I raised my other hand and walked it down his jaw. "Rohan," I said quietly, "you're a very good dancer." Just then, the music ended. The spell was ended.
Soon after I saw Zeeshan walking towards us. I was released immediately by Rohan, who took a proper step back, but still had fire in his eyes that we just kindled.
"Ah, there you are my love!" Zeeshan tapped on Rohan's shoulder, "boom". "Rohan, thanks for taking care of my wife!"
Rohan's voice was slightly hoarse, but he answered, "my pleasure, sir."
I dared to take one last look back at him as Zeeshan took me away.
Danish kept on watching, a slow, triumphant smile on his face. He lifted his glass to me, silently toasting me. I had made the grade for his test. In one song, I was a perfect wife and the exciting slut. I'd never been so alive.
The fifteen days of Zeeshan's leave passed in a haze of smiling faces and stolen time. The house seemed to have breathed out in the morning of his departure. Now, the mood changed, the air was filled with a raw, untamed energy in its place and the oppressive weight of his presence was lifted.
I was working in the kitchen, trying to make tea when I heard the front door close. The taxi pulling away was heard as a gunshot which was the signal to start a new race. I didn't have to turn around. I could feel heat radiating on my back before I could see him.
Danish didn't speak. He walked right up to me and his hands pressed flat on the counter on either side of me, caging me in. He leaned his head near my ear, brushing his lips against my ear. "He's gone," he breathed, the words a dark promise. My body instantly responded, a tremor ran through me. I wrestled him to the ground, and I saw a wild beast in his eyes. The look of a lover wasn't it. The appearance of a man who had been compelled to see a feast for two weeks through a window. "Did you miss me?" I said, softly. He replied by slamming his mouth into mine and it was a kiss of desperation.
His hands were all over me, ripping at my garments, pulling my body over his. No nice words, no introduction. He lifted me onto the kitchen counter, and pushed my nightgown up around my waist. His fingers tearing my panties, growling, "I missed watching you. I didn't get to watch you play the game, Zeenat. I almost came right there watching you with him at the party." He extricated himself from me with a thick, heavy rod and thrust with one possession move. I cried, my head pushing back against the cabinets, reclaiming what had been stolen from me for a few minutes. "You were so good," he panted, his hips slamming against mine. So fucking perfect, the perfect wife, the teasing slut, I've been hard for two weeks straight, thinking about it. It was a quick and explosive coupling, the explosive release of the pent-up tension of the last 15 days. It was an exorcism and there was a purging of Zeeshan's ghost from our house and my body. We were all puffed and sweated when we were finished and my body was still pressed against the counter and his forehead was on mine.
Later that night, while I was lying in the sheets with him, his frenzied energy had calmed down, replaced with a contemplative intensity. He was drawing designs on my body, now a light caress. "But now he wants more," said Danish in a gentle but firm tone. "So, after the party, after that dance, he's not going to be happy with looking at someone in the hall way." I am aware," I said, a feeling of worry deep in my chest.
Danish propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes serious. "Good, give him more. I stared at him. "What do you mean?" I mean, "I want you to meet him, alone." The words hung in the air and were dangerous and heavy. "Danish...no, no, that's no more a game, that's real."
He responded with a look that never changed, "It's always been real! So far we have been playing with the variables and now it is time for a field experiment."
He put his thumb on my hand, stroking my palm. I want you to call him. Or text him. Tell him you want to see him. Not for a coffee in a public place. Somewhere private. His apartment. A hotel. I don't care. I want you to see what happens when there are no rules, no witnesses. No me. I could hear my heart beating, like it was a drum. "And what am I supposed to say to him? That I'm a woman who is sleeping with her husband's brother who is telling her to sleep with another man?"
