I never thought I'd find myself craving the touch of rough hands tracing the curves of my body, whispering promises that make my skin burn. The way a Hindu man's fingers explore my soft skin, teasing every inch, ignites a fire in me that no prayer can extinguish. I want to be the canvas for his desires, to feel his lips tracing the forbidden paths between my thighs, claiming what society says isn't his to take. The thrill of surrender, of letting go of every rule, is intoxicating. Tonight, I don't want to be a good girl—I want to be his.