Steamy Mumbai Affair: A True Tale of Passion and Desire

“Want me to find you one?” she teased, her gaze locking with his. “Someone as beautiful as me?”

He grinned, heart pounding. “If she’s anything like you, bhabhi, I’m sold.”

She blushed, swatting his arm playfully, and the moment stretched, charged with possibility. By 11 p.m., he stood to leave, but she protested. “Stay,” she said, her voice soft but insistent.

“Next time,” he promised, stepping into the night, his mind a whirlwind. Up to that point, it was all innocent—at least, that’s what he told himself. Neha was a friend, nothing more. But the pull was undeniable.

Ten days later, his phone buzzed. Neha’s name lit up the screen. “Rahul, can you come over? The cable’s acting up.” Her voice was casual, but there was an edge to it, like she was holding back a smile.

“I’ll be there by 2:30,” he said, already anticipating her presence.

When he arrived, Neha opened the door, and his breath caught. She stood there, wrapped in nothing but a towel, her skin glistening from a recent shower. Droplets clung to her collarbone, trailing down to where the towel barely held on. “Oh, sorry!” she gasped, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I just got out of the shower. Come in, I’ll change.”