He said, calmly, "You tell him nothing," Danish said calmly. You let him lead, you see what he wants, you see what you want and then you come home to me. He came closer, his lips against mine, his voice intoxicating. "Whatever, Zeenat. If you want to just talk, talk. If you want to kiss him, kiss him. If you want to..." he stopped, because the unspoken question hung between us: Do more. There will be no anger from me. No jealousy. Just curiosity. I want to know what it feels like to be wanted by another man, to be touched by him, without me in the next room. I want to know if his touch makes you feel the same way mine does. I want to know everything. He was giving me the big pass. The ultimate test. It was so scary and so Deep!
"Are you sure?" "Tell me," I whispered. The intensity of his eyes was both terrifying and arousing, and he said, "I've never been surer of anything. It's not that I'm losing you, it's about you finding you. And I wanted to be there for every step of it, even if I'm not in the room. Now, call him."
I was trembling as I grabbed my phone. My thumb poised over the screen, I found Rohan's name. I looked at Danish, who looked at me with a fierce unwavering pride. I took a deep breath and started typing the message, clumsy fingers and the message an offering of a foreign tongue.
"It's Zeenat. I need to see you. Alone."
The response was so quick that it seemed as though he had been waiting. It was as if the little dots had appeared, vanished and then reappeared on my screen, a digital pulse of anticipation. Finally, Rohan's response came forth, it was severe, concise, and fearsome. "Name the time and place."
My breath hitched. I was in possession of the ball. I saw Danish watching me with that unnerving calm, a predator watching to see what his creation could do. Danish spoke quietly and calmly, "Tell him your place. Tomorrow afternoon."
"My place?" The idea, a jolt of pure adrenaline that I whispered. Our home. Zeeshan's home. Eventually, the setting of my secret life with Danish. "Yes," Danish said, but his expression didn't change. I'll wait until he plays on our turf and see how he does. It's the big test! I'll be here listening to all of it! I couldn't help but notice my trembling fingers typing out a response.
"Tomorrow. 3 PM. My house."
There was an immediate reaction. "I'll be there."
The following day was the longest day of my life. The morning seemed to last forever.
Danish, as promised, did depart after lunch, and gave me a long kiss, a promise and a challenge.
"Brave," he whispered on my lips. Be honest," he said, "and then, come back to me.
The house was quiet and empty. By 2:55 I was a nervous wreck. I changed my clothes three times, finally getting to the comfortable and simple, deep blue kurta and leggings, which hinted at the curves underneath.
It was exactly at 3:00 PM when the doorbell rang. It was a thunderclap in the hushed home. I exhaled, patted my kurta and went to the door. I opened it and there Rohan was, not the sensefully assured schoolboy anymore, but more like a man about to do something important. He said his voice was a little hoarse, "Zeenat."
I stepped aside and let him in, "Rohan," I replied. "Come in." Entering the living room, he saw all the pictures on the mantle, the armchair in which Zeeshan had his favorite seat, the faint glimpses of a life that was not his. Questions were in the air, but they weren't verbal. I gave him water, he took it with a nod and his eyes never moved from mine. We sat side by side, but not touching, on the sofa.
We talked about school, about the party, for several minutes, in stilted conversation. This was a thin rind and we both knew that.
He finally put his glass down, and looked at me, his face raw, honest. "Why did you call me here, Zeenat?" I studied him, I studied him. I noted the desire in his eyes, but the vulnerability, the hope, the fear. I thought of Danish's words: Be honest.
"Well, I'm tired of pretending," I said, my voice shaking a little, "I'm tired of pretending."
"Pretending what?" Rohan asked.
"I wanted to see what would have happened if there were no rules, no people, no... games," I whispered.
His eyes looked into mine and I'm sure he was convinced. In a flash he closed the distance between us. He didn't speak. He had just touched my face and cupped it in his hands, his thumbs running over my cheek bones.
He then kissed me. No one could compare it to Danish's kisses. There were no desperate times, there were no angry, and there were no stolen moments. It was tender, tender, tenderly questioning, tenderly gentle. His lips were soft, and exploring mine with a hesitant curiosity. It was the first-time a boy discovers a woman. It was exciting! I said, "Under his lips, I opened my lips.
