I’m Pooja. Afternoon cups of chai in the kitchen left me draped in longing. My saree petticoat and blouse off, I slid one hand to rub my clit, whispering to myself. That’s when Karan—my devar—strolled in. He froze. I didn’t stop; I arched my back, eyes half-closed in lust.
“Pooja-sis?” he said softly.
I looked at him. “Kuch dekhte ho?” I teased, gliding my fingers deeper.
He swallowed hard, swallowed his fear. I beckoned him closer. His breath hit my shoulder as his hand joined in. Two fingers. He sprawled me against the countertop while I moaned—and I didn’t care who heard.
He pressed hard. I came on his hand, slick and hot. He tasted me before licking his fingers clean. Then he gripped my waist and slid his lund into me. Suddenly, the kitchen was our bed. He fucked me rough, in full view, as afternoon sunlight spilled in.
When we finished, we dressed quickly.
“Bas ek hi saugat,” I murmured.
He winked and walked away.
