The Fourth of July sun simmers low over the Davenport estate, melting gold into the pool’s glassy surface and igniting the edges of every leaf and blade of grass with an obscene, burning halo. The air is thick and sultry, the heat lingering on skin like a lover’s tongue, and the promise of night—of fireworks, booze, flesh—crackles even in the early evening. Adam stands on the flagstone patio, shirtless, drink sweating in his hand, watching his wife prep the perimeter with all the precision of a general laying siege.
Jamie’s legs are long and bare, the blue of her bikini bottom so sharp it looks almost painted on. Her hips sway lazily as she straightens a lounger cushion, then tosses a throw pillow with a flick of her wrist. She doesn’t need to check if Adam is watching. He always is.
He crosses to her, smooth as ever, and doesn’t bother to hide his stare. “You missed a spot,” he says, tapping the tip of her nose with a cold finger.
Jamie grins, teeth white and wolfish. “That’s not what you said last night.”
Adam slides his palm over the small of her back, lets it rest just above her ass. He leans in, lips grazing her ear, voice dropping to a purr. “You know what I was thinking?”
“That you want to see if the neighbors can top last year’s fireworks?”
He laughs, low and close. “I think tonight might be perfect for our little... experiment.”
Jamie’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. She pivots, chest to chest with him, hands tracing down his flanks. “You mean the Thompsons? I bet we could show them a good time.”
“Not just them.” Adam’s eyes flick to the French doors behind them, where the bar cart waits, loaded with top-shelf everything. “But yeah. Becca’s been giving you those eyes for months.”
Jamie sensuously drags her tongue across her lower lip, her eyes smoldering with desire. “Taylor’s not exactly the master of subtlety, either. I’ve been craving to see that impressive cock of his.”
Adam laughs again, throatier this time. He loves this version of her—sharp, dangerous, coiled like a cat. “Then we’ll give them the night they deserve.”
She presses her body firmly against him, her warmth penetrating their suits. "It might take some work, you know. They're both rather reserved and shy."
He smiles, his hand gently cradling her cheek. "That's why we begin with drinks," he says, giving her a light kiss before releasing her. "I'll make them potent."
Adam’s cock stirs at the thought, and he knows she feels it, because her hand glides over the front of his shorts, slow and deliberate, before she steps away. “You better get to work, then,” she calls over her shoulder, already moving toward the bar.
He watches her go, admiring the way her ass flexes with each step. She’s in her element, the queen of the hunt, and he’s happy to let her lead—at least until it’s time to pounce.
Together, they descend on the final party prep with a kind of ritualistic choreography: arranging the low tables with artful stacks of napkins, setting out bowls of olives and spicy nuts, lining up bottles like soldiers in a row. Adam checks the ice buckets, dumping in another bag to ensure everything will stay cold even as the air swelters. Jamie tests the playlist, lets a few bars of music filter out to the patio before dialing it back down.
“Do you think they’ll bring a suit?” Jamie asks, arranging a row of shot glasses in a perfect line.
"They ought to, since it is a pool party," Adam remarks, pouring a small amount of bourbon and handing a glass to Jamie before raising his own in a toast. "Here's to an unforgettable evening."
She clinks her glass to his, eyes glittering. “To make memories they’ll never forget.”
They drink, Jamie draining hers in a single swallow. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then glances at Adam, suddenly earnest. “You’re not worried about it? About things getting... complicated?”
He sets his glass down and leans back against the bar. “You mean the part where we fuck our friends, or the part where you get off on me watching you do it?”
She laughs, head thrown back. “Both, I guess.”
Adam shrugs, casual but deliberate. “I married you because you’re a deviant. Why stop now?”
Jamie bites her lip, cheeks flushed from the sun or bourbon or both. “You’re a bastard,” she says, not unkindly.
“Guilty.”
She grins, then slides up onto the barstool, knees splayed just enough to let him see the darker blue triangle of her bikini bottom. “So you still think all we need to do is get them lit tonight?”
Adam leans in, arms caging her on either side. “Yes. I think all we need to do is get them drunk. Then we get them wet. And lastly, we let them think it’s their idea.”
Jamie’s eyes flare. “And after?”
He smiles, slow and mean. “After, we see how far they’re willing to go.”
She traces a finger down his forearm, nails scraping lightly. “You know Becca’s not as innocent as she lets on.”
“Oh, I know. Remember New Year’s?”
