They returned from the date in a haze of reclaimed bliss, hands holding each other with desperate intensity, fingers intertwined in possessive grip that sent constant sparks racing up Ishani's arm to her core. The evening had been perfect—Virat's touches lingering on her skin under the lilac one-piece, knuckles kissed slow and sensual in public shadows, his beard rasping her neck in hidden nips that left her panties soaked, thighs clenching with every teasing press of his hardness against her hip through his pants, the ridge throbbing hot as pre-cum dampened the fabric, her nipples peaking hard against the dress's soft material, mangalsutra swinging between her heaving breasts with each step, the amethyst kada and casino watch glinting on her wrist like marks of his claim. At 23, four months pregnant, her body thrummed with heightened sensuality—the subtle swell of her belly a warm curve under the dress, breasts fuller and tender, nipples hypersensitive to the fabric's whisper, every brush a spark that shot straight to her clit, her pussy perpetually slick and aching for his cock's deep possession, the forbidden thrill of his dominance making her core flood with arousal that trickled down her inner thighs, the pregnancy amplifying the illicit heat until she walked with a subtle sway, ass flexing under the dress's hem, drawing his gaze like a magnet.