The scorching May afternoon hung heavy with silence. Sunlight streaming through the windows danced across the floor of Riya’s room. She lay on the bed in her tiny silk nightie, studying her own reflection in the mirror. The innocence of her age had long since melted into a ripe, dangerous maturity that could drive any man out of his mind—especially the man she had been calling “Papa” for the last seven years.

Vikram. The only support she had left after her mother’s death. Forty-two, hard-bodied, serious face, deep masculine voice. To Riya he was never just a guardian. He was the secret hero of every filthy fantasy she buried under the covers at night—the kind of fantasy society brands as pure sin.

The main door opened. Vikram was home from the office. Riya’s heart slammed against her ribs. Deliberately she let one thin strap of her nightie slide off her shoulder and spread her still-damp hair across the pillow.

Vikram was exhausted. He tossed his coat onto the sofa and headed straight for the kitchen.

“Riya! Bring me some water,” he called in that heavy voice.

She walked in barefoot. The moment she stepped close, the mixed scent of his sweat and expensive cologne hit her like a drug. She held out the glass, making sure her fingers deliberately brushed against his palm.

For a second Vikram looked into her eyes. He recognised the hunger there perfectly… and tried to ignore it.

“Go put some proper clothes on, Riya. What the hell is this?” he said sternly, setting the glass down.

“Why, Papa? There’s no one else in the house. And besides… this is exactly how you like seeing me, isn’t it?”

Riya smiled—bold, filthy. She stepped so close her swelling body almost brushed his chest.

Vikram stepped back. “Talk with some respect. I’m your father.”

“Stepfather,” she corrected instantly. “There’s no blood between us, Vikram. And you know it. Every night when you walk past my room, I know exactly where your eyes go. You don’t look at me like a daughter. You look at me like a woman.”

Her shameless words lit a storm inside him. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hard against the wall.

“Shut up. If I ever drop my self-control, you won’t be able to handle what comes next.”

Instead of fear, Riya tipped her head back and let out a soft, needy moan.

“That’s exactly what I want. I want to take your anger… your manhood. Hit me. Or give me the kind of love this body has been starving for for years.”

She took his hand and pressed it firmly against her chest. Vikram’s palm trembled against the warm silk. He knew this was wrong. He knew this was the road to hell. But the raw heat of her young body was already winning.

“Papa… feel how hard my heart is beating for you,” she whispered, shameless. “Forget the world outside. Tonight, inside these walls, there will only be a man and a woman. Won’t you quench your ‘daughter’s’ thirst?”

Vikram’s breathing turned ragged. He stared at her face. The last trace of innocence was gone—replaced by pure, brazen lust. His hand clamped hard around her waist, drawing a drunk, helpless sound from her throat.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for, Riya,” he growled, fighting for control even as his eyes burned with something wild.

“I know exactly what I’m asking. I want you to break me in those iron arms. I want you to teach me everything a man teaches his woman.”

She opened the top buttons of her nightie, baring a large stretch of soft, naked skin. Vikram’s restraint snapped. He fisted her hair and yanked her against him.

“From this moment on, you never call me Papa again.”

Riya’s smile was pure victory.

“As you wish… my master.”

That afternoon, behind the locked doors of the house, the first brick of a forbidden relationship was laid. The wall of restraint that had stood for years was about to collapse under a single breath of pure lust.

The red flush in Vikram’s eyes and his ragged breathing told Riya everything she needed to know—the prey was completely trapped in the net. He crushed her face between both hands so hard that her pink cheeks were squeezed between his fingers.

“You’ve lit a fire today, Riya… a fire you probably don’t have the strength to put out,” Vikram said in a heavy, trembling voice. The dignity of a “father” had completely vanished from it. Only a hungry man remained.

Riya gave him a drunk, intoxicating smile and placed both hands on his broad chest. Her fingers began teasing open the buttons of his shirt.

“Then burn me in this fire. I’ve waited years for this moment… the moment when these hands of yours would mould me not like a daughter, but like wet clay with your manhood.”

Vikram’s last thread of control snapped. He bent his head and crashed his mouth onto hers. This was no soft or loving kiss—it was a violent assault. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard enough that a muffled scream mixed with a moan tore from Riya’s throat.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth like an aggressive soldier, exploring every corner as if he wanted to claim it all as his own. Riya met him with equal hunger. Their tongues tangled and fought like two snakes trying to devour each other.

“Mmmph… Papa… you turned out to be so hungry,” Riya whispered filthy, shameless words right into the kiss. “Suck me dry… pour all your hate and lust into my mouth.”

Vikram’s dirty talk had begun too.

“This mouth of yours… it’s burning like a furnace, Riya. I’ve held myself back until today, but tonight I’m going to ruin these lips so badly you won’t be able to speak until tomorrow. You provoked me, didn’t you? Now take all of my filth.”

Even while kissing her, he yanked her hair so hard from behind that her head was forced backward, completely exposing the elegant length of her neck. Like a madman he began biting and sucking at her throat and the sensitive skin behind her ears. He left dark marks with his tongue and teeth—what society calls hickeys. To Vikram they were brands of ownership.

“Say it! Will you still call me Papa?” he growled, clamping her earlobe between his teeth.

“Aaahh… no… you’re my demon. Kiss me even more ruthlessly… make me feel that I’m your whore—the one you can use whenever you want to quench your thirst,” Riya’s ultra-bold words only made him more savage.

Vikram claimed her mouth again. This time he sucked her upper lip so hard that a thin string of saliva escaped the corner of her mouth and trailed down to her chin. He licked even that away with his tongue. The only sounds in the kitchen were the wet, filthy chhap-chhap of their mouths colliding and their broken, desperate breathing.

Crockery on the kitchen slab crashed to the floor from the force of Riya’s body being shoved against it, but neither of them cared. Vikram’s hand had already slid inside her nightie, roughly kneading the most sensitive parts of her body while his mouth continued its bloody conquest of her lips.

“These lips are only the beginning today, Riya,” Vikram panted as he finally pulled away. His eyes held a black ocean of lust so deep that Riya understood—tonight would not just be pleasure for her. It would be a terrifying kind of heaven.

He wiped her swollen lips with his thumb, then lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. The taste of those forbidden kisses had already entered both their bloodstreams. The taboo relationship had claimed its first bloody milestone.