Chapter 55: the thief returns for an extra play
When he finally pulled out, stumbling back, she stayed bent over for a moment, reveling in the new, distinct ache, the fresh warmth flooding her core. Then, she stood, turning to face him.
He looked utterly destroyed and pants around his ankles face a mask of shock and sated exhaustion. "Now…" she said, her voice cool and composed once more, all traces of the moaning, desperate woman gone.
"You will wash me again. Properly this time... and then you will help me change the bed sheets and spray perfume around the house. We must remove every trace of what happened here tonight. All of it."
The heavy, floral scent of perfume still hung in the air, a cloying mask over the primal musk of sweat and pleasure that had soaked the bedroom just an hour before.
Kamini stood in the center of the room, wrapped in a fresh, silk nightgown, her body humming with a profound, satiated exhaustion.
Pandey, the old watchman, had finally scurried away, a broken man reshaped by her command, his duty and his dignity left in a puddle on her bathroom floor. The house was silent, save for the frantic beating of her heart.
Clean. It's all clean again. She ran a hand over her stomach, the smooth silk a whisper against skin that still felt branded by rough, calloused hands. A deep, throbbing ache radiated from her core, a delicious reminder of the two distinct intrusions that had filled her.
She replayed the night in her mind… the initial fear that had so quickly molten into thrill, the greedy hands of the thieves and the bewildered strength of Pandey. A slow, wicked smile curved her lips.
Suresh, with his quick, stupid thrusts and immediate retreat into sleep, could never have made her feel so… used. So thoroughly seen and exploited in all her hidden, hungry glory. She padded to the window, peering through the slats of the blinds into the empty, sleeping street.
The thrill was fading, leaving a familiar, hollow emptiness in its wake. The high was always so brief. The silence of the large house began to press in on her, a stark contrast to the grunts and moans and the slap of skin on skin that had so recently echoed through it.
Her body, still buzzing with residual energy, craved more. It was a bottomless pit. A soft click, faint but entirely out of place, snapped her from her thoughts. It wasn't the settling of the house. It was too precise it is too deliberate.
Her breath hitched, not in fear, but in… anticipation. A new, electric current zipped up her spine. She turned slowly from the window, her silk gown swirling around her calves.
The living room was dark, but a sliver of moonlight from the hallway illuminated a shifting shadow near the front door. A shadow that was too large to be a piece of furniture. "Hello?" she called out, her voice a deliberate, trembling falsetto.
It is the perfect sound of a vulnerable, lonely wife. She let one hand flutter to her throat, a picture of innocent alarm. The shadow froze. Then, it stepped into the pale light. It was one of them.
The younger one of the thieves… Ravi... He stood there, his wiry frame tense, his dark, eager eyes wide as they drank her in. He hadn't left with the other. He'd stayed behind, hiding, watching.
The realization sent a fresh, molten wave of heat through her belly. "You… you came back," she whispered, making no move to cover herself, allowing the thin silk of her nightgown to betray every curve underneath.
The material did little to conceal the heavy, proud swell of her melons, the peaks of her cherries hardening visibly against the fabric under his intense stare. "The door was still… it was unlocked…" he stammered, his voice rougher than she remembered.
His eyes were locked on her chest, on the way her magnificent melons rose and fell with each slightly-too-quick breath. "I… I lost my… my mother's ring. During… before... I had to come back. I had to find it."
It was a pathetic, transparent lie and it was the most exciting thing she'd heard all night. She took a step forward, not away. "A ring?" she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky register that seemed to vibrate in the silent space between them.
"I didn't see any ring. But it's so dark in here." She took another step, closing the distance. The air crackled. She could smell him now… the scent of night air and of nervous sweat and something else, something primal and deeply arousing.
"Perhaps you should… check more thoroughly." His eyes snapped up to hers, disbelief and raw, unvarnished lust warring in their depths. He was just a boy, really. It is all impulsive hunger and no control. It was intoxicating.
He lunged at her not with the calculated force of the older thief or the dutiful reluctance of Pandey, but with the desperate, clumsy need of youth.
His hands fumbled for her, one tangling in the silk at her hip, the other and astonishingly bold, cupping the full, heavy weight of her melon through the gown. A sharp, shocked gasp ripped from her throat… a sound she didn't have to fake.
His touch was electric, sending jolts of pure sensation straight to her core. The thin silk might as well have not been there at all; she could feel the heat of his palm, the slight roughness of his skin.
"Oh!" she moaned, the sound long and low and utterly obscene in the quiet house. She let her head fall back, offering him the pale column of her throat. His fingers squeezed, kneading the soft, abundant flesh, his thumb brushing over the taut cherry. "You… your hands…"
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he breathed into her neck, his voice ragged. His other hand released its grip on her hip and slid around to her lower back, pressing her firmly against him.
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