The early afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains in Shruti's bedroom, casting fluid shadows across her bare back. Her breathing was shallow, her body aching for more, even though she knew someone was watching.
Not someone random.
Her husband.
Aman.
He had returned to Hyderabad under the guise of a sudden business trip. But she hadn't told Rhea yet. She hadn't told her that the man who used to share her bed now stood behind glass, in another room, separated by a two-way mirror he himself had installed—initially for his own narcissistic fantasies. He'd never imagined his wife would become the show. Or maybe he had.
Shruti had allowed it.
Because somewhere, it turned her on.
"Tu dekh... dekh na kaise woh dekhta hai mujhe... jaise main uski nahin rahi," she whispered breathily into Rhea's ear, arching her back as Rhea's fingers teased slowly down her stomach.
Rhea, half-lost in the erotic spell, looked up, confused. "Kaun—?"
"Chhod na," Shruti smiled wickedly, kissing her, "just fuck me like I'm not yours."
Rhea's eyes darkened.
"Zyada bolti hai tu aaj..." she growled, biting down on Shruti's neck, eliciting a sharp gasp.
"Aahh... haaaan... Rhea..."
Behind the mirror, Aman stood, shirt crumpled, eyes wide. His breath fogged the glass. His pants had grown unbearably tight. He had thought he would be angry. Enraged. But instead—
He was hard.
Harder than he had been in years.
He gripped himself, unable to stop. Unable to look away. The way Shruti's hips rolled beneath Rhea's tongue, the way she moaned—no, screamed—her name. That wasn't the woman he used to sleep beside. That was someone wilder. Bolder.
Unapologetically unfaithful.
Rhea moved down between Shruti's thighs, spreading them wider. Her warm breath hit Shruti's already dripping folds.
"Tu jaanti hai na, ab main tujhe chhodungi nahi..." she murmured.
"Haan... chhod na mujhe... chhod ke rakh... maar daal mujhe..."
"Chup, saali," Rhea hissed.
And then she devoured her.
Shruti's entire body tensed.
"Aaaaaahhhh... oooohhhh Rhea... bas... bas ab aur nahi..."
But Rhea didn't stop. She pushed her tongue deeper, circling, flicking, tasting everything, while Shruti writhed under her like she was possessed. The bedsheets knotted under her clenched fists. Her moans turned feral, choked, messy.
From behind the mirror, Aman watched her fall apart. He watched his wife completely surrender to another woman—again.
And he knew, deep down...
He never made her moan like that.
Never once.
Later, when Shruti lay in Rhea's arms, her body slick with sweat, her voice hoarse from screaming, she whispered:
"Usne dekha..."
Rhea blinked. "Kaun?"
"Mera pati..."
There was silence. Just the ceiling fan clicking in its slow, lazy rhythm.
And then Rhea laughed softly.
"Achha? Kamaal hai... ab hum dono ka show uske liye hai kya?"
Shruti turned, lips brushing Rhea's nipple as she answered:
"Show nahi... saza."