Bollywood Superstar

“Sweet, I didn’t think you cared. I thought I was an older brother figure to you, especially after your family moved away.”

“Did you want me?”

“Well, not at first. I suppose in the last couple of years I started to look at you…differently. Especially when you kept dancing through the shop in those Bollywood costumes.”

“So, is this real, Krish? Is this…you know…what you want?”

“You? Yeah. You’re what I want.”

“Good. Because so are you.”

“So does that mean we can stop talking and get back to the kissing?”

She answered him with her lips, writhing with him on the sofa until they fell off and rolled over the threadbare carpet, laughing and yelping.

“Maybe the bed would be more comfortable?” she suggested huskily. “I mean…if you…”

“Good idea,” he whispered. “But later. Put on your dancing clothes.”

“What?”

“I want a private show. I’ll get comfortable in here. You put on that thing with all the bells. I want you to dance for me—the way you did on TV. But just for me, this time.”

She sat up, smoothing down her hair, her eyes alight.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Kindly make yourself at home, Sir. Your private dancer will be with you very shortly.”

In the bedroom, she quickly stripped down, discarding her jeans and hoodie and replacing them with the costume she had worn for the first audition. The skirt wrapped tightly around her small waist, slashed to mid-thigh, the diaphanous layers shimmering beneath the low-wattage light bulb. The skimpy bra top hid only the central part of her breasts, revealing smooth, brown cleavage accentuated by the multi-strand silver necklace that dangled between its slopes. She was careful to loop the chain from her navel ring just as she had that night, and to replicate the number and design of her anklets and her arm rings. She didn’t have time to henna her hands, but a slick of that emerald glitter eyeshadow and the plastic-shine lipgloss brought back the face that had wowed the judges. Her hair was a mess after tussling with Krish on the sofa, so she ran a brush through it quickly then pushed it back with jewelled clips.

Barefoot, she pirouetted in front of her mirror, performing intricate hand gestures, enjoying the jingle and clink every move called into being.

Was Krishnan ready for her, she wondered? Because she was certainly ready for him. More than ready, after seven years of yearning. The day had come.

She slid through the connecting door, jerking her hips from side to side, holding her arms in a graceful arch over her head.

Krishnan sat up straight on the sofa.

Amid a soundscape of shivering tinkles, Jas whirled and flew around the room, pausing every now and then to lean over Krishnan’s lap, pouting into his face. The fourth such movement was her undoing. He grabbed hold of her arms and pulled her down, settling her on top of him before sealing her fate with a kiss of steamy passion to match the dance.

Jas wriggled joyously, grinding herself down on the sizeable bulge straining against his expensive trousers.

“Are you ready for me, Mr Krishnan Khan?” she whispered, holding his face in her delicately jewelled hands.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, then she squealed as she was hauled aloft, caught in his arms when he stood, and carried proudly back to the bedroom.

Thrown, sprawling, onto the bed, Jasmine laughed with anticipation, watching Krishnan uncover strong, brown arms, a broad chest, a toned stomach and long legs. All for me, she thought, this is all for me, for however long I can keep it.

“I might not be Ajay Amir,” growled Krishnan, prowling towards the bed, stripped down to his boxers, “but I can give you twice as much as he ever did.”

Jasmine believed him, especially when he began to peel the pants slowly down, revealing t

he solid curve of his cock. Can this be real, after all this time?

“I want to eat you,” he vowed, landing on the bed on his knees, bending his spine until he crouched low over Jasmine, radiating heat and desire. “I’ve always imagined you tasting like mango lassi. Now I get to find out.”

As he lowered his lips to hers, capturing them in a savage kiss, he parted the gauzy fabric of her skirt and settled one hand on her thigh, squeezing. With the other he caressed the jewelled cups of her bikini top, outlining the curve of her breasts then stealing inside to tease the nipples.

Jasmine’s breath came hot and hard. She stroked his outer hip and thigh with eager legs, parting them for him, an invitation to come inside. She fixed her fingers in his thick, black hair, luxuriating in the silky tumble over her skin. He broke the kiss to utter dark words.