“I want you so badly.”
He wrenched down the jewelled bra cups and swooped his mouth onto a nipple, sucking without mercy. Meanwhile, he danced his fingers closer to the prize, sliding them up Jas’ inner thighs to tickle her pussy lips. She bucked furiously, arching her spine, moaning her acquiescence.
He shifted, moving down the bed while he circled and pressed her clit with his fingers.
“Don’t go!” Jasmine’s whisper was a rasp.
“I’m not going, just need to taste you.”
She mourned the loss of his fingers, only to rejoice at their replacement with his tongue. He had positioned himself in the juncture of her thighs with catlike speed and taken her clit into his warm, wet mouth before Jas could work out what he was about.
She cried out, melting onto his tongue, wondering in her delirium if she really did taste like mango lassi and thinking it unlikely. Krishnan ravished her with his mouth, his technique combining delicacy and ferocity in an erotic cocktail of which she thought she would never get her fill.
His tongue teased and rotated, pushed and licked until Jasmine lifted her bottom from the bedspread and sighed out her climax, grabbing at the sheets as if they might save her from tipping over the edge.
As the stars washed away towards the sides of her vision, he knelt up, grinning brilliantly.
“Not mango lassi,” he panted, “but similar. And now…oh shit! Do you have any condoms?”
Jas bit her lip and shook her head.
“The shop?” she suggested.
Krishnan smote his brow.
“Okay, okay, wait here. I just hope nobody’s looking through the door.”
Jasmine giggled at his retreating back view as he leapt across the room to open the door, thump-thump-thumped down the stairs and barrelled into the shop.
He was back in less than a minute, brandishing a pack of condoms from their hiding place under the counter, already tearing into the plastic wrapper.
“This is what you want, right?” he asked breathlessly, fidgeting with the latex.
Jasmine, touched by the vulnerability in his eyes, nodded, all giggles forgotten.
“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” she said, the words sounding solemn and binding, like words in a wedding ceremony.
“Okay…so…I suppose I should say, before I start…Jas, I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. So this is more than a shag for me.”
“For me too,” she assured him. “Oh, Krish. I can’t believe you never saw it…”
She lay back, unfurling for him, offering him every part of her body, every pore of her skin.
He was upon her straight away, avid and urgent, eyes drunk with lust, breath hot and harsh. His body weighed hers down, her wrists pinned, thighs wide so she could do nothing but accept him, take the thick, curved cock as it broke through her barriers, join flesh with him for real instead of in her fantasies.
Their eyes locked as they surged and entwined, keeping their gazes fixed throughout this first tumble into intimacy. His pupils were enormous and his face slick and shiny, and nothing had ever looked so good to Jasmine, nothing ever, in any movie. He was her Bollywood hero, inside her, enfolded by her, belonging to her as she belonged to him.
His thrusts were slow and sure, building up, finding her sweetest spots and exploiting them without mercy until she cried out beneath him, pressing her hands into his hips, pushing him harder.
He closed his eyes when he came, but when he opened them again, she was smiling into them, stroking his brow and his plastered hair, full of love and a feeling of rightness, nothing like the feeling she’d had with Ajay.
“I’ll take you to Mumbai,” he murmured sleepily. “Once we’re married.”
* * * *
The live finale of Bollywood Superstar was interesting. Krishnan and Jasmine, watching on his sofa with popcorn and mango lassi, stared at each other open-mouthed when it was revealed that Ajay had been replaced on the judging panel and Anjali had been disqualified.
“What happened?” exclaimed Jasmine. “Do you think they were found out? Or did the guilt get too much and one of them confessed their plot?”