My eyes were glued to Riley’s rosy lips as she sealed them around the mouth of the bong. The click of the lighter echoed through my tiny apartment, followed by the familiar bubbling sound as smoke filled the tube—and, somehow, filled my chest too. With nerves. With heat. With something else I didn’t have a name for yet.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, her shoulders relaxing as her posture melted. A beat. A pause. I held my breath.

Then, inhaling deep, she lifted slightly from the couch as the smoke disappeared into her lungs. Her lips released the glass with a soft, wet pop. Her head tilted back, eyes closed, chin angled toward the ceiling. My heart raced as I watched her—the dirty blonde hair pulled into a lazy ponytail, the glow of her sun-kissed skin bathed in the golden light spilling through our half-drawn curtains.

She exhaled in a slow cascade, a dreamy fountain of smoke that filled the room with haze. I let my own breath out with hers, the buzz from my first hit still trailing like static along my limbs.

Riley set the bong on the coffee table, and as she leaned forward, her tank top shifted just enough to flash the soft curve of her breasts—loose, effortless, unbothered. Then she melted back into the couch with a lazy sigh.

“Fuck…” she giggled, her voice thick and smoky. “That peach is delicious.”

Her eyes flicked toward me, and heat flushed up my cheeks before I could hide it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” came Dean’s familiar voice, tinged with amusement.

He strolled in from the kitchen with two sodas in hand, his easy grin aimed straight at me. He handed them off with a wink—playful, unhurried, at ease in a way only he could be.

I couldn’t stop the cheesy smile tugging at my lips or the pink that crept higher as I hid behind my drink. Dean grabbed the controller from the table and started flipping through Netflix, his bare back turned to me. The muscles across his shoulders moved—long, lean lines carved by years of labor.

My eyes drifted lower, tracing the line of his spine to the curve of his ass, hugged snug by those familiar grey sweatpants.

“So, what do you ladies want to watch now?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he surfed through the categories.

I glanced at Riley—and caught her staring at his profile without shame. Her gaze was bold and unbothered, locked squarely on the shape of his bulge beneath the fabric.

But I didn’t feel jealousy. Or anger. If anything… pride. A quiet confidence. They’d had their shot years ago, and whatever spark might’ve been there never caught flame. I trusted them.

“Oh! American Pie 2!” Riley pointed at the screen with a flash of gleeful nostalgia.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at me, one brow lifted in silent question.

I nodded, my lips curving around the rim of my soda as I took a slow sip. The cold rush slid down my throat, tempering the warm pulse blooming low in my belly.

As the movie began, I shifted into a crisscrossed position in the plush white lounge chair I was already curled into. Dean wandered over and settled on the floor in front of me, his back leaning against my legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. I smiled and let my hand drift into his hair, fingers absently threading through the soft strands.

My attention flickered between the movie and my phone—scrolling through Etsy, Pinterest, anything with soft palettes and cozy textures that caught my eye. Somewhere in the background, I registered Dean and Riley trading the occasional comment or laugh, their voices low and easy, blurring into the ambient hum of comfort.

It wasn’t until halfway through—during that ridiculous “sex bible” scene—that Riley suddenly sat up straighter.

“Oh my God,” she said, laughing, and pointed at the screen. “Do guys actually think like that? Like that’s how you go down on someone?”

Dean snorted, eyes still on the movie. “Depends on the guy. Some are... overconfident.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Overconfident and underqualified. Dangerous combo.”

That finally earned her his attention. Dean turned to her, smirking. “You sound like you’ve been traumatized.”

“I have,” she said, clutching her chest in exaggerated distress. “So many men. So much tongue. So little idea what they’re doing.”

I laughed softly behind my drink, already feeling the temperature shift between them. This was familiar territory—teasing, playful bickering that always ran a little too hot to be harmless.

Dean shifted to the lounge chair beside mine, clearly ready to spar. I set my drink down, grabbed the bong, and nestled deeper into my little cushion of heaven, fully prepared to watch the match unfold.

I ground the last of the peach-flavored bud into the tray, my fingers slow and sticky. The bong was cool between my bare thighs as I cradled the bowl with both hands. Somewhere inside my sleeves, the lighter had vanished, buried deep where my hoodie had swallowed my fingers whole.

