Their gazes met.
No surprise.
No panic.
Just recognition.
A moment between them that didn’t need to be named.
He nodded once, slow.
She nodded back, as Avinash kissed higher, Amit’s fingers now moving beneath her slip with intention.
Vivek turned, walked to his room, and closed the door gently behind him.
He didn’t feel lost.
He felt clear.
The world had changed.
And somehow, it made more sense this way.
Chapter XXVIII: The Edge of the Curtain
The house was dim.
A few lamps remained on in corners, casting golden pools of light against wood and wall. The scent of sandalwood and something muskier—skin, wine, want—hung thick in the air.
Vivek had returned late.
He wasn’t sure why he paused in the hallway. Maybe it was the half-light. Or the shadows flickering from the living room. Or the low, breathy laughter that curled from deep inside her throat.
He didn’t step forward.
He didn’t retreat.
He just stood.
Listening.
In the living room…
Kalpana lay draped across the sofa, body soft with wine, eyes gleaming like coals. Her silk slip clung to her thighs, riding up inch by inch with every slow shift of her hips.
Avinash knelt at her side, fingers tracing idle circles up her leg—past the knee, inner thigh, higher. His hand slid beneath the slip now, gliding over her skin, fingers brushing against the damp heat of her pussy.
Kalpana’s breath hitched.
Amit sat behind her, hands on her waist, then sliding up slowly—over her ribs, to the tops of her breasts. He leaned in, lips grazing her ear.
“Let me see you,” he whispered.
She nodded—just once.
His fingers tugged the silk strap from her shoulder, letting it slide down. Then the other. The fabric fell loose, and he slid it further, revealing the full swell of her breasts. Her nipples were already stiff—aching points framed by moonlight and worship.
Amit cupped one reverently, thumb brushing across the tip as Avinash slid two fingers deeper between her thighs, eliciting a long, low moan.
“Open,” Avinash murmured, voice gravelly.
She parted her legs.
Her head fell back against Amit’s chest. His lips grazed her temple. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“I want everything,” she breathed.
And they gave it to her.
In the hallway…
Vivek didn’t move.
The sound of silk sliding. The gasp of breath. The rhythmic thump of the sofa.
He could see only shadows. No details. No skin. Just movement behind a half-drawn curtain.
But that was enough.
His hand tightened around the glass in his fingers, condensation dripping down to his knuckles. His heart thudded in his chest—not out of fear. Not anymore.
But hunger.
Not for her.
For that.
For connection. For permission. For abandonment.
The kind that made a person cry out in the dark and not care who heard.
He turned slowly, breath trembling, and walked to his room.
Closed the door.
But the sounds remained—moans, gasps, whispers too low to decipher.
He sat on the edge of his bed.
And let them wash over him like a tide.
In the living room…
Kalpana was straddling Avinash now, his hands gripping her hips as she moved over him, slow and deep. Her breasts bounced, full and flushed, Amit’s mouth trailing over her spine.