I wake up before my alarm with Arjun’s bruises throbbing on my hips and Pratham’s older marks still fading beside them. My cunt is sore in that deep, used way that makes me shift under the sheet and bite my lip. The soreness is not unpleasant. It is a reminder. Every small pulse between my legs brings back the memory of being bent over the meeting room table while Arjun fucked me like he was trying to carve his name into my body. The angry grip of his hands. The way he pulled my hair. The thick, hot pulse of his cum filling me while he told me he would not be erased. My clit swells just from the memory.

I slide a hand between my legs and find myself already slick. The wetness is shameless. I circle my clit once with two fingers and have to stop or I will come before I even get out of bed. My breathing is already uneven. My nipples are tight against the thin nightdress. I force my hand away and lie still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the dual ache of two different men inside my body.