Aditya strode into the pantry from his cabin, his white coat open over a fitted shirt that outlined his eight-pack abs. At 30, he exuded authority, his tall frame filling the doorway, dark eyes narrowing in concern—and something hotter. 'Kya hua, Yamini? Sab theek hai?' He rushed to her side, his gaze dropping to the mess: dark stains blooming over her heaving tits, the liquid seeping lower, dangerously close to her exposed thighs.

Yamini clutched at her chest, the wet dress clinging transparently to her skin, her nipples hardening visibly from the heat and his proximity. 'Sir, mere boobs ke upar aur pussy ke paas coffee gir gayi! Ab mujhe jalan ho rahi hai bohot zyada. Ek toh meri skin kafi sensitive hai, sir—yeh toh jal jaayegi!' She whimpered, arching her back to thrust her soaked breasts forward, the outline of her areolas peeking through.