Sahil and Kritika were curled up on the couch, Kritika’s head resting on Sahil’s shoulder as the credits of the romantic movie rolled. The dim glow of the TV painted the room in soft hues, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Sahil’s fingers traced lazy circles on Kritika’s arm, his body humming with a low, persistent heat. The movie had been sweet, but his mind was on something far sweeter—Kritika’s lips.
He turned his head, his breath brushing against her ear. “You were right,” he murmured. “This movie was boring as fuck.”
Kritika smirked, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Told you. Now you owe me ice cream.”
Sahil didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a hungry kiss. Kritika stiffened, her hands pressing against his chest as she pulled back. “Sahil—”
“Come on,” he groaned, his cock twitching at the rejection. “Don’t tease me.”
Kritika rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. “Later. I’m enjoying this.”
Sahil exhaled sharply, his frustration simmering under his skin. He stood abruptly, adjusting his jeans before heading to the washroom. The moment the door clicked shut, he locked it and pulled out his dick, already hard and aching. His eyes landed on the laundry basket in the corner, and something pink caught his attention—Kritika’s panties.
Fuck.
He snatched them up, the fabric soft and warm from her body. His breath hitched as he pressed the lace to his nose, inhaling her scent—jasmine and something musky, her arousal. His cock throbbed, pre-cum beading at the tip. Before he could stop himself, he was rubbing the panties against his shaft, his hips jerking in short, desperate thrusts. The friction was too much, too perfect. His balls tightened, and with a choked groan, he came, ropes of cum splattering onto the delicate fabric.
Shit.
He stared at the ruined panties in horror, his chest heaving. Kritika would kill him if she found out. He quickly rinsed them under cold water, scrubbing at the stains until they were barely visible. Just as he stuffed them back in the basket, the door handle jiggled.
“Sahil?” Kritika called, her voice laced with amusement. “You taking a shit or something?”
“Uh—yeah,” he stammered, wiping his hands on his thighs. “Just—uh—constipated.”
The door clicked open, and Kritika stepped inside, her arms crossed. Her gaze flicked to the laundry basket, then to the wet spot on his jeans. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face.
Sahil’s stomach dropped. “Kritika, I can explain—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Oh, I know what you were doing.” Before he could react, she closed the distance between them, her fingers tangling in his hair as she yanked his head back. “And you should know better than to lie to me, baby.”
Her mouth crashed onto his, hot and demanding. Sahil moaned into the kiss, his hands gripping her waist as she ground against him. “You—fuck—you’re not mad?” he gasped between kisses.
Kritika pulled back just enough to smirk. “Mad? Why would I be mad?” Her fingers slid down his chest, pausing at his waistband. “Everything I have is yours. Especially my panties.”
Sahil’s breath hitched as she unbuckled his belt, her fingers deftly unzipping his jeans. She dropped to her knees, taking his semi-hard cock into her mouth without hesitation. Sahil groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. Kritika hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deep before pulling back with a wet pop. “See?” she purred, licking her lips. “All cleaned up for you.”
Sahil’s head fell back against the wall as she took him to the root, her throat fluttering around his shaft. “Fuck, Kritika—”
She pulled off with a smirk, standing up and pressing her body against his. “Later,” she whispered. “Right now, we’re going to bed.”
The bedroom was dark, the only light coming from the hallway. Sahil’s cock was rock-hard again, aching with need as he spooned Kritika from behind. He couldn’t resist—he had to touch her. His hand slid down her body, fingers teasing the waistband of her shorts before dipping inside. Kritika was already wet, her pussy swollen and ready for him.
She stirred slightly, murmuring in her sleep. Sahil froze, his heart pounding. "Fuck, she’s going to kill me if she wakes up now."
But Kritika didn’t wake up. Instead, she rolled onto her back, her legs parting just enough to give him access. Sahil’s breath hitched. He couldn’t help himself—he had to take her.
He mounted her, his cock pressing against her entrance. Kritika’s eyes flew open, her lips parting in a gasp. “Sahil?” she breathed.
“You said I could have you,” he growled, thrusting inside in one smooth motion.
Kritika’s back arched, a moan tearing from her throat. “Fuck—”
Sahil didn’t give her time to adjust. He pulled out and slammed back in, his hips snapping against hers. Kritika’s nails dug into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist as she met him thrust for thrust.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice rough.
Sahil obeyed, fucking her with deep, punishing strokes. Kritika’s pussy clenched around him, her walls fluttering as she neared her climax. He could feel her getting closer, her moans turning desperate.
“Come for me,” he growled, his thumb finding her clit.