I don't usually masturbate. Maybe once in a blue moon, when the frustration gets unbearable. But tonight? Tonight, I knew I'd have to. My body was screaming for release, and every damn second behind the wheel felt like torture. 

Concentrating on the road was next to impossible when my head kept replaying Saanvi's flushed cheeks, the way her dupatta slipped down her shoulder, and her lips curving with that half-annoyed, half-sexy pout.

And the real challenge? Not imagining her when I finally gave in. Not letting her own that part of me too. Because if I did, then she'd have more control over me than I was willing to admit.

Forty minutes later, after fighting my thoughts, my body, and the deserted highway, I finally pulled into the driveway.

The porch light flicked on automatically, spilling a warm glow across the yard. And there he was—Alex. My idiot, overexcited German Shepherd. The moment he spotted me, his bark split the silence of the night, loud enough to wake the whole mohalla, forget just Baa.

Sneaking in late was impossible with him around. He had this sixth sense, like he'd been programmed to announce, "Kabir's home!" every time I tried to slip in quietly. Honestly, half the time I wondered if he was Baa's spy, planted in my life to make sure I never escaped her watch.

But the truth? I couldn't even be mad. That bark, those paws thudding against my chest, the wet tongue smearing my face—it was his way of saying, "You're safe. You made it back." 

And maybe my mother scolded me for being late, but somewhere deep down, she too probably slept easier knowing Alex would always tell her the second her son walked through that gate.

Inside, the clock read 1:30 a.m. I was bone-tired, ready to faceplant into bed, but of course, Baa was waiting in the kitchen. Not dozing on the sofa, not half-asleep in her room—waiting.

With her hair tied back in that no-nonsense bun and her simple cotton sari pleated with military precision, she stood ramrod straight by the table. 

The kind of posture that reminded me—before she was my Baa, she'd been an officer herself. Public Civil Services. Sharp, disciplined, and utterly terrifying when she wanted to be.

I barely managed to take two steps inside when; smack! 

Her palm landed square on my arm. Not a playful tap, not motherly dramatics. A full-blown officer's reprimand disguised as a slap.

"Do you even know the time?" She snapped, her voice carrying that steel edge that used to silence entire offices. "You think being ACP makes you invincible? Makes you forget you're someone's son?"

For a second, I actually felt twelve again, caught sneaking out after hours. My head bowed instinctively. "Baa..." I muttered, guilt creeping in despite the day I'd had.

She glared at me, the lines on her face harder in the fluorescent light. And then, because she was still my Baa no matter what uniform she used to wear, she shoved a plate of fresh, steaming aloo parathas toward me. "Eat first. I'll scold you after."

I couldn't help it; I grinned. Only Baa could smack me one second and feed me the next. I tore into the paratha like a starving man, exaggerating my "mmm" noises until she finally cracked.

"See? Best aloo parathas in Gujarat," I said with a mouthful of aloo parathas, trying to soften her anger. "Half the reason I come home at all is these."

She rolled her eyes, but I caught it—the faint smile, the softening in her shoulders. Victory. Small, fragile, but mine. Baa finally sat down across from me, her sharp gaze still pinned to my face as I devoured the parathas. I tried to keep the mood light, chewing loudly just to irritate her, but she wasn't fooled.

"Rajni Aunty came," she said suddenly, as if she'd been waiting for the right moment to drop the bomb.

My chewing slowed. Uh-oh.

"She brought photos," Baa continued, her voice deceptively casual, like she was talking about vegetables from the market. "Nice girls. Educated. Sanskari. All from good families."

There it was. The ambush.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling through my nose. This was the part where she thought she was being clever, easing me into the marriage talk with parathas as bait. Classic Baa strategy.

Inside my head, though? Sirens. Abort mission. Escape route required.

Because the thing was, I knew she was right. I was 28. Not ancient, but not exactly a spring chicken either; not in our society, at least. Rajni Aunty had already warned me once: wait too long and the "good girls" would all be taken, leaving only divorcees and single mothers.

Not that I had anything against them, but that wasn't the point. The point was, I wasn't ready to pick someone from a stack of photographs like I was ordering off a menu.

I wanted... more. That stupid cliché "more" people never shut up about. 

The so-called magic of falling in love. Butterflies, stolen glances, the whole damn package. And until I felt it? No amount of "good girls" shoved under my nose would cut it.

I pushed the empty plate away and stood up before she could pull out the photos. "Baa, I'm really tired. Long day. Can we not do this tonight?"

Her eyes narrowed again, suspicion flashing across them, but I didn't give her the chance to argue. I bent down, kissed the top of her head quickly, and mumbled, "Goodnight."

