The afternoon heat dripped through the old fan like sweat from a slow seduction. The room lay half-lit, curtains trembling from the lazy wind. Shruti's kurti clung to her waist, the dampness from her skin darkening the cotton near her spine. Her breath was shallow, lips dry from anticipation as she stood by the window, fingers brushing her collarbone absently.
Rhea stepped behind her — barefoot, unhurried — the scent of lavender oil announcing her like a prelude. Her hands slid across Shruti's hips, warm, sure, pulling her closer until there was no room for hesitation.
"Tujhe pata hai na... kya hone wala hai?" Rhea's whisper coiled around Shruti's ear, voice low, husked, laced with the kind of promise that made Shruti's knees press tighter.
Shruti swallowed. "Haan..." she exhaled, but it came out like a prayer, weak and shaky.
Rhea's mouth grazed the base of her neck. "Toh fir darr kyun lag raha hai tujhe, jaan?"
Shruti didn't answer. Instead, she turned, her fingers trailing up Rhea's arms, fingertips barely grazing, like she was reading Rhea's story from her skin. Their foreheads met. And then—without warning—the kiss erupted like something inevitable. A crash. A surrender.
Their mouths collided, hungry and deep. Shruti's moan curled through her throat — "Aahhh… Rhea…" — soft, yet cracked with aching hunger. It wasn't just pleasure. It was relief. Need. Possession.
Rhea grabbed her jaw with one hand, anchoring her there, tongues tangling wildly. Her other hand slipped beneath the fabric of Shruti's kurti, grazing over ribs, tracing the slope of her back, pulling her in tighter.
"Mmm… fuck, Rhea…"
"Bolo na, Shruti… kaise chahiye tujhe?" Rhea's breath was ragged, fingers now cupping Shruti's breast through the thin bra, her thumb circling slowly, purposefully.
"Zyada… aur zyada," Shruti whimpered, as Rhea pushed her gently onto the bed.
The mattress gave under them as Rhea hovered, pressing wet kisses down her belly, pausing to look up. "Tu dekh rahi hai na mujhe?"
Shruti's eyes were wild, chest heaving. "Haan… dekh rahi hoon… bas ruk mat..."
The bra was discarded lazily, flung off with one hand, and Rhea's lips closed around her nipple, tongue flicking, slow… then relentless.
"Aahh… haan… Rhea…"the moans now italicized with meaning, rhythm, ritual. Every time Rhea's teeth scraped lightly, Shruti's legs curled tighter, her thighs trembling. Her fingers gripped the sheets with silent pleas, trying to ground herself in a world that was slipping deliciously from under her.
"Besharam lagti ho is waqt…", Rhea said with a grin, pulling down the elastic of her salwar. "Aur mujhe yahi pasand hai."
Her hand slipped between Shruti's legs, parting her slowly, gently, like she was unwrapping something sacred. The wetness there was already pooling, eager, thick.
"Sharam toh tab hoti hai jab pyaar mein jhoot hota, Rhea…", Shruti said, half-gasp, half-sob.
"Aur yeh sach hai?" Rhea's finger slid in, slow and deep.
"Bohot zyada..."
"Uhhh… fuck… Rhea… haan… aur andar… please…"
Her hips bucked — moaning now like melody — "Aahhhh…meri jaan… ruk kyun gayi?"
Rhea added a second finger. "Main chahti hoon tu mujhe yaad kare… har raat… har baar…"
Her thrusts grew deliberate — slower, deeper, thumb circling above — until Shruti's voice broke into sobs between moans, her body trembling like a taut string.
"Bas… Rhea… ruk mat…""Mujhe… aaahhh… khatam hone de… haan… abhi…"
And then it happened — Shruti's moan spilled out, long and guttural, "Aahhhhhhhhhhh... Rhea… Rhea… main toot rahi hoon…" — her legs clamped tight around Rhea's wrist as she came, back arching, chest rising, mouth open wide in silent ecstasy.
Silence followed. Sacred, wet, breathless silence.
Their bodies lay tangled. Shruti's thigh draped over Rhea's hip. Her fingers still clenched the pillow like she was holding onto the moment. Rhea smiled, brushing back sweaty hair from Shruti's temple.
"Main tujhe kabhi nahi chhodne wali," she whispered.
Shruti smirked, half-asleep. "Toh meri marzi ka kya?"
"Tu meri hai… teri marzi meri marzi."
They both laughed, soft and wicked.
And just like that — the room felt like truth. Not just sex, not just need. Something far more dangerous. Far more permanent.