The rain came first—not as a downpour, but a soft, drizzling whisper outside the windows of Ravi's flat. The city beyond looked blurred, smudged into secrecy. Inside, however, nothing was vague anymore.
Asha stood by the window, one hand pressed to the glass, the other still warm from the weight of him—still trembling slightly from the way he'd left her soaked, gasping, and smiling minutes ago on the edge of the bed.
She wasn't thinking anymore. She was remembering. And that was far more dangerous.
"Nee gunde dhaatipoyaavu ra…" she whispered to herself with a wicked grin. You crossed my damn heart.
Behind her, Ravi's bare footsteps padded against the floor. A moment later, his arms encircled her from behind, and his lips found the back of her neck. Not gently. But possessively. As if her skin owed him something.
She leaned back into him.
His hand slid down her belly, grazing lower until he reached the heat between her thighs. She was still wet. The kind of wet that didn't dry with time—it waited.
His fingers teased her folds, slow and coaxing.
She sighed, "Mmm… aaahh… enti ra idi… inkaa… inkaa…"(What is this… this again… more… more…)
"You didn't get enough?" he whispered against her ear, biting the lobe slightly.
She smirked, eyes fluttering. "Do I look like I ever will?"
Her hips bucked back into him, rubbing against his hardening length, already alive again, already begging through the fabric of his briefs. He pulled them down slowly, letting it slap against her bare ass.
"Fuck…"
That word again. That vow.
He bent her forward against the glass, her breasts flattening, the city watching only shadows. His fingers plunged into her—two at once—while she cried out against the pane.
"Ahhh… mmmmh… aaah... enti ra idi… vadhalava… vadhalaku…"(What is this… won't you stop… don't stop…)
He didn't.
She moaned into the rain-smeared glass as he fingered her mercilessly from behind, his other hand wrapped around to pinch her nipple until she shuddered, knees shaking.
He dropped to his knees behind her, spread her cheeks, and without a sound—devoured.
Her gasp turned into a scream.
"Thaggedhi ra… ayyo fuck…"
His tongue licked, curled, circled, then stabbed inside, tasting her like he was starving.
"Mmmmmm… ahhh… don't… stop…"
She was already dripping down his chin, thighs trembling.
He stood and pushed into her, one powerful thrust that knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her mouth opened in a moan that didn't sound like anything human.
"AAHHHH… RAVIII…"
His hands clamped down on her hips as he began pounding into her, the rhythm brutal, intimate, demanding.
"You're mine, Asha…"
"I've always been… I've always fucking been…"
His hand reached around to rub her clit in circles while he drove into her harder.
"Faster… aaahh… FUCK YES… FUCK ME LIKE THIS…"
Every moan was a ritual now. Every stroke a promise. Every slap of skin on skin—an echo in the chamber of her hunger.
She came, hard, violently, her scream nearly violent as her knees gave in.
But he caught her, lifted her into his arms, and carried her back to the bed. She clung to him, kissed him deeply, bit his lower lip.
"On your back," she whispered.
He obeyed.
She climbed on top of him, straddling him slowly, letting his tip tease her entrance.
"You like watching me take it slow?"
He didn't answer. He was watching her, chest heaving, veins pulsing, eyes locked on the way her breasts bounced with every tiny motion.
She slid down onto him, inch by inch, eyes locked on his.
"Aaah… fuck… look at you… stuffed inside me again…"
Her hips rolled. First slow, then faster. She rode him like she knew exactly what broke him. She leaned back on his thighs, both hands gripping her breasts now, squeezing, moaning shamelessly.
"Enti… nenu vadhalanu ra…"
(What… I'm not stopping now…)
"Vadhalaku… ride me, you beautiful fuckin' woman…"
He reached up to spank her ass—once, twice—hard, and she yelped, but kept grinding harder.
Then she leaned forward, nose to nose, and said, "I want to make you scream this time."
Her walls clenched around him, rhythm snapping tighter. Her pace—deliberate, fast, cruel.
He groaned, grabbed her hips, met her thrusts. The sound of skin slapping skin grew louder, louder—until he exploded into her with a roar, her name on his lips.
"ASHAAAAAA…"
And for a while, there was no sound but breathing. Their sweat. Their bodies collapsed into the sheets.
Later, wrapped in a crumpled bedsheet, Asha reached for her phone. There were seven missed calls.
From Avinash.
Her husband.
Her old world.
Ravi saw the name on the screen. He said nothing.
Neither did she.
She turned the phone face-down and climbed back into his arms.
The bed was the only place where she didn't have to explain.