The Arrangement Begins

“This is a terrible idea. What was I thinking?” I ranted, my bare feet padding restlessly against the cool wooden floor as I paced the living room. My pulse thrummed in my ears, a mixture of nerves and anticipation coiling tight inside me.

“Will you please calm down, Navya? We’ve already talked about this a million times,” Krish said, exasperation laced in his deep, steady voice. He was lounging on the couch, one arm draped over the back, watching me with an indulgent smirk that did nothing to soothe my frazzled nerves.

I whirled to face him, my breath shallow. “I told you—I was joking when I said it! I never thought you’d actually take me seriously.”

Krish sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair before standing and crossing the room toward me. His strong hands found my waist, pulling me into him with practiced ease. “Darling, come here.”

The moment I melted into his embrace, some of my panic ebbed, replaced by the solid warmth of his body against mine. His familiar scent—woodsy, masculine, reassuring—wrapped around me like a cocoon.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he murmured against my hair, his lips brushing my temple. “I promise.”

I nodded, inhaling deeply, letting his touch anchor me. But just as I found a moment’s peace, the sharp chime of the doorbell shattered it.

“Oh my God. Oh my God! He’s here! He’s actually here!” My heart leaped into my throat as I pulled back, wide-eyed. “Are you sure we should ask him? What if he freaks out? What if he says no? We won’t be able to face him ever again.”

Krish’s hands slid down my arms, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over my skin. His gaze flicked over me, assessing, steady. “I know him, Navya. Trust me—he won’t.” His lips curled at the corners, a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. “Now, go and open the door. I’ll make myself scarce, give you two some privacy. Good luck.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hallway. My nerves were a live wire beneath my skin, tingling with apprehension and something else I refused to name. Taking one final breath, I smoothed my hands over my dress, steadied my trembling fingers, and pulled open the door.

“Armaan!!” My voice came out a little too bright, too eager. “Hi, darling… Come on in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Armaan—Krish’s younger brother—stepped forward, his easy smile already forming… until his gaze landed on me.

Whatever casual greeting he had planned died on his lips. His body went still, his eyes darkening as they swept over me in slow, stunned perusal. He looked absolutely gobsmacked.

I smiled inwardly at his reaction, a slow curl of satisfaction unfurling in my chest. His stunned silence, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly, was exactly the kind of response I had anticipated.

I was dressed in a black transparent saree, the delicate fabric whispering against my skin with every movement. The red sleeveless blouse I wore was scandalously smaller and lower-cut than my usual choices, hugging my curves in a way that left little to the imagination. The saree itself was tied dangerously low, a good five inches below my navel, accentuating the smooth expanse of my stomach. My pallu, roughly pleated and draped over my shoulder, barely did its job of covering me, teasing more than concealing. The end was tucked into my waist—not just to hold it in place, but to create an illusion of casual homeliness, a contrast to the undeniable sensuality of my appearance.

Armaan visibly swallowed, blinking hard as if trying to reboot his brain. With a quick shake of his head, he scurried inside, mumbling to himself as he struggled to recall whatever it was he had been saying before I opened the door. He threw himself onto the couch, his movements stiff, his gaze flickering everywhere except at me.

“Where is Bhaiya?” he asked, his voice a touch hoarse.

“Still at work,” I answered, allowing my tone to remain light, though I was acutely aware of the tension humming in the air between us.

“Oh! I thought he’d be here since he was the one who asked me to come,” he muttered, exhaling in relief. His eyes lifted toward me, only to dart away just as quickly, as if looking too long might burn him. The effort he was making not to stare was almost amusing.

“So… what did you guys want to talk to me about that couldn’t be said over the phone?” He busied himself with the magazine on the table, pretending to be engrossed in its front cover.

My heart picked up speed, a nervous rhythm against my ribs. I needed a moment—just a little more time to steady myself before broaching the subject.

“That can wait,” I said, rising to my feet. “You must be exhausted after a long day at college. Stay here—I’ll make you some tea.”

“No, Bhabhi. It’s okay,” he interrupted almost too quickly, shaking his head. “I already had one from the canteen. I don’t want anything. Let’s talk.”

I sighed, my fingers clutching the edge of my saree momentarily before I sat down opposite him. Nodding to myself, I steeled my resolve.

