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Things kept simmering after that Diwali night, like a pot on low heat you know is gonna boil over eventually. Neha and I talked about it a bit more in bed, her admitting she felt the spark with Vikrant but swearing it was just fun because she knew it turned me on. I’d get hard just hearing her say his name, imagining her crossing lines. She’d tease me during sex, whispering stuff like “What if Vikrant walked in right now?” and it’d push me over the edge. We were deeper into this kink, but still no real action. Yet.
A few weeks later, we all decided to hit up a weekend getaway to Lonavala with another couple, Ria and her boyfriend Sid. They were old friends from MBA days, chill people who didn’t suspect a thing. We piled into Sid’s car for the drive up the hills, me up front with him while the girls squeezed in the back with Vikrant in the middle. Neha was on Vikrant’s left, Ria on his right. The road was bumpy, music blasting old Bollywood tracks, everyone laughing about random crap.
As we hit the ghats, the car swayed with each turn, and I caught glimpses in the rearview mirror. Neha’s thigh pressed against Vikrant’s from the tight space, her short sundress riding up a little. She’d shift to “get comfortable,” her body brushing his side, arm grazing his chest. Once, when Sid hit a pothole, she jolted forward, her hand landing on Vikrant’s knee to steady herself. She left it there a second too long, fingers lightly squeezing before pulling back with a giggle. “Oops, sorry,” she said, but her eyes met mine in the mirror, sparkling with that knowing look. Vikrant just grinned, his arm stretching across the back seat, fingers dangling close to her shoulder.
Ria was chatting away, oblivious, but I saw Neha lean into him more as the drive went on, their hips touching, her bare leg against his jeans. When we stopped for chai at a roadside spot, she hopped out last, her hand trailing across his lap “accidentally” as she slid over. My heart pounded the whole time, jealousy mixing with that twisted thrill.
Back in the car, same setup, but now Neha was bolder, whispering something in Vikrant’s ear that made him laugh, her lips almost brushing his neck. Their bodies kept brushing closely with every bump, like a slow tease. Sid and Ria were too busy arguing about the playlist to notice, but I was rock hard up front, pretending to focus on the road.
We checked into a cozy villa with a pool, spent the day hiking and chilling. That night, we threw a small party just the five of us, booze flowing, joints passed around. Music pumped from a speaker, and soon everyone was dancing in the living room. Ria and Sid were all over each other, grinding like they were alone. Neha pulled me onto the floor first, her body moving against mine, but I could feel her eyes flicking to Vikrant, who was lounging on the couch with a beer, watching.
After a bit, I got tired from the hike earlier, my buzz making me sluggish. “Go dance with Vikrant,” I told her, half-joking, as I flopped onto the couch. She raised an eyebrow, that dimple showing in her smile, and sauntered over to him. “Come on, lazy,” she said, grabbing his hand. He didn’t hesitate, pulling her close as a slow, thumping remix played.
They started dancing, bodies inches apart at first, but it got cozy quick. Neha’s hands on his shoulders, his on her waist, pulling her in. She turned, her back to him, ass brushing his crotch as they swayed. It was light grinding, her hips rolling against him subtly, his hands sliding down to her hips, guiding her. She’d glance back at him, laughing, but her cheeks were flushed. I sat there, pretending to scroll my phone, but watching every move, my pulse racing. Ria and Sid were too drunk and into their own thing to care, yelling “Get it!” from across the room.
As the song changed to something faster, sleazier, Neha spun around, facing him again, her chest pressing against his as they moved. His thigh slipped between her legs for a beat, her grinding down lightly, bodies so close you could feel the heat from where I was. She’d throw her head back laughing, her ponytail whipping, while his hands roamed her lower back, fingers dipping just under the hem of her top. It was like a couple’s dance, all intimate and charged, her flirting with her eyes, him smirking back. At one point, she draped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to whisper something, their faces inches apart, lips almost touching. He said something low, and she bit her lip, grinding a bit harder before pulling away with a playful shove.
I was exhausted but wired, that familiar mix hitting me hard. They danced like that for what felt like forever, getting bolder with each song, her ass against him again, his hands on her stomach pulling her back. Finally, they broke apart when Sid cranked up the volume for a group dance, but the damage was done. Neha came over to me sweaty and glowing, plopping down beside me with a kiss. “You okay?” she murmured, her hand on my thigh. I nodded, pulling her closer, but my mind was replaying every brush, every grind.
That night in our room, while the others crashed, Neha and I fucked like animals, her moaning about how hot it felt dancing with him, me admitting how much it turned me on seeing them like that. It was escalating, no doubt, and part of me wondered how far it’d go. Vikrant texted me the next morning: “Fun night, bro. Neha’s a killer dancer.” Yeah, I thought, and it’s only getting started.
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