The Betrayal Ch. 01

THE BETRAYAL

CHAPTER ONE

The darkness was soft, muting the otherwise bright designs on the curtains. The thin fabric billowed and curved around each incoming breeze. Both windows were left ajar, allowing all of the sounds of New Delhi's restless nightlife into Neha's room.

Neha hugged the sheets to her chest, curled up in bed. The cacophony of late-night peddlers, car horns, humming of scooters and revving of motorbikes was not unlike the chaos of thoughts that swirled inside of her head. Somehow, it was worse now that he was back. The week without him had been relentless torment, but knowing he was with her mother down the hall was gutting her.

Was he touching her, kissing her? Did her mother love him? Every question was another thorn scraping at her jealousies. Neha heaved onto her other side, her hair blended in with the humid darkness, splattered like ink around her head.

She couldn't help but harbor resentment for her mother. Asha knew nothing, an innocent in all of this, but it didn't matter. She was the one able to share a bed with him and enjoy a loving honeymoon at his side. She was his wife. And, what did that make Neha?

The breeze was cool and moist but Neha was burning. She would never have that future with him. The one she longed for the most. While they had been gone, she had tried to console herself, but it had been hopeless. After a day, she had to bury herself in her studies, but that made her no less miserable. It was nearly impossible to keep up with all of the assignments while she thought of him. The interim lecturer made her favorite class painful to endure. Every time she looked at that perpetually smiling face, she thought of how much she wished he was at the lectern instead. Lecture wasn't the same without his clever remarks and those knowing, surreptitious glances in her direction.

Hari was the definition of irresistible charm. Sleek black hair that he often ran a hand through while instructing the class; the brusque jaw framed by an immaculate beard that he kept trimmed short. He was always wearing dark blues and browns that illuminated his eyes. They were reminiscent of cognac when the sun shone through it. They were called cat's eyes and folk tradition often equated them with cunning, but she saw an otherworldly nobility.

There was a fluttering feeling between her legs at the thought of him making her squirm against the bed. Even with the window open, she felt claustrophobic. The night clothes felt too tight and constraining. Yet another leading reason that the week had been utterly unbearable while he took her mother on their honeymoon. She craved his hands wrenching her kameez up and the way his tongue circled her nipples as he fucked her. The way his thumb made those nipples so hard. She wanted to move against him, the way he had taught her.

There was no relief for the thoughts in her head. No lips to satiate her longing or give her completion. She had attempted to touch herself but it was not the same without him. Her thoughts were too scattered. She wanted him inside her.

The only way Neha had kept up on everything at college was by telling herself that she didn't want to disappoint the spirit of her father. Otherwise, she would have stayed in bed all day and missed all of her classes, but she knew her father would disapprove. That instigated another tumultuous cycle of thoughts. Her father wouldn't have approved of her relationship with Hari either, or her mother's marriage to the man his daughter was fucking. She wanted to scream in her pillow and rake the curtains down, but instead she clawed herself into a new position. The sheets coiled in a wrinkled heap around her, adding to the suffocating air.

Her mother was a reserved woman and had been quieter still after her husband had died. She had withdrawn into herself, her work, and Neha. Her life was only more complicated by the strictures society put on a widow. A sense of shame that no amount of modernization could clean. Even still, Neha was convinced that her mother was glowing when she returned from the honeymoon. Her mother's spiritual awakening mirrored Neha's own sexual awakening. All because of Hari.

The way she touched his clothes as she put them away was almost affectionate. The only thing that Neha had noticed that brought her any relief was that they almost never touched in public. There were rare occasions when Hari placed his hand on the small of her mother's back. He'd done so only twice. It had been enough to make Neha's skin prickly and her mouth go dry. Such simple gestures. Her mother touching his clothes. Him touching her back. Neha felt like she was going to go insane over the most minute details. Her mother said she didn't love him. She had all but confirmed it on numerous occasions. It was a marriage of convenience. For her mother. And, for Hari. And, to be honest, for Neha.

Neha had asked her some prying questions upon their return about her feelings for him. Asha had told her that 'Marrying him was the sensible thing to do.' And, 'I enjoy his companionship but will always miss your father.'

