The door locked with a heavy brass click that echoed in Poonam’s chest like a gunshot.

Vijay stood over her, still fully clothed in the crisp white kurta-pajama, while she knelt naked except for the red silk pooled around her knees like shed blood. Her breasts rose and fell with shallow breaths, nipples so hard they ached, dark areolas puckered tight. Between her spread thighs her cunt was obscene—lips swollen and parted, clit protruding, inner folds glistening with hours of denied arousal. A thin string of slick stretched from her entrance to the marble floor.