“Armaan…” I began carefully, my voice softer now. “What I’m about to tell you is very important. And… hard. But before I do, you have to promise me that whatever is said in this room never leaves it. Can you promise me that?”

His brows knit together, his body tensing at the gravity in my tone. His gaze, finally meeting mine, was laced with concern.

“Of course, Bhabhi. I promise. What is it?”

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself before exhaling slowly.

“Armaan… you know how Krish and I have been trying to have a baby, right?”

He nodded, his expression still unreadable.

“Well… we can’t.”

His reaction was immediate. “What??!” he blurted out, his disbelief etched across his features.

I smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. “Armaan… your brother and I have been married for three years now. I’ve been trying to conceive since our second year—you probably already know that. But when an entire year passed without any results, we decided to get ourselves tested. And when the results came back…” My voice wavered slightly. “It became apparent why.”

Armaan remained frozen, hanging onto my every word.

“It’s your brother,” I continued, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “He has a really low sperm count and motility. The chances of him getting me pregnant are… really, really slim.”

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers clenching slightly against my lap. “We still try, of course. We hope. But…”

My voice broke. My eyes burned, threatening to swell with unshed tears.

“Oh, Bhabhi… I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Armaan’s voice was laced with genuine concern, his brows drawing together in a deep furrow. “Wait… so that’s why Bhaiya has been so down lately?”

I nodded, pressing my lips together. “Yes.”

Armaan exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, Bhabhi. Come on, this is the 21st century. There are plenty of ways to conceive a baby these days.”

I smiled faintly, but the weight of reality pressed down on me. “We’ve already tried IVF once. But you know its success rate is only around fifty percent. And it’s an incredibly expensive process. We don’t have the kind of money to keep trying over and over again.”

“If money is the issue, I’m sure Mum and Dad—”

“No!” I cut him off sharply, my voice firmer than I intended. Armaan flinched slightly at my intensity. I softened my tone, but my resolve didn’t waver. “Mum and Dad should never know. Krish doesn’t want them to know. He’s ashamed, Armaan. It’s already hard enough for him as it is. And we can’t bear the thought of using their savings in their old age. They already have so much on their plate with sending you to college.”

Armaan sighed, nodding slowly. “Mmm… right. So… what now?”

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself before speaking. “Well… it’s apparent that I can’t get pregnant with Krish’s sperm, even through IVF. So our best option now is to find another donor. Someone with a much higher sperm count. And preferably…” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, “…someone from within our own family, so that the baby can still carry Krish’s genes.”

I saw it the moment realization dawned on him. His eyes widened, his expression shifting rapidly from confusion to dawning horror. “Oh… Oh! So you guys want me to…?”

I nodded, holding his gaze earnestly. “You look a lot like Krish, Armaan,” I said, my voice calm but firm. “And you’re way healthier and fitter. This is the closest I can get to having a baby with Krish’s features.”

“Wow, Bhabhi.” He let out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering with disbelief. “That’s… that’s a lot to take in.”

“I know.” I reached forward instinctively, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “And before you decide, we want you to know that you won’t have any responsibility over the baby if you do this. You can be as involved or as uninvolved as you want. It will be entirely up to you.”

Armaan leaned back into the couch, running a hand over his face as though trying to process everything at once.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding. “So, what do you say? Will you help us? It’s totally okay if you don’t want to. We know it’s a big ask, and we’ll completely understand.”

“No, no… of course, I’ll help any way I can,” he said suddenly, sitting upright. His voice was rushed, his hands gripping his knees, but his sincerity was evident. “But… but what if I have the same problem as Bhaiya? I mean, you said IVF is expensive and only fifty percent effective.”

I took another deep breath, bracing myself. This was it. The moment I had been dreading.

“Well… about that…” I hesitated, my gaze dropping for a split second before I forced myself to look at him again. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be IVF.”

“What?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

I licked my lips, my pulse hammering in my ears. My fingers tightened in my lap as I forced the words out. “If you’re okay with it… we were hoping to do it in a more… natural way.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“What are you getting at, Bhabhi?” His voice was wary, his eyes narrowing slightly.

I closed my eyes briefly, steeling myself, then exhaled and blurted it out.

“We were hoping you would have sex with me.”

The room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence.