Dean’s voice cut through before I could move any further.

“Okay, but pressure matters more than speed,” Dean was saying. “You can go slow as hell, but if your rhythm’s right—consistent—she’ll fall apart.”

Riley let out a sharp laugh from the couch. “That’s such a guy take. Like you’re tuning an engine.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“No, but you’re also not right.” She shifted, folding one leg beneath her as the hem of her loose shorts rode higher up her thigh.

From my angle, I caught the faintest glimpse of her pussy.

She went on, “You guys always act like rhythm is the holy grail. But if your tongue’s stiff or you lose your place even once, it’s game over. You think you’re killing it, and she’s just laying there wondering if she left the stove on.”

Dean snorted. “Please. I’ve never made her think about anything except what’s happening in that moment.”

He didn’t look at me. Neither of them did.

They were in their own little arena—gladiators circling each other with grins and dildos. This was their sport. Riley baits. Dean bites. I listen. Always the same dance. Always from the sidelines.

And I love it. It’s comfortable. Familiar.

The bowl was packed, the lighter in hand. I flicked the flame and leaned in, drawing a slow hit—not nearly as theatrical as Riley’s earlier, but enough. The hot sweetness bloomed in my chest, spreading through me as the movie droned on in the background, all cringey adolescent sex jokes and muffled moans. Normally, I’d be paying attention.

Not tonight.

Riley’s voice cut through the haze again—syrupy and smug.

“Technique is important, don’t get me wrong,” she said. “But if she’s not writhing from anticipation—if you skip the build-up—you’re wasting your tongue. It’s not just what you’re doing. It’s how you’re watching her while you do it. Breathing with her. Letting her feel you about to dive back in.”

Dean exhaled, amused. “Okay. So you think you’ve got better game?”

Riley shrugged, as casual as ever. “I know I do.”

“Based on what?”

“Based on the ample amount of pussy I’ve eaten, duh.” She grinned as she mocked him, her voice dripping with confidence—and something else. A lure.

Dean leaned forward now, elbows resting on his knees. His sweatpants dipped lower with the shift, and the familiar shape beneath the fabric moved with him.

“You don’t think I know how to ruin a woman?”

“You know how to fuck her,” Riley said, tilting her head. “I’m talking about melting her. Making her beg. Making her forget where she is.”

I held my exhale, letting the smoke trail out through my nose instead. I shifted slightly in my seat, just enough to ease the ache blooming between my thighs.

The air in the room was heavy—thick with smoke, with suggestion, with the kind of tension that lingers just under the surface of shared history.

Neither of them looked at me. And that was the best part.

Because she—the woman they were talking about, this abstract “her”—didn’t exist.

Not really.

But she did.

In this moment, in my mind, she was me.

The girl buried beneath the hoodie, thighs squeezing tight around the bong, heartbeat fluttering in her throat, wondering how it would feel to let both of them show her exactly what they could do.

Dean’s voice dipped, rougher now. “Alright, then. Walk me through it. Step by step.”

Riley raised a brow, eyes narrowing in intrigue. “What—you want a demonstration?”

I took another hit—smaller this time. My lips were dry, my tongue heavy, my head floating. My hands shifted subtly in my lap, just enough to press against myself through the thick folds of my hoodie.

And I imagined it. Dean between my legs. Then Riley. Then both of them, taking turns. Competing in real time. Making me their experiment. Their judge. Their playground.

I wondered how long I’d last before begging.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Hey!”

Riley leaned toward me, her tank top hanging loose, doing nothing to hide the flush on her skin or the soft curve of her breasts. Modesty hadn’t even bothered to show up.

“Well… what do you say?”

She asked it so casually, like I hadn’t just been off in another world, swallowed by the weight of my own dirty little daydream.

The smoke burned slow in my lungs as I looked between them, blinking, dazed. I’d clearly missed something while my head was busy being devoured by fantasy.

“Will you judge who eats pussy better?” Riley grinned, wide and playful—but something deeper flickered behind her eyes.

My thighs tightened around the bong, threatening to crush it. Or maybe it was just me—wound tight and ready to snap.

