"Get off of me, Bhagyashree. Now."

The command was a low, dangerous growl, vibrating through Rishabh’s chest and into Bhagyashree’s palms, which were splayed flat against him. The studio lights were blindingly hot, and the air hummed with the silent attention of the entire crew, all watching their leads navigate this explosive scripted fight.

"No," Shivangi-as-Bhagyashree hissed back, her voice trembling with a fury that was only partly acted. "You are not going out there to gawk at those dancers." She gave him a sharp shove, and Harshad-as-Rishabh stumbled back, falling onto the plush sofa with a soft thump.

His eyes flashed, a storm of genuine irritation brewing. He moved to stand, a man used to getting his way. "You think you can stop me?"

In a move that wasn't entirely in the script, Shivangi’s hands shot out, clutching the crisp linen of his collar. She used her weight, pulling him off-balance and shoving him back down onto the cushions. The force of it threw her forward.

A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the soundstage.

Her lips. His lips.

They brushed together in a fraction of a second of electric, unintended contact. It was less a kiss and more a collision of soft, surprised warmth. A jolt, sharp and sweet, shot straight down her spine. His eyes, locked with hers, widened imperceptibly. The air between them crackled, the scripted animosity evaporating, replaced by something raw and unscripted.

Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. The director hadn’t called cut. They had to keep going.

Thinking fast, Shivangi swung her leg over him, planting herself firmly on his lap, using her body as a barrier. The new script pages, delivered just this morning, had hinted at this level of physicality, but feeling it was something else entirely.

The thick denim of his jeans was rough against the thin silk of her saree’s petticoat, the friction between the two fabrics sending a shiver up her spine. Beneath her, she felt him—not just the physical weight of his body, but the undeniable presence of Harshad. The way his thighs tensed under hers, the heat radiating from him even through the layers of clothing. She was acutely aware of every inch of him, every subtle shift of his muscles as he tried to maintain control. And then there was it. The hard, insistent ridge of him straining against his zipper, a stark contrast to the angry character he was portraying. It was impossible to ignore, the way his arousal pressed against her, a silent declaration of the effect she had on him. His jaw was clenched, his breathing shallow, and though his eyes were locked with hers in a battle of wills, there was no mistaking the flicker of something else—something raw and unspoken—burning beneath the surface.

It was Harshad, not Rishabh, who was hardening under her. That realization sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. This wasn’t just some scripted tension; this was real, visceral, and it made her feel powerful in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She could feel his body betraying him, could sense the barely restrained need in the way his hands twitched at his sides, desperate to touch her but held back by the confines of their characters.

She shifted slightly, her hips pressing down against him in a way that was both accidental and intentional. The effect was immediate—a low, almost imperceptible groan escaped him, his lips parting as if to say something but no words came out. His chest rose and fell with a heavier rhythm now, and she could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he was fighting to keep himself in check. But his body was telling another story, one that was impossible to hide.

This was dangerous. The thought flitted through her mind, but she dismissed it almost as quickly as it came. Dangerous or not, she couldn’t stop herself from testing the boundaries further. Her weight settled more firmly onto his lap, her thighs tightening around his hips as if to anchor him there. The pressure between them intensified, and she felt him twitch beneath her, a reflexive response that made her bite down on her lower lip to stifle a gasp.

The air around them was charged, crackling with an energy that had nothing to do with the studio lights or the cameras rolling nearby. It was just the two of them, caught in a moment that felt both forbidden and inevitable. Her heart raced, her own arousal growing in tandem with his, a silent acknowledgment of the fire they were both fanning. And through it all, he stared up at her, his gaze dark and unyielding, as if daring her to push him further.

A current, white-hot and utterly damning, ran through Harshad’s body. He stiffened, every muscle coiled. He could smell her perfume, something light and floral, and the faint scent of her hairspray. He could feel the delicious, maddening pressure of her body settling onto his growing erection. The director was muttering "good, good, keep going," but the words were distant, muffled by the roar of blood in his ears. This was torture. This was paradise. Shivangi, fueled by a sudden, brazen impulse that belonged entirely to her and not her character, did the unthinkable. Under the guise of adjusting her position to hold him down, she shifted her hips. A slow, deliberate grind against the thick length of him.

Harshad’s breath hitched, a sharp, audible intake. His hands, which had been raised in a placating gesture for the camera, fell to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there, whether to stop her or urge her on, he didn't know.