Armaan’s face transformed in an instant—from confusion to realization to pure, unfiltered astonishment. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“It’s totally okay if you don’t want to,” I rambled, my words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to fill the silence, afraid I had scared him off. “It was just an idea… We just thought this way, we wouldn’t have to worry about the treatment expenses or success rates. And Krish thought you would agree because… because he thought you were attracted to me. And I—I thought—”

“Wait!!” Armaan interrupted, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Bhaiya said that?”

I nodded, my heart hammering. “It’s not just that. I probably imagined it, but I’ve always felt like you were stealing glances at me when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

Armaan’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. “Bhabhi… I didn’t mean to… I would never… I mean…” He was completely flustered, struggling for words.

For a moment, embarrassment consumed me. Had I misread everything? Had I just made a colossal fool of myself?

“Oh… I’m sorry,” I murmured, my confidence shrinking. “I just thought—”

“No. No,” he cut in quickly. He exhaled deeply, raking a hand through his hair before looking at me with hesitant honesty. “I mean… yeah. Both of you were right. I did—I do find you incredibly attractive. And yes, I do find it hard to keep my eyes off you.” He hesitated before adding in a quieter voice, “But, Bhabhi, that’s all it ever was. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

A slow, knowing smile crept onto my lips.

“So… you are attracted to me,” I said, tilting my head slightly. “Then you wouldn’t mind it, would you?”

“Umm… I…” He was at a loss for words, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my lips, as though torn between what was right and what he undeniably wanted. I remained silent, giving him the space to gather his thoughts. Finally, after a long, drawn-out pause, he let out a breath and asked, “Are you sure this is what you want, Bhabhi?”

I met his gaze steadily. “Of course I’m sure, Armaan. I’ve thought about this for weeks. I am one hundred percent sure. Both Krish and I are.” I took a step closer, my voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. “The only question is—are you?”

Something shifted in his expression. The hesitation, the inner turmoil… it melted, leaving behind something raw, something dangerously close to acceptance.

Then, finally, a small smile played at his lips. He nodded.

“Oh, Armaan,” I breathed, relief and excitement bubbling inside me. I wanted to rush forward, to throw my arms around him, to kiss him and feel his warmth against me. But I held myself back. Not yet. He needed a moment to let it sink in.

“So,” he swallowed, shifting slightly. “When do you want to… do it?”

I took a slow, deliberate breath and rose to my feet. My fingers drifted to the edge of my saree, grazing the delicate fabric. Then, in one fluid movement, I untucked the end of my pallu from my waist, letting the pleats unravel and spill around me like silk. The sheer black material cascaded, accentuating every curve, every dip of my body, the teasing glimpse of skin beneath setting the air ablaze.

I watched his reaction carefully, my voice husky as I murmured,

“…right now?”

His eyes immediately dropped to my midriff, drawn like a magnet, his breath visibly hitching. The transparency of the saree left nothing to the imagination now, the smooth expanse of my stomach on full display. His lips parted slightly, his throat bobbing as he tried—and failed—to form a coherent response.

His mouth moved, his fingers tightening against his knees, but no sound came out.

I had him exactly where I wanted him.

“And just so you know…” I continued, letting my voice drop into that sultry, honeyed tone I usually reserved for seducing Krish. My lips curled in a teasing smile as I let the words roll off my tongue, deliberate and enticing. “From this moment on, you have my full permission to do whatever you want to me. You’re doing us a huge favor by agreeing to this, Armaan. The least I can do is make sure you enjoy every single moment of it.”

I took a slow, calculated step closer, tilting my head as I observed his nervous, wide-eyed stare.

“Your brother told me you have a thing for women in sarees,” I continued, watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in response. “And judging by the glances you used to steal at my waist whenever I wore one, I think I know why.” A smirk tugged at my lips. “So, I took the liberty of dressing up for you. Just to get you in the mood.”

“Bhabhi… I…”

“Shhh… it’s okay,” I soothed, my voice a whisper as I slowly sauntered toward him, each step deliberate, my hips swaying ever so slightly. His gaze remained locked onto my midriff, as though held captive by some invisible force. My stomach—bare, smooth, framed by the sensuous drape of my saree—was now mere inches from his face. I could see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between hesitation and undeniable desire.

