The car engine’s growl outside snapped the cousins into action. Aarav’s grip on Sarita’s hair loosened just enough for her to gasp, her body still trembling with denied release. His dark eyes flicked toward the window, then back to her—later, that look promised. Rohan and Dev were already moving, snatching up discarded shirts and pants, their cocks still painfully hard beneath the fabric. Sarita whimpered as Aarav pulled away, the loss of his touch like a physical ache, her pussy throbbing, empty and desperate.

“Fuck, we don’t have time for this,” Dev muttered, yanking his shirt over his head, the fabric clinging to his damp skin. Rohan grabbed Sarita’s wrist, hauling her up from the couch with a rough tug. “Up. Now.” His voice was clipped, but his fingers lingered on her waist, tracing the curve of her hip before he forced himself to let go. Sarita swayed, her legs unsteady, her skin still flushed from the ice and their mouths and hands. The air conditioning did nothing to cool the heat pooling between her thighs.