u/zakhmi-shubh

"uff...Shubh what are you doing you're my husband's friend"

"Mehhh... he was my friend way back in undergrad, now he's just some guy whose wife I wanna fuck so bad."

Shubh's crude words hung in the air of the dimly lit kitchen, heavy and suffocating. He leaned against the counter, one hand holding on to the whiskey, a lazy, confident smirk playing on his lips. The scent of stale beer and something distinctly him—a woodsy, slightly spicy cologne—filled the small space between them, his other hand slowly and lightly feeling Simran's saree clad back.

"Shubh... please... you're drunk," Simran stammered, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a flicker of something she refused to name. Her hands, which had been wiping down the counter, one now clutched the edge of the granite, the other took the glass from his hand , "and a creep" she thought.

"Drunk on you, maybe," he purred, stepping closer. The hem of her red saree brushed against the denim of his jeans. His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, "He doesn't see you, Simi. Not really. I do. I see the way you bite your lip when you're thinking, the way your eyes light up when you talk about your art. He's too busy with his... whatever it is this week."

His fingers trailed a path down her spine, a slow, deliberate motion that sent an involuntary shiver through her body. The kitchen light cast long shadows, making the space feel intimate, clandestine. She could hear the distant thump of music from the living room, a world away from this charged bubble they were in.

"You're wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but her body didn't move away. Her muscles were tense, this is why two years ago I blocked you.

So, two years ago Shubh came to know about Simran from from friend's girlfriend. He then found her so hot and sexy that he sent her 20 request to her in just 5 days, with messages, "damn yaar, you're so cute" ,"that red saree pic is making me want you more and more" ,"I can be your personal photographer". He was too pushy, too forward, a stark contrast to the quiet, sanskaari woman she'd been raised to be. She had blocked him without a second thought, a fleeting annoyance quickly forgotten.

But then she married someone later, whom Shubh got acquainted with at work, both didn't know this link. Later when Shubh moved to the same society as theirs, he found out. The casual encounters in the lobby, the forced hellos in the elevator—each one a reminder of the unwelcome messages from the past. She had told Rohan, her husband, about it once, but he'd laughed it off. "He's just being friendly, Simi. A bit over the top, but harmless."

Harmless. The word echoed in her mind, later she also thought seeing his behaviour and all that he is a good guy, over-energetic, highly intelligent, maybe that was his horny phase, she thinks everyone have that phase when they would like nothing more than uninterrupted nasty rough sex, so she unblock him. But still she kept her distance, though his charm was undeniable, a magnetic pull she fought against with every polite but firm interaction and thought she won every time.

But now, here in her kitchen, with his hand tracing the curve of her hip, he felt anything but. The memory of those messages, the raw, unvarnished desire in them, crashed back into her. The same desire she saw now, burning in his dark eyes.

"He's a good man," she said, more to herself than to him. "We're happy."

"Are you?" Shubh's voice was low, a rumble that vibrated through her. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. "Or are you just comfortable? There's a difference, you know. Comfort is a warm blanket on a cold night. Happiness... it's when inside that warm blanket you find something that makes you feel alive...something dangerous"

His words were a poison, sweet and tempting. Simran's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of panic and a terrifying thrill. She thought of Rohan, probably passed out on the couch, oblivious. He worked hard, he was kind, he was steady. But he didn't look at her the way Shubh was looking at her now—as if she were a masterpiece, a rare jewel he was determined to possess.

She should push him away. She should scream, slap him, throw him out of her house. But her limbs felt heavy, her willpower dissolving under the heat of his gaze. His thumb brushed her lower lip, a feather-light touch that was more intimate than any kiss she'd shared in months.

"Shubh..." she breathed, her name for him a surrender.

"yes Simi...", as he turned her around facing him, pushing her back to the counter, and his mouth was on hers before she could finish her protest.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hungry, demanding, a desperate clash of lips and teeth that tasted of whiskey and a forbidden longing she'd tried so hard to suppress. His hands were everywhere, tangling in her hair, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. Simran's mind screamed at her to stop, but her body betrayed her, melting into his embrace, her hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The world narrowed to this moment, to the feel of his hard muscular body pressed against hers, to the intoxicating scent of him, to the way he was claiming her mouth as if it were his right.

