We should not have

Goa. Off-season. 3:17 AM.

It was supposed to be like old times.

Rain-soaked roads. Cheap resort rooms. Rum and Coke from plastic cups. Laughter that echoed too loud in the hallway.

Ten years of friendship had never needed boundaries.

Until now.

Aanya lay back on the bed, still in her wet clothes, legs stretched out, eyes on the ceiling fan spinning slowly above them.

Zayan was beside her, shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned, a towel slung around his neck from his post-shower walk across the room.

“You know what’s weird?” she asked.

“What?”

“That we’ve never fucked.”

He turned his head. “We’re really doing this?”

She looked at him. “Why haven’t we?”

Zayan gave a soft laugh. “Because I respected you too much. Because you had rules.”

Aanya didn’t answer.

Her top clung to her breast from the rain, nipples visible, hair damp and stuck to her cheeks.

She looked down at his stomach. Toned. Familiar.

“You ever think about it?” she asked.

“More than I should have.”

They didn’t speak for a few seconds.

She sat up, pulled her top over her head, and tossed it on the floor.

o bra. No hesitation.

Zayan’s breath caught in his throat. He just looked.

“I swear to god,” he muttered, “if you back off now…”

She reached for his face and kissed him.

There was no slow build. No seduction.

It was hunger. Suppressed.

Their mouths moved like they knew the script but had never dared to perform it.

Her lips parted. His tongue found hers like it had been waiting ten years.

Aanya climbed into his lap, grinding over his crotch. Her soaked jeans rubbed against the bulge in his.

“Off,” she whispered. “Now.”

He shoved them down her legs.

She kicked them off. Her panties followed.

Zayan unzipped himself, pulled his cock out — hard, thick, veined, angry.

Aanya just stared. “Jesus.”

“Still want to pretend we’re just friends?”

She didn’t answer. She reached down and stroked him, slowly, deliberately.

Then she leaned in and whispered: “I want to feel how deep you can go.”

Zayan pushed her onto her back, pulled her knees apart, and slid two fingers into her pussy — tight, slick, pulsing.

She gasped. “Fuck…”

He lowered his mouth to her cunt — soft at first, then firmer, wetter, his tongue lapping her folds as if he was memorizing her taste.

Aanya moaned. Loud. Desperate.

“Holy shit, Zay—fuck—keep doing that—”

His fingers curled. His tongue circled. Her thighs trembled.

And then he stopped.

She opened her eyes. “What the fuck—?”

He smiled. “I want to fuck you when you’re right on the edge.”

He climbed over her. No teasing now.

His cock lined up to her entrance.

“You sure?” he asked. Voice low. Serious.

Aanya looked straight into his eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He pushed inside — slow, deep, devastating.

Her mouth fell open. Her back arched. Her pussy gripped him like it had been sculpted for his shape.

“Holy… fuck…” she whispered.

Zayan held still inside her for a second. “You okay?”

She laughed. “If you stop moving, I’m going to kill you.”

He started thrusting. Smooth, powerful, rhythm sharp like a song they'd both known all along.

Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him in deeper.

Their bodies collided. No hesitation.

The bed creaked.

“Fucking hell, Aanya…”

“Yeah? You like this?”

“I’ve wanted this since you wore that red saree at my sister’s wedding.”

Her hands clawed at his back.

“Harder.”

He obeyed.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the small room.

Her pussy took every inch, every thrust.

They weren’t quiet. They didn’t care.

It wasn’t wild. It was relentless.

He pulled out and flipped her over. Lifted her ass.

Entered again — deep from behind.

Aanya gasped. “Oh fuck—yes…”

Her cheek pressed against the mattress. She bit a pillow but still cried out with every stroke.

“You feel so fucking tight,” he groaned.

“You feel fucking perfect,” she spat back. “Zayan—I swear—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

Her pussy clenched again. She was close.

He reached under and rubbed her clit.

Her body twitched violently.

“Zayan—I’m—”

She cum. Loud. Messy. Full-body.

Her cum coated his cock, soaked the sheets.

He slowed just for a second. Then started again.

“I’m not done with you,” he said.

“Good,” she whispered, breathless.

They kept going.

He pulled her up, back against his chest, fucking her standing now beside the bed.

She turned her face and kissed him mid-thrust.

“You’re gonna cum soon, aren’t you?” she murmured.

He grunted. “I’m close.”

“You’re not cumming inside.”

“I know.”

“On me.”

He groaned. “Fuck, Aanya—fuck—”

She dropped to her knees. Grabbed his cock.

Stroked him. Mouth open. Chest heaving.

“Come on.”

He exploded. Groaning, cock twitching as he shot thick streaks of cum across her breasts, throat, collarbone.

It splashed hot on her skin. She gasped. Smiled.

“God damn…”

She looked up. “Still pretending we’re friends?”

Zayan dropped to his knees beside her. Both of them slick, panting, undone.

“Nope.”