The aftermath of their union left a heavy, charged atmosphere in the bedroom. The rain had slowed to a rhythmic drizzle, but the heat between Meera and Aryan had not cooled; it had merely transformed from a raging fire into a slow-simmering ember.

As they lay entangled, the feeling of Aryan’s seed slowly leaking from Meera’s overstretched opening acted as a constant, tactile reminder of her betrayal. She felt a strange, dark thrill in the messiness of it—the way the silk sheets were stained and the scent of raw lust clinging to their skin.