Jamie hums, remembering the night: Becca’s hands shaking as she poured champagne, the way she’d blushed when Jamie pulled her onto the dance floor and pressed their bodies together, the way Taylor had watched, transfixed and helpless. “Do you think they’ve ever... You know. With anyone else?”
“Not a chance. But they’ve thought about it. That’s all we need.”
Jamie leans back, spreading her arms. “God, I love you.”
Adam kisses her, open-mouthed and hungry, right there in the open. Her hand fumbles for his waistband, slips inside, fingers tracing the outline of his cock. He groans, barely audible, but doesn’t stop her. The heat ratchets up, the air between them thickening with every shared breath.
When they finally break, Jamie’s lips are swollen, her voice ragged. “You better save some of that for later.”
He grins, still hard in her grip. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you proud.”
She releases him, hops off the stool, and grabs a bottle of chilled rosé from the ice. “Time to get dressed. Or undressed, depending on your perspective.”
Adam watches her go, thinking how much he loves these moments—the anticipation, the plotting, the way they build each other up before tearing someone else down together. He polishes off his bourbon, then heads inside to change into swim trunks, pausing to admire himself in the mirror. He likes what he sees: tanned skin, cut abs, the faint red mark where Jamie bit his shoulder last night.
Back outside, Jamie has swapped her bikini for a gauzy cover-up that hides nothing. She’s setting up a tray of jello shots, each one a perfect, trembling jewel. She catches Adam’s eye, then slides one between her lips, letting it dissolve slowly before swallowing. The performance is not lost on him.
“Subtle,” he says.
“I’m practicing. For later.”
They check the clock: thirty minutes until the Thompsons arrive. Jamie does a last lap around the yard, double-checking the towel baskets, the bug zappers, and the mood lighting. Adam lines up the first round of drinks, sets out the custom monogrammed glasses, and wipes down the already spotless bar top.
They meet at the pool’s edge, standing side by side as the sun finally dips below the trees. The water glows turquoise, and the air is thick with the smell of chlorine and fresh-cut grass and anticipation.
Jamie slips her hand into Adam’s, her thumb stroking his palm. “You ready?”
He squeezes her fingers, eyes locked on the driveway. “Let the games begin.”
The Thompsons arrive in a battered Subaru, the hood still warm from the drive, and park two houses down to avoid crowding the Davenport’s gleaming concrete apron. Becca sits in the passenger seat, hands knotted in her lap, eyes fixed on the elegant iron gate ahead. Taylor palms the steering wheel, glances at her, then at the house, then at her again.
“It’s just a party,” he says, voice too high.
Becca nods, but her face stays pale. “It’s not just a party. It’s an Adam and Jamie party.”
Taylor sighs, scrubs the back of his neck. “We could still bail, you know.”
She almost says yes. But then she imagines the text Jamie would send—something breezy and cutting, probably with a winky face—and it’s enough to make her reach for the door. “No,” she says. “We’re here. Let’s just... go.”
He follows, keys jangling, and together they start up the drive. The lawn is so green it hurts the eyes, and the air smells like money and gardenias and impending humiliation. Becca tugs at the hem of her sundress, wishing she’d picked something with sleeves. Taylor wears jeans and a faded blue tee, the only thing in his closet not from a Target five-pack.
Adam is waiting at the front walk, both arms outstretched as if greeting royalty. He’s changed into black swim trunks and a crisp white linen shirt, unbuttoned and hanging open to show off his chest. His teeth flash in the sunset, perfect and predatory.
“Welcome, welcome!” Adam booms, enveloping both of them in a hug. Taylor stiffens; Becca tries to smile and not recoil at the feel of Adam’s bare pecs against her shoulder.
“Wow, you guys clean up nice,” Adam says, stepping back to look them over. His gaze lingers on Becca, on the low neckline of her sundress, then flicks to Taylor’s arms. “Been working out, Tay?”
Taylor laughs awkwardly. “Not really, just... carrying groceries.”
Adam winks, then ushers them down the flagstone path. “Come on, Jamie’s out back. Drinks are cold, food’s hot, and you’re just in time.”
They follow, and Becca can’t help but notice how Adam’s hand settles right at her lower back, light but insistent. Jamie is waiting by the pool, her cover-up already damp at the edges, a glass of rosé in hand. She waves, then glides over, taking Becca’s hands in both of hers.
“You made it!” Jamie says, voice syrupy. “God, I love this dress on you.”
Becca feels herself flush, unsure what to say. “Thanks. You look... amazing.”
