The phone pressed against Naysa’s ear felt like a block of ice, a stark contrast to the molten fury boiling in her veins. The line rang once, twice. Let him be fucking her. Let me hear it.

“Naysa?” Rishabh’s voice was a low rumble, laced with a post-coital laziness that made her teeth grind. She could almost smell the salt air of Goa and the scent of another woman on his skin.

“Rishabh, my husband,” she purred, the words slick and dangerous. “Singapore was so dreadfully boring without you. I’ve been thinking.”

A muffled feminine giggle in the background. Perfect.

“Naysa, now isn’t a good time—”

“It’s the perfect time,” she interrupted, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “I know about your little company whore, Bhagyashree. I know you married her. But listen to me, and listen well. You are still mine. There will be no divorce. Not ever. Do you understand me?”

“You can’t be serious—”

“I’m deadly serious. And guess what, darling? I’m not in Mumbai anymore. I’m in the lobby. I’m coming up. And I’m not leaving. Unlock the door.”

She ended the call before he could reply, her heart hammering a savage rhythm against her ribs. This was her marriage. This was her man. And she was going to reclaim what was hers.

*

Inside the suite, the air was thick and sweet with sex. Rishabh stared at the disconnected phone, a cold dread and a hot, unwelcome thrill coiling in his gut.

Rishabh’s phone vibrated again on the nightstand, the sound cutting through the post-coital haze like a blade. Bhagyashree lay sprawled on the bed, her skin flush from their lovemaking, her body still humming with the echoes of pleasure. She turned her head lazily towards him, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, her lips curved in a satisfied smile. “Who was that, Rishabh?” she called, her voice soft and sated, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. She stretched languidly, her movements slow and deliberate, her naked body gleaming under the warm glow of the suite’s lights. The sheets were tangled around her legs, the evidence of their earlier passion glistening on her inner thigh—a pearl-like trail of his cum slowly sliding down her smooth skin. She propped herself up on one elbow, her breasts swaying gently with the motion, her nipples still hard from his touch. Her gaze lingered on him, studying his face, reading the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the phone just a little too tightly.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her voice softening further, though there was a edge beneath it now, a question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered. She reached out with her free hand, her fingers brushing against his arm where he stood at the edge of the bed. Her touch was light, almost hesitant, as if she could feel the shift in the air, the weight of whatever had just transpired on the other end of that call.

Rishabh turned to her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he forced a smile. “It’s nothing,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual warmth. He tossed the phone onto the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her. His shoulders were tense, his breathing shallow, and Bhagya could feel the unease radiating off him like heat from a flame.

She shifted closer to him, her body pressing against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist. Her lips brushed against his shoulder as she whispered, “You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.”

Her words were meant to comfort, but even as she spoke them, she felt a pang of uncertainty. Rishabh didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers in a way that felt both intimate and distant. She could feel the rapid pulse in his wrist, the faint tremble in his grip, and it made her heart ache. She wanted to ask again, to press him for answers, but something held her back—a fear of what she might hear, of what this moment might mean for them. So instead, she stayed silent, holding him close, hoping her presence would be enough to anchor him. But deep down, she knew: whatever had just happened, it was about to change everything.

“It’s… it’s Naysa,” he said, his voice tight as he snatched his boxers from the floor.

“Your wife?” Bhagya’s eyes went wide, and she pulled a sheet over herself. The doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent chime that shattered the languid atmosphere.

Rishabh yanked the door open. And there she was. Naysa. Her eyes were blazing, a predator’s smile on her lips. She didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body flush against his. He was only in his thin boxers, and her firm pressure against his half-hard cock was an immediate, electric shock.

“Miss me?” she breathed into his ear before her mouth found his in a brutal, claiming kiss. It was all teeth and desperate tongue, a battle for dominance he was too stunned to win. Her hands slid down his bare back, nails scraping his skin as she ground her crotch against the stiffening length of him. Fuck, she felt so good.

When she finally pulled back, her gaze swept past him into the room, landing on Bhagyashree, who was now sitting upright, the sheet clutched to her chest, her face a mask of shock and dawning anger.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Naysa said, her voice a low, wicked promise. She pushed Rishabh fully into the room and closed the door behind her. Her eyes never left Bhagya. “Looks like you started the party without me.”

She turned back to Rishabh, her fingers trailing down his stomach, over the defined ridges of his abs. She dropped to her knees. “Let me taste what she just had.”

“Naysa, what the hell are you doing—” Rishabh started, but his protest became a sharp gasp as her mouth, hot and wet, latched onto his lower abdomen. Her tongue lashed against his skin, lapping up the faint sheen of sweat, tracing the lines of muscle down, down, towards the waistband of his boxers. She looked up at him, her eyes blazing with a possessiveness that made his dick twitch painfully. Fuck.

From the bed, Bhagyashree watched, a hot spike of jealousy piercing her heart. This was supposed to be her honeymoon. Her man. “Rishabh,” she said, her voice tight. “Make her leave.”

Naysa laughed, a low, husky sound. She got to her feet, her hand snaking inside Rishabh’s boxers to wrap around his hard, thick cock. She stroked him once, twice, her thumb smearing a bead of pre-cum over his sensitive head. “He doesn’t want me to leave. Do you, Rishabh? You want to see what your two wives can do for you.”

With a deliberate motion, Naysa shoved Rishabh’s boxers down, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing, glistening with the evidence of Bhagya’s earlier ministrations. Her hand didn’t leave him—no, she kept stroking, her fingers wrapped tightly around his shaft, her thumb smearing a bead of pre-cum over the sensitive head. She turned to face Bhagyashree, her eyes narrowing with a mix of challenge and triumph.

“What do you think, Bhagya?” Naysa purred, her voice dripping with taunting sweetness. She stepped closer to the bed, her hips swaying with predatory grace. “Can you share? Or are you going to just lie there like a broken doll and watch me fuck our husband?”

Bhagya’s eyes widened, her lips parting as she stared at Naysa’s hand working over Rishabh’s cock. Her initial shock quickly burned away, replaced by a searing jealousy that ignited something fierce inside her. She sat up straighter, the sheet slipping further down her chest as she squared her shoulders. “You think you can just waltz in here and take him from me?” she shot back, her voice trembling with barely restrained anger. “This is my honeymoon, Naysa. Mine.”