Saathiya (9) (18+)

 

Anisa's pov

The morning felt heavy. I missed Adil so much it ache- the secret warmth of his hand brushing mine when no one was watching. Last night, I had sneaked a few sips of alcohol. Now my head throbbed relentlessly.

I dragged myself out of bed, the room spinning slightly as I stood. The mirror showed a tired girl with shadowed eyes and messy hair—nothing like the polished daughter my mother wanted to parade for suitors. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away the haze, but it only sharpened the ache. Still, I had to get ready for college. Today was the counseling session to figure out the next step in my education—maybe a master's, maybe something abroad. Anything to delay the inevitable.

My graduation was over, before everything grew impossibly complicated.

My mother had been relentless. She believed I was too fat, too old, too tainted by our family's mafia shadows for any decent proposal to stick if I waited much longer. "Rishta nahi milega, Anisa," she would say, her voice tight with worry and disappointment. "Log kya kahenge? Ek mafia ki beti, umar nikal gayi toh kaun lega?" (People will talk—what will they say? A mafia family's daughter, if her age passes, who will take her?) She wanted me married as soon as possible, like sealing a deal before the goods spoiled. Yesterday, she had met some aunties and come home with a list of phone numbers—boys from "good families," she called them. 

Abbu and Bhai had shielded me until now, insisting I finish my degree first. But graduation had removed their last excuse.

I only wanted Adil. Just him. If our lives weren't tangled in this web of family honor, secrets. 

My phone buzzed on the dresser, jolting me. Sabria's name flashed on the screen. Of course. That girl had zero chill, always poking at wounds she knew existed.

I answered with a flat, "Bolein" (Speak/Tell me), my voice rough from the hangover and irritation.

"Khuda Hafiz Anisa," she purred, her tone dripping with fake sweetness, like honey laced with venom. (Greetings Anisa.)

I hummed in response, too tired to play along. My mood was already sour; she was only making it worse.

"Suna hai rishtey dekhne ja rahe hain aapke liye," she said, her voice sly and probing. (I heard they're looking at proposals for you.)

This girl was getting clever. I had no idea who had fed her the gossip—probably one of the nosy cousins or an auntie who couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Tumhe ussey kya?" I snapped, my rudeness sharp and unfiltered. (What’s it to you?)

"Humein malum nahi tha ki aapke khandaan ko aapke aur Adil ke rishte ki khabar nahi," Sabria said, her voice silky with triumph. (I didn't know that your family has no idea about your relationship with Adil.)

"Tum apne dubte hue khandaan aur sapnon ka socho. Meri fikar na karo," I shot back, my voice shaking with raw frustration. (Worry about your own sinking family and dreams. Don't worry about me.)

She laughed—a low, mocking sound that made my stomach twist. "Dubne toh aapke sapne hain, Anisa. Jab aapke parivar ko pata chalega ki Adil mujhse engaged the..." (It's your dreams that are sinking, Anisa. When your family finds out that Adil was engaged to me...)

The blood drained from my head in a cold rush.

"Mere parivar ko faraq nahi padega," I managed, but the words came out weak, hollow. (It won't matter to my family.)

She merely chuckled again, soft and cruel. "Woh toh waqt batayega." (Time will tell.)

And then the line went dead.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers onto the bed. She wouldn't tell them... right? She couldn't. But Sabria was vicious when cornered, and right now she had every reason to burn everything down. What if she did? What if my family believed her—believed in some fabricated childhood betrothal, some old promise between families? They would see Adil as tainted, forbidden. They would lock me away from him forever, push me toward the first safe rishta that came along.

My life would be over. Everything I had secretly hoped for would shatter.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, head dropping into my hands. Tears pricked hot and insistent behind my eyelids, and this time I couldn't stop them. They spilled over, silent at first, then shaking sobs that wracked my whole body. Why? Why did everything have to twist like this? Why couldn't love just be simple, without families and secrets and threats hanging over it like a noose? I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to hold the pieces together, but the ache in my chest only grew sharper.

"Anisa! Niche aao, breakfast lag chuka hai!" Ammi's voice floated up from downstairs. (Anisa! Come down, breakfast is ready!)