She did it again. A rougher, more circular grind this time, the friction sparking a fire deep in her core. His hips instinctively bucked against her, seeking more of that maddening pressure, forcing her to press down harder to maintain control. Her breath hitched, her body betraying the same desperate need she was trying to suppress. Beneath her, he was rock-hard, his cock straining against the confines of his trousers, and she could feel every inch of him. The heat between them was unbearable, a living, breathing thing that threatened to consume them both.

A low, helpless moan escaped him, a sound the microphone surely picked up. It was raw, unfiltered, and Shivangi felt it vibrate through her own body, sending shivers down her spine. Her fingers tightened on his collar, not in anger now but in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. His hands, which had been hovering awkwardly at his sides, finally gave in to instinct and gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of her saree. The touch was electric, a silent admission that he was just as lost in this moment as she was.

The line between their characters and themselves blurred, then vanished completely. This wasn’t Rishabh and Bhagyashree anymore; this was them—Shivangi and Harshad—two people caught in a whirlwind of illicit desire. The set, the crew, the cameras—it all faded into the background. The only truth was the heat, the pressure, the desperate, throbbing need connecting them. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching the rapid rhythm of her own. His eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto hers, and she saw something there that made her breath catch: a hunger that mirrored her own, a need that went beyond the script. Shivangi’s hips moved again, this time with more purpose. She rolled them forward, grinding against him in a way that made him bite down on his lower lip to stifle another groan. The sensation was exquisite torture for both of them. For her, the friction against her most sensitive spot sent sparks flying behind her closed eyelids. For him, the pressure against his aching hardness was almost too much to bear. His hands slid from her waist to her thighs, gripping them tightly as if trying to ground himself in reality. But there was no escaping this—the chemistry between them was undeniable, a force of nature that neither could resist.

“Shivangi…” His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the hum of the studio lights. He didn’t know if he was warning her or pleading with her, but either way, she wasn’t stopping. If anything, his reaction spurred her on. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she spoke, her breath hot and uneven. “You don’t get to leave,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and desire. “Not yet.”

He shivered, his resolve crumbling under the weight of her words and the relentless movement of her hips. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only this: the searing heat between them, the shared breaths, the unspoken understanding that they were crossing a line they could never uncross. And in that moment, neither of them cared.

"…And cut! Perfect! Fantastic! That was absolute gold!"

The spell shattered. The studio erupted in applause and whistles. Crew members clapped, the director beamed, and the clapper loader let out a low wolf-whistle.

They broke apart as if electrocuted. Shivangi scrambled off his lap, her cheeks burning, avoiding his eyes. Harshad adjusted his jacket, his movements stiff, painfully aware of the very obvious problem tenting his trousers. They muttered polite thank yous to the crew and practically fled the set, the heat of the lights nothing compared to the heat burning between them.

The door to his private makeup room clicked shut, muffling the noise of the wrap-up outside. The silence inside was thick, heavy with everything that had gone unspoken.

She was closer to him, her back against the door. He stood mere inches away, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. Her whisper was a velvet promise, a stark contrast to the shouted lines from minutes before.

"Tonight is going to be crazy."

*

The door to his second flat, his secret sanctuary away from prying eyes, hadn't even fully closed before they were on each other. The drive over had been a silent, tense bubble of anticipation, every stoplight an agony of waiting.

Now, clothes were a frenzied obstacle. His blazer hit the floor. Her saree pooled in a riot of color at her feet. His shirt buttons gave way under her impatient fingers.

He walked her backwards towards the bedroom, his mouth devouring hers, tasting of the mint he’d popped in the car and something uniquely, intoxicatingly him. They fell onto the cool cotton sheets in a tangle of limbs, both breathing heavily.

"I've been going out of my mind since that sofa," he growled against her neck, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling her already taut nipples.

"Then stop thinking," she commanded, her voice husky with need.

She pushed him onto his back, taking control. Straddling his hips, she looked down at him, her dark hair framing her face. The sight of him lying there, completely at her mercy, his cock hard and weeping for her, made her own desire coil tighter.

She rose above him, guiding him to her entrance. She was so wet, the anticipation making her slick and ready. With a slow, deliberate sigh, she sank down onto him, taking his entire length in one smooth, devastating motion.

"Fuck, Shivangi..." he groaned, his head thrown back, his hands gripping her thighs. The fit was perfect, an exquisite, full sensation that made her see stars.

