Nyra

Highway dust is still on my ankles when I kick my sandals off. Solapur at this hour is just the room and the lamp. I do not want it off. Call girls who whisper and undress in a corner miss the point. I pull my top over my head where you can see me, breasts bare, and I watch your face change.

Then I push you flat. I like your hands on my hips while I rub against you, not inside yet, just enough to make you swear. When I take you in I stay upright so you can look. Hold my waist. Do not flip me. I move until I am wet down your stomach, hair stuck to my mouth, telling you to keep watching. You can finish on my chest. I will lean over you and let it land where you were staring.

A call girl who likes the light will not do a back-lane lodge. Hotgi Road is the easy yes, Balaji Sarovar or the Fern if the room is already yours. Saat Rasta only if you are already there. Tell me the lamp works. I am on the way, top loose, already thinking about your eyes.