8.1: The Husband's Return
Sunday morning broke over Hyderabad with a lazy, golden haze, the sun spilling through the curtains of Madhuri's sprawling two-story home, casting long shadows across the marble floor.
The front door creaked open, and her heart jolted--Ramesh shuffled in, his suitcase dragging behind him, his tired frame slouched in a crumpled blazer. At 42, he was still handsome--sharp jaw, salt-and-pepper hair--but his eyes carried a weariness that matched his limp spirit.
"Home finally," he said, voice hoarse from jetlag, dropping his bag by the sofa. She straightened, smoothing her saree--her navel peeked out, a reflex--and forced a smile, her volcano simmering beneath the mask of a dutiful wife. "How was the trip, Ramesh? Wasn't expecting you this early." she asked, stepping closer, her scent--jasmine and sweat--wafting toward him.
He nodded, sinking into the couch, his gaze flickering over her curves, but it dulled fast--no spark, no hunger. "Thought of giving you a surprise, Madhu. Long flight... work was hell," he mumbled, rubbing his temples.
Abhi bounded down the stairs, his lanky frame in a loose tee, eyes lighting up. "Dad! You're back!" he grinned, hugging Ramesh, who ruffled his hair weakly.
"Missed you, Abhi," Ramesh said, then glanced at her. "Everything okay here?" She nodded quick--too quick--her saree swishing as she turned back to the kitchen, hiding the flush creeping up her neck.
"Yeah, all good," she lied, her voice tight, the stalker's texts, Ishaan's taunts, her own moans flashing through her mind. Ramesh didn't press, his exhaustion a wall she couldn't breach--not yet.
The doorbell chimed, sharp and sudden, and her pulse spiked--Ishaan. He sauntered in, all black tee and jeans, his athletic frame radiating that cocky heat, his deep eyes glinting as they flicked to her, then Ramesh.
"Uncle! Back from the States, already? Looking solid," he said, voice smooth, dropping onto the couch beside Ramesh like he owned the place. Madhuri froze, ladle in hand.
"Ishaan, how's it going my boy?" Ramesh smiled, weak but warm, oblivious to the predator lounging next to him.
"I'm doing great, uncle--how's the jetlag treating you?" Ishaan grinned, leaning back, his gaze sliding to Madhuri, her thick ass swaying as she moved to the kitchen to bring cookies to the boys.
"Good seeing you all together," Ishaan added, his tone dripping charm, and Ramesh chuckled, patting his knee. "Good to be home, but work... it's draining"
Madhuri plated a warm bowl of soup, her hands shaky and set it before them, avoiding Ishaan's stare. "Have it, Ramesh--you need it," she murmured, her voice soft,
"Aunty, the soup looks--spicy, just like you," he winked, and her knees quaked, a soft "haha" slipping free under her breath. Ramesh laughed, clueless, and she retreated to the sink.
Abhi grabbed a plate, chattering about school, and Ramesh listened, half-there, while Ishaan's eyes stayed on her reminding her of yesterday's game--and her nipples stiffened under her blouse, her saree no shield.
"Why is he staring like that?" she hissed to herself, scrubbing a pot--her husband home, yet Ishaan's heat pulled her deeper, a trap she'd walked into willingly.
Ramesh yawned, stretching. "I think I need a nap," he said, and Ishaan nodded, casual. "Take it easy, uncle--I'll keep things lively here."
Madhuri's heart slammed--"Is he staying even after my husband's home?" and her abyss widened, Ramesh's return a flicker against the wildfire Ishaan stoked, her shame a shadow she couldn't outrun.
Afternoon melted into a sticky haze, the living room quiet as Abhi dashed upstairs to his room, leaving Ramesh sprawled on the couch, his blazer off, shirt unbuttoned, a glass of water trembling in his hand.
Madhuri lingered in the kitchen, her black saree damp with sweat, as she chopped onions--her mind a storm, Ishaan's wink replaying, "Is he going to stay here?" she whispered, knife pausing, her brown eyes darting to the doorway--Ishaan hadn't left, his presence a pulse she couldn't shake.
He appeared then, leaning against the frame, his black tee tight over his abs, jeans hugging his bulge--too casual, too bold. "Aunty, need help?" he asked, voice low, stepping closer, and her breath caught--his scent, sweat and spice, washed over her.
"No, Ishaan--I'll manage," she snapped, sharp, but her hands shook.
He grinned, slow, wild. "You're tense, aunty--everything okay?" His eyes traced her saree--her navel bare, her curves screaming--and her shame crashing in.
"Ramesh is back, that's all," she mumbled, swiftly covering her navel and turning away, but he stepped into the kitchen, voice dropping.
"Uncle looks beat--guess the States didn't spark him up, huh?"
Her heart slammed--He's poking already--and she glared, weak.
"He's fine, Ishaan. He just need some rest," she hissed, but he shrugged, sauntering back to Ramesh, leaving her reeling, unquenched.
Ramesh sipped his water, eyes half-closed, and Ishaan dropped beside him, casual as sin. "Uncle, you're a legend--two weeks in the US, big deals, even with a hot wife waiting at home--how's it feel to meet her again?" he asked, tone smooth, probing, and Ramesh chuckled, tired.
"Feels good, Ishaan--everything's fine" But his voice cracked, faint, and Ishaan's eyes glinted--He smells it, the weakness.
"Really? 'Cause aunty doesn't look... happy, you know?" Ishaan leaned in, voice soft, concerned--like a friend and Ramesh's smile faltered, his glass clinking on the table.
Madhuri froze at the sink, "What's he doing now?" carefully hearing whispers from the living room.
"She's fine, Ishaan," Ramesh muttered, but Ishaan pressed, slow.
"Nah, uncle--saw her this morning, she's fire and all, but something's off. Work stress getting to you?" Ramesh shifted, uncomfortable, and Ishaan's tone dipped lower. "Promise I won't tell a soul--just you and me, man to man."
The room thickened, silence stretching, and Ramesh sighed, heavy, drowning in it. "Listen, Ishaan... it's not work," he whispered, head dropping, shame flooding his sharp features.