Suddenly, then she pushed him hard, breaking the kiss.

"This is wrong," she panted, her chest heaving. Her lips were swollen, tingling. "So wrong."

Shubh didn't look contrite. He looked predatory, a hungry wolf who'd just tasted blood and wanted more. He took a step forward, crowding her against the counter again, his hands braced on either side of her, trapping her.

"Is it?" he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. "Or is it the most right thing that's happened to you in a long time?" He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, she pushed him again, this time with little force and she took the glass from which he was drinking and drank it. Then she gave a look of disgust. "You're drunk, Shubh. Go home."

Shubh laughed, a low, husky sound that made her stomach clench. "I'm not drunk enough to not know what I'm doing, Simi. And neither are you."

She was trapped. He was right. The alcohol she had just consumed from his glass burned a trail down her throat, but it was the fire in his eyes that was truly intoxicating. She hated him for it. She hated herself for it.

"You should go," she repeated, but her voice was weak, a thin thread of sound in the charged silence.

"Make me," he challenged, his gaze unwavering.

Simran looked at him, really looked at him. The sharp jawline, the dark, intense eyes, the way the kitchen light caught the stubble on his chin. He was handsome, undeniably so. And dangerous. So dangerously tempting.

She couldn't make him leave. She didn't want to.

With a sigh that was part defeat, part surrender, she closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to cup his face. "You're a bad man, Shubh," she whispered, just before his lips claimed hers again.

This time, there was no hesitation. No pretense of resistance. She kissed him back with a fervor that surprised them both, a dam of pent-up frustration and desire breaking loose. His hands roamed her body, mapping her curves through the thin fabric of her saree, igniting a fire that had been smoldering for far too long.

The counter bit into her back, a hard, unyielding surface against her soft curves. Shubh's kiss deepened, becoming more possessive, more demanding. One of his hands slid down to her thigh, hitching her saree up, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her leg.

Simran gasped into his mouth, her head spinning. This was happening. This was really happening. A part of her was screaming in horror, but another, stronger part was soaring, free and wild for the first time in years.

She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged. "Not here," she said, her voice husky with desire, as she smirked, " Rohan might wake up."

A slow, triumphant smile spread across Shubh's face, "why you scream so much?"

She let out a small throaty chuckle, "what do you think a lady with big assets as mine and soft skin is supposed to do when someone as muscular and strong as you is having a go at them and that too being too rough and passionate? "

The words, so crude and so honest, hung between them, a raw acknowledgment of the inevitable. She wasn't just going to let this happen; she was going to meet him halfway, to embrace the danger and the delight.

"Fair enough"

With a newfound boldness, Simran took his hand, her fingers lacing through his. "The guest room," she said, her voice firm, her decision made. "Upstairs the, left corner"

She led him out of the kitchen, a silent, furtive journey through the shadows of her own home. The living room was still, Rohan's snores a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the frantic beating of her heart. As he saw Rohan, Shubh's became more daring and mischievous

"Come here", he said, as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

"What are you doing! Put me down!" she whispered, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

His smirk widened. "Just getting a better view of my prize"

"What the fu----", her legs wrapped around him,

"Shhh!" and he put his mouth on her, she squealed, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her.

He carried her up the stairs, her saree a vibrant splash of red against the darkness of his shirt, his steps sure and confident,

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in their own private world. He set her down gently on her feet, his hands lingering on her waist. The room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the window, painting their bodies in shades of silver and gray.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate chain around her neck, the one Rohan had given her on their first anniversary. His touch was light, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes.

"Last chance to change your mind," he murmured, his voice a low caress, close to her lips.

Simran looked at him, at the man who had pursued her so relentlessly, there was no going back. Not tonight.

She reached up, pulling him by his collar, "don't make me think, just Shut up and kiss me," she whispered.

He obliged, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other moved to her tits, as he kissed her like he has been hungry for it a million years.

Her fingers slowly unhooked the necklace, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clink.