I sucked in a shaky breath, wiped my cheeks roughly with the back of my hand, and forced myself to stand. The mirror caught my reflection—red-rimmed eyes, blotchy skin. I splashed more cold water on my face, dabbed concealer under my eyes, and practiced a small, tight smile until it almost looked real. I couldn't let them see. Not yet. 

I needed to talk to him. Alone. 

Taking one last deep breath, I got dressed and went down. 

The family gathered around the long dining table like we always did—plates clinking, the rich aroma of nihari and fresh parathas filling the air, voices overlapping in that familiar morning chaos. But today, every sound grated against my raw nerves. I sat rigid in my chair, forcing small bites of food past the lump in my throat, trying to look normal while my world quietly crumbled.

Ammi, ever the doting matriarch who poured love on everyone except the daughter she thought needed fixing, leaned over and ladled another generous heap of nihari onto Adil’s plate. “Aur khao, Adil beta, kitne kamzor ho gaye ho,” she fussed, her voice warm and maternal, the same tone she used to use on me when I was little—before the lectures about weight and marriage prospects began. (Eat more, Adil son, you've become so thin.)

She had loved him like her own since the day he risked everything to pull us out of that gun firing. 

Adil sighed, his plate already overflowing. He glanced at Zaid bhai across the table. My brother shook his head in amusement. The was I avoiding meeting Adil's gaze. 

“Rafiq, Zaid,” came Bade Abbu’s deep, commanding voice from the head of the table. 

“Kal ka jashan sabko pasand aaya,” he said, calm but heavy with authority. (Everyone liked yesterday’s celebration.)

“Shukriya, Bade Abbu,” Zaid bhai replied, respectful, head slightly bowed.

“Shukriya, Abbu,” Rafiq bhaijaan echoed, but my attention snagged on something else—under the table, Rafiq’s hand had closed over Dalia’s, fingers tight and possessive. She tugged once, gently, trying to free herself without drawing attention. He didn’t let go. His boldness had always been shameless, his need to claim what he wanted written in every line of his body. Dalia’s eyes stayed fixed on her plate, cheeks faintly flushed.

I looked away, stomach twisting. Everyone seemed to be carving out their own forbidden corners of happiness.

“Itna shandaar karyakram dekh kar, tum dono ke liye kai rishtey aaye hain,” Bade Abbu continued, dropping the words like stones into still water. (After such a splendid event, many proposals have come for both of you.)

Zaid bhai stiffened visibly across me. At that exact moment, a young maid—slender, beautiful in that quiet, unassuming way—approached with the tea.

“Chai,” she said softly, placing a cup in front of Zaid bhai. Her voice was barely above a whisper, lashes lowered.

“Shukriya,” Zaid bhai murmured, but the word came out dazed, almost dreamlike. His eyes lingered on her face a second too long.

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion curling in my chest.

“Aur isliye humne Zaid ka rishta taiyaar kar diya hai,” Bade Abbu announced, voice final, like the matter was already decided and sealed. (And that’s why we have finalized Zaid’s engagement.)

The cup slipped from the maid’s trembling fingers and shattered on the marble floor.

She gasped, horrified. In one swift, instinctive motion, Zaid bhai reached out, yanking her back by the arm just as shards flew. Protective. Possessive. His body angled in front of hers like a shield.

“Zaid!” Ammi cried, rushing around the table, hands fluttering over him. “Tum theek ho?” (Are you okay?)

But Zaid’s attention never left the girl. His jaw was set, eyes blazing with something fierce and unguarded.

“Andar jao, Fiza,” he said quietly, voice low but unyielding. (Go inside, Fiza.)

My throat closed. Fiza. Even her name sounded soft, fragile. And my brother—my strong, untouchable brother—was looking at her the way I wished someone would look at me. Like she was worth burning the world for.

“Dekhti nahi ho ladki! Mere bete ko chot lag jaati!” Ammi scolded sharply, hands on her hips. (Can’t you see, girl! My son could have gotten hurt!)

Zaid’s jaw clenched so hard I saw the muscle jump. He didn’t say anything, but the tension rolling off him was enough to make the air feel thicker.

“Main saaf kar deti hoon,” Fiza whispered, voice shaking. She dropped to her knees right there, reaching for the broken pieces with bare hands, fingers. (I’ll clean it up.)