His fingers traced the line of my hair from my cheek to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangle in my hair. The kiss deepened, growing in confidence, in need. There was a gentle, slow, growing fire in me and him, and I could feel it.
Then he drew away from me, his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged. "Since the first day I saw you, I wanted to do that," he whispered. "Me too," I confessed, a shock to me both.
Then he kissed me again, there was no hesitation this time. His hands began to roam, tracing the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, settling on my waist. I moved towards him, my body bending against his, and he led me to him. His touch was not like Danish's, it was raw, it was exploratory, but no less potent.
His heart was pounding in my chest and so was mine. He laid me back on the cushions, his body above me. His eyes were dark with awe and lust, and he glanced down at me. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. He bent his head down and his lips were brushing against my neck, his teeth against my collarbone. I let out a breathy gasp.
His fingers reached down my side and he began to touch the hem of my kurta. He stopped, and looked at me, asking me if he could. I nodded a small nod. He gently pushed up the cloth, revealing my stomach's skin. His touch was fire and he left behind him goose bumps. This was it. Point at which there is no turning back. My eyes were closed, my mind was buzzing with all kinds of feelings and emotions.
I was Zeeshan's wife. I was the teacher Zeenat. I was Zeenat, Danish's lover. And now, I was Zeenat, the woman who was about to give herself to another man.
As Rohan's lips touched the softness of my tummy, I knew with a certainty that made me both excited and scared that I would have to return to Danish and tell him everything! Rohan's discovery was a slow and a reverent one. He was tentative at first with his kisses, exploring the curves of my hips, my stomach. He was a scholar who was studying a new fascinating text, and I was the manuscript. His fingers were confident yet now reverent, even shy, when he traced the waistband of my leggings.
Each touch was a question, and my body replied with a shiver, an easily heard sigh, and an arch of my back. This was a force other than the power that ruled. The edge of Danish's game isn't so sharp and thrilling, it's more a current of being seen, desired, first time, for a long time.
He put his hands in the waistband of my leggings and stopped, his eyes locked with mine in the low light of the living room. They were dark and searching, raw and unguarded and had drawn me in. He did not seek permission to conquer, rather an opportunity to share. I replied him by lifting my bottom off the sofa, which was a silent deliberate nod. He exhaled an uncertain breath, a sound that was as much relieved as disbelieving, and slowly, inch by inch, lowered the leggings down my legs. The cool air of the environment was touching my bare skin, I felt exposed, vulnerable and more alive than ever before. He didn't rush. He knelt down by the sofa and studied me as if he'd want to remember everything.
He lowered his lips to my inner knee and gave me a soft kiss with an open mouth. I was shocked, someone so close in such a way that it made a jolt hit my very core. He continued his way up, a string of hot, wet kisses down my inner thigh, his hands fondling my skin, the place he was kissing with his mouth.
He traced his way up, kissing my sensitive skin with his mouth, his hands playing with my skin, tracing a path up my inner thigh. He stopped once he got to the top of my thighs. His eyes were filled with fear, and he was amazed at me. "This is a holy secret," he whispered, "I've dreamed about this. "About tasting you." And then his mouth was on me.
At first, it was like a cautious, tender exploration, much different from the knowledgeable, knowing way Danish had enjoyed me. Rohan was learning, what made my hands fist in his hair, what made me gasp. He was a prodigy. His tongue licked my clit, and he started to go around the clit, experiment. The soft and hesitant touch intensified in a continuous alternating pressure that had me squirming on the sofa, my hips rising to his mouth.
He inserted his finger in me, then his other, curling them around to that spot which causes blurring in my vision. The sensation in his mouth was overpowering, as was the sensation in his hands. It was not the warm, harsh sensation Danish gave me, it was a slow, rising wave, an increase in pleasure which would crest and then crest again until I burst with a soft cry, my fingers sunk into his hair, holding him to me as pleasure rolled over me, tumbling up and down for hours.