I smiled down at him, my fingers lifting to cup his cheeks tenderly, guiding his face toward my belly. His warm breath fanned against my skin, making my stomach clench in anticipation. Then, his lips—hot, hesitant—pressed against me, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

I gasped, my eyelids fluttering shut as the warmth of his face nestled against my belly, his nose grazing the soft expanse of skin. It was the first true touch, and it set every nerve alight.

He didn’t hesitate for long. A moment later, his hands slid up my thighs, moving with slow, reverent strokes as they reached my waist. With a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed aside my pallu, exposing even more of my skin to his hungry gaze. He inhaled deeply, his breath skimming my belly, as if savoring my scent.

Then, his lips found me again.

A deep, lingering kiss.

And another.

Then another.

Soft, warm, indulgent. As though he was imprinting every inch of my belly into his memory, worshipping it, devouring it with lips that grew more confident with each passing second.

A moan slipped past my lips as my fingers threaded through his hair, encouraging him, pulling him closer. His kisses grew deeper, bolder—snuggling, pampering, claiming every inch of my stomach in a way that left me breathless. My hands tangled in his thick, soft locks, and I tilted my head back, surrendering to the sensations rippling through me.

His hands joined in the worship. They explored with slow, deliberate touches—stroking, pressing, kneading, as if trying to memorize the shape of my body beneath his fingertips. He pressed his cheek against the side of my belly, his warm breath feathering over my skin as his fingers found their way to my navel.

A teasing touch. A slow, agonizing glide of his index finger around the deep, round hollow that had long been my most sensitive spot.

My breath hitched. My belly quivered beneath his touch, responding involuntarily as he traced lazy, hypnotic circles, spiraling inward, closing in on the very core of my pleasure.

By the time he reached the rim of my navel, I was trembling.

Anticipation crackled through me, my nerves alight with an unbearable mix of pleasure and longing.

And then—finally—his finger dipped inside.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips as white-hot sensation exploded through me, sending waves upon waves of electric pleasure crashing over my body. His touch was light, teasing, yet devastatingly precise, stroking the very center of my sensitivity.

My knees nearly buckled, my fingers tightening in his hair as he continued his slow, torturous exploration of my navel. Each stroke, each flick of his fingertip sent tremors coursing through my body, unraveling me piece by piece.

I was completely undone.

And Armaan was just getting started.

He withdrew his finger momentarily, leaving my skin tingling, only to replace it with something even more intoxicating—his nose. He buried it into my navel, inhaling deeply, as if he was drinking in my very essence, branding me with his need. A shuddering gasp escaped my lips as his mouth descended again, this time with a slow, deliberate kiss that sent tremors down my spine.

His lips framed my navel, hovering there, teasing, taunting, before his tongue darted out—hot, wet, insistent. It slithered its way inside, stroking, tasting, owning me in ways that made my knees buckle. My hands clenched in his hair as a sharp cry tore from my throat.

Wave after wave of blinding pleasure racked through my body, my stomach quivering uncontrollably as his tongue explored the deepest crevices of my navel, caressing every nook and corner. My breathing turned erratic, desperate, as he twisted his tongue, drawing sensations out of me I never knew existed.

My fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as my legs threatened to collapse beneath me. I was drowning—completely lost in the intoxicating pleasure of his touch, his mouth, his relentless worship of my most sensitive spot.

And then, just as I thought I could take no more, his arms wrapped around me. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted me off the ground, his strong hands gripping my bottom as he carried me toward the bedroom.

“Armaan…” I whimpered, my head spinning from the intensity of it all.

He said nothing—only tightened his hold on me, his breaths hot and ragged against my skin. When we reached the bed, he threw me onto the mattress, his body following me down in a heartbeat.

Before I could even catch my breath, his mouth was back on me, descending with new, frenzied urgency. His tongue flicked inside my navel again, this time deeper, rougher, more insatiable. I arched off the bed, my fingers clutching the sheets as pleasure seized me, leaving me trembling and breathless beneath him.

His hands found the buttons of my blouse, and with practiced ease, he began undoing them, one by one, exposing more of me to his hungry gaze.

His lips traveled upward, tracing a fiery path over my stomach, my ribs, until they reached the valley of my cleavage. He lingered there, dropping wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swell of my breasts, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin with slow, torturous licks.

