"Ma, aapki tabiyat ab kaisi hai?" I asked, standing at the doorway of her room. 

(Mother, how are you feeling now?)

"Ab theek hai beta, tu ja kaam kar apna," she replied weakly, waving me off with a tired smile. 

(I'm fine now, son. Go do your work.)

I nodded, left her room, and stepped into the hall where the afternoon sun slanted through the small window, warming the tiled floor.

"Kashi!" I called.

"Ji?" She came running, wiping her hands on her pallu.

"Rahul ko bulao." 

(Call Rahul.)

"Ji." She scurried off.

A minute later Rahul shuffled down the stairs, scratching the back of his head like a guilty schoolboy.

"Kya hua, bhaiya?" 

(What happened, brother?)

I held up the crumpled papers. "Yeh 5 lakh rupaye ka udhaar kisse diya hai?" 

(Who did you give this 5 lakh loan to?)

"Wo… ek aadmi hai, Piyush. Karobaar ke liye chahiye the… par…" 

(There's this man, Piyush. He needed it for business… but…)

"Par kya?" 

(But what?)

"Uska saara paisa doob gaya." 

I exhaled sharply. "Toh isme hum kya karein? Aise madarchodon ko paise dene ki zaroorat hi kya thi?" 

(So what are we supposed to do? Why the hell did you need to give money to such bastards?)

"Par usne kaha tha… wo waapas kar dega," Rahul mumbled, still scratching his head. 

(But he said… he'll return it.)

"Ab kaam-dhandha samajh... bada ho gaya hai tu," I snapped, already reaching for my gun. 

(It's time for you learn some business... you've grown up...)

I tucked the gun into the back of my waistband and strode out.

How could my brother be so damn naive?

I rode straight to Piyush's house. A decent two-story house at the edge, the kind built with money but still smelling of cow dung and fresh chulha smoke. I knocked hard. No answer. Knocked again, louder. The door creaked open.

A small boy no older than ten, stood there, wide-eyed but trying to look tough, arms crossed.

"Kya hai?" he demanded.

(What is it?)

"Kisi bade ko bula ke la." 

(Call someone elder.)

"Main bada hoon… kaam batao." 

(I'm elder… tell me the work.)

I almost smirked. "Piyush yahin rehta hai?" 

(Does Piyush live here?)

"Haan, wo mere baap hain," he said, puffing his chest. 

(Yes, he's my father.)

"Bula usse."

(Call him.)

Just then a soft voice floated from inside. "Cheekuu!"

I glanced past the boy and barged in.

There she was.

Standing in the middle of the drawing room, a colorful ghaghra clinging to her damp skin, a towel still wrapped around her head like she'd just stepped out of her bath. Water droplets glistened on her collarbone. The moment her eyes met mine, they widened. She grabbed her dupatta in a hurry, wrapping it around herself protectively.

For a second I froze. Then I looked away strange instinct, not wanting her to think I was some roadside pervert staring like an animal.

But I couldn't stay away long. I looked back.

Irresistibly cute. And… fuck, sexy in a way that punched straight through my chest.

"Ji?" she asked, voice soft but steady, shooting an angry little glare at the boy. 

(Yes?)

I smiled despite myself.

"Naam kya hai apka?" I asked, taking a slow step closer. 

(What's your name?)

"Priya," she said, stepping back cautiously.

"Priya ji… Piyush aapke… pati hain?" My heart hammered while I waited for the answer. If she said yes, I'd have to widow her first. 

(Priya ji… is Piyush your… husband?)

"Nahi… bhai hain," she replied, eyes dropping to the floor. 

(No… he's my brother.)

Hearing that, relief flooded me like cool well water. I took a deep breath.

"Haan ji, bula dijiyega," I said, trying to keep my tone steady. 

(Yes, please call him.)

"Bhaiya aur bhabhi abhi bazaar gaye hain. Aap baad mein aa jaiye ga," she said softly.
 
(Brother and sister-in-law have gone to the market. Come later.)

Aww… how cute. I stepped closer. She gently looked up at me.

I placed my hand on her waist, pulling her just a little nearer.

"Toh aap se baat kar lete hain," I said, watching her cheeks bloom bright red. 

(Then let's talk to you.)

"Hume nahi karni… jab bhaiya aa jayenge tab kar lijega," she said, resting her hands lightly on my chest to push. 

(I don't want to… do it when brother comes back.)

"Toh tab tak yahan rehne ki ijazat hai?" I asked flirtatiously. 

(So till then, am I allowed to stay here?)

She smiled shyly and looked away.

My hand reached up. I carefully removed the towel from her head, letting her long, wet hair tumble down her shoulders like black silk.

The kid suddenly piped up: "Meri bua se dur haat lafange!" 

(Keep your hands away from my aunt, you rascal!)

I glared at him. Priya freed herself from my grasp quickly.

"Ap yahin baith jaiye, hum chai banake late hain," she said, pointing at the sofa before hurrying inside.
 
(You sit here, I'll make tea and bring it.)

I was about to follow her, but the little brat grabbed my hand. "Yahaaannn," he ordered, pointing firmly at the sofa. 

(heereeee.)

