Friday evening arrived like a held breath.
Priya stood in front of her bedroom mirror, pulse thrumming in her throat. Rajesh had left for Pune at noon—another "urgent client dinner," another lie she no longer questioned. The kids were at her mother's for the weekend. The house was silent, complicit.
Her overnight bag lay open on the bed: fresh lingerie (black lace, crotchless—she'd blushed crimson buying it), a silk robe the color of midnight, and the soft cotton kurti she'd worn the first night Arjun peeled it off her. She packed it like a talisman.
One last look in the mirror. She'd showered, shaved, moisturized until her skin glowed. Her breasts strained against a new balconette bra, nipples dark shadows through the sheer cups. The matching thong disappeared between the plush globes of her ass. She turned sideways—*God*, the way her hips flared, the dip of her waist, the heavy sway of her tits. She looked like sin wrapped in curves.
Her phone buzzed.
**Arjun:**
*Door's unlocked. Come find me.*
---
The elevator ride to the 14th floor felt endless. She clutched the bag strap like a lifeline. When the doors slid open, the hallway was dim, lit only by the sconce outside his apartment. The door stood ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out.
She stepped inside.
The living room was transformed. Candles—dozens—flickered on every surface, casting gold over the leather couch, the low coffee table. Jazz whispered from hidden speakers, slow and syrupy. And there, in the center of it all, stood Arjun.
He wore nothing but black silk pajama pants, low on his hips. The candlelight licked over the ridges of his abs, the sharp cut of his obliques, the thick bulge already straining the fabric. His eyes—dark, predatory—tracked her as she set the bag down.
"Close the door," he said softly.
She did. The click echoed.
He didn't move. Just watched her, letting the silence stretch until her skin prickled. Then: "Come here."
Priya crossed the room on shaky legs. When she was close enough to smell sandalwood and clean male heat, he cupped her face—gentle, reverent—and kissed her. Slow. Deep. A claiming. His tongue stroked hers, tasting, teasing, until she whimpered into his mouth.
He pulled back just enough to speak against her lips. "I've been hard all day thinking about this pussy." His hand slid down, cupping her through her jeans. She was already soaked; the denim clung to her folds. "Take everything off. Slow."
Her fingers fumbled with buttons. Shirt first—falling open to reveal the black lace bra, breasts spilling over the cups. Arjun's breath hitched. Jeans next, shimmying down her thick thighs. The thong followed, leaving her in just the bra and a flush that started at her chest and climbed.
He circled her like before, but this time his hands never left her skin—tracing the swell of her hip, the undercurve of her breast, the dimples above her ass. When he reached her front again, he unhooked the bra with a flick. Her tits bounced free, heavy and aching.
"Perfect," he murmured. Then, from the coffee table, he lifted two long strips of silk—deep crimson, soft as water. "Wrists."
Priya's heart stuttered. "Arjun—"
"No pain," he promised, reading her fear. "Just sensation. Trust me."
She did. God help her, she did.
He bound her wrists loosely in front of her, the silk cool against her pulse. Then he guided her to the couch, sat her on the edge, and knelt between her thighs.
"Lean back."
She did, arms resting on her lap, breasts thrust forward. He spread her legs wide, hooking her knees over his shoulders. The position left her *open*—pussy lips parted, clit peeking, slick already dripping onto the leather.
Arjun inhaled, long and slow. "Look at you. Dripping for me."
He didn't touch her yet. Just *looked*, until she squirmed. Then he leaned in and blew a cool stream of air across her clit. She jolted, a broken sound escaping.
"Please—"
"Please *what*, Priya?"
She flushed crimson. "Please… Sir."
The word slipped out, unplanned. Arjun froze, then groaned, the sound raw. "Fuck. Say it again."
"Sir," she whispered, shy but desperate. "Please lick me."
He did.
One long, filthy stripe from her entrance to her clit. Then another. And another. Slow, savoring, like she was the finest dessert. He circled her clit with the flat of his tongue, then sucked—gentle pulses that had her hips rolling, chasing more. The silk at her wrists kept her from grabbing his hair; she could only take what he gave.
He slid two fingers inside her, curling, stroking that spot that made her see stars. Her pussy gushed around him, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. He added a third finger, stretching her, pumping in time with his tongue.
Priya's head fell back, breasts heaving. "I'm—*Sir*—I'm gonna—"
"Come," he growled against her clit. "Soak my face."
She did. Hard. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers, a flood of slick coating his hand, his chin. He lapped her through it, relentless, until she was trembling, oversensitive.
Only then did he stand, silk pants tented obscenely. He untied her wrists, massaging the faint marks. "Bedroom. Now."
---
The bedroom was darker, lit only by the city glow through the windows. He'd scattered rose petals across the duvet—cliché, but the scent hit her like a drug. Arjun stripped off the pants, cock springing free, thick and leaking.
"On your back," he said. "Legs up."
She obeyed, knees to her chest, ass tilted. The position left her *exposed*—pussy and the tight pucker he'd never touch, both glistening. He knelt between her thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through her folds.
"Tell me what you want."
"You," she panted. "Inside me. Deep."
He pushed in—slow, relentless. One thick inch at a time until he was buried to the hilt, her pussy stretched wide around him. They both groaned.
He started slow—long, deep strokes that dragged over every nerve. Her tits bounced with each thrust, nipples grazing his chest. He bent to suck one, then the other, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
"Harder, Sir—"
He gave it. Hips snapping, balls slapping her ass, the wet sound of her pussy taking him filling the room. She came again, sudden and sharp, inner walls fluttering around his cock. He didn't stop—fucked her through it, then flipped her onto her stomach.
"Ass up."
She scrambled to obey, face in the pillows, back arched. He entered her from behind, one hand on her hip, the other sliding under to rub her clit. The angle was *devastating*—his cock nudging her G-spot with every thrust.
Priya screamed into the mattress, another orgasm crashing over her. Her pussy gushed, soaking his balls, the sheets. Arjun's rhythm faltered.
"Gonna fill you," he gritted out. "Every fucking drop—"
"Yes—*Sir*—breed me—"
The words snapped his control. He thrust deep, hips stuttering, and came with a roar—thick, hot pulses painting her insides. She felt every spurt, her pussy milking him greedily.
They collapsed sideways, still joined, his cock softening inside her. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the shell of her ear.
"Stay," he murmured.
She did.
---
Morning found them tangled in silk and sweat. Priya woke to Arjun's fingers tracing lazy circles on her hip. Her phone—on the nightstand—showed 17 missed calls. Rajesh.
She stared at the screen, throat tight.
Arjun kissed her temple. "You don't owe him answers."
"I know," she whispered. But the guilt was a stone in her chest.
He rolled her beneath him, cock already hard again. "Let me make you forget."
He did. Slow, worshipful thrusts until she was sobbing his name, pussy clenching around him in another shattering climax. When he came, he stayed inside, plugging her full, kissing her tears away.
Later, over coffee on the balcony, she finally texted Rajesh:
*At Mom's with the kids. Will call later.*
Arjun watched her, eyes soft. "You're not going back to empty."
She met his gaze, something fierce blooming in her chest. "No. I'm not.