It was merely transactional. One day, most likely after graduation, Neha would be arranged into a marriage. Another transaction. But it would never be Hari. Why couldn't she just accept that? This was the only way for them to be together. Yet, she was writhing in an empty bed again, same as when he was gone.

It was infuriating that she couldn't have him when she wanted him. She wished she could rewind time, and simultaneously couldn't see any other options than what she had done. What they had done. Her bare legs were damp with sweat and her hair was a messy sprawl. She stretched out and pulled one of her pillows to her stomach, but all she could think of were his lips.

She imagined Hari's mouth drifting between her thighs, complimenting her before licking her clean. She had not known before meeting him what that was like. Had no comprehension of it. The pleasure that he could bring with such experienced lips. He was older, closer to 50 than he was to her age.

His age translated to confidence and authority. Underlying his mature eloquence, was his lust. His desire for her was palpable. He was not shy or timid like boys her age. Sure, there were some who were cocky, but it was the cockiness of insecurity. She knew that none of them could touch her like Hari.

She had her own insecurities. What if he was bored of her? She was 22. Inexperienced. Once, naïve. But maybe still? Was her mother all he really needed? Neha's nails snagged on the embroidered design on the pillowcase.

Her mother was beautiful, although she never seemed to think so. She was too modest. Even though being a widow had made her untouchable, her beauty had continued to unfold, unhindered.

Neha shook her head. She didn't want to think about whether Hari thought her mother attractive. She only wanted to hold onto him, her fingers in his hair, but the pillow would have to do. Neha pressed her face into it and time slipped away. The sounds of cars passing and people talking were less frequent and all of it was fading into the background.

Finally, her mind was greeted by the tranquility of sleep. So, when the bed shifted and arms wrapped around her from behind, Neha thought that she was dreaming. He murmured her name into her ear. His hands rubbed her arms and held her. When his lips closed on the nape of her neck and traveled to her cheek, her eyes fluttered open.

Was it really him? More kisses on her neck. Warmth radiated from his naked chest. His hand pushing the kameez down her skin. His mouth trailing to her bared shoulder. He whispered her name again. She turned to him, barely able to distinguish his features in the darkness, but she could see his smile.

Hari was shirtless, wearing loose white linen pants. Had he been in bed with Asha like that? He came into focus, one detail at a time as her eyes adjusted. The disheveled curly hair on his chest and the jovial sentiment in his eyes.

Was this where she was supposed to throw her arms around him and ambush him with kisses? Part of her wanted nothing more, but there was a bitterness that she could not dismiss. It weighed her limbs down and kept her lips from curving up to match his.

He trailed his thumb along her chin. Perhaps, he was trying to soothe her. Could he see the anger and hurt in her eyes? Didn't he know what she was going through? She had to wait for him but he could crawl into her bed whenever he wanted?

He moved closer for a kiss but she turned her head away. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. The heat of his skin was tempting, urging her to give in. To turn back to him and beg for that unrequited kiss, but she avoided his gaze.

"Neha, what is this? Mere jaan?" He asked her. Despite everything, hearing him refer to her that way - my life - was thawing her resolve. But was it any indication that he had suffered like she had suffered? Had he even thought of her at all?

"Don't you want to be with her?" Neha asked, snidely.

"I've been aching for you since I left," Hari assured her.

"I'm the one who had an empty bed," Neha told him.

"I'm here now," he told her. When she didn't say anything, he continued. "We talked about this many times, Neha. You know that this is the only way."

"I know what we talked about. But I was alone while you were having sex with her," she said. Silence lengthened between them. "Did you?"

Neha already knew his answer but a thread of hope remained. Maybe she had refused to bed him until she was ready. Or perhaps something else had kept them apart. Something random and unprecedented. The possibilities were endless in Neha's mind, but they all evaporated when he spoke.

"I did what I had to do," Hari explained, his voice firm. Unyielding. Conveying certainty, devoid of emotion.

