The kiss hadn't ended when Aman stepped away.
It collapsed.
Shruti's breath hitched, lips swollen, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed chaos. Aman's hand lingered at her waist — not with possession, but challenge. As if he dared her to name what this was.
She didn't.
She couldn't.
The air still carried the echo of Rhea's scent. That softness. That bite. That moan of "haaaan… Shruti… aur… chaat..." — and now, Aman's taste mingled on her tongue. Salt, regret, and something darker.
She stumbled back. "Mujhe fresh hona hai," she whispered.
Aman didn't stop her.
But he didn't move either.
In the bathroom, Shruti turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face, but nothing cooled the fire crawling under her skin. She leaned into the mirror.
What the fuck are you becoming?
Her reflection had no answer. Only eyes too bright, lips too red, and a rawness under the skin that pulsed like a bruise.
Behind her, the bathroom door creaked.
Not open.
Just enough to remind her — nothing in this house was private anymore.
Evening fell like a curtain soaked in tension.
Rhea arrived at six. Unapologetically confident. Dressed in a black kurti that clung like a second skin, her hair tied up in a lazy bun, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Shruti opened the door.
Rhea leaned in. "Tumhari saans bhari lag rahi hai," she whispered. "Aaj kuch aur kiya tha kya?"
Shruti didn't answer.
But her eyes flicked toward the hallway where Aman's shadow moved.
Rhea smiled.
"Woh chhoti si chut bhi ab kisiko nahi milti poori," she said under her breath. "Mazaa tab hai jab aadmi bhi tadpe... aur aurat bhi."
Inside, Shruti poured drinks. Rhea took her place on the couch like she owned the space. Aman sat across, one leg over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
No one said it aloud, but everyone felt it.
This wasn't dinner.
This was foreplay.
Rhea sipped slowly. "So... kya chal raha hai aaj kal?"
Shruti glanced up. "Tumhe nahi pata?"
Rhea tilted her head. "Mujhe sirf wahi pata hota hai jo mujhe bataya jaata hai. Jo mujhe dikhaya jaata hai, woh alag baat hai."
Aman chuckled. "Tum dono mujhe dikhate ho ya mujhe bhadkaate ho?"
Rhea leaned back, one leg sliding over the other.
"Main toh sirf Shruti ki zubaan bolti hoon."
Aman looked at Shruti. "Aur tum kiski ho?"
The silence tightened like a rope.
Shruti stood. Walked toward the middle of the room. Eyes flicking from one to the other.
"Main khud ki ho," she said. "Lekin tum dono… tum dono mujhe kha jaate ho. Aankhon se. Haathon se. Zabaan se."
Rhea stood next.
Stepped forward.
Pressed a kiss to Shruti's neck.
Soft. Deep. Slow.
Shruti didn't move.
Aman stood too.
And what happened next — no one planned.
No one needed to.
Rhea's lips found Shruti's. Shruti's hand slipped behind Rhea's waist. Aman's breath thickened as he walked behind them — watching, then reaching forward, hand brushing Shruti's back, then Rhea's.
And no one pulled away.
The air smelled of sweat, longing, and defiance.
Shruti moaned into Rhea's mouth, and when Aman kissed the back of her neck, she didn't flinch.
She arched.
"Uhhh... haan..."
Three bodies. One center. No more morality. No more control.
Just breath. And heat.
And the sound of Shruti moaning with one woman's tongue in her mouth and her husband's hand between her thighs.