Chapter 4: The Conference Trip
The hotel room breathed with the muted pulse of a city thirty-four stories below. Empty mini-bar whiskey bottles stood sentinel on the nightstand beside a room-service tray littered with crumbs. The air was warm, carrying the mineral tang of the shower they’d all taken separately hours earlier and the deeper, muskier scent that had begun to rise again now.
Bharti swirled the last inch of champagne in her flute, the bubbles nearly dead. She was curled at the head of the king-size bed, still in her conference blouse, though the buttons were undone. Shivani sat rigidly in a plush armchair by the window, silhouetted against the geometric grid of Chicago’s lights. She’d been quiet since they’d gotten back.
“That Keynote was a spectacular waste of polyester,” Bharti said, her voice cutting the quiet. “I swear, Banerjee just recycles the same slides from 2019.”
Samarth leaned against the wet bar, rolling the cool glass of water between his palms. He watched them. The lab hierarchy had dissolved here, but a new, more delicate one was forming. “His regression models were shaky.”
“Everything about him is shaky,” Bharti laughed, draining her glass. She set it down with a decisive click. Her eyes found Shivani. “You’re quiet. Still mentally deconstructing his methodology or finally thinking about something interesting?”
Shivani shifted. The city light glossed her sharp profile. When she spoke, it wasn’t to Bharti. “The data you compiled for the poster was exceptional, Samarth.” A formal compliment, but her tone was anything but.
“Thanks.”
“I’ve been reviewing it. Late at night.” She finally turned from the window. Her gaze was direct, unblinking. “It makes concentration difficult. My mind wanders to… tangential variables.”
Bharti’s smile was a slow bloom. “Oh? What variables?”
Shivani didn’t look at her. She kept her eyes locked on Samarth, a thread of pure tension between them. “Uncontrolled ones. Pleasure is a confounding factor. It corrupts the data set.” She paused. “I think about your cock. Most nights. Since the office.”
The admission hung there, naked and hot. Bharti let out a soft, delighted sound. “You absolute dark horse.”
Shivani’s composure didn’t break, but a flush crept up her chest. “And you?” she asked, finally flicking her gaze to Bharti. “You’re not exactly subtle. The way you lean over his desk.”
Bharti shrugged, unashamed. She uncrossed her legs and stood, padding barefoot to the centre of the room. “Okay, fine. Guilty. I think about it too. I think about his hands. His mouth. That specific… heft.” She looked at Samarth, her head tilted. “It’s inconvenient. My boyfriend asked what I was daydreaming about yesterday. I said polymer blends.”
She began unbuttoning her own shirt, her movements deliberate, performative. This was for them, Samarth understood. For Shivani to watch. The silk slid off Bharti’s shoulders, puddling on the carpet. She stood in just her trousers and bra, her skin glowing in the ambient light. She turned to Shivani. “Your turn.”
Shivani stood. Her movements were economical, precise. She unzipped her tailored dress and let it fall. She faced them, slight and pale in simple underwear, her posture defiantly erect. The contrast was breathtaking—Bharti’s generous curves against Shivani’s taut, minimalist lines.
“On the bed,” Bharti said, her voice assuming a gentle authority. Shivani obeyed, lying back against the pillows. Bharti followed, kneeling beside her. She didn’t rush. She traced a finger along the line of Shivani’s collarbone, down her sternum, over the plain cotton covering her flat stomach. Shivani was breathing deeply, her eyes wide open, watching.
“You’ve thought about this,” Bharti murmured, not a question.
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Shivani’s voice was a scrape. “Your mouth. On me.”
Bharti smiled, a real, warm thing. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of Shivani’s underwear and drew them down. She bent, and her long hair curtained them both. The first touch of her tongue made Shivani gasp, her back arching off the mattress, her hands fisting in the duvet.