I turned to Dean, trying to read him, to see if I’d heard her right.

He was looking at me with that glint he always got when he was playing darts or pool—sharp, focused, a little cocky. The only thing missing was his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth.

They couldn’t be serious.

Right?

Smoke drifted lazily from my nostrils as I leaned forward to place the bong on the coffee table, my hands trembling just enough for me to notice.

Was this real? Or had I passed out somewhere back in that peach-flavored haze?

I melted back into the lounge chair, trying to think—trying to piece together how I’d gotten here, how things had escalated so quickly.

But my body had other ideas.

Without meaning to, I sank deeper into the cushion, hips tipping forward. My legs parted on their own, slow and instinctive, until they draped open across the armrests.

Black cotton panties. Exposed. Inviting.

Giving them a full view.

And my permission.

I looked at Riley. She was biting her lip, blushing—but hungry. The way her gaze roamed made me shiver. Then I turned to Dean. He looked surprised, but not shocked. Not offended. There was a twitch in his sweatpants. He was interested. Very.

I slid my thumbs under the waistband of my panties, lifting my hips as I peeled them down. The cool air was the first to kiss my bare lips. I tossed the fabric to the floor, then looked up at them both—nervous, breathless, aching. Wondering who would move first.

They both stood, making no effort to hide their eagerness. Or their arousal.

My heart pounded—thudding—not just in my chest, but between my legs. And I wasn’t sure what felt stranger: their competitiveness... or how much I relished their attention. How right it felt to be spread open like this, without a trace of shame.

As with all their arguments, they turned to face each other, fists raised in their familiar ritual.

Rock, paper, scissors.

“Rock!”

“Paper!”

Riley grinned and stuck out her tongue in triumph.

“Eh, you know the rules,” Dean muttered, already resigning himself. “Best two out of three.”

Rock.

Paper.

Again.

Riley gave him a dramatic curtsy. “Oof. You hate to see it.”

“This game is bullshit,” he huffed, dropping onto the chair beside me—defeated, but clearly intrigued.

Poor Dean. My love never did win that game.

I jumped slightly at the soft tickle of Riley’s nails against the bottom of my foot. I squirmed, the sensation jolting my attention back to her.

She stood between my open legs, gazing down at me with those deep brown eyes—playful, yes, but threaded with something older. Wanting. Like she’d imagined this moment a hundred times, and now, finally, it was real.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined it too.

Her fingers traced featherlight patterns along my foot, making my toes curl.

“Stop,” I giggled, the word weak and unconvincing.

“You always curl your toes like that when you’re turned on?” she cooed, voice thick as syrup.

Lifting my foot, she ran her tongue slowly up the sole. I held my breath, shivering at the unfamiliar sensation. I’d never been into having my feet touched—never thought I would be—but she was so gentle. So intentional.

An involuntary sigh slipped from my lips as her mouth found the back of my calf. She kissed lower. Then licked. Each press left a wet trail behind, heat blooming with every pass. Down, down, down—until she was kneeling between my legs.

I looked down at her, past the soft rise and fall of my chest, breasts lifting with every shallow breath. Riley was taking her time, letting her gaze roam like she was savoring the view. My hands rested on my knees, grounding me in a moment I could barely believe was real.

She was there. And Dean was over there.

My eyes flicked to him—reclined, but alert. Watching. The tent in his sweatpants pulsed with his heartbeat. He wasn’t focused on just me. Or just her.

He was watching us.

When I looked back down, Riley was staring up at me with wicked intent—one brow arched, lips parted, pure admiration in her eyes.

“You’re so fucking pretty down here,” she purred. “It’s not fair.”

“Aww…”

A little explosion went off in my chest—half flattered, half flustered. I laughed, hiding behind my hands for a second. The kind of laugh that only escapes when you’re overwhelmed and aching and can’t believe this is your life.

And then—bite.

Her teeth sank gently into my thigh, like she was nibbling a marshmallow, and my laughter crumbled into a moan.

“You’re trying to play coy,” she murmured, “but your thighs are begging me to keep going.”