Jamie’s eyes gleam. “Stop, you’re making me blush.”
Taylor hangs back, hands shoved in pockets. Jamie turns to him, letting her gaze rake up and down his body. “Taylor, you get taller every time I see you.”
He chuckles, shoulders rising in a half-shrug. “You’re just shrinking.”
She laughs, then leans in, her lips close to his ear. “You always were a charmer.”
Adam returns with a tray, four glasses balanced perfectly, and passes them around. “Let’s toast to old friends and new adventures.”
They clink, and Becca drains half her wine in the first gulp. It’s cold and sharp and expensive, nothing like the boxed stuff they buy at home. She feels the alcohol hit her stomach and tries to settle into the scene.
There are other guests scattered around the yard—mostly couples, all beautiful, all with the casual confidence of people who vacation in the off-season. Laughter spills from the pool, and somewhere a Bluetooth speaker pumps out a playlist of breezy, bass-heavy pop. Adam and Jamie shepherd the Thompsons to a pair of loungers near the water, then pile plates high with grilled shrimp, sliders, little skewers of cheese, and fruit.
“So,” Adam says, dropping into the lounger beside Becca, “how’s the new apartment?”
She tries to answer, but Jamie interrupts. “It’s tiny,” she says. “But adorable. I saw pictures.”
Taylor nods. “We like it. It’s got, uh, a lot of character.”
Adam raises an eyebrow, leaning in. “Translation: the neighbors fuck like animals and the walls are paper thin.”
Becca laughs, surprised by the bluntness, and Jamie cackles. “God, yes. We had a place like that in grad school. Our upstairs neighbor used to record herself for OnlyFans. The moans were... impressive.”
Taylor’s ears go red. “How do you even know—?”
Jamie grins. “Because I subscribed.”
Adam nearly chokes on his drink. “That’s my girl.”
The banter loosens Becca’s spine, and by the time she finishes her second glass of wine, she’s almost enjoying herself. She slips out of her sandals, tucks her legs beneath her, and lets the conversation wash over her. Adam makes sure her glass is never empty, and each time he refills it, his fingers brush hers, lingering just a beat too long.
She tells herself it’s nothing, that she’s just tipsy, but she can’t help noticing the way Adam’s eyes keep finding her. When Jamie suggests a dip in the pool, Becca protests—she didn’t bring a suit—but Jamie waves her off.
“You can borrow one of mine! I have at least a dozen in the cabana. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Adam winks. “She’s got a sixth sense for sizing people up. You’ll look incredible.”
Becca glances at Taylor, hoping for rescue, but he’s deep in conversation with Adam about some new brewery in town. Jamie takes her hand and tugs her toward the pool house, laughing.
Inside, it’s cool and shadowy, the shelves lined with towels, lotions, rows of swimwear in every color and cut. Jamie rifles through a few drawers, then pulls out a red two-piece. “This one’ll kill him,” she says, holding it up to Becca’s chest. “Try it on.”
Becca hesitates, but Jamie’s already unbuttoning her own cover-up, letting it fall to the floor. Her bikini is almost scandalously small, the triangles of fabric barely covering anything. “We’re all adults here,” Jamie says, voice softening. “Nobody’s judging.”
So Becca changes, self-conscious at first, but Jamie is unbothered, chatting the whole time about mutual friends and summer plans. When Becca emerges, Jamie whistles. “Holy shit. You could model.”
Becca blushes, but Jamie’s compliment feels genuine, not like the backhanded ones she sometimes gets from her sisters. Together, they head back out, Jamie with her arm slung around Becca’s waist.
Taylor is already in the water, splashing with Adam. When he sees Becca, his jaw drops. She’s never worn anything this revealing in public, but the look on Taylor’s face—shock, then pride, then naked hunger—makes her straighten up.
Adam does a slow, appreciative nod. “Wow. If I weren’t a married man...”
Jamie slaps his shoulder. “Down, boy.”
The next hour passes in a blur of cold drinks, pool games, and laughter. Adam and Jamie keep the Thompsons close, never letting them drift too far. When Becca climbs out of the pool, Adam is there with a towel, wrapping it around her shoulders, his hands lingering at her collarbone. “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, but his gaze is locked on her chest.
Jamie corners Taylor at the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water. She leans in, close enough that her wet hair drips onto his thigh. “You’re a good swimmer,” she says. “Strong arms.”
Taylor shrugs, bashful, but Jamie’s hand lands on his biceps, squeezing gently. “No, really. You look great.”
