S*X IN SAREE |18+

—SOHINI—

The airport smelled like new beginnings and cheap coffee. Ritwik insisted on dropping me off—dutiful husband.

"Take lemon, in case you feel like throwing up." He shoved something round and green into my palm.

I blinked at it. "This is an orange, Ritwik. A giant, mutant, green orange. And I'm not motion sick."

He smiled—sheepish, awkward, almost boyish—and I had to look away before pity softened me.

"I'll stay till the boarding call," he added, folding his arms over that checkered shirt. "Just in case."

I was about to refuse when I heard that voice—low, velvety, and laced with dominance—cut through the terminal.

"She won't get lost."

Vedant.

Grey track pants that clung to his hips and long legs, a black T-shirt that stretched just enough across his chest. Sunglasses sat on his face like they belonged there. The small trolley behind him looked ridiculous for someone who carried that much presence.

He was taller. Broader. And infinitely more there than Ritwik ever could be.

He offered his hand with an easy smile—white teeth, dangerous dimples.

"Hi, I'm Vedant Khanna. Sohini's senior at work. You must be Ritwik?"

Ritwik hesitated a heartbeat too long before taking the hand. "Ritwik Banerjee. Sohini's husband."

And there it was. The smallest flicker in Vedant's jaw, tightening for the briefest second before he let it go behind a charming smile.

"Nice to finally meet you, Ritwik. She talks highly of you," Vedant said, eyes locked onto mine. "You're a lucky man—she's smart. Devoted."

His gaze dragged over me, slow and calculating, like he was stripping me with his eyes. In front of my husband.

And damn it, my body responded. A slow pulse between my thighs, an ache in my chest.

"First flight," Ritwik told him casually. "Please look after her. You seem like a nice guy."

Nice guy? If only he knew how many ways this "nice guy" had ruined me. How many times I had been beneath him—breathless, bruised, begging.

Vedant reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek business card. "In case you need me."

My stomach twisted. Was he playing some game? Was this his way of teasing me? Would he tell Ritwik someday? About our affair?

"No need," I cut in fast, stepping between them. "Ritwik, you should go now."

He still took the card, sliding it into his wallet like it was some receipt from a boring grocery run.

And then, unexpectedly, he leaned in and kissed my forehead. The gesture was soft. Familiar. The kind of affection that used to mean something.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Vedant's fist curl. His jaw locked. He hated it. That someone else was touching what he considered his.

Maybe, just maybe, Ritwik sensed it too. That the man beside him wasn't just my superior.

He left soon after.

I let out a sigh that trembled more than I wanted it to. Vedant didn't waste a second.

"Your husband seems nice," he said. Tight. Cold. Mocking. "Too bad you're his wife."

I snorted. "You pity him so much, why don't you marry him instead?"

He didn't even blink. Didn't dignify it with a response.

"I need a moment," I muttered. "Before check-in."

He nodded once, sunglasses back on, walls up. I rushed to the washroom.

The first thing I did: take off my wedding ring. Then the vermillion. Then the saree.

I folded it neatly and stuffed it into my bag.

And put on what I wanted to wear—what I loved wearing before I became someone's wife. Black crop top. Fitted jeans. Nude lips. Wild hair.

I looked in the mirror.

Sohini. Not Mrs. Banerjee. Not Ritwik's anything. Just—me.

When I stepped out, Vedant lowered his shades slowly. His eyes dragged over me like a lazy, possessive touch.

"Done?" he asked, voice annoyed. "Want to change anything else?"

I rolled my eyes. "You done being a bitch?"

No answer.

He just pulled me in and kissed me. Hard. Fast. Possessive. His tongue brushed mine for a second before he pulled back.

I gasped and shoved him. "We're in public."

"That's why it was just a kiss," he smirked.

I looked around, flustered. "Anyone else joining?"

"Nope. Just me and you. Business partner's flying in from Paris."

The boarding gate buzzed to life.

I clutched my bag. My first flight. My first time leaving everything behind. My first time flying with the man I should've never touched.

Vedant watched me, then leaned in, eyes gleaming with wicked humor.

"Nervous?"

I nodded.

"If we crash, at least you'll die next to me," he said, grinning. "Romantic, right?"

I groaned. "My dream death."

He reached over, wrapped his large, warm hand around mine. Tight. Steady.

