Chapter 20: Gymnastic Seduction
The word hung in the air, a possessive, final thing. My husband. It echoed in the quiet room, bouncing off the minimalist walls and the motivational posters that suddenly seemed ludicrously out of place.
Rohan, still perched on the edge of the armchair, felt the breath catch in his throat. He watched the scene on the bed—Priya’s head nestled in the crook of Vanshika’s neck, Vanshika’s arm draped possessively over her—and a complicated heat spread through his chest. It wasn’t quite jealousy. It was something stranger, a dizzying sense of being both an outsider and the entire reason for the spectacle.
Vanshika’s fingers traced idle patterns on Priya’s bare shoulder. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, found Rohan’s across the room. There was no apology in them, only a quiet, challenging question.
Priya broke the silence, her voice muffled against Vanshika’s skin. “You’re being awfully quiet over there, Rohan.” She tilted her head back to look at him, a smug, catlike smile on her face. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just imagining it’s you sandwiched in here?”
“Priya,” he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. “I… I should go.”
“Why?” The question came from Vanshika this time. It was soft, but it held him in place as effectively as a shout. “The night’s still young.”
He gestured weakly at the tangle of their limbs. “I think you two have… plans.”
Priya laughed, a low, rich sound. “We do. And you’re in them.” She propped herself up on an elbow, the sheet pooling around her waist. The playful taunt was gone from her eyes, replaced by a startling seriousness. “Unless you don’t want to be.”
This was the precipice. The moment every shy, careful instinct in him screamed to retreat from. He could get up, mumble an excuse about an early meeting, and flee back to the safe, predictable silence of his own apartment. He could preserve the easy friendship, the uncomplicated mentor dynamic.
But then he looked at Vanshika. He saw the faint, expectant arch of her brow, the subtle part of her lips. He remembered the shocking, effortless strength in her hands when she’d pinned Priya, the same hands that were now tracing such gentle circles. The memory was a live wire, jolting through his system.
He stood up.
The floorboards were cool under his bare feet. He took the few steps to the side of the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. The scent of Vanshika’s essential oils—sandalwood and something faintly citrus—was stronger here, mixed with the warm, humid scent of their skin.
Priya watched him, her smile softening into something encouraging. Vanshika just watched, waiting.
He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before his fingers brushed against Vanshika’s jaw. Her skin was warm. She leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. It was all the permission he needed.
He bent down and kissed her.
It wasn’t like the shy, tentative kisses they’d shared before. This was different. It was full of the charged energy of the entire evening, of the sight of her strength and her surrender. She kissed him back with a ferocity that stole his breath, her hand coming up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily.
“Okay,” Rohan whispered, the word a surrender and a claim all at once.
Priya’s hand snaked out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Her grip was firm. “Get in here,” she said, her voice a husky command.
She pulled, and he tumbled onto the bed, into the space they had made for him. The world narrowed to the feel of crisp cotton sheets, the heat of their bodies, and the dizzying, impossible reality of it all. Vanshika shifted, turning to face him, her leg sliding over his. Priya pressed against his back, her chin resting on his shoulder, her breath warm on his neck.
He was surrounded, anchored by them. The last of his nervousness melted away, replaced by a swelling, overwhelming sense of rightness. Vanshika’s eyes held his, and in their dark depths, he saw no mockery, no game—only a deep, simmering want that mirrored his own.
He was no longer just watching. He was in the story.
The laughter that had filled the room moments before evaporated, replaced by a charged, breathless silence. Priya lay beneath Vanshika, her wrists pinned, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. The playful challenge in her eyes had melted into something warmer, more surprised.
“Okay,” Priya breathed, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Okay, you’ve made your point.”
Vanshika didn’t move, her body a firm, unyielding line against Priya’s. Her own heart was hammering, not from exertion, but from the dizzying shift in the air. She could feel the faint tremor in Priya’s arms, a residual thrill from the struggle.
From the couch, Rohan watched, utterly still. The sight of Vanshika, so effortlessly powerful, holding the usually indomitable Priya in check sent a jolt through him that was equal parts awe and something else, something hotter and more possessive. He saw the way Priya was looking at Vanshika—not with defeat, but with a keen, appraising interest.
“Point?” Vanshika finally said, her voice a low murmur near Priya’s ear. “I don’t think I’ve even started.”
In a fluid motion, she released Priya’s wrists and stood up from the bed, offering a hand. Priya took it, her grip lingering for a second too long as she was pulled to her feet. They stood facing each other, the space between them humming with unspoken words.
“You’re full of surprises, Sharma,” Priya said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her gaze flickered over to Rohan, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “Both of you are just full of surprises tonight.”
Rohan finally stood, a slow, deliberate uncoiling. He walked over to them, his usual shyness burned away by the strange, competitive heat in the room. “She’s something else,” he agreed, his voice soft but firm. He stopped beside Priya, not facing Vanshika, but standing with her. A united front. A new challenge.
“Think you can take both of us?” Priya asked, her tone light but her eyes deadly serious.
Vanshika just smirked, that same confident, infuriating, irresistible smirk from the arm-wrestling match. She rolled her shoulders back. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
It happened in a blur of motion. Priya lunged first, going low for Vanshika’s legs while Rohan moved to grab her from behind. It was a coordinated, sensible attack. It should have worked.
It didn’t.
Vanshika didn’t try to evade. She met the charge head-on. As Priya dove, Vanshika simply dropped her weight, wrapped an arm around Priya’s torso, and hoisted. At the same moment, she pivoted, using Priya’s own momentum to swing her around as a shield against Rohan’s advance. He stumbled back, confused for a critical second.
That was all she needed.
With a grunt of effort that was pure, focused power, Vanshika adjusted her grip. One arm cinched tight around Priya’s waist, the other shot out and snagged Rohan’s shirt as he tried to regain his balance. She didn’t strain; she centered herself. And then she lifted.
Both of them.
Priya let out a sharp, startled gasp, her feet kicking uselessly in the air. Rohan was too shocked to make a sound, his eyes wide as he was hauled up against Vanshika’s side. She held them there, one under each arm, their weight nothing to her sleeper’s build. She took two deliberate steps forward and then, with a powerful, controlled flex of her core and legs, she bounced them.
It wasn’t a jarring shake. It was a single, solid, undeniable bounce that jolted the air from their lungs and any remaining thoughts of resistance from their minds. She was proving a point, not with violence, but with sheer, overwhelming capability.
She took two more steps and fell backwards onto the worn couch, landing with a soft thud that was drowned out by their combined, breathless exhalations. She didn’t release them. She adjusted her grip, maneuvering them until they were both pinned across her lap, her arms like iron bands holding them in place. Priya was sprawled on her left, Rohan on her right, a tangle of limbs and stunned silence.
Vanshika looked down at the two of them, her chest rising and falling steadily. Her olive skin was flushed with triumph, her long black hair a dark curtain around her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the couch cushion and let out a slow, satisfied breath.
“Mine,” she said, the word quiet but absolute, filling the dim, cozy room. “Both of you. At the same time.”