Morning light crept softly through the half-drawn curtains of the master bedroom, painting golden streaks across the tangled sheets and the two bodies entwined within them. Ishani woke first, her senses slowly surfacing from a deep, exhausted sleep. The night had been a storm of raw, unrelenting passion—Virat’s anger at the accidental kick transforming into a punishing yet exquisite claiming that left her body marked, sore, and utterly sated. She was curled on her side, completely nude, the torn remnants of her pista green nighty discarded somewhere on the floor. Virat’s powerful arm was locked around her waist like an iron band, his palm splayed possessively over her lower belly, fingers dangerously close to the swollen, tender folds of her pussy. His muscular chest pressed flush against her back, the heat of his skin searing into hers. Most intoxicating of all was the thick, monstrous length of his morning erection nestled deeply between the plump cheeks of her ass, the hot, velvety shaft pulsing gently with his heartbeat, the swollen head nudging insistently at the small of her back.