Exactly three days after the industry mixer...
A silent communication had simmered between Riya and Arjun Singh since then—professional emails on deal implementation, but laced with one personal text: "Kal ka arm touch abhi bhi feel ho raha hai. Coffee?" Arjun replied cautiously: "Business pe focus. Documents urgent hain." Riya smiled at her phone. Perfect. This slow push-pull was her first step in control.
Friday evening, 8 PM. Final deal documents needed signing before Monday's market open—legal deadline midnight. They'd both been swamped: Riya in back-to-back meetings, Arjun handling team crises. At 6 PM, her message: "Office pe aa jao 9 PM sharp. Team nahi hogi, sirf hum. Documents confidential discussion ke liye." He confirmed instantly.
Riya's office had turned into a ghost town by late night. A single table lamp bathed the room in golden glow, shadows stretching long on walls like silent witnesses. Mumbai's skyline blazed neon outside, but inside? Electric—heavy, charged, air thick with an invisible cocktail of lust and power.
Riya sat at the table's head like a queen on her throne—black silk blouse clinging teasingly to her curves, pencil skirt hugging thighs perfectly. Legs crossed in her signature dominant pose, she swirled a red wine glass in slow circles. Door clicked open; Arjun entered—navy suit slightly rumpled from the late drive, tie loose, but eyes sharp and alert. That mixer arm squeeze still burned phantom on his skin, her faint nail scratches hidden under his collar as invisible reminders.
"Documents laaya hoon, Riya ji," Arjun said in a controlled voice with a husky undertone, setting papers down. His gaze unintentionally slid from her face to collarbone, catching the lipstick stain on her wine glass rim. "Market open se pehle sign off zaroori tha, isliye late."
Riya took a slow sip, tongue deliberately licking her lips, eyes locked on him with laser precision. "Business pehle khatam," she purred in velvet tones, grabbing the pen and signing pages—each stroke deliberate, like a seductive ritual. On the last page, she looked up: "Ab... asli shuruaat." She rose with cat-like grace, hips swaying as she closed the distance—close enough for her jasmine-vanilla perfume to assault his senses, but torturously holding an inch gap.
Arjun's throat went dry, hands gripping the chair arms white-knuckled. "Kyamatlab?" he asked, knowing the answer, mixer flashback vivid—her fingers digging possessively into his arm, that squeeze both comfort and claim.
Riya's wicked smile flashed; her fingertip caught his tie—light hold, no pull—just searing heat through the fabric. "Matlabyeh," she whispered, face so near their lips almost brushed but didn't, hot breath ghosting his skin. She loosened the tie in slow torture, popped one collar button, nails sliding into the shirt's V—teasing skin without touching, pure agonizing promise. Goosebumps erupted visibly on his neck. "Mixer mein tune mera touch feel kiya—ab tu mera control feel kar. Pahle se hi jaanta hai na, mera territory, mere rules."
Arjun's breath hitched sharply, hands clenched on the arms. "Riya... yeh dangerous game hai." His voice roughened, desire betraying his resistance, pulse thundering visibly at his neck.
Riya's low, throaty chuckle wrapped like velvet razor blades. "Dangerous hi toh addiction hai." Her hand claimed his shoulder possessively, nails digging lightly through the crisp shirt. "Baith straight mere saamne." Pure command; Arjun's spine stiffened instinctively. She towered now, adjusting her skirt in deliberate slow-motion—thigh muscle flexing tantalizingly, her knee hovering near his thighs, radiating maddening heat without contact.
"Fingers move mat kar," she ordered with an air gesture halting him, threading her fingers into his hair—forcing his head back gently, throat exposed vulnerable. "Dekh mera control, Arjun. Tu mera hai abhi ke liye." Her knee inched closer to his inner thigh—pressing promise without touch. A low groan escaped him involuntarily, hips shifting.
"Samajh gaya mera khel ab?" Riya murmured, nails feather-light scratching his scalp in pain-pleasure mix. Arjun's eyes didn't waver, voice gravelly: "Samajh gaya... par equal nahi?" Weak challenge, cracked by desire.
Riya's lips hovered at his earlobe, hot breath teasing: "Khel mera. Rules mere. First se hi rani hoon main." Knee pressed a teasing bit harder, then yanked back suddenly—exquisite denial, power flex. Arjun's body jerked at the loss. "Aaj itna hi taste. Dheere dheere addicted banunga tujhe."
Perfect timing—Kabir knocked outside: "Ma'am, car ready security ke saath." Scripted break. Riya straightened instantly, professional mask snapping on, eyes still fire. "Documents signed. Kal 10 AM implementation. Good night, Arjun."
Arjun rose on shaky legs, fixing his tie with trembling fingers, lips parted, mind reeling. She walked him to the door, last lingering gaze a dark promise. Outside, cold air hit—but his body burned. In the car, steering gripped tight: "Fuck. Yeh woman pure poison... addicted already."
Riya alone at the mirror, touching up lipstick with a satisfied smirk. Wild eyes, flushed cheeks in reflection. "Pehla chain perfect. Baaki ek ek karke tight honge."
End Questions:
• Kya Arjun denial ke baad Riya ke paas crave karke wapas aayega?
• Kabir door se kitna sun liya—threat banega?
• Kal business meeting mein yeh tension kaise explode hoga?
To Be Continued...