"Did you enjoy it?" She asked, not really wanting an answer. And, he didn't give her one.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Neha's thoughts were jagged, and her body ached at his answer. She had already known. Why did it hurt so much? She couldn't answer him. She was too twisted inside with defeat and yet still possessed an endless desire for him. His hands implored her to face him, answer him, do something. His touch was persuasive, magnetic. Neha shivered.

"I can show you how much I missed you if you let me," he whispered into her hair. His movements were slow and deliberate, which affected her that much more.

"How can we live like this?" She asked him. It was something she wouldn't have been able to utter if they were face to face. She thought her would leave her then or stop touching her. To her relief, he held her tighter, pulling her closer.

"I don't know all the answers, Neha but I want to discover them with you," he told her. His voice was low and sexy even though he wasn't even trying. She didn't want to make this easy for him, but his fingers were so inviting.

His fingertips traced her waist and the contours of her thighs, meandering back to her collar bone. He barely brushed her breasts, and she was vibrating underneath every advance. He must know that she can't refuse him, that every touch was mesmerizing, ensnaring her.

Hari loved her independence. She was young yet spoke her mind. He could tell that she was fighting with herself, that she didn't want to give in. He wanted to see her, but she was hiding from him. He pulled her to him, but she resisted.

Neha was torn between wanting to touch him and wanting to punish him for leaving. Her fingers clenched on the sheets. Her legs were tightly clamped on her secret, that even his light touches were igniting her. The last week had been torture because of her desire for him. Now, he had returned and it was taking all of her willpower not to give in.

His hand reached for hers and his long fingers threaded through. More kisses. More murmurs from him, assurances of his love. Let me show you, he asked again. I was lost without you? She swallowed her raw responses. Won't you believe me?

This time, when he pulled her toward him, she acquiesced, turning to lay flat on her back. She was still reluctant to look at him, her eyes glancing in his direction for just an instant. His lips found hers. She was despondent at first.

Did she want him to stop? Was this too much for her? Hari couldn't be sure. He knew there may be some dissatisfaction, especially after how rigid she had been at dinner. She started kissing him back but it was different. Anxious. Urgent.

Neha reached for him, her fingers gripping his hair. He was hers. She didn't want to have to question it anymore. Her lips quivered under his and her tongue struck teeth. Passion ebbed and flared between them as her tongue thrashed.

He could feel her desperation. Hands clutching, dragging and tugging. There was a momentum to her kisses, an endgame that intrigued him. As if she were the one with an agenda. That brought the corner of his lips up.

She rolled onto him. It was clear now. How much she wanted him. He pulled her on top. She was sprawled over him, her leg tucked over one of his and under the other. She moved across him, taking his face into her hands. Her hips were a typhoon. Surrender, her hips demanded.

Instead, he took her movements as a challenge. Hari enjoyed having her on top. He didn't want to rush his time with her. After all, who knew how many chances they would get. She worked him in blind pursuit for control. Control over her love for him. Control over their new life together under the same roof, but not the one she had dreamed of when she first fell for him.

He shifted aside the kameez and reached between her dripping thighs, strumming her clitoris, hidden behind her damp panties. She moaned, for the first time and felt ashamed. Her mother was down the hall. Did she hear her? Would she notice that her husband was absent from her bed?

"Careful, Neha," Hari warned, although his fingers continued to taunt her. He loved the confirmation of her arousal at his fingertips and hearing her hushed panting. He rolled on top of her, but still would not stop the pulse. He was slick with her wetness and the scent of it lingered in the air.

Neha struggled to contain herself. They'd always had to be discreet but knowing her mother could walk in on them any minute was filling her with apprehension and adrenaline. It consumed her and heightened her arousal.

Hari pushed her onto the bed and removed all of the sheets to see her clearly. Hair spilling across the pillow in dark waves, the shimmery fabric of her thin, cotton kameez stretching across her breasts and gathering at her hips.

He pushed the fabric up until her breasts shone in the light that filtered through the curtains. He robbed them of the light with his hands and kissed the petite edges of her hips. The curvature of her stomach. She squirmed beneath him, but remained silent. There wasn't anywhere for her to go.

Hari's grip on her breasts was absolute. His beard was bristly. It made her want to laugh at some moments but then his tongue would get involved and she would be back to biting her lip, clenching the sheets at her sides.

