"Amy, what's up?" Anirudh damn near jumped out of his skin, shooting upright and yanking the blanket over his chest like she was about to pounce.
"Pfft…" Amy cracked up at the sight. This little punk—what's with the drama? Did he think she'd gobble him up? But her eyes flicked south, clocking that pitched tent. Twenty-three, no real action under her belt, but she wasn't clueless—her cheeks lit up like a stoplight.
What's this guy's deal? Rock-hard just from hitting the sheets?
"You said booze isn't your thing, so I whipped up some hangover soup in case you're trashed. Want a sip?" Amy'd planned to waltz it right in, but that bulge threw her off—shyness kicking in hard.
"Huh? Hangover soup? I'm not even buzzed…" Anirudh blinked, thrown for a loop inside. Soup now? Where was this energy when I was chugging?
"Oh, whatever then…" Amy's voice dipped, a little bummed, starting to nudge the door shut.
Anirudh froze. Drinking was Aurora's game—she'd just played along, never shoving it down his throat. This was her being sweet—why's he bitching?
"Amy, wait—I'll take it. Red wine's sneaky, right?" Snapping out of it, he hollered quick.
Her face brightened—shyness out the window. She shoved the door wide, strutting in with a bowl of brown broth, handing it over as she parked by his bed.
Amy'd freshened up too—day gear swapped for a light purple halter gown. Outside, it was no big deal, but up close? That creamy neck was on blast, a tease of cleavage peeking out. The gown barely covered her—sitting there, those killer legs spilled free, juicing Anirudh's half-chilled junk back to full throttle, harder than ever.
He cursed under his breath, hunching to hide it, then snatched the bowl and pounded it—glug glug—draining it in seconds flat.
Amy, watching him slug her soup, felt a weird little glow. Her eyes slid down—blanket or not, that tent screamed loud. Her face torched red, brain spinning with who-knows-what.
"Amy, all done—thanks…" Anirudh said, passing the bowl, but she just stared at that spot, zoned out. His pulse spiked—part of him itching to cover up, part wondering: She craving it too, like Aurora? If she's down, do I hit it?
"Amy, wanna sneak a peek?" Catching her locked-in gaze, he plopped the bowl on the nightstand, flashing a devilish smirk.
"Huh? Peek at what?" Amy snapped back, clocking his grin and that hand creeping toward the blanket.
"Perv…" She jolted awake, cheeks blazing, tossing him a glare before snagging the bowl and bolting—heart hammering like a drum solo.
Watching her hightail it, Anirudh's grin twisted darker.
Man, she's nowhere near Aurora's fire. But why the soup out of nowhere? She into me or what?
He shook it off, flipped the blanket, eyeballing his pumped-up junk with a low, dirty laugh.
"Easy, tiger—tonight's your buffet!" He crashed back, killing the lights. She'll crash once I'm out, yeah?
Once she's lights-out, it's go-time.
But—plot twist—Amy didn't crash back in her room. That monster tent kept flashing in her head, then last night in the bathroom—Anirudh's hands, that touch. Her skin burned, a fire roaring low in her belly.
Amy, what's your deal? One dude and you're a mess? What's this trash in your skull? You're a damn disgrace! She ripped into herself, trying to snuff the heat, but it flared hotter—a raw, new ache clawing at her core.
She flipped and flopped, time dragging, sleep a no-show. Eyes shut, and bam—last night's groping hit replay. Done with it, she shot up, hit the closet, grabbed a pink box, and sank back on the bed. Inside? A pink vibe—eighteenth birthday swag from Aurora. "You're a woman now—own your needs," she'd said. Back then, it was gibberish. Older, she got the drift, plus Aurora's kicker: Men? Optional—handle your own business.
Right after her brother-in-law split for Australia.
She'd scratched her head over the gift and that line—purely physical, or some deeper jab?
Amy shoved it down. Staring at the vibe, Anirudh's tent popped back, then flashes of steamy flicks she'd peeked at. Propped against the headboard, she eased her legs apart.
The gown slid up, baring creamy thighs—that new sheer lace thong glinting through. Channeling those film vibes, she flipped the toy on, guiding it between her legs…
"Mmm…" It hummed, brushing her sweet spot through the fabric—a low, throaty moan slipped out…