Dev’s POV

The music outside was loud. Laughter. Paparazzi. Renowned guests. Celebrities. The glow of fairy lights wrapped around decades of family reputation and fame.

Inside this storeroom-turned-utility-lounge, it was just me and her.

On her knees.

I leaned back against the old oak table, shirt undone, my fingers buried in her hair as she worked me over with a mouth that was clearly used to saying yes.

The door was locked. The lights were dim, and my mind was nowhere at this moment.

Not really.

She moaned softly, as if hoping I’d praise her for her effort. I didn’t.

Because I am not used to praising who throws herself on me, and mostly every girl throws herself on me. I never approached anyone.

They are all so desperate just to have a moment with Sufiyan they think it would help them to have a few minutes with the great Sufiyan. But nope, my friend was always a one-woman man, and finally he married the one.

Today is his reception party. That's where I am right now, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun without letting anyone know about this.

I kept my eyes half-lidded, staring at the ceiling, jaw locked as she was moving her head up and down, taking me deep throat.

This wasn’t about pleasure.

It was about numbing something I didn’t want to feel tonight.

“Don’t stop,” I murmured, my voice low, detached. Commanding.

She didn’t, not even when my grip tightened, not when my breath hitched. She was the event manager for the reception party I organized for Sufi. Her name was Neha or Naina or something with a breathy 'N,' and she’d been throwing me looks since the day I finalized her agency for the event.

I hadn’t planned this, but I hadn’t stopped it either because stopping would mean facing the fact that she was here too.

Prachi.

In a soft lavender saree, laughing with Taalika and being jealous of Navitri. Her smile is untouched by the filth of people like me. Her eyes were looking everywhere but at me.

God! How much I wanted her to look at me since I had a few alone moments with that chatterbox at Sufiyan's Bangalore concert before his marriage.

I wanted to give him and Taalika a few moments alone, but that chatterbox wasn't ready to leave them alone, so I have to drag her out somewhere.

I never liked girls who talk nonstop, but there was something about her that pulled me towards her. I heard her constant blabbering in awe that night because my dirty mind was fixated on something else.

A mole.

Yes, a sexy, kissable mole on the right bottom corner of her luscious lips, which were painted sinfully red that night, and how badly I wanted them to be wrapped around my cock.

And that fucking mole.

Till last night I thought I wanted to kiss that mole, but now. Boy, oh boy! There is another mole that I wanted to taste.

Fuck!

I shouldn't have thought such things about her. She is off-limits. Sufiyan's sister-in-law. Taalika's best friend, who is more like a sister to her.

But fuck everything. I want to risk everything since I saw that mole nestled between the valley of her big breasts.

Yes, you heard it right. Last night she was wearing a deep-neck lehenga, which wasn't showing anything inappropriate, but the moment she started a fight with me over stealing Sufiyan's shoes, then I saw that simple black dot between her breasts.

And it was killing me.

Since then I have lost my mind and just wanted her so badly that, just to control that urge, I am fucking a stranger's mouth in this storeroom.

No one affected me the way that chatterbox is affecting me. While some girl’s lips were on my skin right now, all I could think about was the mole nestled in the valley of a woman who didn’t belong to me.

The woman I couldn’t stop wanting.

In that pent-up frustration, I started thrusting on her mouth so hard that she started gagging, but I am not in a mood or condition to think about that because I want my release so fucking bad right now.

“Prachi!”

A muffled growl left my lips as I emptied my load in her mouth, which that bitch swallowed greedily.

Panting I took my cock out of her mouth and wiped her lips with my handkerchief before handing it to her.

Well, these are gestures you have to do to make the woman feel that she satisfied you.

She smiled, looking at me as she wiped a few drops of my cum from her cleavage.

“My name is Sunaina, by the way. Not Prachi.” She replied seductively as she stood in front of me.

I looked up at her, stopping in the middle, tucking my clothes properly, and replied with a smirk while patting her cheek like she is my lapdog, “I know, and you could never be her, darling. Just be happy I fucked this pretty mouth, imagining her.”

And I walked out without giving her another glance.

The moment I stepped out of that goddamn storeroom, the music hit me like a slap, too loud, too joyful, but it's important to celebrate when a man like Sufiyan finally moves on and gets settled in his life. I am happy for my best friend, but now I am tired of these nonstop celebrations.

People were drunk, dancing, living in a bubble of Sufi and Taalika’s fairytale, and there I was, walking through it like I didn’t just fuck someone’s mouth raw while moaning another woman’s name.

I adjusted my cuffs. Fixed my smirk. Wiped off the last trace of guilt I didn't even believe in.

But then, there she was.

Prachi.

Standing across the lawn near the photobooth, laughing uncontrollably with Taalika and that American chick Navitri, who no doubt is the most stunning woman of tonight with her deep blue eyes, those long beautiful hair, and that cute baby-like face. Yet I never felt anything for her because she is still a child and far from my reach and status, where no ordinary man dares to eye her.

But Prachi... fuck.

Lavender saree, backless blouse, her hair braided to one side like some goddess walked out of an ancient epic just to haunt my godforsaken soul, and her smile, wide, open, unfiltered. The kind of smile that didn’t belong in my dirty, jaded world.

I lit a cigarette.

