The last candle drowned in its own wax, and the vertigo hit us both at once.

I blinked, and my own face was staring back at me from across the cold circle of the diya — Anant's consciousness snapped home into those broad shoulders, those dark eyes. And me? I was back. Soft curves, smooth skin, the familiar weight of my own 36C boobs settling on my chest like a homecoming. My thighs pressed together and I felt the delightful ache of everything we'd done still living in my muscles.
For a long moment we just stared at each other, breathing hard.

"Fuck," Anant whispered, his voice rough in his own throat again. "I can still feel it. The way your pussy clenched around my fingers when I was inside your body. I'm going to remember that forever."

I licked my lips, eyes dark, and reached for him. "God, Anant, I want to do it again. But this time..." I crawled toward him on my knees, my old wicked smile back where it belonged. "This time I want to fuck someone else with your cock."
His eyes went wide. And then because my husband had learned things that weekend they went dark.

We didn't make it to the bedroom. I shoved him onto the living room couch and straddled him in seconds, my skirt riding up as I ground down on the thick ridge straining against his trousers. Seven years of almost, and now I was going to collect.

"Morning sex first," I panted, yanking his belt open. "New rule. Twice a day. Morning and night."

"Twice a day," he agreed, hands already under my blouse, squeezing my tits through the lace bra, thumbs dragging over my nipples until I arched. "Every single inch. I owe you years, Nitika."

I freed his cock and sank down in one slick motion, moaning at the stretch — the stretch I'd taught him to give me, hard and complete, no politeness left anywhere in him. My hips rolled while he thrust up to meet me, his mouth on my throat, my nails raking his shoulders. When I came I bit down on his shoulder hard enough to leave teeth. When he flooded me, hot and pulsing, I kept riding until he was twitching and begging and oversensitive — payback for seven years of almost.

That night I bent over the kitchen counter with …