Chapter 4: The Girlfriend's Discovery
The smell of jasmine clung to his fingers. Samarth stood outside Smriti’s apartment door, the concrete hallway lit by a single, flickering fluorescent tube that buzzed like an angry insect. He could still feel the ghost of Ankita’s heat on his skin, the ache in his shoulders from the workbench. He took a deep breath, but it didn’t clear his head. It just mixed the shed’s gasoline with the memory of her sweat.
He pushed the door open.
The living room was a tomb of half-light. The neon bulb from the street sign across the alley threw a sickly green glow across the thrift-store sofa, the overflowing ashtray, the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on the floor. The air was stale, thick with cigarette smoke and the cloying sweetness of Smriti’s vanilla body spray.
She was curled in the corner of the sofa, her phone lighting her face blue. She didn’t look up. “You’re late.”
“Got held up.”
“By a class?” Her voice was light, teasing. She finally glanced at him, her dark eyes catching the unnatural light. She smiled, but it was all knowing edges. “You smell like grass. And trouble.”
Samarth dropped his bag by the door. “It’s hot out.”
“Mhm.” She uncurled herself, a slow, deliberate motion. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else. She padded across the rug and stopped in front of him, her nostrils flaring slightly as she inhaled. “That’s not your cologne.” Her hand pressed flat against his chest, then slid down to the waistband of his jeans. “You’re all… wound up.”
He caught her wrist. “Smriti.”
“What?” She leaned in, her lips brushing his jaw. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Wondering where you were.” Her other hand found the bulge in his jeans, rubbing firmly through the denim. He was hard, instantly. A traitorous, automatic response. But his mind was elsewhere, replaying the slam of a metal door, the echo of a wail against corrugated iron.
He tried to focus on the feel of her hands, the familiar curve of her hip under the thin cotton. He kissed her, but it was mechanical. His tongue in her mouth, his hands on her ass lifting her, carrying her the few steps to the bedroom. He dropped her onto the unmade bed.
She lay back, looking up at him with that same amused curiosity. “So quiet. Who is she?”
The question, so casually tossed, landed like a stone in his gut. He froze, one knee on the mattress. “What?”
“Come on, Sam. You’ve got that look. Like you’re here, but you’re not.” She sat up, reaching for his belt herself. “You fucked someone else. Big deal. We have rules. You tell me. So tell me.”
He batted her hands away, frustration sharpening his movements. He shoved her back down, pinning her wrists above her head. Her eyes widened, not in fear, but in bright, avid interest. “Tell me,” she repeated, her voice a throaty command. “Or I’ll make you.”
He looked down at her. At Smriti, who was safe, who was easy, who expected nothing from him he wasn’t already giving. The words felt like gravel in his throat. “There’s someone else.”
“Obviously. Who?”
“A girl from college.” He released her wrists, sitting back on his heels as if drained. “Ankita.”
Smriti’s eyebrows shot up. “The one you’re always yelling at in the courtyard? The one with the voice that could shatter glass?” A slow grin spread across her face. It wasn’t angry. It was fascinated. “You hate her.”
“I do.” The lie was automatic, but it sounded weak even to him.
“How was it?”
He stared at her. “What?”
“How was it?” she pressed, propping herself on her elbows. “Don’t be boring. Details. You’re practically vibrating. It must have been good.”
He exhaled, a rough sound. The room felt too small. “It was a fight. In a bathroom. Then today, in a maintenance shed. It’s… it’s not like with you. It’s not fun. It’s like…” He searched for the word, failing. “It’s like throwing a match into a gas can.”
Smriti listened, her head tilted. Her gaze dropped to his crotch, where he was still visibly, painfully hard. “You want her right now, don’t you? Even while you’re talking to me.” Her grin turned wicked. “Bring her over.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Bring her here. I want to see what she’s like.” Smriti sat up fully, crawling into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper against his ear. “I want to watch. Maybe… join. See what makes her so special. See if she can take that monster cock of yours better than I can.”
A brutal, electric jolt went straight through him. The image materialized in his mind, fully formed and blinding: Ankita in this dim room, her defiance meeting Smriti’s cool curiosity. Ankita’s loud protests melting into moans. The fantasy was so potent, so wrong, it tightened his entire body.
Smriti felt him twitch beneath her. She laughed, low and victorious. “You like that idea. I can feel you liking it.”
He snapped. The planning, the talking, was over. He flipped her onto her back, the movement rough. He yanked her panties to the side, the fabric tearing. He didn’t bother undressing, just freed himself and pushed into her in one savage stroke.
She gasped, her nails digging into his back. “Yeah… think about her…”
He did. He fucked her with a frantic, driving rhythm, the bedframe slamming against the wall. But in his mind, it was Ankita beneath him. Ankita’s dark hair splayed across Smriti’s pillow. Ankita’s furious eyes going soft and hazy. It was Ankita’s voice he heard mixing with Smriti’s real cries.
“You wanna fill her up, don’t you?” Smriti taunted, arching beneath him, feeding the fantasy. “Wanna cum deep inside that pretty, hateful pussy?”
He groaned, a sound ripped from somewhere deep and primal. The coil snapped. His release was violent, a wave that blurred his vision as he shoved into Smriti one last, grinding time, spilling into her while his mind screamed a different name.
He collapsed beside her, his breath sawing in the dark room. The neon glow painted stripes across their damp skin.
After a minute, Smriti traced a finger down his chest. “So. Ask her.”
He stared at the water-stained ceiling. The fantasy had been incendiary, but the reality of proposing it to Ankita felt like stepping onto a minefield. She’d either explode in his face, or… or something else might happen. Something he couldn’t predict.
“I’ll ask her,” he said, the words tasting like a promise and a threat. He was already planning his next move, the confrontation, the words he’d use. The dangerous, irresistible game had just changed all its rules.