"Mm, Hari," she muttered, barely audible. He looked up with a grin, catching her eye.

"Oh, you want me now?" He teased, his hands wandering again, her breast free from bondage. She gave him a testy look but smiled back as his fingers traced back to her hips. When he started sliding her panties off, her breath caught. Hari embedded more kisses into her naked thighs and down her legs until the thin damp fabric slipped off of her ankles.

He loved watching her breasts quiver and her stomach flex. He flirted with her clitoris with his fingers again. This time he rubbed her while inserting a finger. There were contractions as she allowed his finger to plunge deeper. Her clitoris was becoming hard, less pliable.

That's when he leaned in to kiss it. She sucked in another moan and transformed it into a suppressed: 'Mnnn,' instead. Hari was proud of her. She was holding up well, but he knew that wouldn't last long. His fingers pronged into her as his kiss unraveled and his tongue laid claim to her.

"Mmn, I missed the taste of you," Hari told her. As if to prove his point, his tongue increased its chaotic enthusiasm. Her pelvis rose and buckled back onto the sheets. He thought about how soaked she was. He could have fucked her without licking her down, but he wasn't lying about dying to sample her.

She couldn't balance out the sensations that curved from his mouth and fingers. The movements were out of alignment, bringing her into a frenzy. A purgatory of desire when she craved completion.

Her fingers were almost violent in his hair. Nails raking his scalp. Neha sat up and pulled him to her. She didn't care that he was covered in her scent and the flavor smothered his lips. She kissed him anyway. He stretched over her and she lay back down, her legs lifting and re-positioning to permit him.

She couldn't wait any longer. He had pushed her to her limits. She could taste his victorious smile. He pulled away and pushed his pants down just enough to reach down for his erection. It dropped between them, thudding against her exposed thighs. He climbed up and kissed her, his muscular arms framing her face.

His hands gravitated to her cheek and over her lips. He didn't press firm and gazed down at her waiting to ask him to remove his hand. Her eyes smoldered with lust. One of her hands stroked his arm and held onto it.

Hari pushed into her then, one hand over her mouth, the other holding himself up. Her lips were wet and unhinged beneath his hand. Her call to him was layered and muffled, but he heard it. To both of their surprise, his groan was louder than her muffled gasps. It had taken one attempt and he was deep inside of her.

On any other occasion, he may have had more restraint to tease and excite her. Tonight, that restraint was nonexistent. Her nipples scrapped against his chest as he moved. Her legs stretched further apart and her hips lifted ever so slightly. She didn't respond with her own thrusts. Not yet.

Neha's nails dug into his arm as it pushed down into her chest. He was using her and the bed as leverage. His thrusts were bold and persuasive. He wanted her to move against him, but it was so luxurious. His muscles bulging around her, his prick gauging the boundaries of her sweltering pussy.

Hari grunted and moved the hand from over her mouth to her hips. He gripped under her ass and pulled it to him. Her lips were contorted from the pleasure. He kissed her before she could betray them with a derailed series of moans. He caught each one with his tongue, coercing her.

His hand continued to direct her ass. Each thrust was met by shuddering thighs that lifted in swift unison. He smacked into her but the slaps were so loud that he had to slow down and change his angle. The shift softened the blows but the bed frame started creaking as well.

Hari cursed. Neha was about to ask him what was wrong when he pulled her up and against him. He remained inside of her and both hands to her ass, lifting her up as he stood. Neha was surprised, not only by the sudden change but how amazing it felt to be held by him and penetrated at the same time. Her kameez was pinned between them above her beasts with the rest hanging down her back beneath her hair.

He pushed her up against a wall and continued his advances, groaning how tender and captivating her pussy was. It exhilarated him beyond measure and was more than worth the effort of pinning her to the wall. Her thighs quaked and her legs squeezed around him.

Hari was leaning one arm against the wall, while the other cradled her ass. She kissed him and nipped his lower lip, dragging her teeth across it before inserting her tongue once more. His testicles were tight and bashing against her lower pubis and the edge of her ass.