The rain did not stop.

It fell in heavy, unbroken sheets against the window of Arjun’s room, turning the glass into a blurred sheet of silver. Inside, the air was warm and thick with the smell of sex—skin, sweat, and the faint metallic scent of the monsoon carried in through the cracked window. Aanya lay on her back beneath him, legs still loosely wrapped around his waist, his cock still buried deep inside her even after he had finished. Every slow breath he took made him shift inside her, a soft, lingering reminder of how thoroughly he had just claimed her.