“Oh, Bhabhi…” he groaned against my flesh, his voice hoarse, thick with need. His lips moved to the nape of my neck, finding a pulse point and latching onto it, suckling hard. A moan spilled from my lips, my hands fisting in his hair as waves of pleasure cascaded through me.

“You’re so precious… so beautiful,” he murmured against my skin, his words a sensual caress that made my heart clench.

I was so overwhelmed—by desire, by pleasure, by the sheer intensity of the moment—that I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I grabbed his face and crashed my lips against his, pouring every ounce of my longing into the kiss. He stilled for a fraction of a second, as if taken aback, before responding with equal fervor.

The kiss deepened within seconds, turning wild, untamed. His tongue plunged into my mouth, tangling with mine in a battle of dominance, making me moan against his lips. My fingers clutched at his shoulders, my body arching into him as his hands roamed over me, exploring, claiming.

His palms slid over my breasts, kneading them gently over my bra. A shiver ran through me as his thumbs teased over the hardened peaks, eliciting another moan from my lips.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he slipped down the cup of my right breast, letting the fabric hold the soft mound upright.

And without hesitation, his mouth descended.

I whimpered, my body going taut as his tongue flicked over my sensitive nipple before sucking it deep into the heat of his mouth. My hands tangled in his hair, pressing him closer, my breath hitching as he suckled—slowly at first, then harder, drawing me into a haze of unbearable bliss.

His other hand found my left breast, sliding the bra cup down, exposing it to the cool air before his fingers began their own worship. He pinched, rolled, and twirled the hardened peak between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

I was burning.

Completely at his mercy.

I had already unraveled once under his relentless assault on my navel, but now, as his lavish attention moved to my breasts, I was teetering on the edge of another earth-shattering climax.

His mouth had switched to my other breast, the warmth of his lips wrapping around the sensitive peak as his fingers continued their worship of the nipple his mouth had just abandoned. Each flick of his tongue, each lingering suck, sent electric currents surging through my veins. It felt as though he was drinking me in, absorbing every ounce of my pleasure into himself.

And then—he bit down.

A sharp, exquisite jolt shot through me as he clamped his teeth over my nipple, his fingers pinching the other at the exact same moment. The contrast—the sweet, wet pull of his mouth against the ruthless press of his fingers—was too much. Too intense. Too perfect.

A strangled cry tore from my lips as my body gave in, shattering completely.

Wave after wave of raw, blinding pleasure crashed over me, my muscles clenching as I came apart once more. My back arched, my nails raking down his back, desperate to hold onto something—anything—as I drowned in the sheer force of it.

“Oh my God, Armaan… Oh my God,” I gasped breathlessly, my body trembling beneath him.

I stared at him in awe, my chest rising and falling in the aftermath. He had already made me climax twice, and he hadn’t even gone down on me yet.

Armaan lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watched me recover. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face—a mix of satisfaction and something far more primal.

Then, without a word, he stood up on the bed.

Reaching down, he extended a hand and pulled me up with him. Our bodies pressed together, heat radiating between us. He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was sweet at first—but only for a moment.

As his hands found the edge of my saree and began to unwrap it, the tenderness melted away, replaced by something raw and consuming.

I responded in kind, tugging his t-shirt over his head, feeling the rippling muscles beneath my fingertips. My fingers made quick work of his belt, unbuckling it, letting it fall away as I slid his pants down. Within seconds, we were both completely bare—our bodies colliding in a feverish, tangled mess of limbs and desire.

The slow burn from before was gone.

Now, he was ravishing me.

A wild animal unleashed.

His mouth was everywhere—devouring, tasting, claiming. His hands gripped my thighs, parting them as he plunged his fingers inside me, curling them with wicked precision.

A choked moan escaped me, my head falling back as his tongue found my clit, flicking and circling in an expert rhythm. My soft, breathless gasps turned into loud, unrestrained cries of pleasure.

He was relentless. Unforgiving.

He alternated between licking my navel, my clit, and my breasts, driving me to the brink again and again, his fingers thrusting in and out of me without mercy.

I couldn’t hold back. Not even for a second.

And then—it hit me.

My third orgasm, fierce and uncontrollable, tore through my body like wildfire. My thighs clenched around his head, my hands gripping the sheets as I screamed his name, the pleasure so intense it left me breathless and trembling beneath him.

