Nitya’s POV

His hand was still playing with my breast — fingers circling, squeezing, pinching gently — while his other arm stayed tucked beneath my head.

We were so close. Too close. And yet… I felt safe.

Like I belonged somewhere again.

Like I belonged to someone.

“Kisi ko bataiyega mat,” I whispered, barely audible.

He said nothing.

“Sun rahe hain na?” I asked again.

“Hmm.” His hum vibrated against my skin.

I stared at the ceiling, heart beating too fast.

“Ye sab galat hai… ye nahi hona chahiye…”

He didn’t stop.

“Tumhe acha laga?” he asked, voice quiet but steady.

I paused.

Swallowed.

Thought about how I had melted under his touch, how my body had trembled, how I'd let go for the first time in years.

“Haan,” I admitted.

He kissed the side of my neck, his fingers still teasing my nipple.

“Bas wahi zaroori hai mere liye… tumhari khushi.”

“Par agar kisiko pata chal gaya toh…?” I said softly.

He didn’t even flinch.

“Toh chalne do… mujhe farak nahi padta,” he said, still focused on my body like it was the only truth that mattered.

“Lekin mujhe padta hai!” I snapped, pushing his hand away and sitting up, pulling the bedsheet to my chest.

He looked at me then. Not my face. But my breasts — still bare, rising and falling with each breath.

I caught him staring. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“Aankhein upar kijiye,” I said bitterly.

He finally looked at me — eyes serious now.

Then he sat up beside me.

“Kyun soch rahi ho itna?” he said. “In band darwazon ke peeche kya hota hai… kisi ko kuch nahi pata chalega.”

I looked at him, unsure if I should feel comforted or terrified.

“Aur agar chal gaya toh?” I asked again, voice cracking.

“Toh tab ki tab dekhi jaayegi,” he said, laying back down and pulling me beside him. He leaned in and started sucking my nipple again, warm and slow.

I caressed his head, my fingers threading through his hair, and let the sensations take over my body.

For the first time, I didn’t even realize when I fell asleep beside him.

In the morning, I woke up to find him still holding me—my nipple still in his mouth, and me still in his arms.

I chuckled softly.

He opened his eyes, and almost instinctively, pulled me closer again—like he wanted to protect me from the entire world.

“Arre… hatiye, mujhe jaana hai. Warna der ho jaayegi,” I said, trying to push him gently.

“Aise kaise jaaogi? Pehle mera kaam karo,” he said, suddenly hovering over me.

“Yeh kya kar rahe hain? Mayank ji… hatiye na…” I said, trying to push him lightly.

He kissed my neck slowly, deliberately.

“Shhh… karne do. Kuch zyada hi intezaar kar liya hai,” he murmured against my skin.

We looked into each other’s eyes—and then kissed. Deep. Needy. Real.

He pinned my hands above my head, and in one slow motion, slid into me.

His thrusts started slow… then deeper, faster. The bed began to creak beneath us, and the soft clink of my bangles filled the room like music.

“Ahhh… uuhhhmmm… hhh…” I couldn’t hold back. My moans spilled out, raw and full.

He took me — deep and relentless — kissing my neck, sucking my breasts like a hungry child while moving inside me with steady, hard thrusts.

We both came, breathless and trembling.

Our heads were sweaty. Bodies flushed and hot. Sheets tangled beneath us.

“Ab jaane bhi dijiye na…” I said, cupping his face, smiling through my heavy breath.

“Raat mein phir chodunga,” he whispered, letting go of my hands.

I blushed at his shameless words, biting my lower lip.

I stood up, gathered my clothes, and walked to the bathroom. Normally, I never bathe in the morning — only after finishing all the housework — but today… I needed to.

The water felt cooler than usual against my sore skin. My thighs still tingled from last night.

I let the water run over me, my fingers grazing the love marks on my chest and neck, the bruises that didn’t hurt — only reminded me I’d been desired.

By the time I came out, Maaji was already waiting.

“Kahaan thi? Itni der se bula rahi thi main!” she snapped.

“Ji… bas… thodi aankh lag gayi thi,” I said quickly, rushing toward the kitchen.