“Fiza!” Zaid barked, voice cracking with urgency. He grabbed her wrist—firm, not cruel—stopping her. “Andar jao, humne kaha.” (Go inside, I said.)

She froze under his grip, eyes wide, then nodded once and hurried away, head bowed.

I stared at the broken cup, the dark tea spreading across the floor like spilled secrets. My brother—my own blood—was already lost in someone else. Rafiq had Dalia’s hand under the table. And here I was, sitting in the middle of all this love and possessiveness and quiet rebellions, completely alone.

Fantastic.

Just fantastic.

“Kya hua, Zaid?” Bade Abbu’s voice cut through the heavy air, low and measured. (What happened, Zaid?)

“Humara faisla pasand nahi aaya tumhe?” he asked, casually taking another bite of nihari as though they were discussing the weather. (Didn’t you like my decision?)

Before Zaid bhai could open his mouth, Ammi jumped in, her voice quick and placating. “Nahi, hume nahi lagta aisa kuch hoga. Zaid toh hamesha aapki hi sunta hai.” (No, I don’t think anything like that will happen. Zaid always listens to you.)

My Abbu raised a hand, calm but firm. “Zaid ko bhi bolne do, Sufna.” (Let Zaid speak too, Sufna.)

Rafiq bhaijaan clapped Zaid on the back. “Han, Zaid. Yeh tumhara faisla hai.” (Yes, Zaid. This is your decision.)

Beside me, Adil gave him a small, subtle nod of support, the kind only brothers-in-arms would understand. I watched it all, my heart squeezing painfully. I hope when our time comes—when Adil and I finally stand up and say what we want—everyone will look at us with that same quiet support instead of suspicion and anger. 

Zaid bhai sat silent for a few long seconds, staring at his plate. The whole table seemed to hold its breath.

“Hume manzoor hai, Bhaijaa—” Ammi started again, desperate to smooth things over. (We accept it, brother—)

“Mujhe manzoor nahi hai, Bade Abbu,” Zaid cut in, voice steady and unyielding. (I don’t accept it, Bade Abbu.)

The shock rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water. Ammi’s hand froze mid-air. Rafiq’s eyebrows shot up. Even Adil’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.

Bade Abbu, ever the picture of composure, merely hummed low in his throat and gave a single, slow nod. No anger. No outburst. Just that quiet acknowledgment. 

“Zaid! Apne bade abbu ki baat mano,” Ammi hissed, grabbing his arm tightly, her nails digging in just enough to warn. (Zaid! Listen to your elder father.)

“Nahi, Ammi. I can’t agree with this decision,” he said again, quieter this time. His eyes flicked once toward the kitchen doorway—where Fiza had vanished—then back to the table.

“Thik hai, Zaid. Sab ab nashta karein,” Bade Abbu said, voice smooth as silk, picking up his spoon again. (Alright, Zaid. Everyone eat breakfast now.)

A few seconds of awkward, suffocating silence stretched across the table.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The tension was choking me, and the weight of Sabria’s words still sat like poison in my chest. I needed out—needed air, needed to think, needed to talk to Adil before everything fell apart completely.

So I forced a bright, fake-cheerful smile, stuffed an oversized bite of paratha into my mouth, and chirped through half-chewed food, “Bhaijaan, jaldi chalein, hume college jaana hai.” (Brother, let’s go quickly, we have to get to college.)

Adil shot me a sideways glance but no one else seemed to notice. I could feel the heat of his stare burning into the side of my face. He wanted to drop me himself. I knew it. I wanted it too. A few stolen minutes in the car, away from prying eyes. 

“Aaj nahi ja paunga. Tum Adil ke saath jao,” Zaid bhai replied absently, still staring at his untouched plate. (I can’t go today. You go with Adil.)

I choked on the paratha.

 I coughed, eyes watering, pounding my chest while Ammi fussed and handed me water. Of course. Of course today—of all days—my luck would twist the knife deeper. 

“Badtameez ladki! Dheere se bolo!” Ammi snapped, her voice sharp. (Ill-mannered girl! Speak slowly!)

She always found something—anything—to criticize about the way I lived, the way I spoke, the way I breathed. Today it was my coughing, too loud, too dramatic, too much like everything else about me that didn’t fit her perfect picture. I swallowed the last of the paratha lodged in my throat, cheeks burning, but before I could mutter an apology or a retort, Adil was already there.

