Introduction:

Ananya, a small-town girl, moves to Delhi for her college studies and finds a place in a strict girls' PG. The PG owner, Mrs. Kapoor, is very conservative and has only one rule: "No boys allowed anywhere near the premises."

But Mrs. Kapoor’s son, Aarav, a 27-year-old fitness coach, returns home temporarily after his gym is under renovation. Handsome, confident, and a bit arrogant, Aarav takes one look at Ananya and knows she’s trouble—but the kind of trouble he wants.

Late night kitchen encounters, brushing past each other in narrow hallways, exchanging glances during dinner—it all builds up slowly until one steamy night, when she goes to the terrace for some air... and he follows.

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Ananya never liked Delhi’s suffocating noise. But for her dream college, she had no choice. Her middle-class parents enrolled her into a strict all-girls PG in South Delhi—run by Mrs. Kapoor, a fifty-something widow with traditional values and one iron rule: “Koi ladka PG ke aas-paas bhi nahi aayega.”

That was fine—until he returned.

Aarav Kapoor, Mrs. Kapoor’s only son. 27. Tall. Gym-built. Rough jawline. And the kind of smirk that made a girl forget where she kept her morals. He had shifted back home for a month while his fitness center was being renovated.

And Ananya… she was stuck in the room right next to his.

---

The first time they spoke, it was midnight. Ananya was getting water from the kitchen in a loose tee and pajama shorts. She froze when she saw him standing shirtless near the fridge, sipping water, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low.

He noticed her. Smiled slowly. “Itni raat ko kitchen mein akeli ladki? Dangerous hai… ya tempting?”

Ananya swallowed. “Main… paani lene aayi thi.”

He took a lazy step forward. “Aur main soch raha tha PG mein sirf behenji types ladkiyan hoti hain… Lekin tum toh kuch aur hi nikli.”

Her cheeks burned. She grabbed her bottle and rushed back—but that smirk? It stayed with her all night.

---

The next few days were a slow burn. His door would stay slightly open when he changed shirts. He’d “accidentally” bump into her in the corridor. And her eyes? They lingered longer each time.

One evening, while folding clothes on the terrace, she found him there—alone, headphones in, doing push-ups. His veins popped with every movement, sweat dripping down his back.

He looked up.

“Dekh rahi ho? Aao, tumhe bhi sikha doon.”

She rolled her eyes. “Kya? Shirt utaarne ka tareeka?”

He grinned. “Usse pehle… kaise utarta hai control, yeh sikhaoonga.”

---

It all exploded one stormy night. Rain lashed against windows. Power went out. The PG girls were fast asleep, but Ananya couldn’t. Something pulled her to the terrace—and he was already there, shirtless, wet, smoking in the shadows.

Their eyes locked.

“Tumhe bhi neend nahi aa rahi?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Hawa lene aayi thi…” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He chuckled. “Ya mere paas aane ka bahana chahiye tha?”

She looked away, but he gently tilted her chin up. “Bahut dinon se soch raha tha… tumhe chhoon ke dekhun. Dekhun ki tum waise hi feel karti ho jaise sochta hoon.”

Her breath hitched. And in the silence of the storm, she let him kiss her.

---

Their lips crashed like the thunder above. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer as her fingers tangled in his wet hair.

He whispered into her neck, “Yeh galat hai… par tumhe chhod nahi sakta.”

“Toh mat chhodiye na…” she breathed, her body already trembling with need.

He backed her into the terrace wall, hands sliding under her drenched shirt, feeling the heat of her bare skin against the cold rain. She gasped as his lips moved down her throat, biting softly.

“Aarav… koi dekh lega…”

“Sab so rahe hain, jaan.” His voice was husky, dominant. “Aur main… tumhare bina soch bhi nahi sakta.”

He dropped to his knees, kissing down her stomach as he pulled down her shorts. The cold rain made her shiver—but his mouth, his tongue, his sinful touch? They set her on fire.

“Kya tum kabhi kisi neechi jagah chhui gayi ho, Ananya?” he asked, lips brushing her inner thighs.

She whimpered, eyes wide. “Nahi… kabhi nahi.”

He grinned darkly. “Toh aaj se yaad rakhna… tum pehle din se meri thi.”

He tasted her like she was forbidden fruit—slow, devouring, teasing her to the edge again and again. Her legs shook as he held her tight, her moans lost in the thunder.

---

They didn't stop at the terrace.

Their affair began—dangerous and secret. Late night kitchen kisses. Stealing moments in the laundry room. Hands under tables during study hours. The thrill of almost being caught made it even hotter.

One night, in her room, he locked the door and pulled her onto his lap. She was in his shirt and nothing else. He growled against her lips, “Tumhari har sans mere liye hai, samjhi?”

She rode him slowly, hands clawing at his chest, while he whispered filth in her ear:

“Dekho kaise chal rahi ho mujhpe… har pal tumse aur chahiye mujhe.”

He pinned her wrists above her head and thrust deep inside her, again and again, until she was gasping his name, shaking under him.

“Aarav…”

“Tum meri ho, Ananya… sirf meri. Koi PG ke rule tumse zyada important nahi hai.”

---

But lust turned to something more.

One morning, after they made love on her bed, she rested her head on his chest and whispered, “Yeh sab… kab tak chalega?”

He held her tighter. “Jab tak tum chahogi. Aur agar tum kahogi… toh sabko bata dunga.”

“Maa bhi?”

“Haan. Main kisi se nahi dar raha… kyunki main tumse pyaar kar baitha hoon.”

---

And that night, she kissed him like it was more than just a secret. Like he wasn’t just a risk—but her home.

Follow for part 2

From —

Author Mrinal 🌸 🎀 ✨️