She began to move, setting a slow, rolling rhythm. Up, then down, grinding her hips in that same circular motion that had driven him mad on set. But this was no thin layer of fabric between them. This was skin on skin, heat on heat, the slick, intimate slide of him filling her completely.

Each descent was a masterclass in torture, a deliberate and calculated act of pleasure and punishment. She would rise up, her body lifting slowly, so slowly, until just the tip of him remained inside her, a teasing connection that made them both ache with the loss. The air between them was electric, thick with the tension of anticipation. Her breath hitched, her thighs trembling with the effort of holding herself suspended above him. And then, with a sharp inhale, she plunged down again, taking him deep, the sensation so intense it bordered on pain. His groan was raw, unfiltered, a sound that vibrated through her own body and sent shivers down her spine.

Her movements were rhythmic, hypnotic, each rise and fall matched by the tightening coil of pleasure in her lower belly. She could feel every inch of him—the way his length stretched her, filled her completely, the throbbing veins along his shaft that pulsed with his heartbeat. Her muscles clenched around him instinctively, a reflexive response to the overwhelming fullness. Beneath her, his body tensed, his hands gripping her hips with a desperation that mirrored her own. His chest heaved, his abs contracting with every thrust, and she could see the struggle in his expression, the way he was fighting to hold on.

The pace was maddening—slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. She would draw out each stroke, hovering at the apex for what felt like an eternity before sinking back down with a force that made stars explode behind her eyes. The friction was exquisite, the heat between them almost unbearable. Her nails dug into his chest as she leaned forward, her breath mingling with his in short, ragged bursts. "You feel so good," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. "So fucking good."

His hands moved from her hips to her waist, sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples in a way that made her gasp. The dual sensations—his hands on her, his cock inside her—were too much, too perfect. She arched into his touch, her head falling back as a moan escaped her lips. His name spilled from her mouth like a prayer, a broken sound that only spurred him on. He bucked his hips, meeting her downward thrusts with a force that drove him deeper, harder.

She could feel him unraveling beneath her, his control slipping with every passing second. His breathing was erratic, his moans guttural and barely contained. His hands moved again, this time gripping her thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there as if to anchor himself. "Shivangi," he choked out, his voice thick with need. "I can't... I'm not going to last." The words were a warning, a plea, but she didn’t slow down. If anything, she increased her pace, her hips moving faster, more urgently.

The coil inside her grew tighter, a pressure that threatened to consume her entirely. Her movements became jerky, uncoordinated, as pleasure overtook her. She could feel his body responding in kind, his hips lifting off the bed to meet her thrusts with matching desperation. His hands tightened on her thighs, his nails leaving marks that would serve as a reminder of this moment later. "Cum with me," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies coming together. And when he did, when his release finally claimed him, she was right there with him, falling over the edge into blissful oblivion.

"Look at me," she breathed.

His dark, lust-blown eyes met hers. He was close. She could feel it in the twitch of his cock inside her, in the tight grip of his hands on her.

She increased her pace, her movements becoming more frantic, more urgent. Her inner muscles clenched around him, milking him, pulling him closer to the edge. His breathing became ragged, torn from his chest.

"I'm gonna... I can't..." "Yes," she whispered, driving down onto him harder, faster. "Cum for me. Inside me. Now."

It was the permission, the command, that shattered him. "Yes," she had whispered, her voice a velvet blade slicing through the last shreds of his control. And with those words, the dam broke. A guttural cry tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as his orgasm ripped through him like a tidal wave. His body arched off the bed, his hands gripping her hips with a desperation that bordered on pain, anchoring himself to her as he spiraled into bliss.

The sensation of release was all-consuming, a white-hot rush that flooded his senses. Wave after wave of pleasure surged through him, each one more intense than the last. He felt himself spilling into her, his essence pouring out in hot, pulsing streams that seemed to have no end. The intensity of it stole his breath, left him trembling, his muscles taut and quivering under the sheer force of it.

She felt it too—every pulse, every shuddering twitch of his cock deep inside her. The hot rush of his release sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to her core, igniting her own climax with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. Her body convulsed around him, a symphony of pleasure that left her gasping. Her inner muscles clenched and released in rhythmic spasms, milking him for every last drop, drawing out his orgasm until he was utterly spent. Her moans mingled with his, a harmony of ecstasy that filled the room.

Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity of bliss as they rode the waves together. Her head fell back, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders as her body writhed in response to his. She could feel him everywhere—in the way his hands gripped her, in the way his chest heaved against hers, in the way his cock throbbed inside her, still pulsating with the aftershocks of his release. When it finally subsided, they were both left breathless, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftermath. Shivangi collapsed onto his chest, her heart racing in time with his. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her ear, a testament to the intensity they’d just shared. His hands moved to her back, stroking her gently as he tried to steady his breathing.

Neither spoke. Words felt unnecessary in the face of what had just transpired. There was only the sound of their labored breaths and the lingering heat of their bodies pressed together. But even as they lay there, spent and sated, Shivangi knew this wasn’t the end. The fire between them had been stoked too high to be extinguished so easily. And as she shifted slightly, feeling him still hard inside her, a wicked smile curled her lips. She wasn’t done with him yet.

She collapsed forward onto his chest, both of them slick with sweat, breathing in ragged unison. The room was silent except for the sound of their pounding hearts.

After a few moments, she stirred. A wicked, sated smile played on her lips. She kissed his chest and slowly, languidly, lifted herself off him. She turned around, presenting her back to him, and lowered herself again, taking him back inside her from behind in a reverse cowgirl position.

He was still semi-hard, sensitive and overspent, but she was insatiable. She began to move again, a slow, sensual rock of her hips.

"Again?" he rasped, amazed, his hands automatically finding her waist.

"I'm not done with you yet," she purred, looking over her shoulder, her expression one of pure, carnal greed. She reached between her own legs, rubbing her clit as she rode him, her moans fueling his own reawakening desire. He could feel himself hardening inside her again, fueled by the obscene, beautiful sight of her taking her pleasure. She rocked back and forth, her pace quickening, her demands growing more urgent.

"Not inside this time," she moaned, her voice tight with her own impending climax. "I want it... I want to taste you."

She lifted off him, leaving him throbbing and desperate. In one fluid motion, she turned and knelt between his legs. Her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking him firmly. She leaned down, her breath hot on the sensitive head.

"In my mouth. I want you to shoot your load in my mouth." She didn’t wait for an answer. In one swift, deliberate motion, her lips closed around him, enveloping his throbbing length in the wet, swirling heat of her mouth. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming, a searing wave of pleasure that shot straight to his core. He groaned, his hands instinctively tangling in her hair, but she didn’t falter. Her tongue worked him with expert precision, tracing the sensitive underside of his shaft before swirling around the swollen head in tight, teasing circles.

Shivangi’s hand joined in, wrapping around the base of his cock in a firm, steady rhythm that perfectly matched the motions of her mouth. She took him deep, her throat relaxing to accommodate him, the warmth and pressure of her grip intensifying the fire that was already raging through him. Her eyes locked with his, dark and smoldering with a mix of desire and command. She wanted him to feel everything—every lick, every suck, every stroke—until he was utterly undone.

The sight alone was enough to push him to the brink. The way her lips stretched around him, the way her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him deeper, the way her tongue flicked and teased the most sensitive spots—it was a visual symphony of lust. Her free hand wandered lower, cupping and caressing his balls with a feather-light touch that made his thighs tremble. She was relentless, her movements growing more urgent, more insistent, as if she could sense just how close he was.

Her mouth pulled back slightly, leaving just the tip of him between her lips as she focused her attention there, her tongue flicking rapidly over the slit. It was a torturous tease, a cruel and beautiful punishment that had him gasping for air. “Shivangi…” he choked out, his voice hoarse with need. But she didn’t stop. Instead, she took him deeper again, her hand moving in perfect sync with her mouth, the dual sensations pushing him closer and closer to the edge. And then, she whispered it—a low, husky command that sent a shiver down his spine. “Cum for me.” Her words were a trigger, a final push that sent him over the edge. His body tensed, every muscle coiled as the first wave of release hit him with a force that left him breathless. “In my mouth,” she demanded, her voice a velvet growl that brooked no argument. And he obeyed, his climax erupting in hot, pulsing streams that she swallowed greedily, her throat working to take every last drop.

He collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Shivangi lingered for a moment, her lips brushing against his softened length in a final, tender kiss before she looked up at him with a wicked smile. “I told you I wasn’t done,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. And as she crawled back up beside him, her body warm and inviting against his, he knew she was far from finished with him yet.

Harshad came with a force that shocked him, a second, powerful eruption. Shivangi took it all, her head bobbing gently, swallowing every last hot, salty pulse of his cum until he was utterly spent, collapsing back onto the bed, completely and deliciously empty.