As it fell down, he broke away from the kiss, and looked first down at the necklace and then at her, "you're a sanskaari slut"

A slap echoed across the room.

His face turned to the side, but he just slowly turned back, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face, as she pulled him by the collar and started kissing him again, with the same hunger as before. His hands resumed their exploration of her body, rough and demanding, pulling her saree's pallu, as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt, her hands trembling slightly with a mix of anticipation and nerves. He was all hard muscle and warm skin beneath her touch, a world away from Rohan's softer, more familiar frame.

He guided her towards the bed, the back of her legs hitting the mattress. She tumbled back onto the soft duvet, her hair fanning out around her like a dark halo. He stood over her for a moment, his gaze devouring her, a predator admiring its prey. He shed his shirt, the moonlight highlighting the defined lines of his chest and abdomen. He was beautiful, in a dangerous, primal way.

He crawled over her, his body a hot, heavy blanket of muscle and desire hovering,

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he breathed, his voice thick with lust.

Simran's breath hitched. This was it. The point of no return. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against her sensitive skin.

"Then stop imagining and start showing me," she whispered, her boldness surprising even herself.

He needed no further encouragement. His lips were on hers again, a searing kiss that left no room for doubt, as he settled down, lying by her side, pulling her onto him in a face-to-face spooning position. His hands were deft, expertly unhooking her blouse, his calloused fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her back. Simran arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The blouse joined the discarded necklace on the floor, it felt like a shedding of her old self, the dutiful wife, the Sanskaari woman. In their place was someone new, someone wild and uninhibited, a creature of moonlight and shadow.

Suddenly, she broke the kiss, "did you close the door?", she asked

"Yes.... darling", he replied, as she looked at the door's direction to see that the door was open by a crack. Before she could say something he started kissing her neck, and her hands went to his back, her nails digging into his skin, as he made his way to her breasts.

She pulled his face by the hair, and looked at him with stern face, but then smirked, "you're going to ruin my marriage so badly", then they both laughed looking at each other.

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This is how I was imagining this Bihari beauty this morning, if you guys like I'll share more full length stories

"uff...Shubh what are you doing you're my husband's friend"

"Mehhh... he was my friend way back in undergrad, now he's just some guy whose wife I wanna fuck so bad."

Shubh's crude words hung in the air of the dimly lit kitchen, heavy and suffocating. He leaned against the counter, one hand holding on to the whiskey, a lazy, confident smirk playing on his lips. The scent of stale beer and something distinctly him, a woodsy, slightly spicy cologne-filled the small space between them, his other hand slowly and lightly feeling Simran's saree clad back.

"Shubh... please... you're drunk," Simran stammered, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a flicker of something she refused to name. Her hands, which had been wiping down the counter, one now clutched the edge of the granite, the other took the glass from his hand , "and a creep" she thought.

"Drunk on you, maybe," he purred, stepping closer. The hem of her red saree brushed against the denim of his jeans. His breath was warm against her ear as he whispered, "He doesn't see you, Simi. Not really. I do. I see the way you bite your lip when you're thinking, the way your eyes light up when you talk about your art. He's too busy with his... whatever it is this week."

His fingers trailed a path down her spine, a slow, deliberate motion that sent an involuntary shiver through her body. The kitchen light cast long shadows, making the space feel intimate, clandestine. She could hear the distant thump of music from the living room, a world away from this charged bubble they were in.

"You're wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but her body didn't move away. Her muscles were tense, this is why two years ago I blocked you.

So, two years ago Shubh came to know about Simran from from friend's girlfriend. He then found her so hot and sexy that he sent her 20 request to her in just 5 days, with messages, "damn yaar, you're so cute" ,"that red saree pic is making me want you more and more" ,"I can be your personal photographer". He was too pushy, too forward, a stark contrast to the quiet, sanskaari woman she'd been raised to be. She had blocked him without a second thought, a fleeting annoyance quickly forgotten.

But then she married someone later, whom Shubh got acquainted with at work, both didn't know this link. Later when Shubh moved to the same society as theirs, he found out. The casual encounters in the lobby, the forced hellos in the elevator, each one a reminder of the unwelcome messages from the past. She had told Rohan, her husband, about it once, but he'd laughed it off. "He's just being friendly, Simi. A bit over the top, but harmless."