“Dekho ab inki bhi aankh lagne lagi,” she huffed. “Pata nahi raat mein kya kar rahi thi…”

Normally, her words would’ve stung.

But today… I smiled.

Tucked my lips in.

And remembered his mouth, his breath, his weight.

I made tea and hot aloo parathas for lunch, packed everything up like I did every day. But this time… with a little extra ghee. A little extra warmth.

“Maa, abhi aata hoon,” he said, slipping on his shoes.

He was just about to leave, when suddenly—

Mayank stepped into the kitchen.

I looked at him, trying not to stare too long.

“Paani…” he said casually.

I nodded and stepped aside to let him grab the glass.

But as he reached for it—he knowingly brushed his hand across my waist.

I gasped softly. He didn’t even flinch.

And then, before I could stop myself… I leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Jaldi aiyega…” I whispered.

He looked at me for a second — not smiling, not reacting, just seeing me.

And then… he left.

That small interaction — that one little moment — was enough to keep me glowing all day.

Maaji, however, looked utterly confused.

“Tu pagal ho gayi hai kya?” she asked, squinting at me as I stirred the sabzi with a soft smile on my face.

I shook my head.

“Nahi…”

“Toh phir aise hans kyun rahi hai?” she asked, her face twisting in disgust.

I said nothing. Just smiled wider.

“Wo bas… ese hi,” I replied, and got back to work — humming under my breath, wiping the corner of my smile with the edge of my pallu.

That afternoon, when Maaji wasn’t around, I went to the cupboard.

Opened the drawer.

And for the first time… took out one of the sarees Mayank had bought me.

It was a soft pink — delicate, light, not like the dull hand-me-downs Maaji always gave.

I pulled out a matching blouse piece.

Sat by the sewing machine.

Measured it the way I’d seen modern girls wear — a little deep-necked, a little backless.

Why not?

I knew how to stitch. It saved money anyway.

And tonight, I was cooking his favourite — mattar paneer.

The aroma filled the house as I rolled out the last few rotis.

The door creaked open.

“Aaj badi jaldi aa gaya tu?” Maaji asked from the verandah, surprised.

“Haan… aise hi,” he said casually.

He walked in, unbothered, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

He was looking for something.

No, for someone.

Maaji sat back down, her face still confused.

I chuckled to myself.

“Nitya! Khana bana ki nahi?” she asked sharply.

“Ji… bas ban gaya,” I said, placing the last roti on the plate and wiping my hands.

After a while, I served hot sabzi, roti, and raita to both of them.

“Tum bhi khalo,” he said softly, eyes on me.

“Woh baad mein kha legi. Tu apna kha,” Maaji cut in, not even looking up from her plate.

Mayank gave her a sharp glance but didn’t say anything. He kept eating.

Once they were done, I cleaned everything and quietly sat down in the kitchen corner to eat whatever was left.

“Nitya, chal idhar aa… mere pair mein tel laga de,” Maaji called out from her room.

“Ji,” I replied, wiping my hands again and walking in.

As I entered, she looked up with a frown.

“Baal kyun khule hain tere? Ja, bandh ke aa inhe!”

“Ji,” I said again and turned around, stepping out of the room.

But just outside, I froze.

He was there — waiting.

Leaning against the wall. Eyes on me.

Before I could speak, he stepped forward, pulled me gently by the waist, and kissed my neck.

“Nahi… abhi nahi…” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Kyun?” he asked, lips still grazing my skin.

“Woh… pehle tel lagana hai. Jaake fir…” I said, untangling myself from his arms.

He sighed and let me go.

I walked back into my room, braided my hair quickly, and returned to Maaji’s room.

I don't know what got into her tonight — she kept me there till midnight.

Massaging, pressing, oiling her feet again and again, complaining at every move I made.

“Yeh kaise mare-mare haathon se kar rahi hai?” she snapped.

“Tujhse ek kaam dhang se nahi hota!”

Then she pushed me slightly with her foot.

I got up. No expression on my face. Just numbness.

My fingers throbbed.

My back ached.

My arms felt like they might fall off.

