The moment Ranjan stepped into his cramped, dimly lit flat, the weight of what he'd just done—or rather, hadn't done—crushed him. His fingers trembled as he locked the door, his back pressing against it as if Rekha might burst in at any second, demanding an explanation. The scent of her perfume still clung to his shirt. His cock, still half-hard from her touch, throbbed painfully against his zipper. Stupid. So fucking stupid. He should've let her take him. Should've buried himself inside her when she was practically begging for it.
With a groan, he stumbled toward his bed, kicking off his sandals and tearing at his belt. His pants dropped to the floor, his boxers following seconds later. His dick sprang free, already slick with pre-cum, the tip swollen and angry. He spat into his palm and wrapped his fingers around his shaft, hissing at the contact. His mind replayed every second of the encounter—the way her lips had crushed against his, the heat of her bare tits pressing into his chest, the way her fingers had stroked him with such confident hunger. Fuck. He pumped himself harder, his other hand groping at his balls, imagining it was her hand, her nails digging into his skin as she whispered filthy things in his ear.
His breath came in ragged gasps as he pictured her straddling him, her saree hiked up, her wet pussy grinding against his cock. He could almost feel her—tight, dripping, his. The fantasy sent him spiraling. His hips bucked off the bed as he fucked his fist, his thumb smudging over the slit, spreading the slickness. "Aunty—" The word slipped out in a broken moan, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. No, not aunty. Rekha. Her name was a prayer on his lips as his orgasm ripped through him, his cum shooting in thick ropes across his stomach, his chest, his fingers still working himself through the aftershocks. He collapsed back onto the mattress, panting, his body spent but his mind still racing with regret.
The days that followed were agony. Every time he passed her door, he swore he could hear her laughter from inside, could smell the jasmine of her shampoo lingering in the hallway. He skipped meals, his appetite replaced by a gnawing, relentless need. His classes blurred into a haze of half-heard lectures and doodles of her face in his notebook margins. He'd lost his chance. And worse—he'd wanted to.
Then, a week later, he was unlocking his door after another pointless day of pretending to care about college when he heard it—the soft click of a door closing behind him. He turned, his pulse spiking, and there she was. Rekha. Leaning against the wall outside his flat, her saree today a deep emerald green that made her skin glow. Her lips were painted a shade darker than usual, her eyes lined with kohl that made them look even more dangerous. She didn't smile. She didn't have to.
"Will you let me inside?" Her voice was low, husky, like she'd been waiting all day to say it.
Ranjan's throat went dry. "What about—what about your husband?"
Rekha's laugh was a dark, velvety sound. "Don't worry. He's on a trip to Goa. Won't be back for another week." She pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in three deliberate steps. The scent of her perfume—something richer now, muskier—filled his lungs. "So. Are you going to make the same mistake twice?"
His hands were shaking. Not from fear this time. From want. He fumbled with the keys, nearly dropping them before finally getting the door open. The moment he stepped inside, she followed, her body pressing against his back as she kicked the door shut behind them. The lock clicked. There was no going back now.
Ranjan's flat was nothing like hers—no flowers, no soft lighting, no carefully arranged cushions. Just a narrow bed, a desk piled with textbooks, and the faint damp smell of old concrete. But Rekha didn't seem to care. The second he turned to face her, she was on him, her hands gripping his shirt, yanking him down into a kiss that stole his breath. This time, he didn't freeze. This time, he grabbed her back, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her with a desperation that matched hers. She tasted like sin—like cardamom tea and something darker, something hers.
Her saree was already loosening under his frantic hands, the fabric pooling at her feet as he fumbled with the hooks of her blouse. She didn't help him. She just watched, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he exposed her—first her shoulders, then the swell of her breasts, then the lacy black bra that did nothing to hide her hardened nipples. He groaned, his mouth crashing onto one, his tongue swirling around the tight bud as she arched into him.
"Bed. Now." Her command was a whip crack.
He nearly tripped in his haste to obey, his cock straining painfully against his pants. She shoved him onto the mattress, her eyes burning as she crawled over him, her fingers working at his belt. The moment his cock sprang free, she wrapped her hand around it, stroking him with a slow, maddening rhythm. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" she murmured, her thumb smearing the pre-cum leaking from his tip. "About me."
"Every fucking second," he gasped.
She smirked. Then, without warning, she rose up, her thighs straddling his hips, and sank onto him in one smooth, devastating motion.
Holy shit.
She was dripping, her pussy clenching around him so tightly he saw stars. He grabbed her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as she began to ride him, her movements slow at first, then faster, her nails raking down his chest. She was in control, and she knew it. Her tits bounced with every roll of her hips, her head tipping back as she moaned, her voice a filthy symphony. "Fuck, you're big," she gasped, her inner walls fluttering around him. "Just like I imagined."
He couldn't last. Not with her like this—wild, uninhibited, his. His balls drew up, his vision whiting out as his release hit him like a freight train. He came with a broken cry, his cum flooding her in hot, thick pulses, her name a prayer on his lips. She didn't stop. She rode him through it, milking every last drop from him before collapsing onto his chest, her breath ragged.
But she wasn't done. Not even close.
What followed was a blur of sweat and skin and sounds he'd never heard himself make before. They fucked on the bed, against the wall, in the shower where the water turned cold and neither of them cared. She took him in her mouth until his legs shook, her tongue swirling around his head before she swallowed every drop, her eyes locked onto his. He returned the favor, his face buried between her thighs as she came on his tongue, her fingers twisted in his hair, her cries echoing off the peeling paint of his walls.
Days melted together. He skipped college. He ignored his phone. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only Rekha—her laughter as she pinned him down and rode him reverse cowgirl, her nails digging into his back as he took her from behind, her legs trembling as he licked her until she screamed. They barely ate. They barely slept. When they did, it was tangled together, her head on his chest, his cock still half-hard inside her.
By the time her husband returned from Goa, Ranjan's body was a map of her—bite marks on his shoulders, scratches down his back, bruises on his hips from where she'd gripped him too tightly. And she? She carried him with her, too. The way her walk had a new sway to it, the way her lips were always slightly swollen, the way she'd catch his eye in the hallway and smirk like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Weeks passed. Then, one evening, Rekha showed up at his door with a strange look on her face—something between terror and exhilaration. She didn't say a word. She just pressed a small white stick into his hand.
Two lines.
Pregnant.
Ranjan's stomach dropped. "What—how—?"
She bit her lip, her eyes shining. "I don't know. We were careful. Mostly." A pause. Then, a slow, disbelieving laugh. "Mr. Das is thrilled. Thinks it's a miracle."
Ranjan's hands were shaking. "And you?"
She stepped closer, her palm cupping his cheek. "I'm happy," she whispered.
And as she kissed him one last time, her belly already beginning to swell with a secret only they shared, he knew—this wasn't the end.