The days after our wild bathroom fuck melted into a nonstop blur of sneaky touches, dirty texts, and my body staying ready for him all the time. I'd stopped fighting it completely—no guilt left, just pure hunger. Aryan had me hooked bad. Rohan was off at college like always, clueless as ever. I spent my afternoons touching myself lightly, keeping the ache going just thinking about Aryan's thick cock stretching me, his strong hands gripping my hips while he pounded deep. That one afternoon, I was alone in the living room, wearing just a thin nightie that stuck to my skin from the heat. My big tits felt heavy, nipples poking hard against the soft cloth, and between my thick thighs, my pussy was already wet and throbbing. I imagined him kicking the door open, ripping the nightie off, and bending me over the couch arm, slamming into me from behind until I screamed his name. The thought made me squeeze my thighs together, a little whimper escaping my lips, the air thick with my own musky scent. Then the doorbell rang, sharp and loud, making my heart pound like crazy.