This… this was beyond anything I had ever imagined.

A far cry from the cold, clinical, unemotional encounter I had once expected from Armaan.

This wasn’t just sex.

This was something else entirely.

Something primal.

Something dangerous.

He hovered over me, his breath warm against my skin as I lay there—disheveled, sweaty, utterly spent. My body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, my chest rising and falling in a slow, uneven rhythm.

His fingers traced through my damp hair, moving it away from my face with a tenderness that sent a shiver down my spine. When I finally managed to open my eyes, I found him gazing at me—his expression a breathtaking mix of molten lust and something far deeper… something dangerously close to adoration.

He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my cheek before whispering against my skin, “Are you ready, Bhabhi?”

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening at the husky timbre of his voice.

I nodded. It was time for the finale. “How do you want me?”

“Sideways,” he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. “I want to do it in the spooning position.”

That was unexpected.

He really was full of surprises.

Without hesitation, I turned onto my side, my body still pulsing with the remnants of our last encounter. He immediately curled himself around me, drawing me flush against his warmth. His arms wound around my waist, pulling me impossibly close as he nestled his face into the side of my neck.

The intimacy of it—the way he held me, not just with lust but with something deeper, more consuming—made me purr in pleasure.

I arched slightly, pressing my ass against him, and I felt it—the hard, throbbing heat of his arousal poking against my lower back.

His hands slid down, caressing my thighs before lifting one slightly, positioning me exactly how he wanted. Then, with a slow, measured precision, he guided himself inside me.

I gasped.

He wasn’t rough, wasn’t frantic. Instead, he moved with an intoxicating slowness, his thrusts deep and deliberate, filling me in a way that was both overwhelming and exquisitely tender. It wasn’t wild, frenzied sex—it was something else, something that made me melt into his embrace, content to simply be in his arms as we moved together in this slow, unhurried rhythm.

But just when I thought this was going to be purely about gentle lovemaking, he changed the game.

His hands began roaming again, stroking, teasing, owning me in ways that set my already sensitive body ablaze.

His lips found the delicate pulse point just below my ear, latching onto it with a deep, suckling kiss that sent shivers down my spine.

I moaned softly, arching into him.

Then, his hand slid up, fingers ghosting over my lips, tracing them lazily before pushing between them.

I parted my mouth instinctively, sucking his finger in, coating it with my slick warmth.

He let me nibble on it for just long enough—just until my tongue had properly wet it—before pulling it away.

I barely had time to process what he was doing before he plunged that same finger deep into my navel.

A loud, uncontrollable moan escaped my lips as the sensation exploded through me—his wet finger twisting inside my belly button at the same time he continued thrusting into me from behind. The combination was lethal, the pleasure a dual assault on my senses.

I was unraveling.

“You really like navels, don’t you?” I whimpered, my voice breathy, raw.

His only response was to pinch my belly hard—his finger still buried in my navel, his cock still moving inside me with steady, hypnotic strokes.

I writhed in pleasure.

Then, his lips grazed my ear, his voice rough, strained, dripping with need.

“Yes… it’s so deep,” he whispered, pressing deeper into my navel as his thrusts became more urgent. “So gorgeous. And you’re so… so sensitive.” His voice cracked with pleasure. “I love it.”

His breathing turned ragged, his thrusts turning desperate, erratic.

He was close.

So was I.

His finger pushed even deeper into my navel, triggering a final, explosive wave of pleasure so intense it ripped through me like a thunderstorm.

I screamed—a mix of pleasure and exquisite pain as I came undone beneath him, my body clenching around him like a vice, dragging him over the edge with me.

With a final, almighty thrust, he groaned into my hair, his body locking up behind me as he spilled himself inside me.

I felt it—the hot rush of him filling me, claiming me in every way possible.

A long, satisfied sigh escaped me as the last tremors of my orgasm faded, leaving me utterly boneless in his arms.

He exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against my shoulder as his body went limp behind me, spent and sated.

“Oh, God,” he panted, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “That was amazing.”

His arms tightened around me possessively.

“You were amazing,” he murmured into my hair.

I turned to face him, still breathless, my body humming with the aftershocks of everything we had just shared. A slow, satisfied smile spread across my lips as I gazed up at him, my fingers lazily tracing patterns over his bare chest.

