Erotic Indian Novels & Stories

I pointed at Xander, who still had his back to us. Leander chuckled. “That doesn't mean we aren't identical. Wait till you see his face,” he assured me. Once Xander was sure the car was locked, he turned towards us. My eyes widened as my mouth fell open. Yes, he did look exactly like my husband but the hotter version of him. He was wearing a short-sleeved top, showing his biceps, which were twice Leander's own, and tattoos scattered all over his arm. His face had that kind of dark, erotic beauty that I only thought was seen on men who appeared on TV. And as he stalked towards us, I had to pull my thighs together.

“You keep using that word like it matters. Like it erases duty. Like it erases history.” “Leave her alone, India,” Leera says, her voice shaking but defiant. She stands up, stepping out from behind me. “He doesn’t want you.” India stops, her smile vanishing. She looks at Leera, really looks at her, with a hatred so pure it chills the air. “Oh, honey,” India says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He might want you. He might even love the idea of you. But he doesn’t belong to you.”