Then I escaped to my room, leaving her and Rajni Aunty's matchmaking dreams behind, at least for now.

Because deep down, I knew one thing: I'd rather hold out for real love than settle for a convenient marriage. Even if it meant more nights of fighting myself and thinking about a certain stubborn, infuriatingly sexy woman who refused to leave my head.

I shut the door to my room with a soft click, the sound echoing louder in the quiet than it had any right to. 

The space was familiar—simple, uncluttered, with a double bed pushed against one wall, a wooden desk piled with case files I'd brought home last week, and a single window overlooking the yard where Alex was probably still pacing, waiting for me to throw his ball even at this hour. 

But tonight, none of it registered. My body was on fire, a low burn that had started the second Saanvi slid into my passenger seat and hadn't let up since.

I stripped off my shirt, tossing it onto the chair, the cool air from the ceiling fan doing nothing to ease the heat pooling in my veins. My pants followed, kicked aside in a heap, leaving me in just my boxers. 

The bulge there was impossible to ignore, straining against the fabric like it had a mind of its own. God, I was hard—achingly so—and it was all her fault. Saanvi's face flashed in my mind again: those blazing eyes, that defiant chin, and the way her kurta clung to her curves when she moved. 

I didn't need porn; hell, I didn't even need to touch my phone. My imagination was already running wild, fueled by the real thing, and I was dying for release.

I headed to the attached bathroom, the tiles cold under my feet, flipping on the dim light that cast long shadows across the mirror. The shower stall loomed in the corner, but I didn't bother with water—not yet. 

I leaned against the sink, gripping the edge with one hand as I shoved my boxers down with the other. My cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, the tip already slick with pre-cum. A low groan escaped me as I wrapped my hand around it, the contact sending a jolt straight through me.

No buildup, no teasing. I was too far gone for that. 

My strokes started firm and urgent, my mind flooding with images of her—Saanvi pinned against the car door, her breath hitching as I trailed my fingers down her collarbone, lower, slipping under that dupatta to cup her breast. 

In my fantasy, she wasn't arguing; she was gasping, arching into me, her nails raking down my back as I ground against her. "Kabir," she'd whisper, her voice husky and needy, and fuck, that thought alone made me pump harder, my hips thrusting into my fist.

The bathroom echoed with my ragged breaths and the slick sound of skin on skin. I imagined her on her knees, those full lips wrapping around me, her tongue swirling as she looked up with those big eyes, defiant even then. 

Or me pulling her into my lap in the Defender, her dress hiked up, her heat enveloping me as she rode me slow and deep, her moans filling the car. Every stroke built the pressure, tighter, hotter, until my free hand braced harder against the sink, knuckles white.

It didn't take long—couldn't, not with how pent-up I was. A few more rough pulls, and I shattered, groaning her name under my breath as I came hard, spilling over my hand and into the sink. Waves of pleasure crashed through me, leaving me trembling, chest heaving as I rode it out.

For a moment, I just stood there, forehead pressed against the cool mirror, catching my breath. The release was sweet and necessary, but it didn't erase her. If anything, it etched her deeper into my mind. 

Saanvi Desai. 

The one woman who could drive me to this without even knowing it.

I cleaned up quickly, splashing water on my face, avoiding my own eyes in the reflection.

Tomorrow was another day—the Deshmukh case, Sharma Ji's big chance, and the city's chaos. But tonight, as I lay staring at the ceiling, one thought gnawed at me: I was almost sure destiny wouldn't be cruel enough to make me cross paths with her again.

And yet... if it did? If fate shoved her into my life once more? I had the sinking feeling I'd spend the rest of my life regretting whatever came next.

I flicked off the light and collapsed into bed, but sleep didn't come easy. When it finally did, it wasn't peace that found me—only her shadow.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

This chapter was a tricky one to write because it dives into Kabir's raw, unfiltered side—the messy thoughts he'd never admit out loud. I wanted you to see him not just as an ACP or "the hero," but as a man torn between discipline, duty, desire, and the weight of his mother's expectations.

Alex (the overexcited German Shepherd 🐶) and Baa (the ex-PCS officer who can still make Kabir feel like a schoolboy) bring out that softer, family side of him. But then there's Saanvi—fiery, stubborn, impossible to ignore—and she's lodged herself in his mind whether he likes it or not.

By the end, Kabir's caught in that space between craving her and fearing what destiny might do if they cross paths again. That tension? It's what will shape everything coming next.

Tell me—did you feel for Kabir here, or do you think he's playing with fire by letting Saanvi in, even just in his head? Drop your thoughts in the comments, I love hearing your theories. 🌙✨

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