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Rain Between Us Kavya landed in Bangalore on a Thursday afternoon when the sky was already turning the colour of wet slate. The air at Kempegowda felt thicker than Mumbai’s, cooler, carrying the smell of rain on laterite and the faint sweetness of rain trees. She had come for a two-day design workshop in Indiranagar and told herself that was the only reason. Aditya had messaged the night before: *Stay at mine. Guest room is ready. No arguments.* His apartment sat on the third floor of an old house converted into four flats off 12th Main, near the 100 Feet Road. High ceilings, red oxide floors in the kitchen, a narrow balcony that looked over a gulmohar that dropped orange petals onto the compound wall. When he opened the door he was in a faded black t-shirt and cotton shorts, hair still damp from a shower. He did not hug her at once. He looked at her for a long second, the way a man looks when he has been thinking about a woman for months and now she is standing in his doorway with a small suitcase and rain still clinging to her hair. “You look tired,” he said. “I look like I sat next to a crying baby for two hours.” He took the suitcase from her hand, set it down, and only then pulled her in. The kiss started polite, the kind you give someone you have history with. It did not stay polite. His mouth opened against hers, slow, tasting the coffee she had drunk at the airport. One hand stayed at the small of her back. The other slid under the damp hem of her kurta and found the warm skin just above her jeans. He did not go further. He just kept his palm there, thumb moving in a small circle, while he kissed her like he had all evening and no workshop in the morning. They cooked together because neither wanted to go out again. He made egg bhurji the way she liked it, extra green chilli, extra coriander. She stood behind him at the stove and linked her arms around his waist, cheek against his shoulder blade. Every few minutes his hand would come back and rest on her thigh, squeezing once, then leaving. The apartment filled with the smell of cumin and wet earth from the open balcony door. After they ate he washed the plates while she sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. He dried his hands, walked over, and stepped between her knees. This time the kiss had no politeness left. He pushed her kurta up to her ribs and looked at the plain black bra she had worn for travel. He did not unhook it. He bent and put his mouth on the swell of her breast through the fabric, breathing heat through the cotton until her nipple tightened. His teeth closed gently. She made a small sound and her fingers went into his hair. He stayed there a long time, switching sides, using only his mouth and the pressure of his hands on her waist, until the fabric was damp and she was shifting on the counter. “Not here,” he said against her skin. “I want you lying down.” The bedroom was simple. White sheets, one window open to the sound of traffic and the occasional burst of rain. He undressed her without hurry. Kurta first, then jeans, then the bra. He left her in the black panties and sat back on his heels to look. Kavya was not used to being looked at like that for so long. Most men rushed. Aditya traced the line of her hipbone with one finger, then the crease where thigh met body, then the damp spot already visible on the cotton. “You’re already wet.” “I know.” He hooked his fingers in the sides of the panties and drew them down her legs. When they were off he parted her knees and simply looked again. Then he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue was flat and slow, from the entrance up to her clit and back, as if he were learning the shape of her all over again. He did not suck yet. He licked in long strokes, pausing every few seconds to breathe against her, to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, to look up at her face. Kavya’s hands fisted in the sheet. Her hips tried to lift. He held them down with one forearm and kept the same unhurried pace until her breathing changed and a thin sound started coming from her throat. Only then did he close his mouth over her clit and suck, gentle at first, then firmer, two fingers sliding into her at the same time. He curled them and found the spot that made her thighs shake. He did not speed up. He stayed there, sucking and stroking in the same rhythm, until she came with her head turned into the pillow and one hand covering her mouth. He kept his mouth on her through it, lighter now, drinking what she gave him. When she could speak she said, “Your turn.” He shook his head. “Not yet. I want you to stay like this a while.” He lay beside her and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His cock was hard against her hip, still inside his shorts. She reached for it. He caught her wrist. “Later. I want to take my time with the rest of you first.” He spent the next twenty minutes on her breasts. No rushing there either. He licked around each nipple until it was...