Chapter 6: Rooftop Reckoning
The wrought-iron railing dug into Divakar’s back as Iccha leaned into him, her nails like scalpels through his shirt. “Did you really think fucking my daughter would protect you?” she hissed, her breath hot with whiskey and rage. “I own the security feed. I own the police. I own you.” Her sudden drop was a blur of silk, her teeth tearing at his zipper, the metal grating against the night’s silence. She took his already-hard cock into her mouth with a force that made him gasp, her throat working him deep and fast, a punishing rhythm of ownership.
Hidden behind a trellis thick with jasmine, Shanaya watched, her own fingers slipping inside her lace panties, finding herself wet. She saw her mother’s head bob, heard the obscene, wet sounds of a voracious claim. Divakar’s hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, before one tangled roughly in Iccha’s perfectly styled hair, forcing himself deeper down her throat. “You want to own this?” he grunted, his voice thick with defiance and pleasure. “Then swallow it all, you desperate whore.”
He fucked her mouth with short, brutal thrusts, his hips pistoning. Shanaya’s fingers matched their pace, circling her clit faster, her other hand muffling her own moan into her palm. Iccha gagged, her eyes streaming, but she took it, one hand working furiously between her own thighs under her skirt. Divakar’s release was sudden, a harsh groan torn from him as he came in hot, bitter pulses down her throat. She swallowed, never breaking eye contact with his look of shuddering contempt.
He pulled out, tucking himself away with a sharp, efficient motion. “The ledger’s already mine,” he said, his voice chillingly calm. “Your daughter gave it to me this afternoon.” He stepped around her, leaving Iccha kneeling on the cold stone, smudged mascara and fury etched on her face. Shanaya, frozen in the shadows, felt her arousal turn to ice in her veins.
Shanaya’s breath caught, a sharp stitch in her side, as Divakar’s footsteps clicked towards her hiding place. “You can come out now,” he said, his voice casual, as if inviting her for a drink. She stepped from the shadows, her skin humming with shame and a desperate, lingering heat. He looked her over, his eyes tracing the damp patch on her panties visible through her thin silk dress. “Enjoy the show?”
“You bastard,” she whispered, the words hollow. He closed the distance in two strides, his hand cupping her between her legs, his fingers pressing hard against the wet fabric. “Feels like you did,” he muttered, his other hand twisting in her hair to tilt her head back. “You’re just like her, aren’t you? Needy and greedy.” His mouth crashed down on hers, biting at her lip until she tasted copper.
He spun her around, bending her over the cold railing so the city lights blurred below. She felt him yank her dress up, heard the tear of her panties. “He fucked you here, didn’t he?” he growled, his cock pressing against her, blunt and unforgiving. He entered her in one brutal thrust, punching the air from her lungs. “You gave him the ledger. You little fool.”
Each drive of his hips slammed her against the iron, a metallic clang ringing out with every impact. “It’s mine now,” he grunted into her ear, his hand snaking around to rub her clit raw. “And so are you.” Her body, treacherous and electric, began to coil toward a climax she didn’t want. “Come for me,” he commanded, his fingers pinching her nipple hard. She shattered, a silent scream shaking her frame as he kept pounding into her, relentless.
He came inside her with a final, deep shudder, his release hot and violating. He pulled out, leaving her slumped over the railing, spent and hollow. “Clean yourself up,” he said, adjusting his pants. “We have a gala to ruin tomorrow.” He walked away, leaving her with the city’s indifferent glitter and the chill of his words settling into her bones.