He didn't stop, never, never, never, and I was a wet, boneless mess on the sofa after he had elicited my orgasm from me. At last he raised his head, his face beaming, his eyes blazing with the triumphant light of love. He slowly climbed up my body, his weight pressing on me, and he kissed me passionately. I could smell myself on his lips, a salty, private indication of what he'd done.
I felt his hard cock breaking through his pants, a thrusting urge. He regarded me, and his question was in his eyes. I reached out between us, and my fingers wracked the button on his jeans and my answer was clear. He growled when I released him, his heavy hot length in my hand.
He stood before me, fixed his eyes straight on me. We breathed together for a moment, the outside world was no more. "Zeenat," he breathed, it was a prayer. Slowly, carefully, he pushed into me, fearing I might break. The sensation was superb! He filled me to the brim, the pull of the stretch was sweet and aching. He stopped and it seemed like he was resting his forehead on mine as I adjusted. It was an untainted moment of connection. After that he started to walk. He was slow, deep and measured in his thrusts. There was no urgent or punitive reason for there being no game. It was only a man and a woman, in the ancient, timeless rhythm of desire.
He looked at my face and his eyes were fixed on me as if he had a microscope. He turned his hips to that part of me that made me gasp and a slow smile graced his lips. He had found it. He started to accelerate, his grip tightening, loosening. The mild student replaced the young man with passion.
His thrusts grew harder, he used to thrust deeply, his breath in ragged gasps against my neck. He couldn't quite get the words out, too much pleasure was in him. I wrapped my legs around him, pulled him in deeper and met him thrust for thrust.
As the tension grew in me, the coil grew tighter and tighter, and I began to stand on the edge of my seat. "Rohan," I cried out, my nails digging into his back. It's for me, he snarled, his own imminent death oiling his tone. "Come for me, Zeenat." His words brought me to my doom. I broke apart, my orgasm crashing in and out of me in a way that had me breathless, shaking.
He followed me over the edge a moment later, his hoarse shout, his body falling on top of mine, his face pressed against my neck. Our bodies covered in sweat and our hearts pounding together, we stayed there for a long time. This was not a silent place anymore, it was a place with silence echoing the things we have just done. He was on top of me, his weight was welcome, grounding. I brushed his hair, and felt a sense of satisfaction, and guilt, and a sense of being utterly and terrifyingly clear.
Then, he rolled off of me, and took me into his arms. We didn't speak. There was no comment. He lifted me, and I placed my head on his chest, and heard his heart beat. After an hour, he got dressed, quietly and reverently. He turned at the door to look at me.
I don't know what this is," he said in a low voice and a serious tone. But I know that it is not nothing," he said. I couldn't muster any words, I just nodded. Then he was gone, and I sat on the sofa for a long time, the house was empty but also more full than it ever was. I could still smell him on my skin and feel his ghost.
And then, I knew what I had to do. I got up, my body sore in new and strange ways, and went to Danish's room, to tell him all of it.
The house was quiet, but this quiet was of a different nature. The quiet was no more like a house without people in it, it was more like the quiet after a storm.
I could still feel the imprint of Rohan's body on mine, the scent of him on my skin. I didn't walk to Danish's room as a guilty wife, but as a field agent, who came back with her report. I came in the dark and he was on the edge of his bed. He hadn't turned on the lights.
He didn't ask if I had done it. He didn't need to. He knew. He said, "Close the door". He spoke softly, deliberately, but with the excitement shaking him. I did, leaning against it for support, I said, "He came," and all I could hear was the ticking of my heart. In the living room we were.
"Come," he said, rising to his feet, "tell me. I was approached, not he. There he was, several feet away, filling the gap between us with a story. I started off with a faltering breath. I explained to him all of this. I mentioned the awkwardness and the raw honesty of Rohan's question.
I explained to him what the first kiss was like, how it was different, how it was gentle, and how it was questioning. Danish shifted his body position as I spoke. I could hear his voice tighten and feel his arms clench, eyes holding a harrowing stare. I followed up with "He kissed me on the sofa," as my voice was beginning to strengthen a little. He was... worshipful. He touched me as if I could break.
