Chapter 1: Betrayal and a New Beginning
The air in the apartment was thick, a stew of vanilla candle wax and human sweat. Samarth’s vision swam, focused only on the curve of Manasvi’s back as he drove into her, each thrust met with a wet, yielding slap. The leather couch sighed beneath them, already slick.
“Right there, oh god, right there,” Manasvi chanted, her voice a raw scrape against the bass line thumping from the speaker. Her long black hair was a twisted rope in his fist, a perfect handle. He loved that hair. He used it.
He grunted, a animal sound from deep in his chest. “You take it so well. Always did.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” she gasped, pushing back against him, her nails digging into the leather. “No talking. Just that monster cock.”
That’s what he wanted. The simplicity of it. The demanding clench of her around him, the way her body remembered every inch of him even after months apart. There were no questions with Manasvi. No girlfriend expectations. Just this glorious, sweaty physics of friction and release.
His glasses were fogged. He didn’t care.
The rhythm broke, turned frantic. He felt the familiar coiling tension in his gut, a heat spreading up his spine. “I’m gonna…”
“Do it,” she hissed, turning her head, her lips parted. “My face. Sam, do it.”
He pulled out, the sudden absence a shock of cold air. His length was gleaming in the candlelight, painfully hard. He fisted himself, and with a choked groan, thick ropes of cum painted her cheek, her lips, caught in her eyelashes. She didn’t flinch. She smiled, a dark, satisfied curve, and licked a stripe from her own skin.
“Still a fucking avalanche,” she breathed, her chest heaving.
He collapsed back onto the cushions, spent, the world buzzing at the edges. He watched her, the way she sat up, the cum drying on her dusky skin like a badge. His phone buzzed on the floor. Ojaswana. Running late. Be there in twenty.
He’d forgotten. Completely.
“You gotta go,” he said, his voice gravel.
Manasvi stretched, a long, feline movement. “That’s my line. Using me and tossing me out.” She said it without malice. It was their script.
“Seriously, Mana. Ojas is on her way.”
She raised a brow, reaching for her discarded dress. “So? Thought you had an understanding.”
“We do. It’s just… a heads-up would be nice.”
“Since when do we plan?” She stepped into the dress, not bothering with underwear, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. She was at the door, hand on the knob, when the lock clicked from the outside.
It opened.
Ojaswana stood in the hallway light, a silhouette. Her keys dangled from her fingers. Her eyes moved past Manasvi, into the dim room, taking in the pushed-aside couch, Samarth still bare on it, the used condom wrapper glinting on the floor, the distinct, humid smell.
Samarth’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Ojas. You’re early.”
“Traffic was clear.” Her voice was flat. Calm. Her gaze settled on Manasvi, on the drying streaks on her face. A long, silent beat stretched, tight as a wire.
Manasvi offered a casual, catlike smile. “Hey. You must be Ojaswana. I’ve heard things.” She didn’t wipe her face.
Ojaswana stepped inside, letting the door swing shut. The hallway light died, leaving only the candles. She dropped her bag. Her eyes weren’t angry. They were dark, heavy-lidded. Hungry. She looked at Samarth, then back at Manasvi.
“He came on your face,” Ojaswana stated, a clinical observation.
Manasvi’s smile widened. “He did.”
Ojaswana moved then. Not toward Samarth. Toward Manasvi. She stopped inches away, her eyes tracing the mess on the other woman’s skin. She reached out, not with aggression, but with a curious intensity. Her thumb brushed a streak from Manasvi’s jawline. She brought her thumb to her own mouth and sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact.
Samarth’s breath caught. He was forgotten, a spectator.
“Tastes like him,” Ojaswana murmured. Her hand came up, tangling in Manasvi’s long, black hair, just as Samarth had done minutes before. She pulled, not hard, but with a definite claim. Manasvi’s breath hitched, her cocky smile faltering for a second, replaced by something hotter, more surprised.
Ojaswana kissed her. It was deep, consuming, a claiming of the taste she’d just sampled. Manasvi melted into it, a low moan vibrating between them.
When Ojaswana pulled back, her lips were slick. She finally looked at Samarth. Her expression was unreadable, but a fierce heat burned in her eyes. “You didn’t finish.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I, uh…” He was still soft, overwhelmed by the shift in the room’s gravity.
Ojaswana let go of Manasvi’s hair, her touch trailing down the other woman’s arm. She walked to the center of the cleared space, the candlelight catching the tight curve of her jeans, the purposeful set of her shoulders. She turned, looking at both of them.
“Get up,” she said to Samarth, her voice low and direct. “You’re not done. And she,” she said, flicking her gaze to Manasvi, whose own eyes were wide with anticipation, “isn’t leaving.”
She unbuttoned her own jeans, the sound loud in the quiet. The narrative had just been ripped from his hands. The game was still on, but Ojaswana had taken the controller. And from the dark, eager look on Manasvi’s face, she was more than willing to play by the new rules.