She leaned over and kissed the other one—slower this time, softer. And she was right. Not just about the trembling anticipation humming through me, but about what I could see when I looked down. My legs, parted and restless, told the story for me.

Riley moved in closer. I felt the heat of her breath as she exhaled—then inhaled me. My scent. My arousal. My fingers dug into my knee. She was dragging it out on purpose, never quite touching, just being there, making her presence impossible to ignore. My other hand clutched a fistful of hoodie, tugging it up enough to bare the curve of my belly—and to give myself a clearer view.

A low, throaty chuckle slipped from her lips. Then, silence.

Only my heartbeat. The throb between my legs. Everything in me strung tight and waiting.

Then—contact. The faintest touch, just the tip of her tongue, traced the outer edge of my folds. So delicate, so maddening, it sent a jolt up my spine. I whimpered before I could stop myself. She licked the other side. Then back over again, higher now. Each stroke landed somewhere new—never where I wanted. She was teasing me. Frustrating me. And it was working.

Part of me wanted to grab the back of her head and grind against her mouth, shameless and wild. My hips twitched with every pass, hungry for more, desperate for pressure. I bit my tongue to keep from begging.

I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“You’re fighting so hard,” Riley murmured, her voice low and dark with delight. “I love that. But I want to hear you fall apart.”

“You’re such a bi—” But the insult broke on a groan as her tongue finally flattened against me—firm, slow, unrelenting. Her nose pressed into my mound as she dragged one long, luxurious lick from bottom to top.

I tried to close my legs, overwhelmed—but she pushed them apart again, her chipped nails digging into my thighs. It hurt.

It felt so fucking good.

Her licks came faster now, each one wetter, deeper, more determined. She wasn’t just touching me—she was consuming me. Every fold, every crevice was coated in a messy blend of spit and slick, shameless and thick. My breath shifted from shaky pants to open-mouthed moans, soft at first—then louder, helpless.

I turned my head and found Dean.

He was watching—still, silent, awestruck. I couldn’t tell if he was studying Riley’s technique, planning his rebuttal… or just living out something he’d fantasized about for years. His eyes were locked on the sight of her devouring me. His hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking slow beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

Then—another hand. Sliding beneath my hoodie. Finding my breast. Stealing my breath. I looked down, expecting to see Riley still lost in me.

But this wasn’t playful anymore. She wasn’t just tasting. Or teasing.

She was staking her claim.

Her fingers pinched my nipple, sudden and sharp, and I cried out—back arching, hips jerking—as her tongue zeroed in on my clit. Fuck me.

My hips moved on their own, grinding against her mouth, chasing friction, chasing heat. I could feel her hunger—her need—in every wet, unrelenting stroke. My own excitement slid down between my cheeks, soaking into the cushion beneath me. The buzz of orgasm bloomed into something deeper—stronger—a pulse that took over everything.

Her lips closed around my clit, tongue flicking in quick, maddening bursts. She released my thigh only to dig her fingers into my ass as I lifted my hips, pressing myself against her face. One hand stayed beneath my hoodie, tugging on my nipple with a sharp, heady pinch.

I trembled under her touch as the orgasm tore through me—my pussy clenching, my clit pulsing against her tongue. Riley didn’t let me go. I was hers to do with as she pleased. Relentless. Unwavering. My groans broke into moans, then whimpered pleas.

And then—finally—she stopped. She pulled away, strings of slick stretching between us. I blinked through strands of hair that had fallen loose from my bun, dazed, breathing hard.

She smiled.

Kisses landed on my inner thigh, each one sending an aftershock through my body. Then again. And again. Her mouth moved upward in a trail of tenderness until she reached my foot—where it had all started. A last lick. A final tease.

I lay there, panting, wrecked in the best possible way.

She looked down at me, smug and glowing. “You don’t have to say it—but I felt it.”

I closed my eyes and let the euphoric wave ripple through me. My best friend—someone I trusted, confided in, someone who had seen every unflattering, unfiltered part of me—had just devoured me like she’d done it a hundred times before. It was something I never thought would happen. Something I’d buried out of fear. But not anymore.

Unashamed.

“I think I may have just stolen your girlfriend, Dean.”

