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[inkofdesire]

✨ "A Story Written in Touch"

The bed creaked under their weight.

Arnob pulled her legs apart with a kind of hunger that made her shiver. He lowered himself between her thighs, his breath hot on her bare skin.

And then — with lips, tongue, and fingers — he started writing poetry all over her body.

Rimi grabbed the sheets, moaning, gasping, writhing — “Don’t stop… I want all of me to belong to you today.”

His reply was in rhythm. In movement. In the way her body responded to each stroke of his tongue, each curl of his finger.

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[inkofdesire]

✨ "A Story Written in Touch"

☀️ 2:15 PM. Rimi was alone. The door was locked. The heat was unbearable — and so was the hunger.

It started with the sound of her unhooking her bra.

She stood in front of the mirror — wearing a thin, damp nightie. Sweat glistened down her spine, a single drop rolling from her neck to her waist. And just then — Arnob walked in from behind and wrapped his arms around her.

"Seeing you like this, in this heat... drives me mad," he whispered, lips grazing her ear.

Rimi bit her lip. Her body tensed. Her breath hitched. “I locked the door,” she whispered back. “Now touch me.”

Arnob slipped one hand under her nightie — resting on her stomach. The other slid up, fingers gently circling around her breast, slowly teasing.

The fabric clung to her skin, but his hands were warmer — firmer. “This... this is how I want you,” he murmured, his mouth tracing a line down her shoulder… then her neck… then between her breasts.

She whimpered — soft and broken — “Lower... go lower...”

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✨ "A Story Written in Touch"