The morning sun slanted through the courtyard, catching motes of dust and the lingering scent of last night's debauchery. I bathed slowly, my body a canvas of sweet bruises. Chacha ji's finger marks on my hips, Rajat's bite on my shoulder, the tender ache in my ass that made every step a reminder of being so thoroughly, filthily filled. The serpent inside me had been fed, but as the water sluiced over my breasts, the nipples still raw from Rajat's cruel twists, I felt the familiar stirring again. The hunger never slept. It only dozed.
The household was buzzing with a different energy today. Servants hurried with fresh linens, Papaji's best whiskey was brought up from the cellar, and even Rohan seemed animated, straightening his collar nervously. "Veer bhaiyya is coming," he told me, his eyes flicking away from the shadow of a hickey on my neck that my pallu couldn't quite hide. "Maa's side. From London. You'll... you'll behave, na?"
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