He grins, sheepish, and Jamie’s smile widens. “You should come by the club with us sometime. I bet Adam could teach you a thing or two.”
Taylor glances at Becca, who’s laughing at something Adam just whispered in her ear. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds... fun.”
The sun drops behind the fence, and lanterns strung across the yard flicker on, casting everything in a warm, honeyed light. Adam puts on more music, louder now, the bass thumping through the pool water. Guests start to peel away, but the Davenports make sure the Thompsons stay—refilling glasses, passing around shots, nudging them ever closer to the center of the party.
Eventually, it’s just the four of them, sprawled across loungers, tipsy and sun-dazed. Jamie lies back with her legs in Adam’s lap, and he absently massages her calves as they all talk. Becca and Taylor are curled together, but Adam’s attention never really leaves Becca. Every time she laughs, he leans in. Every time she blushes, he touches her arm, her back, the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck.
The night is cooling, but the pool is still warm, and so are they. After the last guest slurs a goodbye and staggers out the front gate, the Davenports shepherd the Thompsons back to the water, refilling glasses as they walk, and then all four stand at the edge, toes curled on tile, eyes bright in the afterglow of too much drink and sun and whatever this is between them.
Above, fireworks begin—first a distant pop, then a series of staccato bursts that paint the undersides of clouds in bruised pinks and radioactive blue. The sound trembles down through Becca’s bones, but the real tremor is in the air between her and Adam.
He’s been circling her all night: a touch on her shoulder here, a laugh that lingers too long there, the way his gaze rakes her body with the confidence of someone who’s already decided how the night will end.
Now, shirtless and dripping, Adam drifts toward her in the pool, his arms folded along the edge, his body so close she can feel the heat radiate off him, even through the water, until he’s so close, his thigh bumps Becca’s.
She stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away—instead, he lets his arm brush hers again, slow and deliberate.
“You know, Becca,” he murmurs, voice pitched so only she can hear, “I’ve always been captivated by the way you move. It’s incredibly alluring. The way your ass sways—it’s enough to make me want to explore every inch of you.”
The line drops into her ear like a stone. Becca turns, startled, and meets Adam’s gaze—steady, hungry, unashamed. Her cheeks flame.
“Oh? I... Thank you?” She hates how the words come out as a question. Her pulse hammerers in her throat, and suddenly she’s twelve again, caught in some prank she doesn’t understand.
Adam smiles, not unkindly, and lets his hand rest on her forearm, fingers tracing the line of her wrist. “You’re welcome,” he says, softer now. “I mean every word.”
Across the pool, Jamie is working her own magic. She’s slipped into the water beside Taylor and is tracing lazy circles on his shoulder, her nails grazing the fine hairs there. “Taylor, darling,” she says, mouth close enough to his ear that her breath stirs the baby curls at his nape, “has anyone ever told you how irresistible you look when you’re relaxed like this?”
Taylor flinches at the touch, but doesn’t move away. “N-no,” he manages, voice thin and brittle. “But thank you for saying it.”
Jamie’s fingers drift lower, splaying across Taylor’s chest, then back up, a gentle push-pull that makes him shudder. “It’s true,” she whispers. “You look good when you’re not trying so hard.”
Taylor looks away, but not before Becca sees the way his pupils have blown wide, the way his breath comes shallow and quick.
The couple exchange glances across the pool—a silent game of chicken, each side daring the other to look away first. Becca’s eyes meet Taylor’s, just for a heartbeat, and she sees her own confusion and excitement mirrored there. Is this really happening? Have they all agreed to it, or has the current simply swept them here?
Adam’s thigh presses lightly against Becca’s, the contact casual but deliberate. “You are graceful, you know,” he gestures at the empty yard, the floating detritus of the party, “you’re the only one who seems completely at ease.”
“Am I?” Becca wonders if the tremor in her voice is audible, if Adam can tell that her heart is jackhammering in her chest. She looks down, lets her toes skim the tile below, and realizes she’s drifted closer to him without meaning to.
“You have a way of making everything look effortless,” Adam says. “It’s a rare trait. You shouldn’t hide it.”
Becca feels her cheeks flame again. “You’re very good at saying nice things.”
Adam smiles, slow and wolfish. “Only when they’re true.”
She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She folds them on the ledge, then lets them dangle in the water, and then—just for a second—lets them float up, fingertips grazing Adam’s forearm. His skin is hot and rough, unexpected for someone so polished, and she feels a little shock at the contact.