I opened my eyes to find her standing tall, flushed, radiant, licking a trace of me from the corner of her mouth. She looked like a succubus—half-dream, half-danger—framed by the haze of weed smoke still curling through the room.

But behind her, something stirred.

A pair of hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her clean off the floor. Riley shrieked with laughter as Dean tossed her onto the couch, her tits spilling from her top in the tumble.

He didn’t flinch. Dean was focused. Unshaken.

I looked up at him, my body still limp and buzzing, orgasm still echoing through my thighs—and yet, somehow, I was already aching again. His eyes swept over me, drinking in the mess Riley had made of me. My legs, still spread. My cunt flushed, gleaming with a cocktail of spit and orgasm. Hair half undone. Cheeks flushed. No makeup. No effort.

And under that gaze, I felt like the most fuckable version of myself.

His hunger was palpable. Wilder than I’d ever seen it. Our eyes locked. No words passed between us. He grabbed the pillow from beside Riley and tossed it to the floor, placing it squarely in front of where I sat.

A silent cue. An old rhythm. We’d done this song and dance a hundred times before.

Dean had many passions in life.

Mechanics—he loved breaking things down, fixing what others gave up on. A growing obsession with craft beer. And when he felt like being artsy, he’d tag along to vineyard paint nights with me and Riley just to make me laugh. But none of it compared to this.

His true devotion—the thing that lit something primal in him every single time—was eating me out like it was his goddamn religion.

I heard the flick of the lighter and glanced over to see Riley taking another hit from the bong. Her tank top was gone now, bare from the waist up, nipples stiff, chest rising slow with each inhale. But her eyes weren’t on me.

They were locked on Dean.

Thud. Thump. The floor creaked beneath the sudden weight of him dropping to his knees.

Dean wasn’t a vocal man. Sure, he’d tell me I was pretty, sexy, that he loved me—but his real language had always been action. Quiet gestures. Intentional care. Devotion. And right now?

Pure, undistracted lust.

And maybe—just maybe—he had something to prove.

His rough hands slid beneath me, gripping my ass and lifting my hips like I weighed nothing. He pulled me to the edge of the chair in one practiced, powerful motion that knocked the breath from my lungs.

Then I felt it—his breath. Hot and steady. The quiet flare of his nostrils as he inhaled me.

When his mouth opened, his tongue landed on me in one long, unhurried stroke. Warm. Broad. Knowing. He moved with intent, up and down, dragging himself across my slit with slow, deliberate rhythm. No teasing. No hesitation.

He wasn’t here to flirt. He was here to worship.

Each lick lit a fuse under my skin, waking nerve endings Riley had already left buzzing. Dean didn’t need to switch things up or play games—his focus alone was enough to undo me. It always had been.

He leaned back, pulling me with him, draping my legs over his shoulders before burying his face deeper between them. I tried to lift myself, to see him, to witness the way he disappeared into me—but I couldn’t. My body slumped, boneless and shaking, moans spilling from my lips as his stubble scraped sweet fire against my inner thighs.

I felt weightless in his hands.

He gripped my ass tighter, grounding me as his lips wrapped around my pulsing clit. Instead of attacking the center, he focused just beneath it, flicking the underside with maddening precision. Not pushing. Coaxing. Drawing me out.

Drawing me open.

My hands scrambled for the back of the chair, desperate for something to hold on to—terrified of how fast I was unraveling.

“Dean…”

His name escaped in a breathless whisper—a prayer and a plea.

And then—absence.

Dazed and blinking, I managed to lift myself just enough to look down. I wanted to ask why, to beg him not to stop—but the words never made it to my mouth.

He was already moving.

Dean pressed me back into the seat, firm but gentle, guiding my legs off his shoulders and spreading them wide. His fingers gripped my trembling thighs as he leaned in again, tilting my hips just enough to angle me open.

I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. He looked up at me—and there was nothing soft in his eyes. Only hunger. Pure, carnal desire. A look that made my breath catch.

Then came the glint. That familiar, deviant spark.

And I felt him.

Gasping, my nails dug into the back of the chair as his tongue found a new rhythm—this time lapping at the tight little hole nestled between my cheeks. He didn’t hesitate.

