Steamy Mumbai Affair: A True Tale of Passion and Desire

Rahul mumbled something incoherent, his body reacting before his brain could catch up. He sat in the TV room, trying to focus on anything but the image of her. When she returned, she wore a red nighty, sheer enough to hint at the lace beneath. “You’re looking… hot,” he blurted, instantly regretting it.

She just smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. He checked the cable—a loose pin, easily fixed. “All done,” he said, but she wasn’t ready to let him go.

“Stay for a bit,” she insisted, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Moments later, a crash echoed from the kitchen. Rahul rushed in to find Neha on the floor, wincing, her hand clutching her lower back. “Bhabhi, what happened?”

“I slipped,” she groaned, her face tight with pain. He helped her up, his hands steadying her waist, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric. He guided her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. “I’m calling a doctor,” he said, but she shook her head.

“No, it’s fine. Just… stay.” Her voice was soft, vulnerable, but her eyes told a different story.