Chapter 2: Rescue to Romance
Eventually the frenzy died down. The cop van wasn't stationed in front of his house anymore. A semblance of normalcy started returning to his life with the one major exception -- he wasn't living alone anymore. He lived in a one-bedroom house. He had offered him the bedroom and had started sleeping on the couch in the living room.
Snigdha had objected and said she would be fine on the couch. She had insisted, saying she was used to it while staying at the hostel back in her hometown. She had been living alone since then, and she was used to it. Manish hadn't argued. He knew that she was scared, and he didn't want to push her into anything she wasn't comfortable with.
As the days passed, the real Snigdha started to emerge from behind the timid, scared, vulnerable girl. She was lively, witty, and funny with a bubbly vibrant personality. Her laughter was infectious, and her smile could light up the dullest room. And she was a beautiful, sensuous woman.
The whiff of her perfume in the house, her lively voice and laughter, her twinkling eyes. It was too much for Manish. To top it all, she treated him like he was her hero. She was comfortable around him -- for some reason, girls had always avoided him in the past and this was a whole new experience for him.
Coming home to hot home made food instead of fixing something hurried or ordering in, being waved good bye in the morning with a hug and a warm smile, going grocery shopping together, watching TV and movies together, her falling asleep on his shoulder. These were the things that the incurable romantic in him had only dreamt of in the past. Now he was living it, everyday.
He had never felt this alive, this happy. He was falling for her, and falling hard.
One evening, they were watching a movie together, curled up on the couch. She was lying on his shoulder, her head resting on his shoulder, her long, silky hair tickling his neck. He could feel her soft breath against his skin, inhaling the scent of her perfume.
He glanced at her, she was fast asleep. He smiled. She could never sit through an entire movie without falling asleep. She looked so peaceful, so content. And then his heart skipped a beat. Her sleeveless t-shirt had slid off one shoulder, exposing most of one breast. Manish quickly looked away, his heart pounding in his chest.
He tried to focus on the movie, but it was impossible. His eyes returned to her almost naked breast -- only her nipple covered by the flimsy fabric of her t-shirt. Her body was pressing against his, the scent of her perfume filling his senses. He could feel the heat of her body, the softness of her skin. He could feel the shape of her leg against his, the curve of her hip against his side. He could feel the curve of her breast against his chest.
He had an instant erection. He wanted to kiss her, love her, make her his. He did none of that. He gently lay her on her back on the couch and covered her with a blanket, before heading to his bedroom.
He closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, his heart still pounding in his chest.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. What was he doing? He couldn't just drool over her like some horny teenager. She was his guest, and he was supposed to be protecting her, not fantasizing about her.
But how could he not? She was beautiful, she was kind, she was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. And she was right there, in his house, sleeping in his living room.
He tried going to sleep but failed. He tossed and turned, his mind racing with thoughts of Snigdha and that almost naked breast haunting his senses, refusing to let his erection subside. He had to take matters into his own hand and relieve himself while thinking about emptying his load into Snigdha's depths before he was able to finally fall asleep.
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The next morning, Manish was awakened by the aroma of hot chai and the sound of pots and pans clanking in the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his body still aching from the earlier night's events. He opened the door to his bedroom and peeked out to the living room. Snigdha was humming a tune as she moved about the kitchen, her silky black hair tied up in a loose bun. She was wearing a pair of his sweatpants and one of his shirts tied around her belly.
The shirt was much too big for her, and it made her look even smaller and more delicate than usual. The first time he had seen her in his shirt was the day the cop car finally left the curb in front of his house. "It feels secure," she said, "especially when you are at work and I am alone at home. If it's not ok, I won't do it again." she said. Of course he didn't mind it. He had told her to treat his place as her own and whatever made her feel comfortable and safe was ok. All that felt so long ago now.
Manish smiled at the memory and felt his heart skip a beat as he watched her move gracefully around the kitchen, her hips swaying gently with each step. He remembered the feel of her body against his the night before, the softness of her skin, the curve of her hip, and that exposed breast.
Snigdha turned around, looking straight at him. "Morning, sleepyhead," she said with a warm smile. "Office nahin jana kya? You are already late for work."