He never did.

Only Dean knew this weakness. This part of me I never dared to share with anyone else.

“Fuck me…” Riley’s voice cut through the haze, laced with disbelief.

His tongue pressed deeper, parting me, savoring me. And at the same time, his nose stayed right where it needed to be—rubbing slow, maddening circles against my clit. A killer combo. One he had practiced, refined, perfected.

I tried to squirm away, to escape the tidal wave of sensation—but I was powerless under his grip. Under his tongue. He pushed in further, tongue sliding into my depths without hesitation, without pause—like he belonged there.

“Oh God!” I moaned, the last of my resistance unraveling. I gave up the fight and collapsed back into the lounge chair, boneless. Undone.

Pleasure blurred at the edges, melting into numbness. Time slowed into syrup. Through half-lidded eyes and the veil of my messy hair, I caught the full picture.

Dean—gazing up at me with something deeper than lust. Like he was looking through me. Into me.

Riley—still on the couch, wide-eyed and breathless, one hand cupping her breast, the other buried beneath her waistband.

I couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t hear anything past the thunder in my chest, my ears. My heartbeat, pounding like it had something to prove. And beneath it, a pulse of something else.

Hope. Raw and sharp.

Hope that this moment would never end. That I could stay right here—at the center of everything. The object of their hunger.

My hips snapped upward in a fierce, involuntary motion. My moans turned to cries—loud, broken, desperate. Violent contractions seized my body, clenching around his tongue as my clit throbbed against the press of his nose.

This was more than I’d expected. More than I’d ever let myself want. It wasn’t just him. Or her.

It was us. The three of us, tangled together—alive, primal, explosive. A hidden fantasy I’d never dared speak aloud. One I hadn’t even fully understood until I was living it.

Blurry vision. Ringing ears. Trembling limbs.

Too real.

Dean laid me back with care, like I was made of silk. I melted into the cushion, a gasping, weightless wreck. My eyes fluttered closed. I pulled air into my lungs like it was the first breath I’d ever taken.

And just like that, my hearing returned—slow at first, distant and echoing. Then clear.

Dean and Riley. Arguing again.

“Well… looks like I won,” Dean said, voice thick with pride, eyes still locked on me like he’d just sealed a championship game.

Riley scoffed. “You wish. You cheated.”

“Cheated?” He arched a brow. “How the hell do you cheat at going down on someone?”

“This was a pussy eating contest, not a full-access pass to the buffet!”

Dean shrugged, unfazed. “Hey, you licked her foot. Don’t come at me about rules.”

“If I’d known rim jobs were fair game,” Riley huffed, “I’d have taken her fucking soul.”

Through the haze, my vision cleared just enough to see them standing face to face—well, as close as it got. She glared up. He smirked down. God, they were hot. And both of them were ready to pounce.

“So,” Dean said, his lips curling slow, “you admit I’m better?”

Riley narrowed her eyes. “No. That’s for her to decide.”

They turned to me—like I was capable of forming a sentence. Like I wasn’t still leaking into the cushion, body buzzing, vision sparkling at the edges.

“Hey… Leah?” Dean nudged my knee. “Still breathing?”

I giggled, stretching like a lazy kitten. “Good,” I sighed. “So, so good.”

“She’s a mess because of me,” Riley said with a grin, tossing her hair like she’d already claimed the crown.

Dean snorted. “That’s because of me, you brat.”

“Who won?” he asked again, brushing his fingers along my leg—teasing, or maybe testing.

God. How was I supposed to choose?

I looked between them—Dean, shirtless, cock twitching beneath his ruined sweatpants; Riley, shorts slung so low they barely clung to her hips, eyes still locked on the space between my thighs. Both flushed. Both waiting.

“I—I don’t know,” I groaned, my voice wrecked and low.

But through the haze of sweat, stray hair, and orgasmic ruin, a smile curled on my lips—slow and sly.

“Maybe I need a rematch... or a little teamwork?”

My legs lifted again, trembling but certain, spreading wide to rest on the armrests once more.

Their eyes met—something silent sparking between them—and those wicked grins returned.

Without a word, they stripped the rest of the way down and turned back toward me.