We Fucked the Past Out

Kabir spotted her the moment he stepped into the cocktail courtyard—Sanya, in a deep maroon silk saree, her hair loose, her back bare, laughing at someone had said.

Four years. That’s how long it had been since they last saw each other. Since the startup crumbled. Since friendships turned into lawsuits. Since he stopped trusting her, and she made sure he never got the chance to explain.

He felt it all at once now. The bitterness. The fucking ache. The sting in his chest.

He tossed back his third drink.

She turned. Their eyes locked across the room.

Minutes later, they ended up side by side near the bar.

No hug. No smile. Just words dipped in knives.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” he muttered, not looking at her.

“Didn’t think you could still afford a tux,” she replied, eyes on his collarbone.

He smirked. She sipped her drink. The silence between them wasn’t cold—it was boiling.

He hated how good she still looked.

She hated that she noticed how much broader his shoulders had gotten.

And the tension… simmered.

Kabir needed to breathe.

The sight of her. The smell of her. The ache she still caused like an old wound that never really closed.

He stepped onto the side balcony, jaw clenched, chest tight.

Moments later, heels clicked behind him.

Of course… Sanya.

She stood at the edge of the railing, lighting a cigarette like she wasn’t the reason his hands were curling into fists.

“You following me now?” he asked without looking.

“No,” she exhaled. “I prefer not to follow failures.”

He turned. Her maroon saree clung to her like sin. Her blouse barely held on. Hair wild. Eyes sharper than they used to be.

“You bailed when shit got real,” he said flatly.

She took a drag, slow, deliberate. “No, Kabir. You stopped hearing anything that wasn’t your fucking ego.”

He stepped closer. “You froze in front of the board. You humiliated us.”

“I froze cleaning up your mess. You let me drown while you played god.”

“You tanked everything we built.”

“You killed it long before I left.”

They were toe-to-toe now. Her breath was hot. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. They weren’t yelling—they were cutting.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist mid-sentence. Like a warning.

Her cigarette hit the floor. She glared.

“Let go of me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Make me.”

Her eyes flared—and then she snapped.

Her mouth slammed into his, vicious and feral.

Their teeth clashed. She bit his lower lip. He growled into her mouth.

His grip on her wrist tightened as he pinned her back against the cold stone wall.

She moaned into him, furious, lost.

Her one hand yanked his hair. The other clawed down his chest, popping two shirt buttons.

He shoved her leg up, grinding against her thigh. The heat between them wasn’t foreplay—it was combustion.

“Four years,” she panted, biting his jaw. “I fucking hated you.”

“Good,” he growled. “Then shut up and let me ruin you again.”

They didn’t kiss… They crashed into each other.

Mouths hungry, lips bruising, breath stolen between clenched teeth.

Her nails were already digging into his chest by the time his tongue shoved past her lips.

Kabir’s hands gripped her face, and she kissed him back like she wanted to punish him.

He turned, slammed her against the thick carved door of the haveli hallway, making it rattle in its old hinges. Her moan vibrated against his mouth as he lifted her by the ass, her legs wrapping around his waist like muscle memory.

His cock throbbed through his trousers, pressing between her thighs, barely restrained.

“You ruined everything,” she spat, panting against his mouth.

“You fucked it up,” he growled, yanking at the pleats of her saree.

“Shut up and fuck me,” she snapped.

And that was it.

He dropped her back to the floor and spun her, ripping the maroon silk off her body. Her blouse tore with a brutal rip, one strap dangling off her shoulder, her tits spilling free.

His shirt was half undone already. She grabbed the collar and pulled, hard, sending buttons scattering across the stone floor.

She shoved it down his arms, teeth grazing his shoulder.

He hissed—then grabbed her chin and kissed her again, rougher this time, messier.

Then he dropped to his knees.

She gasped as his hands spread her thighs and pushed the remaining folds of her saree aside. Her back pressed to the balcony wall.

Her chest was heaving. Her nipples hard in the humid night air.

“Kabir—”

He didn’t wait.

Two fingers slid inside her, furious, ruthless, smooth. Her mouth fell open—no words, just breath.

“You’re dripping,” he muttered, looking up at her.

She bit her lip, moaned as his fingers curled just right.