"What would your last words be?" he asked, softer now.

I paused. "Thank you, God—for an amazing life. Yours?"

"I wish I never loved you."

And just like that, the warmth vanished. His hand slipped from mine.

I didn't take it back. I sat in silence the whole flight. No food. No drink. Didn't even pee.

Vedant scrolled through his emails like nothing had happened.

Hours passed.

I shut the thriller novel with a huff. Words blurred. My legs jittered beneath me as I tried to focus on the plot, but my full bladder demanded attention. The problem? I was terrified of peeing at 35,000 feet.

Vedant noticed. Of course, he did. He didn't even look up from his laptop. "If you need to pee, go. We've still got hours left."

"I'm fine," I replied quickly, then hesitated. My eyes darted toward the aisle, then back at him. "Actually—can you come with me?"

Now he looked up. Slowly. His brows lifted in a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Are you being serious?"

I nodded, biting my lip. "Please?"

A long sigh, a quiet curse under his breath, and he shut the laptop. "Let's go before you make headlines for holding it too long."

At the restroom, I hesitated again. "Can you—come inside with me?"

He blinked. "You're joking."

"I'm not."

He groaned again but stepped inside. The tiny space was cramped and absurdly intimate. He tried to move aside to give me space, but there wasn't any.

"Turn around," I muttered.

He smirked but obeyed, facing the door. "You do realize I've seen you naked before?"

"Shut up."

When I flushed and reached for the sink, I could feel him behind me. Watching.

"You can leave now," I said, drying my hands.

He didn't move.

I turned, and he was leaning against the door, arms crossed, eyes dark—hungry.

"What?" I asked, heart thudding.

"You're flushed," he said.

"No, I'm not."

"You are." His voice dipped low. "And you know what that does to me."

My breath hitched. I stepped back, but he stepped forward. One hand braced against the door beside my head. "We shouldn't—"

"We shouldn't," he agreed. Then kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It was hot and urgent. His mouth claimed mine, his tongue sliding deep. My back pressed against the door as his hands roamed—one gripping my thigh, the other tangling in my hair.

I gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he lifted me effortlessly.

He pulled back just an inch. "Still scared?"

"Not really" I shook my head.

That was all it took. He spun us, my back now against the mirror. His lips trailed down my neck, kissing, sucking, nipping until I moaned softly, fingers tightening in his shirt.

In the haze of movement, he managed to unzip my pants, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband. I gasped as his fingers found wetness, exactly where I needed him, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

"Vedant—" I whimpered, already breathless.

"You're soaked," he murmured against my ear, voice rough.

"I want—"

"I know." He tugged my pants down, just enough. Just far enough.

In one swift, heated movement, he freed him dick, and I felt him press against me—hot, hard, ready.

He looked me in the eyes, holding still, giving me a moment.

I nodded.

He entered me in one smooth, slow thrust that made my entire body tighten around him.

My head fell against his shoulder. "Oh god— we're doing it on a plane."

He groaned low in his throat, biting back a curse. "Exciting, isn't it?"

The plane vibrated softly beneath us, a strange hum that seemed to echo the rhythm he set. Slow at first—deep, deliberate. His hand slid up my shirt, fingers grazing my breast, thumb teasing over the fabric of my bra until I arched into him.

"Fuck, you make me lose control" he murmured. "So bad."

Each thrust grew rougher, more desperate. I tried not to cry out, but the way he angled his hips—hitting that exact spot—I couldn't stop the moan that slipped out.

Then—

Knock-knock.

"Excuse me! Someone's waiting out here!"

We both froze, breathless, caught. I bit back a laugh and buried my face in his shoulder.

Vedant chuckled softly. "Well. Now we really can't stop."

And we didn't—at least not right away.

When we finally stepped out, I went first, cheeks burning. A few passengers gave me knowing looks.

Vedant followed, utterly unbothered. He leaned close as we walked down the aisle, whispering in my ear:

"You moan too loud."

I elbowed him, but my smile betrayed me.

*****

We landed in Paris just after sunset.

The moment I stepped off the plane, I felt the excitement in my bones. My heart thudded wildly.

I was in Paris.

The airport buzzed around us with accents I couldn't place and perfumes I couldn't name. The breeze was cool but soft, brushing past my skin like silk.

I turned to Vedant, needing to anchor myself.