Harmless. The word echoed in her mind, later she also thought seeing his behaviour and all that he is a good guy, over-energetic, highly intelligent, maybe that was his horny phase, she thinks everyone have that phase when they would like nothing more than uninterrupted nasty rough sex, so she unblock him. But still she kept her distance, though his charm was undeniable, a magnetic pull she fought against with every polite but firm interaction and thought she won every time.

But now, here in her kitchen, with his hand tracing the curve of her hip, he felt anything but. The memory of those messages, the raw, unvarnished desire in them, crashed back into her. The same desire she saw now, burning in his dark eyes.

"He's a good man," she said, more to herself than to him. "We're happy."

"Are you?" Shubh's voice was low, a rumble that vibrated through her. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. "Or are you just comfortable? There's a difference, you know. Comfort is a warm blanket on a cold night. Happiness... it's when inside that warm blanket you find something that makes you feel alive...something dangerous"

His words were a poison, sweet and tempting. Simran's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of panic and a terrifying thrill. She thought of Rohan, probably passed out on the couch, oblivious. He worked hard, he was kind, he was steady. But he didn't look at her the way Shubh was looking at her now as if she were a masterpiece, a rare jewel he was determined to possess.

She should push him away. She should scream, slap him, throw him out of her house. But her limbs felt heavy, her willpower dissolving under the heat of his gaze. His thumb brushed her lower lip, a feather-light touch that was more intimate than any kiss she'd shared in months.

"Shubh..." she breathed, her name for him a surrender.

"yes Simi...", as he turned her around facing him, pushing her back to the counter, and his mouth was on hers before she could finish her protest.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was hungry, demanding, a desperate clash of lips and teeth that tasted of whiskey and a forbidden longing she'd tried so hard to suppress. His hands were everywhere, tangling in her hair, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. Simran's mind screamed at her to stop, but her body betrayed her, melting into his embrace, her hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The world narrowed to this moment, to the feel of his hard muscular body pressed against hers, to the intoxicating scent of him, to the way he was claiming her mouth as if it were his right.

Suddenly, then she pushed him hard, breaking the kiss.

"This is wrong," she panted, her chest heaving. Her lips were swollen, tingling. "So wrong."

Shubh didn't look contrite. He looked predatory, a hungry wolf who'd just tasted blood and wanted more. He took a step forward, crowding her against the counter again, his hands braced on either side of her, trapping her.

"Is it?" he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. "Or is it the most right thing that's happened to you in a long time?" He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, she pushed him again, this time with little force and she took the glass from which he was drinking and drank it. Then she gave a look of disgust. "You're drunk, Shubh. Go home."

Shubh laughed, a low, husky sound that made her stomach clench. "I'm not drunk enough to not know what I'm doing, Simi. And neither are you."

She was trapped. He was right. The alcohol she had just consumed from his glass burned a trail down her throat, but it was the fire in his eyes that was truly intoxicating. She hated him for it. She hated herself for it.

"You should go," she repeated, but her voice was weak, a thin thread of sound in the charged silence.

"Make me," he challenged, his gaze unwavering.

Simran looked at him, really looked at him. The sharp jawline, the dark, intense eyes, the way the kitchen light caught the stubble on his chin. He was handsome, undeniably so. And dangerous. So dangerously tempting.

She couldn't make him leave. She didn't want to.

With a sigh that was part defeat, part surrender, she closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to cup his face. "You're a bad man, Shubh," she whispered, just before his lips claimed hers again.

This time, there was no hesitation. No pretense of resistance. She kissed him back with a fervor that surprised them both, a dam of pent-up frustration and desire breaking loose. His hands roamed her body, mapping her curves through the thin fabric of her saree, igniting a fire that had been smoldering for far too long.

The counter bit into her back, a hard, unyielding surface against her soft curves. Shubh's kiss deepened, becoming more possessive, more demanding. One of his hands slid down to her thigh, hitching her saree up, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her leg.

