[SilverArrow]

Monica was still trying to keep one arm across her breasts when Ranga’s hand moved lower. His fingers brushed the soft skin just above her mound, then settled directly over the thin strip of dark hair that ran down the centre. The rest of her was smooth — shaved clean on both sides — leaving only that neat line of hair ending right at the top of her slit.

He touched it openly. He spread her with his thumb so the outer lips parted and he could see the pink, already-wet flesh underneath. His thumb came away shiny with her. He stroked the thin strip of hair again, slower, feeling the soft texture against the smoother skin on either side.

“This,” he said, voice low with open satisfaction. “Shaved, but not all the way. Just this thin strip left. Looks deliberate.” He rubbed his thumb through the hair and then lower, dragging it directly over her clit. “When did you do this?”

Monica’s face burned. She tried to close her thighs; he kept them open with one knee. Cool air hit the wet skin he had just exposed.

“Don’t touch me like that,” she snapped, anger sharp and immediate. “It’s none of your business when I shaved. Get your hand off my cunt.”

Ranga kept his fingers right where they were. He traced the strip once more, then pushed the tip of his thumb between her lips and rubbed slow circles over the slick entrance, feeling how easily it gave.

“You kept the strip on purpose,” he said. “Not fully bare. Just enough hair so it still looks like a proper cunt. You thought about it while you were shaving. Didn’t you?”

Monica’s eyes flashed. The sass came out colder and sharper.

“I thought about hygiene, not about satisfying whatever animal fantasy you’re running in your head. There’s a difference. Stop touching it.”

Ranga let out a short, pleased breath at the bite in her voice.

“There it is. That mouth. Keep talking like that.”

“I’m not talking for your entertainment,” she shot back. “I’m telling you to stop.”

“And yet you’re still wet.” He dragged his thumb up over her clit again, deliberate. “Feel that? You’re dripping on my hand while you’re busy being angry.”

“That’s not an invitation. Get off me.”

He ignored the order completely.

Then he went down.

He didn’t ease in. He shoved her thighs wide with both hands until the muscles stretched, dropped his head between them, and sealed his mouth over her cunt in one aggressive motion. His tongue drove straight through the thin strip of hair and split her open. He licked her with long, flat, filthy strokes — starting at the bottom of her entrance, pushing inside just enough to taste her, then dragging all the way up over her clit and the soaked strip of hair above it. He did it again, harder, pressing his tongue flat so he could feel every fold. The thin strip of hair was immediately plastered wet against her skin. Spit and her own juices mixed and ran down the crack of her ass onto the sheets.

Monica’s back arched hard.

“Ranga— fuck— stop— get your mouth off me—”

He lifted his head just enough to speak, lips already shiny.

“You taste exactly like you did in the cabin. Still trying to pretend you don’t want it.”

“I’m not pretending— ah— get off—”

He sealed his mouth over her again and sucked her clit between his lips, pulling on it with strong, wet suction. Monica’s hips jerked.

“God— you bastard— stop sucking like that—”

He released her clit only long enough to push his tongue deep inside her, fucking her with it in short, aggressive thrusts, nose buried against the wet strip of hair.

“Still talking,” he muttered against her, the words vibrating into her. “Keep going. Tell me how much you hate it.”

“I do hate it— fuck— Ranga—”

He pushed two thick fingers inside her while his tongue returned to her clit, working it in tight, relentless circles. Her cunt was already soaked; the fingers slid in to the knuckle and he curled them hard against the front wall.

Monica’s hips jerked up against his face. A louder, more helpless moan tore out of her.

“Ah— God— your fingers— stop curling them like that—”

“Why? You’re clenching around them.” He curled them again, harder, while he sucked her clit. “Feel that? Your cunt’s sucking me in while your mouth keeps saying no.”

“Shut up— don’t talk— just— ah— fuck—”

He didn’t shut up. He kept eating her and fingering her at the same time, the wet sounds loud and continuous in the quiet room.

“You’re getting louder,” he said against her. “Your husband is right on the other side of that wall. Try to keep it down.”

“Then stop— making me— ah—”

He sucked harder, fingers thrusting deeper. Monica’s thighs trembled violently on either side of his head. The thin strip of hair was completely soaked and flattened. Every time she tried to close her legs he forced them wider with his shoulders. Her cunt clenched around his fingers in helpless pulses.

“Ranga— I can’t— I’m going to— fuck—”

“Then cum” he said, voice rough, still licking. “Cum on my tongue while you’re still trying to hate it.”

The protests kept breaking apart into shorter, higher cries and raw moaning as he kept her pinned, spread, and thoroughly, degradingly consumed.