"Couldn't help it," he murmured, voice low and rough. "You're naked. Continuously grinding my cock against your cute ass."
"And I lost my control, you trying to stay quiet, but your hips tilted back instinctively, letting me notch right at her opening. And just with a single push. I buried my cock inside you from behind."
Priya's mouth fell open on a choked moan.
"Aaaahhh—"
"You're impossible," she hissed. "You made me moan in front of my mom!"
Arahan grinned, and thrust deeper, making her gasp again.
"How?" he teased, voice low. "By doing this?"
Before she could answer, he rolled his hips, cock plunging in and out in steady, deep strokes while she tried to scold him.
"Arahan—aaaah—you can't—oh god—control yourself—mmph—ever?"
He caught her mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing her next moan, while his hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit and rubbing fast circles.
"You love it," he growled against her lips. "You're dripping all over me. Clenching so tight. Tell me to stop if you really want me to."
She didn't.
Instead her legs hooked around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking down his back as she moaned into his mouth, half complaint, half plea.
"Harder," she gasped between kisses. "Don't stop—don't you dare stop—"
He fucked her faster, from his thrusts, bed creaking softly under them. One hand gripped her hip, the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss and bite along her throat.
Priya came first, walls clamping down hard around him, fluttering wildly as she sobbed his name into his shoulder.
Arahan followed right after, thrusting deep one last time, groaning low as he spilled inside her again, his hot, thick pulses filling her completely.
They collapsed together, his body covering hers protectively.
After long moments he kissed her forehead, then her lips.
"You okay?" he whispered.
Priya nodded, still flushed, glowing. "More than okay. But… we're going to be late for school."
Arahan chuckled quietly. "Worth it."
---
They hurried through the shower, hands lingering longer than necessary, kisses stealing time between soap and rinse.
Priya's bathroom was small, steam fogging the mirror, their laughter muffled against each other's skin.
But the clock on the wall kept ticking, and downstairs the sounds of normal morning life grew louder: her mother calling Vinay to hurry up, the clatter of plates, the front gate creaking as the newspaper boy tossed the daily in.
By the time they were dressed, Priya in her saree, Arahan in yesterday's clothes.
"How do I get out?" Arahan whispered, standing at the top of the stairs with her. "Your mom's in the kitchen. Your dad's probably in the living room reading the paper. Vinay's still eating breakfast. The front door is right there."
Priya bit her lip, eyes darting around like she was solving a puzzle in real time.
"Back stairs," she whispered. "There's a service staircase from the kitchen to the backyard, used for bringing up groceries and stuff. Mom never uses it in the morning. But you have to go through the kitchen first."
Arahan raised an eyebrow. "Through the kitchen. Where your mom is."
Priya nodded frantically. "I'll distract her. You sneak behind the fridge column, there's a blind spot. Then down the stairs, out the back gate. It opens to the alley. No one watches it."
He looked skeptical but nodded. "If we get caught—"
"We won't," she said, though her voice shook. "Just… be fast. And quiet."
They crept down the main staircase together—Priya in front, Arahan a few steps behind so he stayed out of sight from the living-room doorway. At the bottom she turned left toward the kitchen, raising her voice deliberately loud.
"Mom! I'm coming! Just need to grab my water bottle!"
Her mother answered from the kitchen, "Hurry up, beta! Your tiffin is ready. And tell Vinay to stop playing that game on his phone at the table."
Priya stepped into the kitchen doorway, blocking the view as much as possible with her body. Arahan slipped past behind her, ducking low behind the tall fridge column that separated the cooking area from the narrow service corridor. The fridge hummed loudly, masking the soft creak of his shoes on the tile.
He pressed himself against the wall, barely breathing.
Priya kept talking, loud, overly cheerful.
"Mom, did you pack extra pickle? Vinay always steals mine."
Her mother laughed. "Yes, yes. Now go eat. You're late already."
Arahan edged sideways, toward the narrow wooden staircase that led down to the backyard storage area. One step. Two. The third stair creaked.
Loud.
Priya's mother paused mid-sentence.
"What was that?"
Priya jumped in instantly, voice high and panicked.
"Nothing! Just… the cat! I think she's chasing something under the table again. Vinay, did you feed her?"
Vinay groaned from the dining area. "I did! Why is everyone yelling about the cat?"
Arahan froze on the fourth step, back pressed to the wall, pulse roaring in his ears.
Priya's mother huffed. "That cat will be the death of me. Go on, Priya. Eat fast."
Arahan exhaled silently and continued down, faster but still careful. The stairs ended in a small, dim storeroom filled with sacks of rice, old cycles, and a metal back door that opened to the alley.
He pushed it open, praying it wasn't locked.
It wasn't.
Cool morning air hit his face. The alley was empty, dusty, narrow, lined with overflowing bins and jasmine vines.
He slipped through, pulled the door shut behind him with the softest click, and jogged low toward the main lane where he'd parked his bike yesterday.
