The silver bullet still pulsed faintly in Sarita’s loose grip, its tapered tip slick with her cream and the faint smear of Aarav’s spend. She traced lazy circles across her own lower lip, tasting salt and ozone, eyes half-lidded as the cousins struggled to steady their breathing.

Rohan broke the hush first. “We’re playing a game,” he said, voice husky but edged with the same cock-sure grin that had started everything hours ago. “One of us at the wheel, rest of us watching. Whoever makes her come the hardest wins.”