Samarth watched, his blood heating. He unzipped his trousers, freeing himself, his hand moving in a slow, steady rhythm that matched Bharti’s leisurely, devoted pace. Shivani was unraveling quickly, her moans high and strained, her hips lifting off the bed. “Don’t stop, please, don’t—”
Bharti didn’t. She worked with a focused expertise, one hand pinning Shivani’s thigh, the other roaming up to tease a nipple. Shivani came with a broken cry, her body bowing tight before collapsing, shuddering.
Bharti crawled up her body, kissing her stomach, her ribs, finally claiming her mouth. Samarth could taste the shared intimacy from across the room. He approached, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Shivani reached for him blindly, her hand connecting with his hip, pulling him down. “Now,” she breathed against Bharti’s lips. “I need it now.”
He positioned himself over her, bracing on his arms. When he entered her, she let out a choked sob of relief, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heels digging into his back. She was tight, breathtakingly so, and so wet it felt like sinking into a fever dream.
Bharti watched for a moment, her eyes dark, before moving. She straddled Shivani’s face, lowering herself. Shivani’s hands came up to grip Bharti’s hips, her mouth seeking eagerly. The room filled with the raw, wet sounds of it.
Samarth set a deep, relentless rhythm. This wasn’t the frantic office coupling. This was sustained, a deep-sea pressure. He watched emotions flit across Shivani’s face beneath him—desperation, awe, a shattering vulnerability. Bharti rocked above, her head thrown back, one hand braced on the headboard.
“Harder,” Bharti moaned, not to Samarth, but to Shivani, whose fingers clenched on her skin. Samarth complied, driving into Shivani until the bedframe tapped a steady code against the wall.
They moved in a hungry rotation. He pulled out of Shivani, her gasp of loss turning to a keen as he turned Bharti onto her hands and knees. He slid into her from behind, his hand fisting in the incredible length of her hair, pulling her head back. She cried out, pushing back against him, meeting each thrust with a force that echoed.
“By the window,” she panted. “I want to see the city.”
He followed her, still sheathed inside her, walking them both to the floor-to-ceiling glass. The cool surface met her palms and forehead. He fucked her there, his reflection a ghost over the sprawl of lit towers and dark lake. One hand wrapped around her throat, not squeezing, just holding, a claim. She chanted a stream of filthy, triumphant praise.
Shivani joined them, her body sliding against Samarth’s back, her small hands exploring his shoulders, his chest, reaching around to stroke Bharti’s stomach where it met his. She was everywhere, a desperate, tactile presence.
They ended up in a sweating, gasping heap on the carpet, then migrated back to the ruined bed. The night became a blur of skin and sensation—Shivani riding him with a frantic, focused energy, Bharti taking him into her mouth until he thought he’d lose his mind, the two of them kissing over his body as he touched them both.
Exhaustion eventually claimed them, not all at once, but in layers. A limb too heavy to move. A murmured word trailing off into sleep.
Samarth woke to the first pale smear of dawn over Lake Michigan. Bharti was curled into his side, her hair a silken mess across his chest. Shivani lay on his other side, her back to him, her spine fitted against his ribs. Her breathing was deep and even.
The room was a catastrophe of clothes, sheets, and empty glasses. The world outside began to turn from black to deep blue.
Bharti’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, a persistent, angry insect. She stirred, groaned, and fumbled for it. She squinted at the screen. Her whole body stiffened for a fraction of a second before she carefully, quietly, disentangled herself. She slipped out of bed, grabbed a robe, and padded to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.
A moment later, the low, muffled sound of her voice filtered through the door. Soothing. Placating. “Yes, baby, I know… the time difference, I’m sorry… just talking shop with Shivani and the student… yeah, exhausting…”
Samarth looked at the closed door. He looked at the sleeping Shivani, her face finally soft in sleep. The high-altitude silence of the room was suddenly immense, and the city below felt very, very far away. He closed his eyes, but sleep was gone. The experiment was running. The controls were all compromised.