Back inside the house, Priya finally exhaled, legs shaky, when she heard the faint metallic snick of the back door from the service stairs.
Her mother glanced toward the corridor. "Did you hear that again?"
Priya forced a laugh. "Probably the wind. Old doors, right?"
Her mother shrugged, turning back to the stove. "Hurry up. You're already late."
Priya grabbed her bag, stole one last glance toward the service stairs, heart still racing, and ran out the front door.
While messaging Arahan, about his escape.
Arahan messaged her back. Telling her, everything is okay.
---
Arahan went straight to his tenth-class room, slid into his back-bench seat just as the attendance was being called. A few classmates teased him for being "late again," but he only smirked and shrugged.
His mind was still replaying every second of last night: Priya's soft gasps, the way she trembled when he took her anal virginity, how she fell asleep curled against him like she belonged there.
Across the campus, Priya walked into the third-grade classroom to take morning tuition. She smiled brightly at the kids, voice steady as ever, but her cheeks stayed faintly pink the whole period.
Every time she bent to help a child with a worksheet or wrote on the board, she felt the delicious ache between her thighs and the faint soreness in her ass, silent reminders of Arahan's hands, his cock, his care. She had to press her legs together more than once.
Both of them counted the hours.
By the time the last period ended, the rehearsal room felt like the only place that mattered.
Priya arrived first—changed into her practice outfit (modest tracksuit today, no tight leggings or crop top after Mrs. Sharma's warning). She was setting up the speaker when Arahan walked in, bag over one shoulder, school shirt sleeves rolled up.
The door clicked shut behind him. They looked at each other.
Priya's lips parted on a soft exhale. Arahan's eyes darkened instantly.
No words at first.
He crossed the room in four strides, cupped her face, and kissed her, slow, deep, like they'd been apart for years instead of hours. Priya melted against him, hands fisting his shirt, a tiny whimper escaping when his tongue slid against hers.
They pulled apart only when they heard footsteps in the corridor.
Mrs. Sharma entered a minute later, followed by the ninth-grade girls, including Zainab.
The rehearsal began.
Today's practice was strictly clean: the toned-down couple number Mrs. Sharma had approved. Hands high on waists, lifts shallow, dips graceful but distant, bodies never grinding, never lingering. Arahan and Priya moved together with perfect timing, elegant, synchronized, professional. On the surface, it was just a good school dance.
Priya's cheeks stayed flushed. Her eyes kept flicking to Arahan, like she was remembering every place his mouth had been last night. Arahan's touches were polite, but his gaze was possessive, every time he took her hand for a turn or supported her in a dip, his thumb brushed her skin a second longer than necessary.
Zainab noticed everything.
She stood at the side with her group, arms crossed, pretending to watch the formation. But her eyes never left them.
She saw the way Priya's lips parted slightly when Arahan pulled her close for the romantic hold. Saw the subtle way Priya's thighs pressed together when she stepped back. Saw the glow on her skin, the same glow Zainab had seen in the mirror this morning after Arahan left her house last week.
She knew that look. It happens when girls get moisturised by their lovers.
Jealousy twisted sharp and hot in her chest.
When Mrs. Sharma called for a five-minute water break, Zainab walked straight to the teacher.
"Ma'am," she said, voice calm but edged, "I've been thinking… the couple number still looks a little unbalanced. Arahan is doing great, but maybe we need more practice time to make it perfect. I'd like to try partnering with him for a few runs. Just to help refine the male part. I'm good with lifts too."
Mrs. Sharma looked surprised, then thoughtful.
"Hmm. You're right, the boy's role needs more polish. And you're our strongest female dancer after Priya. Okay. After the next run, switch partners for one practice. Let's see how it looks."
Priya's head snapped up from where she was drinking water. Her eyes met Zainab's.
Zainab smiled, small, sweet, innocent.
But her eyes burned.
Arahan caught the exchange. His expression didn't change, but he felt a little worried for both of these girls.
The next run started.
Priya and Arahan danced again. Then Mrs. Sharma clapped.
"Alright. Zainab, takes Priya's place. Arahan, show her the timing. Priya, step aside and watch."
Priya moved to the side, hands clasped tight, smiles fixed, but her eyes followed every movement.
Zainab stepped into position in front of Arahan. She placed her hand in his. He took it.
And for the first time since last week, their bodies touched again, officially.
Zainab's palm was warm. Slightly trembling. Arahan's grip was firm. Steady.
They started the dance. On the surface: clean, professional, elegant. Underneath: something else entirely.
Zainab leaned into every hold a fraction too deeply. Her hips brushed him during the turn. Her fingers lingered on his shoulder when they parted. Her eyes locked on his, dark, hungry, daring him to react.
Arahan stayed calm, face neutral, steps precise, but his thumb stroked once along the inside of her wrist when no one was looking.
Zainab's breath hitched.
Priya watched from the side, smile still in place, but fingers digging into her palms.