Not because I needed one but because I needed something between my teeth before I did something stupid. Like walk over and confess that she was the reason some girl was just gagging on my cock in a locked room.

I watched her. Stared. Ate her up with my eyes.

She had no idea.

No idea what she was doing to me.

She didn’t know how her neckline dipped just enough to tease me with that fucking mole again that I'm wishing it would dip a little more so I can have another look at that perfect dot that ruined all other women for me.

But nope, God just decided to torment me.

She turned her eyes, scanning the crowd, and for a split second, they landed on me.

No smile. No greeting. Just… a pause. Like her body recognized the storm before her brain did, and then she looked away.

Just like that.

Like I didn’t exist, and maybe that’s what pissed me off the most.

Because I was already ruined for her, and she didn’t even know it.

I was so lost in her beauty when a voice brought me out of my dreamland.

“You’re not even listening, Devansh.”

That voice, soft, tired, and endlessly hopeful, cut through the chaos like only one voice could.

My mother.

Suhana Mehra.

The only person who calls me by my full name keeps reminding me that otherwise no one calls me Devansh anymore, and I would have forgotten it long ago if even she started calling me Dev like everyone else.

I turned slightly to see her standing beside me in her signature beige kanjeevaram, looking stunning, classy, and annoyingly sharp-eyed for a woman in her fifties.

She adjusted my collar like I was ten again.

“I was just telling your Massi that maybe now you’ll start thinking about settling down too. Sufiyan’s married. Isn’t it time?”

I smirked, flicking ash off my cigarette. “Why, Ma? You think marriage is contagious?”

“Don’t joke.” She looked up at me, scolding me with her eyes. “Even I have dreams of seeing my son as a groom. Find someone here. There are so many girls here at the party. You just choose one; the rest I will handle.” That same excitement in her voice. Why is she always so overenthusiastic for weddings?

I exhaled slowly. “Ma, I think you should change your business. Start a match-fixing agency because you clearly enjoy this more than your work.”

She frowned, not liking the answer, never did. “You keep saying things like this, and one day you’ll look back and realize you scared away every woman who ever tried to stay.”

I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “They were never meant to stay, Ma.”

And then I walked away before she could say anything else, before her love softened the parts of me I kept sharpened, as I know no woman can adjust to the life I am living, and I don't want to ruin an innocent life.

Finally the party came to an end, and everyone went back to their homes.

She is also gone to Bangalore, and she didn't even look at me one last time before leaving.

Damn! I need to put my shit together and stop thinking about her.

I reached my house and went straight to my room. The city outside was asleep. The kind of dead, dangerous quiet that creeps into your bones when the high fades and all that’s left is the ache.

I sat on the edge of my bed, tie half undone, hair messy from the night’s sins, eyes burning with something no alcohol could drown.

The blowjob? Forgettable.

The mole on her lip? I’ll never forget it.

The mole between her breasts? I never wanted to forget.

And worse. She’ll never know.

I needed release again. Not the physical kind.

I needed her words.

My Stranger.

WhisperOfYes.

Well, that's her name, or that's what I know.

The woman behind a username I’d never seen, never touched, never claimed, but whose late-night messages had become my only goddamn sanity in the mess of my life.

You must be thinking, who? 

Let me tell you. She is WhisperOfYes. You must be thinking, What kind of name is this?, right?

Well, I met her online on an anonymous sexting app. We have been talking for the past year, and now it's kind of an addiction that I can't sleep without talking to her.

I grabbed my phone.

Opened the app and went straight to her chat box. I have been using this website for years, but since last year I have become more addicted to it.

It's an anonymous place where we can talk to strangers about anything without the fear of being judged.

No names, no faces, no strings attached, just sharing our darkest desires and talking about sex.

I sent my message hoping she would be awake. Although it's 3 in the morning, let's try my luck.

NoSafeWords: Are you awake?

WhisperOfYes is typing…

Damn, the moment I saw that notification, a relieved smirk adorned my lips. She is awake. Waiting for me? Probably or probably not.

WhisperOfYes: Thought you forgot about me tonight.

NoSafeWords: Tried. Failed.

WhisperOfYes: You sound wrecked.

NoSafeWords: I am.

WhisperOfYes: Rough night?

NoSafeWords: I had someone on her knees.

WhisperOfYes: Lucky her.

NoSafeWords: No. She wasn’t you.

Pause. Long pause.

WhisperOfYes: What makes you think you’d survive me?

NoSafeWords: I wouldn’t. But if I’m going to burn, I’d rather it be from your fire.

WhisperOfYes: See you tomorrow, stranger.

With that last message of hers, I leaned back on my bed, staring at her last message.

Sometimes I really want to see the woman behind that screen who is so passionate about her desires and yet scared of sharing them with anyone.

Yeah, in a year I know a few things very well about her. She is a virgin. She wants to explore things but is scared of being judged; that's why she is talking to a stranger, aka me.

She found this site through an ad a year ago, and I was the lucky bastard online that day to whom she started talking. Now the scenario is that we both can't spend a single night without talking to each other.

 And we talk about everything except one thing that I am getting crazy about: Prachi, she knows everything that I do sexually, and I know what she wants to do but never did.

Now, I am already looking forward to talking to her tomorrow.