He reached over gently, tugging my ear with just enough firmness to distract me from the fit. “Bas, bas,” he murmured under his breath, so soft only I could hear. (Enough, enough.)

Badi Ammi—ever the gentle one—slid a glass of water toward me with a fond smile, her wrinkled hand patting mine reassuringly. I took it gratefully, gulping down the cool liquid while the room slowly exhaled. Adil’s fingers lingered near my ear a second longer than necessary, a silent promise: I’ve got you.

Zaid bhai pushed back his chair then, ready to leave for whatever business awaited him outside these walls. But Bade Abbu’s voice stopped him mid-step pulling him back into a hushed conversation at the far end of the table. I didn’t catch the words; my ears were still ringing from the morning’s chaos. I finished the water, excused myself quietly, and slipped upstairs to grab my bag.

By the time I came back down, Zaid bhai had already left—his car gone from the driveway. Rafiq bhaijaan had vanished too, Dalia tucked close to his side as they disappeared through the side gate. 

Which left only Adil.

He was waiting by the black mercedes, keys in hand, leaning against the door with that calm, steady presence that always made my racing heart slow just a little. He opened the passenger door for me without a word, and I slid in, the leather cool against my legs. The engine purred to life, and we pulled away from the sprawling gates of the haveli, tires crunching over gravel before smoothing onto the main road.

The silence in the car was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. I stared out the window, fingers twisting the strap of my bag, trying to find the courage to speak. Every time I opened my mouth, Sabria’s voice echoed in my head—cruel, mocking. 

“Gulabo… mujhse baat toh karo,” Adil finally said, voice soft, almost pleading. (Rose… at least talk to me.)

His right hand left the wheel for a moment, fingers threading gently through my hair, caressing the strands behind my ear the way he always did when he knew I was hurting. It made my throat tighten even more.

I didn’t want to tell him. He already carried so much—the endless work, the complications of our hidden relationship. Dumping Sabria’s threat on him felt like piling another stone on his shoulders. But the fear gnawed at me: what if keeping quiet let the lie grow? What if silence cost us everything?

“Sabria called,” I whispered.

He nodded once, eyes still on the road. “Hmm.”

“She threatened to tell my family about your engagement.” The words came out small, brittle. “To her.”

His hand froze mid-caress. The muscles in his jaw clenched so hard I saw the shadow shift under his skin. The car stayed perfectly steady but his face changed. 

He didn’t speak right away. Just kept driving, thumb brushing once—slowly—against my scalp before falling away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the storm beneath it.

I lifted his hand to my lips, pressing a soft, trembling kiss to the back of it. The simple touch seemed to drain some of the tension from his shoulders; I felt them drop under my palm, the hard line of his body easing just a fraction.

“Nikah kar lein ussey,” I whispered, voice cracking as fresh tears spilled over my lashes and rolled hot down my cheeks. (Marry her.)

Adil slammed on the brakes so hard the car jerked to a stop on the quiet side road.

“What!?” His head whipped toward me, eyes wide with disbelief, brows drawn together in confusion and something close to pain.

“Aur koi raasta nahi hai,” I choked out, more tears falling faster now, blurring him in front of me. (There’s no other way.)

“Anisa baby…” The words were barely a breath. In one fluid motion he unbuckled, leaned across the console, and pulled me into his arms. I buried my face against his chest, sobs shaking my whole body as his hand cupped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.

“Sab theek kar dunga main, baby,” he murmured against my temple, voice low and steady even though I could hear the tremor beneath it. (I’ll fix everything, baby.)

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But the fear was a living thing inside me—clawing, relentless. How could he fix this? 

“Please… hosla rakho, baby. Pyar mein ummeed nahi chhoro,” he whispered, rocking me gently, his lips brushing my hairline with every word. (Please… stay strong, baby. Don’t lose hope in love.)

My sobs quieted slowly, hiccupping into shaky breaths as I clung to him. The warmth of his arms, the steady thud of his heartbeat against my cheek—it anchored me when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

I sighed, voice raw. “Humari life itni complicated kyun hai, Adil?” (Why is our life so complicated?)

He pulled back just enough to look at me, thumb sweeping away the damp tracks on my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Gulabo. Sab meri wajah se hai.” (Everything is because of me.)