Simran gasped into his mouth, her head spinning. This was happening. This was really happening. A part of her was screaming in horror, but another, stronger part was soaring, free and wild for the first time in years.

She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged. "Not here," she said, her voice husky with desire, as she smirked, " Rohan might wake up."

A slow, triumphant smile spread across Shubh's face, "why you scream so much?"

She let out a small throaty chuckle, "what do you think a lady with big assets as mine and soft skin is supposed to do when someone as muscular and strong as you is having a go at them and that too being too rough and passionate? "

The words, so crude and so honest, hung between them, a raw acknowledgment of the inevitable. She wasn't just going to let this happen; she was going to meet him halfway, to embrace the danger and the delight.

"Fair enough"

With a newfound boldness, Simran took his hand, her fingers lacing through his. "The guest room," she said, her voice firm, her decision made. "Upstairs the, left corner"

She led him out of the kitchen, a silent, furtive journey through the shadows of her own home. The living room was still, Rohan's snores a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the frantic beating of her heart. As he saw Rohan, Shubh's became more daring and mischievous

"Come here", he said, as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

"What are you doing! Put me down!" she whispered, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

His smirk widened. "Just getting a better view of my prize"

"What the fu----", her legs wrapped around him,

"Shhh!" and he put his mouth on her, she squealed, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through her.

He carried her up the stairs, her saree a vibrant splash of red against the darkness of his shirt, his steps sure and confident,

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in their own private world. He set her down gently on her feet, his hands lingering on her waist. The room was dark, save for the moonlight streaming through the window, painting their bodies in shades of silver and gray.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate chain around her neck, the one Rohan had given her on their first anniversary. His touch was light, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes.

"Last chance to change your mind," he murmured, his voice a low caress, close to her lips.

Simran looked at him, at the man who had pursued her so relentlessly, there was no going back. Not tonight.

She reached up, pulling him by his collar, "don't make me think, just Shut up and kiss me," she whispered.

He obliged, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other moved to her tits, as he kissed her like he has been hungry for it a million years.

Her fingers slowly unhooked the necklace, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clink.

As it fell down, he broke away from the kiss, and looked first down at the necklace and then at her, "you're a sanskaari slut"

A slap echoed across the room.

His face turned to the side, but he just slowly turned back, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face, as she pulled him by the collar and started kissing him again, with the same hunger as before. His hands resumed their exploration of her body, rough and demanding, pulling her saree's pallu, as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt, her hands trembling slightly with a mix of anticipation and nerves. He was all hard muscle and warm skin beneath her touch, a world away from Rohan's softer, more familiar frame.

He guided her towards the bed, the back of her legs hitting the mattress. She tumbled back onto the soft duvet, her hair fanning out around her like a dark halo. He stood over her for a moment, his gaze devouring her, a predator admiring its prey. He shed his shirt, the moonlight highlighting the defined lines of his chest and abdomen. He was beautiful, in a dangerous, primal way.

He crawled over her, his body a hot, heavy blanket of muscle and desire hovering,

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he breathed, his voice thick with lust.

Simran's breath hitched. This was it. The point of no return. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against her sensitive skin.

"Then stop imagining and start showing me," she whispered, her boldness surprising even herself.

He needed no further encouragement. His lips were on hers again, a searing kiss that left no room for doubt, as he settled down, lying by her side, pulling her onto him in a face-to-face spooning position. His hands were deft, expertly unhooking her blouse, his calloused fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her back. Simran arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The blouse joined the discarded necklace on the floor, it felt like a shedding of her old self, the dutiful wife, the Sanskaari woman. In their place was someone new, someone wild and uninhibited, a creature of moonlight and shadow.

Suddenly, she broke the kiss, "did you close the door?", she asked

"Yes.... darling", he replied, as she looked at the door's direction to see that the door was open by a crack. Before she could say something he started kissing her neck, and her hands went to his back, her nails digging into his skin, as he made his way to her breasts.

She pulled his face by the hair, and looked at him with stern face, but then smirked, "you're going to ruin my marriage so badly", then they both laughed looking at each other.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

This is how I was imagining this Bihari beauty this morning, if you guys like I'll share more full length stories