The days blurred after that kitchen encounter, each one pulling me deeper into a web I no longer wanted to escape. My body betrayed me constantly—nipples tightening at the mere thought of Aryan's touch, my pussy growing wer whenever his name crossed my mind. Rohan remained oblivious, buried in his studies, parties and trips, but Aryan... he texted subtly, innocent messages hidden with intent: 'Missed seeing you today, Aunty.' I replied bluntly at first, but soon, my responses softened, inviting him over under flimsy excuses. The line between guilt and desire thinned to a thread, snapping when I caught myself daydreaming about his cock during everyday tasks, my hand slipping between my thighs to ease the ache.

That evening, as the sun dipped low, Aryan showed up unannounced, claiming he needed Rohan's laptop charger. My son was out, as usual, leaving the house echoing with possibility. I let him in, my saree feeling too tight against my curves, the pallu slipping to reveal the swell of my breasts. He stepped close in the hallway, his athletic frame towering, eyes dark with hunger. 'Aunty,' he murmured, voice low, 'I've been thinking about you all day.'