The Night My Husband Shared Me – Part 3: Karan

Karan arrived on a Friday.

He is different from Rahul in every way. Where Rahul is measured and calm, Karan is all energy — loud, funny, takes up space in a room without trying. He is 30, lean and athletic, the kind of handsome that he is completely unaware of which makes it worse. At every dinner party for four years he had made me laugh harder than anyone else in the room and looked at me in a way he clearly believed was subtle and was not subtle at all.

Arjun had told me what Karan said on the phone — that he had been in love with me since our wedding reception. When Arjun told me this I had felt a complicated rush of things. Guilt first. Then something warmer. Then something hotter than warm.

I dressed differently for Karan than I had for Rahul. For Rahul I had been soft — the pale pink saree, the gentle reveal. For Karan I wore a deep blue dress, sleeveless, fitted, ending high on my thigh. No bra. The fabric was thin enough that when I stood in front of the bedroom light you could see the outline of everything.

Arjun looked at me and said “he is going to lose his mind.”

“Good,” I said.

Karan knocked at eight thirty. I opened the door.

He looked at me and his expression went through approximately four different things in two seconds — shock, hunger, happiness, and then a kind of helpless surrender to all three.

“Hi Priya,” he said. Slightly strangled.

“Hi Karan,” I said, and stepped back to let him in.

We did not spend an hour talking first the way Rahul and I had. With Karan that kind of patience was not in either of our natures. We sat together with drinks and he was funny as always and I was laughing as always and the tension between us was so obvious and so enormous that it became its own kind of joke that we were both in on.

After twenty minutes he put his drink down and looked at me directly.

“Priya,” he said. “I have to say something.”

“Say it then,” I said.

“I have wanted you since the first time I met you,” he said. Blunt and honest, no decoration. “I have felt terrible about it for four years. And now your husband has somehow given me permission to stop feeling terrible and I genuinely cannot believe this is my actual real life.”

I laughed. He laughed. And then I leaned forward and kissed him.

Karan kissed completely differently from Rahul. Immediately urgent, immediately hungry, hands going to my waist and pulling me in hard. I grabbed his collar and kissed him back just as urgently and we went from zero to a hundred in about fifteen seconds.

He pulled back, breathing hard, and looked at me.

“What do you want,” he said. “Tell me exactly. I want to hear you say it.”

This was different from Rahul. This was a man who wanted the words.

“I want you to take this dress off me,” I said. “I want you to use your mouth on my breasts until I am begging. I want to feel your hands all over me. And I want to hear you tell me exactly what you think of me while you do it.”

His eyes went dark. “That last part I can absolutely do,” he said.

He stood and pulled me up and reached for the zipper of my dress. It fell. He stepped back and looked at me — really looked, slowly, from my face down and back up again — and then he said, out loud and completely unself-consciously:

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“You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen in my life. I want to put my mouth on every single part of you. I have thought about your body for four years and the reality is so much better than what I imagined and I imagined a lot.”

Something about the directness of it, the complete honesty, made me feel more desired than I could ever remember feeling. I reached up and unhooked my bra and dropped it.

“Then stop talking and start,” I said.

He put his hands on my breasts and groaned low in his throat. “God,” he said. “God Priya.” He squeezed and I arched into his hands and he bent and put his mouth on me and sucked hard and I cried out.

“Karan–“

“Tell me what you want,” he said against my skin. “Keep talking. I want to hear every word.”

“Harder,” I said. “Do not be gentle. I do not want gentle tonight.”

He was not gentle.

From the armchair in the corner Arjun watched in complete silence. I could feel his eyes. That awareness — my husband watching this man’s hands and mouth on my body — made everything twice as intense. I turned my head to look at Arjun and held his gaze while Karan worked his way down my stomach and I said “are you watching” and Arjun said “every second” and I felt a rush of heat so intense I gripped Karan’s hair and pulled.

“Tell him what I am doing to you,” Karan said. His voice was muffled. “Tell your husband.”

“Karan’s mouth is on me,” I said to Arjun, voice unsteady. “His hands are on my thighs and his mouth is– God– Karan do not stop–“

“Tell me more,” Karan said.

“It feels incredible,” I said loudly. “I want more. I want everything. Karan I want you inside me right now.”

He looked up at me from where he was and his expression was pure heat.

“Ask your husband,” he said.

I turned to Arjun. “Please,” I said.

Arjun looked at me for a long moment with those dark steady eyes. Then: “Give her what she asked for.”

Karan gave me everything I asked for. He was intense and focused and kept up a steady stream of dirty commentary that drove me absolutely insane — telling me what I felt like, what I looked like, what he had imagined doing to me for four years, what he planned to do if we ever did this again. I gave it back in equal measure. I said things that shocked even me. I heard Arjun’s sharp intake of breath from across the room at one point and felt a dark satisfaction at that.

I came twice. The second time so loudly that Karan laughed — a delighted, genuine laugh — and I laughed too, breathlessly, which somehow made everything more real and more perfect.

Afterward Karan held my face in both hands and looked at me seriously.

“Are you okay,” he said. Suddenly Karan again — the friend, the person I had known for four years.

“I am wonderful,” I said honestly. “Karan — thank you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed my forehead.

He dressed and went to Arjun and they did their handshake — that specific handshake they had done since engineering college — and something about the total normality of it made my heart feel enormous.

When he left Arjun locked the door and came back and sat on the edge of the bed next to me.

“You,” he said.

“Me,” I agreed.

“The things you said,” he said.

“Too much?” I said.

“Nowhere near too much,” he said. He pulled me close and I went willingly and we lay in the quiet with the city outside and next Saturday already there in the air between us, large and warm and waiting.

“Next week,” I said.

“Next week,” he confirmed. “All three of us. Together.”

I closed my eyes.

“I cannot wait,” I said honestly.

Continue reading: The Night My Husband Shared Me – Part 4: All Three