Danish made a soft sh, sh sound. A grunt or perhaps a quiet moan. "And?" he asked his voice taut. "Then... I let him," I said. "I allowed him to undress me, I allowed him... to go down on me."
Danish's control broke. After two long strides he had his hands on my top arms and was now closer to me. The distance between us was off the ground, his eyes blazing with a fire that I'd never seen, a combination of fury, jealousy, and an awful and unthinkable desire. He hissed, his fingers biting into my skin, "Did you like it? He hissed, his fingers biting at my skin, "Did you like it? "Did you get aroused from his juvenile chops?"
"Yes," I said quietly, embers flaring between us. He wanted to please me "his mouth, it was different, it was soft." Of course he did, Danish snarled and then he crushed his mouth to mine. It was a hard, harsh kiss, and this kiss was a kiss of ownership. His teeth bit into my lower lip and I tasted blood.
Then he turned me around, slamming my face against the door. He ripped my leggings down, without taking off the kurta, and spread my legs apart. "He did it on our sofa?" he growled as his hands roughly kneaded my ass. In the house of my brother? "Yes," I gasped, my cheek against the cool wood of the door. "Did you have to bend over and beg him to stop?"
I heard him groaning at the memory of Rohan's release, and at the same time my own was there. "Did he make you scream?" I shooed him away with, "No," and moaned. "It was still and slow.
"Good," he grunted. I'm going to make you go on a scream. He released his stiff, angry needy prick and pounded me from behind in a single heavy blow that I did not expect. Suddenly, painfully, I cried out, the pleasure of it taking my breath away. It was very inexplicable and not gentle. A reclamation was made. He was wiping away Rohan's delicate touch in a demandingly rough manner. He positioned himself over me, his fingers on my hips, his body pounding into mine, and the noise of our bodies pounding softly in the silence of the room. He panted, his beat pounding, "Tell me. "Explain to me what he did. Did he look at you like that? Did he feel your size within? Did he satisfy you like this?
I managed to say, between his strong thrusts, "He was... gentle." Looking at my face, he let out a guttural roar and fucked me harder, faster. He reached around my body and found my clit, rubbing it in a way that was rough and desperate, opposite to Rohan's careful exploration.
"It's mine," he roared, his voice a howl of primal sound. "This pussy's mine, this pleasure's mine, He got your body but your soul's mine. It's my undoing," said his words. The violence and the possession, the extreme, unvarnished depravity of it all had me off balance. I came with a silent scream and my body convulsing around his cock, my orgasm being almost painful. He followed me seconds later, hips stuttering as he flooded me with hot possession, seemingly endless. He collapsed to me, his weight, pressing me to the door, both of us gasping for breath. We'd been dancing like this for a long time now, dancing bodies, pounding hearts. Slowly, he pulled out and turned me around. His rage was gone and he now felt tired and satisfied. He regarded my unkempt appearance, my swollen lips and the tears down my cheeks, and a slow, lazy smile played about his lips.
"Good girl," he whispered, gladness filling his voice now, making it thick. He leaned in and kissed me softly, in contrast to the brutality of just a few moments before. "You were just right - you brought me back to where I started." He scooped me up into his arms and carried me to his bed. He laid me down tenderly and started cleaning me with a warm and wet cloth, his touch was reverent. Now he was not the jealous beast, but the proud creator. "So," he said, as he cleaned our blood off my legs, "what happened?" "What's the verdict?" I stared at him and my mind was clear for the first time all day. I said, "Rohan is beautiful", my voice firm. "He's gentle. But..."
Danish's smile widened. "But?"
"But, he's not you," I finished. "But he has no such fire, this darkness, he does not know how to break me just to put me back together."
Danish bent over and kissed me, it was a deep slow kiss, a kiss of victory. "Yes," he whispered into my mouth. "My love, he's the appetiser, I'm the main course."
...to be continued...