Meera should've thrown the book away.
She should've reported him to the café. Blocked the number scribbled on the back page.But instead, she was standing in front of her bedroom mirror at midnight—phone in hand, knees weak, thighs pressed, heart thudding like it had waited its whole life for this one voice.
She hadn't called.
She had texted one word:
"Yes."
And two minutes later, her phone rang.
She let it ring twice before answering. Not to play hard to get. But because her hands were trembling.
"Good girl," his voice said, before she could even speak.
Meera exhaled. Slowly. The sound of his voice slid between her legs like warm breath.
"Do you have me on speaker?" he asked.
"…Yes."
"Good. I want you to hear me like I'm in the room.Go stand in front of a mirror. Lights on. Legs apart."
She didn't speak.She just obeyed.And when she looked at herself—her tight bun, her buttoned-up nightshirt, her lips parted—she looked like the woman she'd always been trained to be.And nothing like the one she was about to become.
"Now. No touching. Not yet.I want you to watch yourself want it."
Her legs widened.
Her breath hitched.
"Look how you breathe when I talk.Like your nipples know me.Like your cunt is already wet for a man who hasn't even told you his name."
Meera gasped—because it was true.
She could see it: the subtle twitch of her thighs, the press of her hips, the heavy rise of her chest.
"Say it," he whispered.
"Say what?" she breathed.
"Say you're wet because of me."
She hesitated. That old shame curled up in her lungs, tried to make her lie.
But then she looked at her reflection—eyes glazed, thighs glossy, mouth trembling—and said:
"…I'm wet because of you."
"Louder."
"I'm wet because of you," she repeated, voice firmer now.
"Mmm. I love polite sluts," he growled."Undo two buttons. I want to see the tips of your nipples."
She did.And there they were: flushed, hard, needy.
"Pinch them. Both. Twist."
She gasped. The jolt shot straight to her core.
"Now talk to me. Tell me how your body feels."
"I—I can't."
"Then I'll say it for you," he said."Your clit's throbbing. Your cunt's clenching.And you're one command away from creaming down your thighs."
Meera whimpered. Her knees buckled slightly.
"Still no touching," he reminded her."I want you to come just by hearing me.Like your body knows my voice is your new god."
She shook her head—she couldn't, it wasn't possible—
"Say it, Meera," he whispered.
"S-Say what?"
"Say: I want to come for you, sir."
She exhaled like she'd just been spanked.
"…I want to come for you, sir," she said, eyes wide with her own truth.
"Then do it.No hands. No help.Just feel everything I've put inside you.And come for me.Now."
And she did.
God, she did.
Her back arched. Her thighs trembled. Her mouth opened and she moaned like she'd never known silence before.
No touch.
No toys.
No lies.
Just the sound of a man who knew how to fuck a woman's brain first.
As she collapsed onto her bed, breathless, wet, shaken—
He spoke again:
"You think that was filthy, Meera?"
She couldn't speak.
"Next time, I'm using my tongue.And you're going to beg me to stop after your third orgasm."
And just like that—
She wanted more.