"Am I dreaming?" I asked, breathless.

He was beside me, unfazed, scrolling through his phone with one hand in the pocket of his jacket. He looked like he belonged here—dark hair, jaw defined, movements languid, expensive.

He glanced at me, then smirked. "I could pinch you if you want."

Before I could respond, his phone rang. He answered immediately, his tone clipped and cool.

"We're just outside the airport," he said. "Yeah. I'm with her. The lady."

The lady. My stomach fluttered.

There was something about the way he said it—like it meant more than just company. Like I belonged to him. Like I was his.

Before I could ask who was on the phone, a man called out loudly from across the parking lot.

"Vee!"

He was tall, lean, with that careless European charm—slightly tousled dark-blond waves, aquamarine eyes, and a tailored coat that probably cost more than my entire Paris wardrobe.

He enveloped Vedant in a tight hug, slapping his back with an enthusiasm only old friends carry.

"Mrs. Banerjee," Vedant said, stepping aside, one hand gently resting on the small of my back, the touch so light it barely registered—but it burned. "Meet Marcelo Kotchvosk, my business partner."

I extended my hand politely. Marcelo took one look at it, laughed, and ignored it. Instead, he hugged me tight.

"Bonjour, bella," he said, beaming. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined."

I flushed, unsure how to respond, but Vedant's arm subtly shifted—pulling me just a step closer to his side. His way of claiming territory without saying a word.

Marcelo's black BMW was already waiting. As we drove, the men slipped into conversation like they hadn't missed a beat—reminiscing about their wild school days in the States.

From pranking their teachers to sneaking alcohol into prom punch, from midnight beach parties to skinny dipping under moonlight in California—everything they said sounded like a scene from a movie I never got to star in.

I'd been the girl who studied, who followed the rules, whose dreams were always stamped with restrictions.

And yet—sitting here, beside him, in Paris—I felt like a different version of myself. Maybe the one I was always supposed to be.

Then Marcelo dropped a name like a blade.

"Simran will be joining the seminar."

Silence. Sharp. Heavy.

Vedant's expression changed instantly. His jaw locked. That easy warmth vanished from his eyes.

"We're not talking about that," he said coldly.

The authority in his voice made even Marcelo go quiet. I didn't need a confirmation—Simran was his ex-wife. And clearly, whatever they had wasn't just over, it was buried.

Still—a tiny thought stabbed me in the ribs.

Why did she have to be here?

Would her presence unravel something? Would he look at her the way he sometimes looked at me—like he was starving?

We reached the hotel. Grand. Opulent. A mix of old Parisian architecture and modern indulgence.

My room was next to his.

"Be ready by 8. We're going out for dinner," Vedant said, pausing at his door. His voice was low and firm, no room for protest.

I nodded.

Inside, my room was breathtaking—king-sized bed, marble floors, tall windows with French balconies, and a bathtub I could sink into for hours.

I texted Ritwik that I arrived safely, then soaked in the tub, warm water and rose-scented oil easing my nerves. But I kept glancing at the clock.

7:15.

7:30.

7:50.

I got dressed in the only red dress I packed—a spaghetti-strap, thigh-length bodycon number. Black block heels. Hair straightened and left loose. Minimal makeup, just red lips and kohl-lined eyes.

There was a knock at exactly 8.

"We're running late," Vedant's voice came from outside.

I opened the door. And suddenly, silence.

His eyes moved slowly, deliberately—starting from my face, tracing down the curve of my neck, over the dress, the heels, my bare legs. His mouth parted slightly. He didn't blink.

I felt my heartbeat in my ears.

"Do I look alright?" I asked, voice quieter than I intended.

He didn't answer right away. Just stared. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Yes," he finally said. One word, deep and heavy.

"Is it too short?" I tugged at the hem of the dress instinctively.

He took a step closer.

"As long as you're comfortable," he said, rubbing the back of his neck like he was restraining something, "then it's fine."

Then he slipped off his black leather jacket and handed it to me.

"Take this. Just in case you feel uncomfortable."

It was warm from his body. I slid into it and felt instantly smaller—draped in his scent, his space, his protection.

"Thank you," I said softly, stepping up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His hand shot out—gripping my waist gently, just for a second. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He just looked at me.

And in that moment, I felt it.

