The Toronto apartment was a chaotic blend of mismatched furniture and the faint aroma of cumin and coriander that clung to the walls. Muskan, with her sharp cheekbones and a body sculpted from relentless hours at the gym, slipped into the shared bathroom, her mind already wandering to places it shouldn’t. She was visiting Ahyan, her sweet but predictable boyfriend, yet her thoughts kept drifting to Neal, Ahyan’s hulking roommate—a man she’d secretly dubbed the Indian "Genghis Khan" for his sheer presence and untamed aura.
The hot water hit her skin like a lover’s caress, steam rising in lazy curls as she closed her eyes, letting the heat wash away the tension of the day. Her petite frame glistened under the torrent, water tracing the curves of her hips and the taut lines of her thighs. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—on Neal’s massive frame, his thick moustache that framed a smirk she couldn’t shake, and the raw, primal energy he exuded. She bit her lip, a forbidden fantasy unfurling in her mind as her fingers lingered just a little too long on her skin.
The bathroom door slammed open with the subtlety of a battering ram, and Muskan’s eyes snapped open, her heart lurching into her throat. Through the haze of steam, Neal stood there, all 300 pounds of pure, unadulterated muscle, his dark eyes locking onto her like a predator sizing up prey. His worn tank top clung to his chest, and his cargo shorts did little to hide the sheer mass of him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize, just let his gaze rake over her glistening form with a hunger that made her skin prickle.
“Well, damn, Muskan,” Neal drawled, his deep voice cutting through the steam like a blade, a wicked grin spreading beneath that thick moustache. “Didn’t expect to find a goddess in my shower. You trying to tempt a man into sin, or is this just how you say hello?”
Muskan’s breath hitched, but she wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand. She straightened, water streaming down her body as she crossed her arms over her chest, not to hide, but to challenge. “Maybe if you knocked, you wouldn’t be drooling like a dog, Neal. Or is that just your default setting?”
His laugh was low, guttural, sending a shiver down her spine despite the heat of the water. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t drool. I devour. And trust me, Ahyan’s little shower games ain’t got nothing on what I could do to you.” He stepped closer, the steam swirling around him like a cloak, his eyes never leaving hers. “Boy’s got the charm of a wet sock. Me? I’m the whole damn storm.”
Her pulse raced, but she kept her voice steady, sharp as a whip. “Big words for a man who’s still fully dressed. Or are you all talk and no action, Genghis Khan?”
Neal’s grin widened, dangerous and feral. “You wanna see action, darling? I’ll give you a front-row seat.” Without breaking eye contact, he yanked his tank top over his head, revealing a chest so broad it could’ve been carved from granite, dusted with dark hair that trailed down to a waist that promised power. Then, with deliberate slowness, he shoved down his shorts, letting them fall to the tiled floor with a wet thud. Muskan’s breath caught as her eyes dropped—8 inches of uncut, thick cock, heavy and proud, paired with balls the size of tangerines, all framed by the raw, unapologetic masculinity of him.
“Still think I’m all talk?” he taunted, stepping closer, the heat of his body cutting through the steam. “Or you gonna admit you’ve been dreaming of this beast while you’re stuck with Ahyan’s tame little ass?”
Muskan’s resolve wavered, her body betraying her with a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the shower. She wanted him—God, did she want him—to dominate her, to take her apart with that raw intensity. But Ahyan’s face flashed in her mind, the guilt gnawing at her even as her thighs clenched with need. “Ahyan’s right outside, Neal,” she hissed, her voice low but laced with steel. “You think I’m stupid enough to risk this? He’ll hear us. He’ll know.”
Neal’s hand shot out, bracing against the tiled wall beside her head, caging her in as water splashed off his massive frame. His scent hit her like a punch—potent, musky, all man, a stark contrast to the clean, safe smell of Ahyan. “Let him hear,” Neal growled, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I’ll handle that pretty boy if he dares step in. You think I give a fuck about his feelings when I’ve got a queen like you dripping for me right here?”
Her eyes narrowed, but the heat in her core was undeniable. “You’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you? What makes you think I’m dripping for you?”
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Because I can see it, Muskan. The way your breath hitches, the way your eyes keep flicking down to what I’m packing. You want me to wreck you, and I’m done waiting for permission.” With that, he stepped fully into the shower, the water cascading over his massive shoulders as he pressed her back against the cold tiles, his body a wall of heat and power.
Her hands shot up, pressing against his chest—not to push him away, but to feel the sheer strength of him. “You’re playing with fire, Neal,” she warned, her voice husky now, control slipping. “I’m not some toy for you to break.”
“Oh, I’m not breaking you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her wet hips, gripping her with a possessiveness that made her gasp. “I’m claiming you. Ahyan can cry about it later.” His mouth crashed into hers, rough and hungry, his moustache scraping her skin as he devoured her protests, his cock pressing hard against her thigh, a promise of the destruction to come.
Muskan’s mind screamed to stop, but her body arched into him, craving the raw intensity she’d fantasized about for weeks. His hands roamed, rough and demanding, as he lifted her effortlessly, pinning her against the wall, the cold tiles a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he growled against her lips, his voice a challenge. “Lie to me, Muskan. I dare you.”
She didn’t get the chance to answer. The bathroom door creaked open, a slow, ominous groan that cut through the haze of lust like a knife. Through the steam, a silhouette loomed in the doorway—Ahyan, his lean frame tense, his face unreadable in the dim light. Muskan’s heart stopped, her body frozen against Neal’s unyielding grip, as the air thickened with the promise of a storm far more dangerous than the one in the shower.
“Well, fuck,” Neal muttered under his breath, not a trace of fear in his tone, just raw, defiant amusement. “Looks like the boy showed up to the party after all.”
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