The guilt in his eyes shattered something inside me. I stared at him—this man who had risked everything for me more than once, who carried the weight of our secrets without ever complaining, who still looked at me like I was the only light in his darkness.

Such a pure, peaceful soul I had found in the middle of all this chaos.

I took his hand again, turned it over, and kissed the center of his palm—slow, deliberate, pouring every unspoken feeling into the touch.

“Sab kusur mohabbat ka hai,” I said, managing a small, watery smile. (Everything is love’s fault.)

He exhaled a quiet laugh, the sound rough with emotion, and mirrored my smile—small, tired, but real.

“Sab kusur mohabbat ka hai,” he echoed, leaning in to brush the lightest kiss against my lips. (Everything is love’s fault.)

We were both suffering because of this love—because it refused to stay hidden, because it demanded more than the world was willing to give. And yet neither of us could walk away.

I kissed him back, deeper this time, desperate. My hands slid up his chest, then down, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his pants. I didn’t want to think anymore. I didn’t want Sabria’s voice in my head, or the memory of breakfast, or of arranged futures closing in. I just wanted to forget—for a few stolen minutes—that our life was so irrevocably fucked.

Adil caught my wrist gently, breathing hard against my mouth. “Anisa…” 

“Anisa… baby, koi dekh lega,” he groaned, his voice thick with desperation and half-hearted protest. His large hands grabbed at my wrists, trying weakly to pull me away, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed how badly he wanted this. (Anisa… baby, someone will see)

I didn’t listen. My heart was hammering so loud I could feel it in my throat. With trembling, impatient fingers I dragged the zipper of his pants down, the metallic rasp loud in the confined space of the car. His cock sprang free—hot, thick, already pulsing against my palm. The sight of it, the velvet hardness, the faint scent of his arousal—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly.

“I don’t care,” I whispered fiercely, my voice barely audible over the thudding of my own pulse. Then I leaned down and wrapped my lips around him.

The moment my tongue touched the sensitive head, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck, baby… ahhhh,” he groaned, long and broken, his head falling back against the seat. His hips jerked upward involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into the wet heat of my mouth.

I moaned around him, the sound vibrating down his length. The taste of him—salty, musky, uniquely his—flooded my senses. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked harder, taking him deeper with every slow bob of my head.

“Ahhhh… dheere baby… unmm… pura muh mein le rahi hai ho tum,” he hissed through clenched teeth, one hand flying to the back of my head, fingers threading roughly into my hair. (Ahhhh… slowly baby… ohhh… you’re taking it all in your mouth)

My own need was clawing at me now, sharp and insistent. I shifted, angling my body awkwardly in the cramped front seat. My skirt rode up my thighs on its own, exposing the damp lace of my panties. He noticed instantly.

His free hand shot to my waist, bunching the fabric of my skirt and shoving it high around my hips in one impatient motion. Then—without warning—his fingers slipped beneath the edge of my underwear, two thick digits plunging straight into my soaked folds.

I gasped around his cock, the sudden stretch making my inner walls flutter. He curled his fingers immediately, stroking that perfect spot inside me while his thumb found my clit and pressed firm circles.

“Fuckkk… baby… ahhhh… chut geeli hai tumhari,” he growled, voice wrecked with lust and wonder. (Fuckkk… baby… ahhhh… your pussy is so wet)

I moaned loudly, the sound muffled by his length filling my mouth. My hips rocked shamelessly against his hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, the delicious ache. Slick sounds filled the car—obscene, wet, desperate.

I couldn’t wait anymore.

With a lewd pop I released him from my mouth, a thin string of saliva still connecting my swollen lips to the glistening tip. I climbed over the center console, knees straddling his thighs, the leather creaking beneath us.

“Anisa…” he started, voice hoarse, eyes dark and glassy with need. But the protest died the second I notched him at my entrance and sank down in one slow, deliberate motion.

The stretch burned so good. My soaked cunt swallowed him inch by inch until I was seated fully, my ass flush against his thighs. He was so deep I could feel him throbbing against every sensitive wall inside me.

He groaned—long, guttural, almost pained. His hands flew to my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck me now,” I demanded, voice shaking with raw hunger. My nails raked down his chest through his shirt. “Please.”

A dark, dangerous chuckle rumbled from his throat.

