Nancy’s fingers slid from Sanvi’s mouth with a wet pop, the taste of mingled salt and female musk coating her tongue like a brand. Sanvi’s pulse hammered against her throat; she could still feel Akhil’s cock twitching inside her, though he had softened and slipped out moments ago. The three of them knelt in a loose, dazed triangle on the rug, the late-morning sun striping their skin through gauze curtains, turning sweat to gold.

Nancy’s eyes—cat-cool, calculating—met hers. “Round two,” she murmured, “but we play it my way.” Her voice wrapped around Sanvi’s spine like silk rope.