Savita and Rehaan and their Lust Story
He didn’t say a word. His hand reached up and gently pressed the red button on the panel—emergency stop. The lights dimmed slightly. The elevator came to a smooth halt between floors.
Now it was quiet.
Now it was just them.
Her eyes widened, but her lips didn’t protest. He was already behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath along her neck.
“You came in late,” he murmured, his voice like warm silk.
“I had a meeting,” she replied, barely a whisper.
“With Anil?” he asked, teasing.
“With my conscience,” she said. Then turned around.
The air snapped between them like static.
He reached for her waist, fingers brushing against her exposed midriff where her saree dipped. Her breath hitched. She looked up at him, daring, inviting. Their lips met—not rushed, but aching, exploring. A kiss that tasted of all the things left unsaid.
The saree was silk, but her resistance was thinner.
In that halted space, between deadlines and spreadsheets, they forgot rules. Rehaan’s fingers wove through her hair as her bangles clinked softly against his chest. Her back pressed against the cool elevator wall, his hands tracing the outline of a secret she never intended to tell.
No one would know.
Unless she wanted them to.
When the elevator finally resumed its descent, she stepped out first, composed, adjusting her hair.
He followed, silent.
But when their eyes met again across the office floor, it wasn’t guilt that lingered.
It was fire.
He didn’t say a word. His hand reached up and gently pressed the red button on the panel—emergency stop. The lights dimmed slightly. The elevator came to a smooth halt between floors.
Now it was quiet.
Now it was just them.
Her eyes widened, but her lips didn’t protest. He was already behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath along her neck.
“You came in late,” he murmured, his voice like warm silk.
“I had a meeting,” she replied, barely a whisper.
“With Anil?” he asked, teasing.
“With my conscience,” she said. Then turned around.
The air snapped between them like static.
He reached for her waist, fingers brushing against her exposed midriff where her saree dipped. Her breath hitched. She looked up at him, daring, inviting. Their lips met—not rushed, but aching, exploring. A kiss that tasted of all the things left unsaid.
The saree was silk, but her resistance was thinner.
In that halted space, between deadlines and spreadsheets, they forgot rules. Rehaan’s fingers wove through her hair as her bangles clinked softly against his chest. Her back pressed against the cool elevator wall, his hands tracing the outline of a secret she never intended to tell.
No one would know.
Unless she wanted them to.
When the elevator finally resumed its descent, she stepped out first, composed, adjusting her hair.
He followed, silent.
But when their eyes met again across the office floor, it wasn’t guilt that lingered.
It was fire.