Manish felt his face flush with embarrassment at the memory of the sleepless night and what he had to do before he could sleep.
He looked away, his eyes finding the wall behind her. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "No, I'm not going to the office. Decided to take a day off. I think I may be coming down with something."
Snigdha walked over to him, handing him his mug of chai. "What's wrong?" She asked genuine concern in her voice, touching his forehead with the back of her hand, sending a bolt of electricity through his body.
Manish took the mug from her, their fingers brushing briefly. He felt a spark at the touch, and his gaze flicked up to meet hers.
"Nothing serious, just a bit under the weather," he lied, turning away to take a sip of his tea. He couldn't let her know the real reason he wasn't going to work today - that he'd spent half the night fantasizing about her, and the other half relieving himself with her face in mind.
Snigdha didn't seem convinced. She sat down on the coffee table in front of him, her knees brushing against his. "You look tired, Manish. Maybe you should rest today," she suggested softly, her eyes searching his face.
Manish nodded, setting his mug down on the coffee table. "Maybe you're right. I just need some rest," Manish said, feeling a strange mix of relief and discomfort at her concern. He wanted her to take care of him, but he also felt guilty for not telling her the truth.
After breakfast that she had made, she marched him back to bed and spent the day pampering him. She wouldn't even let him go to the bathroom by himself. She'd hold his hand, leading him there, or to the living room or to the dining table where they had lunch together. She was always close, always caring. He could sense her gaze on him, her eyes lingering on his face, his hands, his body. She'd touch him often, her fingers brushing against his arm, her hand resting on his shoulder. It was innocent, meant to comfort, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him every time.
He was in a constant state of arousal whenever she was around, or when he thought about her. His balls were aching as they had lunch together.
After lunch, he said he needed to go the bathroom. She led him there holding his elbow. Locking the door behind him, he jerked off, knowing she was right behind that door. He was done in less than two minutes, his body shuddering with the release. He washed up quickly, splashing cold water on his face to try and clear his head.
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A few days later, as he crawled out of bed and opened his bedroom door, he saw her coming out of the bathroom. Keeping the door open just a crack, he watched her, draped in a flimsy towel, hair and body dripping wet, humming a Bollywood number.
She was totally oblivious to his presence as she walked to the living room. He tiptoed behind her, hoping she wouldn't turn around. Opening a closet he had got for her clothes, she pulled out a bra and panties.
And then she let the towel drop to the floor.
Manish felt his heart stop. He couldn't believe his eyes. There she was, standing in front of him, completely naked, and totally unaware of his presence. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was perfection, every curve, every line, every inch of her. He felt his body responding, heat rushing to his groin, his breath catching in his throat.
He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to caress her, to kiss her. He wanted to run his hands over her body, to feel her skin, to taste her. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to lose himself in her, fill her womanhood with his love and release.
He watched as she pulled her panties on, followed by her bra. Picking up one of his shirts from the couch, she put than on, and finally a paid of shorts.
He ducked back into his bedroom just before she turned around. His heart was pounding in his chest, his body aching with desire. He leaned against the door, trying to catch his breath. What had just happened? He had stood there, watching her, completely naked, and she hadn't even known. He felt guilty, ashamed even. But more than anything else, he felt aroused. Leaning against the closed bedroom door, he had his erection in his hands. Eyes closed, he relived the sight of her naked body before his release created a mess on the bedroom floor.
With each passing day, her body and presence becomes a sexual torture for Manish. The smell of her perfume which he once loved now seemed to be an aphrodisiac to him. And he keeps noticing more and more of her body everyday.
One day, as she was squatting on the living room floor cleaning tea that she spilled, he noticed how her shorts had slid down her hips revealing the top of her lace panties.
Another day, he woke up early and found her asleep on the couch, legs spread wide, her shaved pussy visible up her shorts and one naked breast hanging out of his shirt that she wore to bed.
He stole one of her panties and was masturbating with it every single night before going to bed. He didn't have the nerve to make a move. No girl had ever shown an interest in him. And she was by far the most gorgeous woman he had seen. There was no way she would want him, and he couldn't bear to be rejected by her, of all people.
But his desire was reaching a breaking point, his balls were aching every single day, and his cock would go hard even at the though of her... which was almost all the time, at work and at home.