The glow I’d woken up with had dimmed — but beneath it all, the memory of his hand on my waist still lingered like hidden warmth beneath cold skin.

I washed my hands and quietly entered my room. I smelled of mustard oil, onions, and garlic.

Not very romantic.

I felt a strange pang in my chest — a sadness I couldn’t quite name.

There he was — Mayank — lying shirtless on the bed, already under the sheet, looking so effortlessly handsome.

As I reached behind my neck to unclasp my mangalsutra, I saw his eyes open in the mirror.

“Itni der kaun karta hai malish?” he asked in a grumpy, sleepy tone — like a child who didn’t get his bedtime story.

“Jab karwayi jaati hai… toh karni padti hai,” I replied, peeling off my saree slowly, folding it neatly.

“Main intezar kar raha tha…” he mumbled.

I turned to look at him — that pout on his lips, his hair slightly messy.

Something soft in me broke open.

I laughed. Out loud. Genuinely.

For the first time in… I didn’t even remember how long.

“Alee ale… mera chhota bacha,” I teased, climbing onto the bed beside him, my fingers trailing lightly along his arm.

But his gaze changed — darker, heavier.

He shifted forward and suddenly grabbed me by the waistband of my skirt, pulling me down onto the bed with a thud.

“Chalo… baal kholo aur Kapde utaaro apne,” he said, voice low, commanding.

“Kya…?” I whispered, caught off guard.

“Dikhata hoon kitna bacha hoon,” he growled.

“Arre… main toh mazaak kar rahi thi,” I said, half-laughing, trying to lighten the moment.

“Main nahi kar raha. Jaldi utaaro sab,” he said again — this time, slower, darker.

I stood up slowly.

My hands trembled slightly as I undid the hooks of my blouse… let it fall.

Then my skirt.

The soft thud of it on the floor made my breath catch.

I opened my hair and let it fall over my shoulders — thick and loose.

“Idhar aao,” he said, patting his lap.

I walked to him, eyes lowered, and sat on his lap — bare skin against his warm thighs.

He looked down at me.

His finger traced a slow line from my neck to the swell of my breast, down to my navel — and then he blew, softly.

A shiver shot through me.

My body leaned into his instinctively.

He hadn't even touched me properly yet — and I was already melting.

“Kitne saal ki ho tum?” he asked, voice low, lips brushing my collarbone.

“24” I replied, breath hitching.

“Aur main?” he asked again, eyes locked on mine.

“27,” I whispered.

He nodded, slowly — thoughtfully.

“Main toh sirf mazaak kar rahi thi…” I said, my voice trembling, trying to calm my racing heart.

He lifted a strand of hair from my face, tucked it behind my ear, then held me gently by the nape — and kissed me.

Deep. Possessive. Claiming what was his.

His fingers trailed down my back, slow and burning.

And then — in one swift moment — I was beneath him.

Pinned.

Open.

Taken.

His thrusts were merciless — hard and fast, yet deliberate, as if he needed to feel every inch of me.

“Ahhh… ahhh… hhhh…!” I moaned, the pleasure building too fast.

“Aahghhh…” he groaned as he came, buried deep inside me.

I looked at him, sweating. He didn’t pull out. Instead, he started thrusting again — his erection still hard.

“Ahhhhhh... umhh... uummmmmmhh…” I kept moaning softly.

“Meri hai tu... sirf meri… aghh... meri,” he kept saying between thrusts.

“Haan… haan…” I replied, breathless.

After a few more powerful thrusts, he came again — his warm seed filling me once more.

He glanced at the clock. It was already 3 a.m.

Then he grabbed my breasts again, playing with them.

“Ab bas bhi kariye na… main thak gayi hoon,” I said, trying to move his hands away. My breasts were already sore from the night before.

“Kitne mulayam hain ye…” he murmured, still not stopping.

I turned around, giving him a better view.

He looked up at me, eyes soft and voice low.

“Nitya… main tumse bohot pyaar karta hoon,” he said, then scoffed — burying his face right into my breasts.

I laughed, breathless and glowing.

“Main bhi,” I whispered.