabus work he had written himself. He was in a race against time. The dean's email, asking every day for a status update, was no help either.

He sat down and opened the first book.

The thought of having Isha alone in her lab was too tempting. The memory of eating the cake from her breasts flashed across the page. He scolded himself, then set his hand back on the page and started the unit again.

Isha walked into the lab and shut the door. She switched the lights on and saw spider webs on the window frames, in the corners, and around the legs of the benches. The shelves were thick with dust.

She saw that the pallu would trail in the dust and the hem would come up black. Cleaning in the saree would not work.

She shut the windows. The two cameras came to mind. She shifted the equipment along the benches and wiped where it had stood, and she left it in front of both lenses.

Then she took the saree off, folded it on a chair, and set it clear of the dust. In her blouse and petticoat she reached up to one shelf and her breasts rose, then dropped when she came down to the next, and sweat poured into her cleavage. She turned from shelf to shelf, and her belly twisted with each reach.

She lifted the petticoat and wiped her face and her breasts with it, and the panty flashed. A thrill went through her, as if the camera were still watching. She looked at the cameras and saw both lenses blocked.

She gathered the petticoat, pulled the length up, and tucked the extra cloth in at her hip, and the hem sat on her thighs. Then she cleaned at full speed, both hands hard on the cloth, and she went back over every streak until the shelves were clean.

By an hour past noon, the lab was as clean as she kept it every day.

She set the cloth aside and rested against a bench. Her thoughts drifted to Rohan, and to the two days she had spent teasing him. She wanted to keep teasing him, so she took the saree from the chair and spread it on an empty stretch of floor, then set the steel carrier in the centre.

She opened the door, saw the corridor empty, and shut it again. She sat on the saree with the petticoat still tucked at her hip. Savita had stitched this blouse with a deep cut, and the pallu had covered it in the car.

She held the phone out, the carrier and her cleavage in the frame, and took the picture. She looked at it. The cleavage was not enough. She lay back on the saree and pushed her breasts up in the blouse until the cleavage filled the cut. She held the phone over herself, the carrier and that cleavage in the frame, took the picture, and sent it to Rohan. Under it she wrote, “Lunch ready.”

In the faculty room he still could not keep his mind on the reference book. His mind went back and forth between the syllabus and Isha. His phone lit against the open page. He went hard in his trousers. He was ready to eat both things in the picture, the lunch and her breasts.

He was not going to sit in that room and pretend he could read. The draft could be checked in her lab. He stacked the reference books into a tall pile, set the draft on top, and carried it across the corridor at a fast walk. She opened the door, let him in, and latched it behind him.

She reached for the pile. He lowered it, and she took the books from his arms and laid them along both sides of the saree. His shirt was stuck to his back. He had brought his work to her. She was happy. He had been missing her too.

“You need to read all these.”

“This is not even the full list.”

“Okay. Let’s eat first, and you can see these.”

He sat cross-legged on the saree. The petticoat was still tucked at her hip.

She opened the carrier and leaned across to set his box in front of him. Her breasts came forward and spilled over the deep cut of the blouse. Rice and a potato fry, still warm.




He looked at them and forgot the box.

“I cooked this for your mouth, not your eyes.”

He laughed and took a bite from his box. She ate from hers. After a few bites she pinched rice and potato from her box and held it to his lips. When she leaned, the cleavage filled the cut, and the tucked petticoat left her navel bare.

He opened. Her fingers came in with the food.

“You said this is not even the full list.”

“Eight here.” He took the rice. “I opened the first one this morning. I am still on that page. The rest are in my room.”

She took a pinch from his box and fed him. A smear of potato stayed at the corner of his mouth. She took it on her thumb and put it on his tongue.

“Nine days,” he said, after he swallowed. “Then the campus opens. He wants the file before the students are back. Every morning he sends a mail asking where I am and when he will get it. If I miss one, the next mail is there before I have eaten.”

He gathered rice from his box and held it out. She opened her mouth. He set it on her tongue, and his eyes went from her cleavage to her navel.

“Will lecturers do this much work,” she said, after she swallowed.

“Most sign off last year’s work. I cannot. It is the students’ future.”

“True that.”

“That is why the dean put all of this on my plate.”

She put the last of the rice in his mouth and let her fingertip stay until he let it go. Both boxes were finished. She put them back into the carrier and shut the lid. The eight books lay along the left side of the saree.

He pulled one book into his lap and opened it in his left hand. He set the draft on the saree to his right and took the pen in his right hand. When he had a line, the pen went to the draft.

She took the carrier to the lab sink, washed both boxes, and set them to dry. Then she came back and sat on the saree, watching him. After a while her eyes grew heavy.

“I feel sleepy.”

“Come. Use my lap.”

“I will disturb you.”

“You sleep. I read. It is fine.”

She stood, untied the petticoat, and set it on the saree. She put her head in his lap. Her hair spread across his thigh. He kept the book open above her hair.




“Your leg will go numb.”

“I will manage. Sleep.”

He read the heading. His eyes dropped to the blouse.

“The book is in your hand,” she said, her eyes almost shut.

He looked at the page again. His right hand was in the air, shaking the pen.

She reached up, caught that hand, and set it on her breast, the pen still between his fingers. His left hand stayed on the book. The blouse was warm. The weight of her filled his palm.

“You look tense. Use my stress balls.”

She used the petticoat as a blanket and put it over herself. Then she went heavier in his lap, and her breath slowed. The petticoat slid down below the blouse, and he saw the bare skin under the hem, her navel, and the shadow where the blouse lifted from her. Her breast rose and fell under that hand. He brought his eyes back to the page, then down again to the dark of her cleavage. He pictured walking into that dark, the soft flesh closing on him from both sides, and holding him there. He went hard in his trousers.

The book stayed open in his left hand. The pen lay against her blouse.

She slept. He tried the page. His eyes kept leaving it for the valley of her cleavage. He lifted his right hand, took a book from the left of the saree, opened it, and laid it over that dark, over both breasts. He went back to the unit. His eyes slid to her navel. He opened another book and set it there, the page on her belly.

She slept for two hours. The draft had three lines. He was still on the first unit.

She woke and felt the weight on her chest and on her belly. She lifted her head from his lap, and the books slid. She caught the one on her navel before it hit the floor.

“What are these books doing on me.”

“I was using you as bookmark.”

She looked at the draft, then at his face.

“How far did you get.”

He showed her the three lines.

“This is all you wrote in two hours.”

“I know.”

“Give me a book. I will help.”

He smiled. “You cannot help with these.”

“Why not.”

“They are not your subject.”

“I can read.”

“That is not the same.”

“Then what. Putting books on me.”

“That was part of the process.”

“I challenge you. You say a topic. I will find it in the book in sixty seconds.”

“Impossible.”

“Let’s make a game out of it.”

“What do we play for.”

“There are six buttons on your shirt. My blouse has four, and my bra has two.”

“I am liking the sound of it. Go on.”

“If I don’t find the topic in a minute, you remove one hook from me. If I find it, I remove a button from your shirt.”

“What are the stakes.”

“If I win, you let me help. If you win, you can drink my boobs.”

“Sounds delicious. Let’s start.”

“Just one more rule. We both unhook only using the mouth. No hands.”

“Even better.”