The Storm , The Saree and The Stranger
The Storm, The Saree & The Stranger
It wasn’t supposed to rain that night. But maybe fate had a different forecast.
I was attending my cousin's destination wedding in a remote heritage palace. Ancient corridors, echoing halls, and candle-lit silence. I needed a break. Draped in a deep wine-red chiffon saree, its wet hem kissed the floor as I wandered through the garden.
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Then I saw him — not a guest, not family, just danger wrapped in charm.
He whispered, “You’re not dancing.”
I smiled. “I don’t like being watched.”
“Then why wear that?” he asked, tracing my waist with his gaze.
Candlelight & Confessions
We slipped into the palace’s forgotten library. Thunder outside. Tension inside. He walked behind me — so close I could feel him breathing.
The room flickered with scented candles.
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His fingertips brushed my open-back blouse. My breath hitched. I turned. His hand slid around my waist and pulled me in. Our lips met like we’d waited lifetimes. The saree started slipping. So did every hesitation.
Desire Unwrapped
He sat me on a grand wooden table, his hands greedy, his mouth wild. My sighs grew deeper. I arched into him. He bit my earlobe, whispered filth I still remember. The kind of night you only read about. Or write like this.
🖤 Under the saree? Let’s just say I was prepared for pleasure.
Reveal yours
He made love like poetry, like a storm. Every sound, every gasp, every inch of me responded. When it was over, we lay breathless on dusty cushions.
Gone With the Rain
I woke up alone. But not empty. His scent stayed on me — a bold, woody perfume.
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