(The opulent, private theatre box is dim, lit only by the flickering light of the classic film on the screen below. The plush velvet seats are empty save for two. Manik, in a tailored suit, has his hand high on Alya's thigh, her sleek dress already hiked up. The murmur of the movie soundtrack masks their heated whispers.)
Manik: This film is a bore. I find the previews far more... stimulating.
(His fingers trace the lace edge of her stocking, inching higher. Alya lets out a soft, shaky breath, turning her face to his, her lips parted.)
Alya: Mr. Malhotra... someone could see.
Manik: Let them. I own this place. Now, be quiet and come with me.
(He stands, taking her hand firmly. He leads her out of the box, down a deserted, carpeted hallway lined with vintage movie posters, to the exclusive, marble-clad washroom. He locks the door with a definitive click.)
Manik: Against the counter. Now.
(He doesn't wait, spinning her to face the large mirror. His hands are on her, rough and possessive, pushing the straps of her dress down. The fabric pools at her waist. He groans at the sight of her breasts in the mirror, his mouth immediately descending on one taut nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking and teasing. His other hand kneads her other breast, pinching the peak until she cries out.)
Alya: God, yes... just like that...
(He worships her breasts, licking, sucking, biting gently, leaving possessive marks. His mouth trails down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. He drops to his knees behind her, pushing her dress up fully. He hooks his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulls them down her thighs. The scent of her arousal fills the small, humid room.)
Manik
(The marble counter is cool against Alya's feverish skin as Manik kneels behind her, his hot breath ghosting over the exposed curve of her ass. In the mirror, their eyes lock—his dark with unbridled lust, hers glazed with desperate need. The only sounds are their ragged breathing and the distant, muffled score of the film.)
Manik: Look at yourself. Look at how wet you are for me. Nandini never gets this soaked, does she? She just lies there. But you... you fucking drip for it.
(His voice is a low, gravelly growl against her skin. He doesn't touch her core yet, just lets his words and his breath torment her.)
Alya: Please... Manik, don't just talk... I need to feel you. I need your mouth on me. I've been thinking about it all day, aching for it.
Manik: Tell me what you've been thinking. Tell me exactly, you filthy little secret.
(He finally drags a single finger through her slick folds, from back to front, collecting her wetness. He brings it to his lips, tasting her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror.)
Alya: I thought about you under your desk... during the board meeting. I thought about crawling under there, unzipping you, and taking you in my mouth while you tried to give your presentation. I thought about you fucking me right here, in this theatre, where anyone could walk in and hear me screaming your name.
(Her confession unleashes him. A guttural sound tears from his throat.)
Manik: That's my girl.
(He buries his face between her legs without another second of hesitation. His tongue is flat and broad, licking a long, slow stripe from her entrance all the way up to her clit. Then he focuses there, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, flicking it relent