“Haa, Bhaiya—wait—”
He kissed her to shut her up and she bit his lip, then kissed him properly, slow, the kind of kiss that did not belong in a booking. His hand cupped her jaw. His other hand slid between her legs and found her wet again.
Then the nastiness climbed in without killing the softness.
Raja had her thighs open. Vivek had two fingers in her mouth. Sanjay sucked her nipple like he was angry she had chosen the sofa, and his bare wrist—the one she had blessed last year—kept brushing the swell of her breast with every pull of his mouth.
“Behenchod, look at her,” Raja muttered, shoving two fingers into her cunt, wet from earlier, wet again now. His wrist pressed the inside of her thigh the way the rakhi once had. “Still dripping. Still acting like she runs this room. Last year she tied us. This year we’re fingering her on the anniversary.”
Puja laughed, then moaned when he crooked them.
“Haa—chodo—Raja, slowly—fuck—Bhaiya, your mouth, don’t stop—every Raksha Bandhan you pretend you forgot, and every year you end up here—”
Sanjay bit the underside of her breast and she swore in two languages.
“Chodo mujhe, Bhaiya. Haa. Haa. Just like that. Suck. Don’t be gentle now. I already let you be gentle last year after the thread. These are the hands I blessed. Use them.”
Vivek grabbed her phone from where it had fallen.
“Passcode.”
Puja, breathless, rattled it off because she wanted them meaner and because she wanted the next two days sitting in the room with last year’s festival.
He opened the gallery.
Sonam first. Nudes. Full body on a hotel bed, fingers spreading herself, a short clip of her getting fucked from behind, moaning into a pillow, looking back at the camera, ass rippling. Then Akriti. Shower steam. On her knees. A longer video—Akriti riding someone, tits bouncing hard, mouth open, aur tez while the man off-camera groaned.
Raja went still, then harder, obvious. His hand squeezed Puja’s breast without looking at Puja.
“Madarchod,” he whispered. “She’s—fuck.”
Puja took the phone, held it so both of them could keep watching, and looked between Vivek and Raja while Sanjay’s mouth stayed on her.
“Listen to me,” she said, smiling with her mouth wet, voice almost tender. “After two days you won’t be shaking like virgins. Vivek—you’ll put Sonam on her back the way you put me. She likes her hair pulled. She likes being told she’s pretty while you fuck her stupid. You’ll last longer than four minutes because you’ll be thinking about this room and about last Rakhi, about how a blessed hand learned to be filthy. And you, Raja—Akriti doesn’t need romance the way Bhaiya does. She needs her ass spanked and her face used. You’ll fold her the way you folded me. I’ll sit on that sofa. I’ll watch the same wrists I tied last year on their naked waists. I’ll tell you when to go slower. I’ll tell you when to ruin them.”
Vivek made a helpless sound.
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it.” She pulled Sanjay’s hair. “But tonight you finish me first, Bhaiya. Tonight I am the one those remembered hands are allowed to wreck. One last time. All the way. Then you sleep on me like the clients do. Except I asked you to. Except it’s Raksha Bandhan in our heads even if there is no thread tonight.”