“And you…” I purred, my eyes twinkling with mischief. “You were mind-blowing, Armaan.”

He grinned, cocky yet endearing.

I bit my lip, playfully lowering my voice. “Don’t let your brother hear me say this, but this was hands down the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

His eyebrows shot up, a smug smirk creeping onto his lips.

“In fact,” I continued, sighing dramatically, “I don’t even know if I should be feeling guilty about just how much I enjoyed it.” I nudged him teasingly. “I’m not even going to ask how you got to be this good at such a young age. You’re only eighteen.”

Armaan smirked but shook his head. “Good thing you’re not going to ask,” he quipped, amusement flickering in his dark eyes, “because there’s no way in hell I was going to tell.”

We both burst into laughter, our bodies still tangled together, basking in the lingering warmth of what we had just done.

For a while, we simply lay there, side by side, lost in the blissful haze of contentment. But as perfect as the moment felt, a thought crept into my mind—I couldn’t let this get into our heads.

I was the elder one here. I had to be responsible for whatever direction this new shift in our relationship took.

I sighed and sat up, tousling his hair playfully before slipping out of bed. “Come on, get up and get dressed,” I said, reaching for my saree. “You should go back before Mum and Dad start asking questions.”

“Oh… right.” He groaned but got up reluctantly, coming back to reality.

We dressed in silence, the occasional shared glance and smirk the only evidence of what had just transpired.

But the moment we stepped out of the bedroom, all traces of that playfulness vanished.

Because the first thing we saw was Krish.

Lounged on the couch. Waiting.

Armaan froze, his body going rigid beside me.

I felt my pulse spike, my stomach twisting into a tight knot as Krish slowly stood, his gaze sweeping over the both of us. His expression was unreadable, and my heart nearly stopped.

Was he… mad?

Had he changed his mind?

Was he regretting everything?

The tension stretched thick between us, suffocating, unbearable.

Then—

A slow, knowing smirk spread across Krish’s face.

He walked up to Armaan and, without warning, punched his shoulder—hard enough to make Armaan stumble slightly.

“Good Lord, man,” Krish groaned dramatically, shaking his head. “When I agreed to this, I was only expecting you to have sex with her. Not fuck her brains out.”

I let out a shaky breath, relief crashing over me like a tidal wave.

Beside me, Armaan exhaled audibly, his shoulders sagging as he muttered, “Phewww…”

Krish turned his attention to me then, and the teasing glint in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

“And you,” he said, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp but laced with amusement. “What in the world was he doing to you to make you moan like that?”

I felt my cheeks heat up, but I met his gaze without flinching.

“Hell,” Krish continued, his brows raising, “you barely let out a whimper when we have sex.”

A wicked smile curled at my lips.

I stepped closer, letting my fingers graze Krish’s chest as I leaned in. “Well,” I murmured, my voice dripping with playful seduction, “let’s just say… your brother happens to know a lot more about pleasing a woman than you do.”

Krish’s mouth fell open.

Krish gave Armaan a long, measured look, his expression unreadable. “You and I need to have a long conversation, little brother,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But for now, off with you. Mum just called a few minutes ago asking if you were still here.”

Armaan’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh no. What did you tell her?”

Krish smirked. “Just that Navya here was helping you out with your studies.”

Armaan blinked. Then again.

“You told Mum that Navya is tutoring me?” he asked incredulously, his voice bordering on disbelief.

Krish just shrugged, ever the picture of nonchalance. “That way, you have a solid excuse to visit us often.”

Armaan started nodding in agreement… then stopped midway, his brows furrowing.

“Wait. What do you mean visit often?” His voice held a mix of confusion and suspicion.

Krish looked at him like he was the dumbest person on earth. “Well, do you expect her to get pregnant just because you had sex with her once?” He arched a brow. “You’re going to keep doing it until the day she actually gets pregnant. Hence, visit us often. Got it?”

For a moment, Armaan just stared, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin, realization dawning in his eyes. He turned to me, his smile growing even wider.

“Of course,” he said, almost laughing. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

I bit my lip, mirroring his grin. “So… see you tomorrow?”

His eyes darkened slightly, the same heat from before flickering back to life in them.

He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”