I sat down, pulled the gun from my waistband, and placed it on the table in front of me with a deliberate thud. I fixed my glare on the child. "Andar ja aur dobara bahar aaya toh…" I growled, gesturing threateningly with the gun. 

(Go inside, and if you come out again…)

His eyes widened in horror. He bolted inside.

A few minutes later, Priya returned with a cup of tea. Her gaze flicked to the gun for a second, then to me. She gulped. All the flirtatious spark vanished, replaced by a wary, almost scared look. She bent to offer the cup, but my eyes were already tracing her, the dupatta had slipped slightly, revealing the soft swell of her cleavage, her slim-curvy waist with just that perfect little softness around her belly, her delicate collarbone, those big doe eyes, full lips.

I picked up the gun to toss it to the far side of the table. She flinched, eyes locking with mine. I didn't blink, didn't break contact — just calmly set it out of her direct view so she could focus on me.

Maybe she understood. Her tense shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"Lijiye," she breathed out, moving the cup toward me. 

(Here.)

I took it slowly, my fingers deliberately brushing her soft skin. She shivered.

"Tum nahi piyogi?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

(Won't you drink?)

She shook her head, her glossy hair swishing around her face.

"Idhar aao," I commanded gruffly, gesturing her closer. 

(Come here.)

She hesitated, eyes darting nervously between my face and the gun, then stepped nearer.

"Haath lao," I instructed, extending my palm up. 

(Give me your hand.)

Priya slowly placed her trembling hand in mine.

The second her fingers touched my skin, I tightened my grip around her wrist and pulled her gently but firmly against my chest — enough to make her lose balance and fall into me without hurting her. She let out a startled gasp, wide eyes flying up to meet mine in shock. We stayed like that for a long moment: her blush deepening on her lips, a tiny, barely-there sly smile that only someone this close could notice, one hand on my chest, the other still held by me.

"Chodiye mujhe," she pleaded in a breathy whisper, wriggling ineffectively in my iron hold. 

(Let me go.)

I chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. I took a slow sip of the tea she’d made.

"Chai mein cheeni kam hai," I informed her, eyes glinting wickedly. 

(The tea has less sugar.)

"Toh hum le aate hain," she offered nervously, trying to pull her hand back. 

(Then I'll bring more.)

"Nahi…" I said. She stopped struggling. I released her hand, slid it to her waist instead, and pulled her a little closer. 

(No…)

"Apne kaha cheeni kam hai…?" she whispered, maybe feeling my heartbeat racing like a storm. 

(You said less sugar…?)

Our noses brushed as I angled my head to nuzzle into the warm crook of her neck. I inhaled the intoxicating mix of her floral shampoo and her own sweet natural scent.

"Ye wali cheeni chahiye," I purred darkly, staring at her lips. 

(I want this kind of sugar.)

She looked away… "Ap bohot besharam hain… hatiye…" 

(You're very shameless… move away…)

"Pata hai…" I teased. 

(I Know...)

I set the tea cup down, gripped her knees, and pulled her fully onto my lap. I gently held her nape and placed my lips on hers. For a moment she resisted — then she kissed me back with the same fierce intensity.

"Mmmmhhmm," she moaned brokenly, slim fingers fisting my shirt as I deepened the kiss. Hard erection straining painfully against my pants with every needy whimper from her kiss-swollen lips.

My hands roamed her lush curves, skimming her waist before sliding down to squeeze her ass. She bucked instinctively, grinding her clothed heat down on my throbbing erection. I groaned into her mouth, cock jerking at the friction. With a flex of my thighs, I settled her more firmly against me.

"Mmm, Priya…" I rasped hoarsely, voice muffled against her throat as I mouthed hotly at her pulse point. My hand trailed up her leg…

Suddenly she pushed me back and stood up, as if realizing something.

"Ap baad mein aaiyega jab bhaiya aa jayen tab…" she said hurriedly, correcting her clothes. 

(Come later when brother returns…)

"Ye karke... baad mein aane ko bol rahi ho?" I said, standing up and pointing at my obvious painful erection. 

(After doing this, you're telling me to come later?)

"Ap jaiye…" she said again, pointing at the door. 

(You go…)

"Aye ladki… tamasha chal raha hai?" I said, grabbing her hand. 

(Hey girl… is this a show going on?)

She tried freeing her hand…

"Jo shuru kiya hai khatam toh karna padega," I said, looking straight into her eyes. 

(What you've started, you have to finish.)

"Hum waisi ladki nahi hain jaisi ap soch rahe hain…" she said. 

(I'm not the kind of girl you're thinking…)

"Toh main bhi waisa aadmi nahi hone jesa tum soch rahi ho" I shouted. 

"Humara haath chhodiye…" she said, pulling away. I pulled her whole body closer instead. 

(Let go of my hand…)

"Chup!" I said. 

(Quiet!)

She went still.

"Chodiye hume!!!" she said, punching my chest lightly. 

(Let me go!!!)

I grabbed her wrists, pushed them behind her, pulled her flush against me, and kissed her passionately…

"Ahhh…" she moaned when I kissed her neck and down her collarbone.

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If Michele Morrone walked in and flirted with you, you’d malfunction too🐵🫶

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