“My favourite bad girl,” he murmured, eyes blazing. One hand slid up, roughly yanking my top over my head and tossing it somewhere behind us. The cool air hit my skin, tightening my nipples instantly.

Then his palm cracked against my breast—sharp, stinging, perfect. I cried out, clenching hard around him.

With a sudden, possessive growl he gripped my waist hard, and in one swift, powerful motion he lifted me off him and threw me back into the passenger seat. My back hit the cushioned leather with a soft thud, breath knocked out of me in a surprised gasp. Before I could even process it, he reached over and yanked the lever—reclining my seat all the way down until I was almost flat, staring up at the car's dim roof light casting shadows across his face.

His eyes were wild now, dark with hunger and something deeper. He climbed over me in an instant, knees bracketing my hips, the heat of his body pressing me deeper into the seat. 

He didn’t waste time. One hand shoved my skirt higher, bunching it around my waist again, while the other guided his thick, slick cock back to my entrance. He rubbed the swollen head against my soaked folds once, twice—teasing, torturing—then with a low, guttural sound he thrust forward, burying himself inside me in one deep, claiming stroke.

The stretch was overwhelming, deliciously brutal. My walls clenched around him instinctively, fluttering as he filled me completely. I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders through fabric.

“Ahhhh meri baby… ahhh… sirf meri Anisa baby ki tight chut marunga mai,” he rasped against my ear, voice rough and trembling with raw possession. Each word was punctuated by a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, grinding deep. (Ahhhh my baby… ahhh… I will only fuck my Anisa baby’s tight pussy)

I could only nod frantically, tears of pleasure pricking my eyes. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his lower back to pull him impossibly closer. “Yes… only yours,” I whimpered, voice breaking.

He groaned at my words, forehead dropping to mine for a breathless second. Then he started moving—slow at first, savoring every inch as he dragged out and slammed back in, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the car.

“Meri dulhan banogi tumhi baby… ahhh… aur koi nahi,” he growled, the words spilling out like a vow, like a prayer, hips snapping harder now, chasing that edge we were both hurtling toward. (You will become my bride baby… ahhh… no one else)

My heart stuttered at the intensity in his voice—the promise wrapped in lust. I nodded again, tears slipping down my temples into my hair. “Yes… only you… only ever you,” I breathed, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his mouth to mine.

Our lips crashed together in a messy, desperate kiss—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, swallowing each other’s moans. He tasted like sin and devotion all at once. One of his hands slid up to cradle the back of my neck, holding me there as if I might disappear, while the other gripped my thigh, spreading me wider so he could drive even deeper.

The car rocked gently with our rhythm, windows fogging from our ragged breaths. 

“Ahhhh… meri boobs chuso… ahhhh,” I begged, voice high and broken, arching my back to push my chest toward his face. 

His eyes darkened instantly. Without a word he dipped his head and latched on—hot, wet mouth closing over the sensitive peak. He sucked hard, tongue flicking mercilessly against the bud, teeth grazing just enough to make me jolt. 

“Ahhh… ummm… chuchi mein dudh kab ayega meri baby ka,” he groaned against my skin, the vibration of his words sending shivers through me. He switched to the other nipple, sucking even greedier, as if he could draw something out of me right then. (Ahhh… ummm… when will milk come in my baby’s breasts)

My laugh came out shaky, breathless. “Jab tum mujhe pregnant kar dogey,” I whispered, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against me while my hips rolled in slow, needy circles. (When you get me pregnant)

He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes—pupils blown wide, lips shiny and swollen from my skin. A wicked, possessive grin spread across his face.

“Aaj hi kar du kya… pregnant tumhe?” he rasped, voice thick with dark promise. Before I could answer, his hand cracked down between my thighs—sharp, wet slap right against my swollen clit and stretched entrance. The sting bloomed into blinding pleasure; I gasped, thighs trembling. (Should I make you pregnant today?)

I shook my head frantically even as my body betrayed me, clenching hard around him. “Nikkah ke baad karna… ahhhh… aaj nahi,” I managed, half moan, half plea. (After nikah… ahhhh… not today)

He chuckled—low, filthy, dangerous—then soothed the sting with slow, circling strokes of his thumb over my clit. “Theek hai, meri dulhan… sabr rakhunga,” he murmured, but the glint in his eye said he was only half-serious. (Okay, my bride… I’ll be patient)

Then his expression shifted, grew hungrier.

