The city lights from Bangalore’s skyline spilled through the giant glass window, painting shadows across the luxury suite. Inside, two bodies circled each other like predators—neither ready to surrender, both burning with the same hunger.
Dr. Anubhav leaned against the headboard, shirtless, muscular, his salt-and-pepper chest glistening under the dim lights. Years of surgeries and discipline had built him into a man of steel and silence. He had touched hearts—literally—but kept his own buried deep.
An young girl walked in from the bathroom, wearing only his white shirt—bare thighs, bare feet, bare intentions. She wasn’t shy. Not even a little.
“You’re staring,” she said, climbing onto the bed like a lioness stalking her prey.
“I’ve seen a lot,” he replied. “But never like you.”
A smirk curled on her lips. “That’s because no one ever f*cked you like I will.”
She didn’t wait.
Straddling his lap, she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him—hard, wet, rough. Tongues collided. Teeth clashed. She pulled his lower lip into her mouth, sucked it, then bit just enough to make him groan.
She wasn’t making love. She was claiming territory.
Her hands slid down his chest, nails dragging over his skin, leaving faint red lines. Then she dipped her head and licked his neck, tracing the thick vein up to his Adam’s apple, and sucked it slow—wet, deep, like she wanted to taste his pulse.
His hands reached for her waist, but she caught his wrists and pushed them down beside him.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Tonight, I play.”
Anubhav chuckled, his breath shaky. “Do you always take control like this?”
She leaned close, lips brushing his ear. “Only when the man can handle it.”
Then she kissed his ear, bit it gently, and rolled her hips against him—slow and firm. He was already hard beneath her, and she was already wet. The heat between them was unbearable.
She kissed down his chest, circling his nipple with her tongue, then bit it hard enough to make him hiss. Her fingers undid his belt in one smooth motion. No awkwardness. No hesitation.
“You like to watch?” she asked, sliding her panties off slowly.
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was lost in her—every move, every moan, every kiss.
Then she grabbed him, guided him in, and sank down with a sharp gasp, her nails digging into his chest.
They both froze for a second. Eye to eye. Breath to breath.
Then she started moving. Hard. Fast. Hungry.
Anubhav grabbed her hips, thrusting up to meet her rhythm. The bed creaked. The air filled with sounds—moans, gasps, slaps of skin. She kissed him mid-ride, biting his tongue, taking everything she wanted.
Her body moved like a storm—fast, unforgiving, full of fire.
Anubhav gripped her hips tighter, fingers digging into her skin. But she didn’t slow. She leaned in, kissed him again, wild and deep, moaning into his mouth as her rhythm got messier, hungrier.
She dragged her nails down his chest, leaving red trails. Her hips slapped against him with every thrust. The room echoed with heat—the bed creaking, their breaths tangled, his name falling from her lips in gasps.
He tried to take control, to flip her—just once. But she pushed him back down, her palm on his chest.
“Not tonight, doctor,” she whispered, her voice breathy but firm. “I told you. I’m in charge.”
Then she kissed down his body again, her tongue teasing his chest, licking his abs, until he was almost shaking beneath her.
She came back up, straddled him again, and this time – grinding harder, hips moving in deeper circles, drawing out every inch of him. He grabbed her breasts, sucked them greedily, moaning into her skin.
Her hands held his face, her hair falling around them like a curtain.
Their foreheads touched. Sweat dripped. They were close—both of them.
“Say it,” she panted, moving faster, her eyes locked with his, full of fire. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” he gasped, barely holding himself together. “F*ck, I want all of you.”
The words shot out like bullets—raw, honest, and dangerous.
And the moment he said them, Anubhav felt a jolt run through his body. Not from the pleasure, but from panic. What the hell did I just say? His breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t what he meant to say. This wasn’t part of the plan.
No. This wasn’t love.
This was just a contract. A mutual understanding. He would take care of her expenses—PG rent, clothes, food, phone bills, everything. And in return, she would give him her body, her time, her nights. No questions. No emotions. Just pleasure.
It was simple. It was clean. It was supposed to be.
And yet, here he was—saying things that didn’t belong to this deal.
Anubhav wasn’t a man who lacked money or control. He was a respected surgeon in one of Bangalore’s top private hospitals. His degree hung proudly on the wall—UK-trained, sharp, successful. He flew in and out of international conferences. Drove a luxury car. Lived alone in a large apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a fridge full of imported wine.
He never married. Never needed to. He had no ties, no emotional weights. He had always believed emotional drama was for fools. If he ever wanted company, he could have ten girls lining up for him—willing, eager, disposable.
But her?
She was different.
There was something wild in her. Something untamed. Her kisses weren’t soft—they were biting, hungry, desperate. Her fingers didn’t touch—they claimed. Her body wasn’t just young—it was alive. Like a jungle cat—fierce, unpredictable, full of heat.
Three months. It had been nearly three months now.
And slowly, something inside him was shifting.
He caught himself thinking about her when she wasn’t around. Her laugh. Her messy hair. The way she sometimes snored softly after long nights. The way she stared out of the window, silent, lost in thought.
Was he going soft?
Was he getting attached?
Anubhav didn’t know. He wasn’t ready to call it love. Not yet. Maybe never. But this wasn’t just physical anymore. Not for him.
And the girl, what’s on her mind?
She lay still, eyes half-open, under the silent hum of the AC. The room was cool, calm—almost sterile in its perfection. Thick curtains blocked out the morning chaos of Bangalore. The sheets were soft, expensive, with a faint scent of sandalwood and something else… him.
Dr. Anubhav Sen’s bedroom wasn’t just a place. It was a statement—of control, of taste, of power. And right now, Ritika was stretched across it like she belonged there.
But she didn’t wait for anyone’s permission to feel that way.
Three months ago, she had stepped off a train into this roaring city, dragging behind her a steel trunk and a heart full of unfinished plans. Twenty-one and stubborn, with fire in her chest and silence in her smile. Her hometown in North Bengal had been slow, small, safe. Her father—soft-spoken, tired, always trying—had packed her off with rotis and blessings. He wanted a better life for her.
So she chased one. On her own.
Nursing college was the excuse. Survival was the goal. But comfort? That was non-negotiable.
Her first PG had felt like punishment. Five girls, one fan, zero space. Cheap perfume fought the smell of sweat and secrets. Every night was a reminder—*this city doesn’t care who you are until you make it care.*
But Ritika was never the type to blend in. She didn’t wait for kindness. She didn’t ask for help.
She started building her own way out. One sharp look. One well-timed smile. She knew how men operated. Always had. In her town, that knowledge made her cautious. In Bangalore, it made her clever.
Dating apps. Coffee meet-ups. A few nights with boys who thought compliments were currency. She never gave more than she wanted. And she never wanted much from them.
Until him.
Dr. Anubhav Sen.
Older. Rich. Unapologetically in control. A man who didn’t pretend. Who didn’t flatter. Who didn’t need anything—but still chose her.
That intrigued her.
She hadn’t begged him for attention. She hadn’t chased him. She had shown up, stood tall, and let him see her strength, not just her beauty. And still—he let her in.
She stretched, slowly, like a cat in no hurry. The world outside could wait. She had carved out this moment, this space, for herself.
No one gave Ritika anything.
Everything she had—every kiss, every soft bed, every quiet morning like this—she earned.
And that’s what made her dangerous.
