The heavy scent of marigolds and expensive cologne choked the air of the villa, but Aman only had eyes for the flash of red silk disappearing into the study. His wife, Neha, was busy laughing with her cousins in the garden, oblivious to the predatory heat radiating from her husband. Aman adjusted his trousers, the fabric straining against his growing arousal, and followed the trail of perfume.
He pushed the door shut, the click of the lock echoing in the silent room. Sam was leaning against the mahogany desk, her sari draped precously low, exposing the curve of her waist. She smirked, a cigarette dangling from her crimson lips.
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