“Khariz toh tumhari fuddi mein karunga baby… ahhhh… tumhari tight chut hi legi mera cum,” he growled, hips snapping up hard, driving so deep I saw stars. (I will cum inside your pussy baby… ahhhh… only your tight cunt will take my cum)

The filthy words, the way he claimed me, the relentless rhythm—it snapped something inside. My pussy clenched down like a vice around him, fluttering wildly.

“Ahhhh… Adil…!” I cried out, voice shattering as the orgasm ripped through me. Slick heat gushed around his cock as I came hard, pulsing, milking him with every contraction. (Ahhhh… it’s happening Adil…!)

He didn’t stop—kept fucking me through it, deep and punishing, one hand kneading my breast roughly while the other gripped my hip to hold me in place. My big boobs bounced with every thrust; he grabbed them both, squeezing, pinching the nipples as if rewarding me for coming so beautifully around him.

Then he laid down on his chair and He tugged me up and over him until I was straddling his lap again, this time with him lying flat beneath me. His cock—still rock-hard, glistening with my release—bobbed against my inner thigh.

“Ab tum upar… ride me properly, baby,” he ordered, voice hoarse, hands sliding up my thighs to grip my ass and spread me open over him. “Meri Anisa… dikhao kitna acha leti ho mera lund.” (Now you on top… ride me properly, baby… my Anisa… show me how well you take my cock)

My legs trembled as I positioned myself, the head of him nudging back at my oversensitive entrance. 

We both groaned in unison as he filled me again.

He fucked me in and out with long, punishing strokes, his thick cock dragging deliciously. 

“Koi dekhega toh… ahhh… kya karogi baby?” he asked suddenly, voice rough and teasing, even as his hips snapped up harder.. (If someone sees… ahhh… what will you do, baby?)

My head fell back, lips parted on a broken moan. The thought sent a fresh, shameful thrill racing through me—fear and arousal twisting together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

“Kuch nahi… ahhh… karungi… bas siskiyaan lungi… ahhhh… tum rukna mat,” I gasped, nails raking down his chest. My voice cracked on every word, body trembling as I ground down harder, chasing that perfect friction. (I won’t do anything… ahhh… I’ll just moan… ahhhh… don’t you dare stop)

He chuckled—dark, filthy, utterly pleased—like I’d just handed him the keys to every dirty fantasy he’d ever had.

“Kisi ke bhi samne chudna hai meri baby ko… ahhh… bhenchod… gaand hilao apni baby… ahhhh,” he growled, hands clamping onto my hips with bruising force. He guided me, forced me to move faster, to bounce with obscene little slaps of skin on skin. (My baby wants to get fucked in front of anyone… ahhh… fuck… move that ass, baby… ahhhh)

I obeyed without thinking—lifting and dropping, ass rising and falling in desperate rhythm, taking every thick inch of him deeper each time. My big breasts bounced wildly; he reached up and grabbed them roughly, thumbs flicking over my nipples, making me whimper louder.

“Ahhhh… khariz ho jaao… ahhhh… mere andar hi… ahhhh,” I pleaded, voice high and frantic, inner walls already fluttering wildly around him. I was so close—teetering right on the brink, every thrust pushing me higher. (Ahhhh… cum… ahhhh… inside me… ahhhh)

His control snapped.

We groaned together—low, animal sounds—as the pleasure crashed over us at the same moment. My pussy clenched down like a fist, milking him greedily as my second orgasm tore through me, sharp and blinding.

He shouted—raw, guttural—hips jerking up one last time as he buried himself to the hilt. Hot, thick spurts of cum flooded me, painting my walls, filling me so completely.

For long seconds we just trembled together—bodies locked, breaths ragged, hearts hammering in sync. His cock twitched weakly inside me, still leaking the last drops. I collapsed forward onto his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, feeling his arms come around me tight, possessive, protective.

We didn’t know where destiny would take us—whether this fire between us would burn us both to ash or carry us somewhere sacred. But in this stolen, sweat-soaked moment, pressed skin to skin with his cum slowly seeping out around where we were still joined… this was heaven.

Pure, filthy, perfect heaven.

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