The flat was quiet except for the distant pop of firecrackers and the soft hum of the ceiling fan. Ananya still sat on the sofa, nightie bunched around her waist, panties dragged to one side, thighs parted and glistening. Rajesh’s fingers remained cupped possessively over her soaked pussy, slow and gentle now, simply holding what he had just claimed.

She was still trembling from the orgasm. Her breath came in short, uneven pulls. When she looked at him, his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them—hungry, focused, no longer pretending.