If he wanted, he could push me against the door, lift my legs around his waist, and make me forget my own name.

But he didn't.

"Let's go," he said instead, voice gravelly.

Then he took my hand—interlacing his fingers with mine.

*****

After dining in an expensive rooftop restaurant with a name I couldn't pronounce and a bill that made my monthly salary look pitiful, Vedant drove us toward the club in Marcelo's matte black BMW.

Vedant tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his ring catching the passing streetlight as we pulled into the club's private parking.

"It's the most famous club here," he said casually, like he hadn't just spent more than my entire salary on a dinner.

"Is Marcelo inside?" I asked, eyeing the glittering crowd gathered near the velvet ropes.

He threw a look at me, one brow arched, then his hand moved to my thigh. His grip was tight enough to remind me who I belonged to tonight. "Nope. Why? You miss him already?" His voice dropped. "Too bad, he's engaged."

I rolled my eyes, shifting uncomfortably under his palm. "That's not what I meant."

"Good. Cause you're with me tonight," he said coolly, pulling the hand away just as slowly as it had landed.

Vedant always had this effect—like heat and ice at the same time. Even in his casual jeans and a black t-shirt, he looked like an off-duty model. Unbothered. Untouchable.

"We have that morning seminar-meeting tomorrow," I said nervously as he stepped out and came around to open my side.

"And the night," he smirked, "is young. Stop worrying for once."

The bouncer saw him and instantly nodded us in. We skipped a queue that stretched halfway to the street.

Inside, the bass was so loud it felt like the floor had a pulse. Bodies moved like smoke, like they didn't care who saw them. I instinctively clung tighter to Vedant's arm.

"Is this your first time?" He glanced back at me.

I nodded. "Yeah. My Papa's a dictator in disguise. This would've been a crime in our house."

He laughed under his breath, a crooked grin lifting the edge of his lips. "Well, daddy's gone. I'm in charge now."

I blinked. My cheeks burned.

He led me to the bar where a blonde in a black corset leaned over, red lipstick-bold and bright.

"What can I get you, sir?" she purred.

Vedant didn't even blink. "A margarita and a Blue Lagoon. Non-alcoholic."

"Sure thing," she said, biting her lip as she stared at him. I wanted to tell her to back off, but I just stood there, awkward.

Vedant sat on the barstool and motioned for me to do the same. "Relax," he said, watching me. "You look like you're about to faint."

"I just—" I looked around. "Why are we here?"

"To drink. To dance. To watch you squirm," he said, sipping water from a tall glass while his eyes stayed on me.

I swallowed. "After the drink, can we leave? I'm—tired."

He looked at me long. "Sure."

But the moment I started to breathe easier, chaos walked in—literally.

A woman in a silver tube top and a barely-there skirt stumbled onto the bar, her laugh too loud, too familiar.

"Martini shots for four!" she called, then turned and—of course—locked eyes with us.

"Vedant!" she squealed and before I could process it, she launched herself at him, arms around his neck.

"I missed you, baby!"

I blinked. He stiffened.

"Guys, meet my husband, Vedant Khanna!" she giggled to her friends.

Husband?

I stared at her. She was gorgeous. Sharp collarbones, smoky eyes, the kind of confidence I could never fake. Simran. Of course it had to be her.

I turned to Vedant. "Who's this?"

His jaw tightened. "Simran," he said finally, "Simran Arora."

"And you?" she turned to me, eyes glossed with liquor and curiosity.

"Sohini," I said, voice flat. "Your husband's colleague."

Vedant said nothing. Nothing.

Not ex-husband. Not even former lover. Just silence.

Simran leaned in. "Vedant, come na, let's dance," she said, tugging his hand like a teenage dream.

"Wait—" I started, but Vedant let himself be dragged.

He followed. No resistance. No explanation.

I sat frozen, watching them glide into the neon light, their bodies already in sync. She laughed into his ear.

He didn't even glance back.

The bartender slid a drink toward me. "Blue Lagoon for you."

"I—can I get a martini?" I said, barely above the music. "Strong."

She nodded.

I watched them. I watched him. My chest tightened.

How could he? How could I feel so disposable?

I picked up the martini glass with trembling hands and took a sip.

Bitter. Like everything else tonight.

I leaned forward and muttered to myself, "So this is what it feels like—falling for a man who never promised to catch you."