Then his tongue followed, replacing them, circling her clit with relentless purpose.

He licked her—made her scream out everything she never said.

Her hips jerked. One hand gripped the railing, the other knotted in his hair.

“Don’t stop—fuck—don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t.

His grip bruised her thighs as his tongue dragged her higher, deeper, until her moans cracked into sobs and her body bucked against his mouth.

Her orgasm hit like a fucking explosion—sharp, shaking, breaking her open against the wall.

She nearly slid down, legs trembling, breath lost, heart hammering against her ribs.

When he stood up, his face was wet with her cum.

She stared at him—livid, panting, wrecked—and slapped him hard across the chest.

“I fucking hate you,” she growled.

“Yeah?” he smirked, belt already undone. “Then shut up and show me.”

She grabbed his cock through his pants, squeezed hard enough to make him grunt, and yanked him toward the bed like she was dragging her past with him.

They didn’t even make it halfway into the hotel room.

Kabir slammed Sanya against the wall the second the door clicked shut, his mouth crashing onto hers, all teeth and tongue and pure fucking fury.

Her fingers clawed at his belt, yanking it open like she was trying to strip him of the last four years.

He grabbed her ass, lifted her up, slammed her back harder into the wall, making her gasp.

Their clothes were barely back on from the balcony.

They didn’t last two minutes.

He dropped her. Spun her. Bent her over the dresser.

“Don’t fucking pretend this wasn’t coming,” he growled.

She looked back at him. “I’ve been wanting to slap that cocky face for four years.”

“Too bad you’re about to choke on it.”

He shoved into her without warning—one brutal thrust, balls slapping her soaked cunt.

She screamed into the mattress.

He gripped her hips and fucked her like she was his failure and his fix at the same time.

“Fuck, you’re still tight,” he groaned, slamming into her.

“You’re still a fucking piece of shit,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder, her tits swinging with every violent thrust.

He leaned forward, spat on her back, then smeared it with his hand as he picked up the pace. Her moans were raw and guttural.

She reached back, slapped him across the face. Hard.

He grabbed her hair, yanked her up, and hissed into her ear, “Say that again.”

“I fucking hate you.”

He pulled out, spun her around, shoved her onto the chair and dropped into it. His cock stood up angry, wet with her.

She straddled him, spit into her hand, jerked him once, and sank down onto him so hard they both grunted.

She bounced, rode him like she wanted to break something.

“Still think you were the victim?” she spat, grinding her pussy on his cock, hands pushing against his chest.

“You were dead weight,” he growled, grabbing her ass and thrusting up into her. “All mouth, no fucking spine.”

She slapped him. He liked it.

Their faces were inches apart. Sweating. Panting. Gnashing.

“You wanted me back then,” she said, riding him harder now, pussy sucking his cock.

“I wanted to use you. Just like you used me.”

“Then shut up and use me, you fucking coward.”

He gripped her throat, shoved her off him, dragged her by the wrist onto the bed like she was nothing but rage in a silk wrapper.

She laughed—moaned—and spread her legs with no hesitation.

He got on top, entered her in one furious thrust, and started fucking her like she was never going to be forgiven.

His hand gripped her throat, just enough to make her gasp. Her eyes widened, her pussy clenched around him.

Their bodies slapped hard.

She scratched down his back. Bit his shoulder. Drew blood.

“You always wanted this,” he growled.

“No,” she whispered. “I wanted to forget you.”

“Too late.”

Her legs wrapped around him, locking him in.

His thrusts slowed. Got deeper.

And then, somewhere in that chaos, the anger cracked.

Her hand touched his face—tender, like it never happened… He hesitated.

She pulled him in.

He thrust harder… Harder.

Until she came—fucking shook—moaning like she was choking.

Her whole body convulsed under him. Her pussy clenched around his cock so tight he nearly cum inside her.

He pulled out at the last second, stroked himself twice, and exploded hot all over her belly.

Thick, angry streaks of cum shot across her skin—her stomach, her tits, one line hitting her throat.

She lay there, ruined. Still glaring.

“I still hate you,” she panted.

He collapsed beside her, chest heaving. “Yeah.”

She didn’t smile. But her legs were still open.

And dinner was still an hour away.