The seventh night the tension inside the haveli felt sharp enough to cut. Priya had spent the day in a constant state of low, filthy arousal. Every time she sat she felt the lingering ache in both holes. Every time she walked she felt the faint stickiness Vikram had left inside her the night before. Rohan’s mild fever had broken, but he still moved slowly, speaking little, retiring to their room earlier than usual after a light dinner.

Vikram waited until the courtyard was empty and the only light came from the single tube near the kitchen. He did not call her to his room immediately. Instead he called her to the large sitting room on the ground floor—the one with the wide wooden doors that opened directly onto the courtyard and the half-closed door of the bedroom Rohan now occupied.