On the far side of the pool, Jamie has wedged herself between Taylor and the steps, her body angled so she can pin him with her gaze and block his escape route. “You know what I love about you, Taylor?” she says, swirling her wine with one hand. “You’re real. No pretense. You’re like an open book.”
Taylor’s smile is tentative, but he doesn’t move away. “Most people say that’s a bad thing.”
Jamie shakes her head, wet hair flicking droplets across his cheek. “Not to me. I hate games. I like knowing what someone’s thinking, what they want.”
Taylor swallows, Adam’s hand tightening on Becca’s arm just as Jamie’s foot finds Taylor’s under the water. There is a long, charged silence, punctuated only by the echo of distant fireworks and the soft lapping of water against the tile.
Adam’s voice is softer now, almost intimate. “Do you ever think about what you want, Becca?” His face is close enough that she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the dark stubble on his jaw. “What do you really want?”
She shivers, not from cold but from something deeper. “Sometimes,” she says. “But I try not to think too hard about it.”
“Why not?”
She can’t look at him. “It’s easier to go with the flow. Less chance of messing things up.”
He smiles, reaching over to tuck a wet curl behind her ear. “Maybe you should try messing things up, just once. You might like it.”
She tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a gasp. “Is that what you’re doing tonight? Messing things up?”
Adam considers this, then shrugs, his shoulder brushing hers. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to see what happens when everyone stops pretending.”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. The water between them is suddenly very still.
At the other end of the pool, Jamie is in Taylor’s space now, her chin resting on the back of her hand, her eyes glittering in the dark. “You know, I always wondered what it would be like if we’d met first,” she says. “Do you think we would’ve gotten along?”
Taylor laughs, the sound tight and nervous. “Probably. I mean, you’re fun. And you don’t seem to mind that I’m awkward.”
“I like awkward,” Jamie says. “Awkward is honest.” She moves her hand over his, fingers tracing the lines of his knuckles, and Taylor doesn’t pull away. “Sometimes I think people are only themselves when they’re uncomfortable.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Taylor asks. “Making me uncomfortable?”
Jamie’s smile is slow and wicked. “Is it working?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. It is.”
Jamie leans in, the tip of her nose almost touching his. “Good.”
A firework explodes directly overhead, the crack echoing through the yard, and for a second, all four of them are illuminated in silver and red. Adam’s lips are inches from Becca’s, his hand on the small of her back, her body tensed and shivering in the heated water. On the steps, Jamie and Taylor’s faces are so close they seem to share the same breath.
The moment stretches, charged, and precarious. For the first time all night, Becca doesn’t think about what is supposed to happen next. She just lets herself float, suspended between the pull of Adam’s gaze and the awareness of Taylor watching her from across the pool, his eyes dark and hungry and a little bit scared.
She senses it—the point of no return looming before her. One part of her urges her to step back, to laugh it off, to make a quick escape to the bathroom and wait until the awkwardness fades. Yet another part of her is tempted to let go, to surrender to the tide she has been resisting all evening. She stands frozen, torn between these two impulses, uncertain of which path to choose.
Across the water, Jamie catches her eye and holds it, and Becca sees the devilish grin curving her lips, as if she is aware of the turmoil churning in Becca’s chest. Jamie arches an eyebrow, a silent dare as if to say, just let it happen.
Taylor’s hand tightens on the tile, his knuckles white. He looks at Becca, then at Adam, then at Jamie, and for a secon,d he thinks he might bolt. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath, and the air around them seems to thicken.
The next firework is quieter, but brighter, washing the pool in electric green. Adam’s hand slides further down Becca’s back, settling just above the curve of her ass. Jamie’s fingers lace with Taylor's, and she rests her head on his shoulder, her eyes never leaving Becca's.
Becca closes her eyes, letting the heat and the noise and the wild, liquid feeling in her chest wash over her. When she opens them again, Adam is still there, steady and patient, waiting for her to decide.
She doesn’t know what she wants. But she can’t stop herself from wanting to find out what would happen if she just lets herself go.
The night stretches on, the fireworks slower now, farther apart. The Davenports draw the Thompsons closer, conversation soft and intimate, the four of them a single knot in the middle of the dark, still water.
Every so often, Becca catches Taylor’s gaze, and she sees her own confusion and excitement mirrored there.
The air buzzes with ozone from the spent fireworks, and the last of the roman candles pop off somewhere down the block, the boom making Becca jump in Adam’s arms. She feels silly for reacting, but Adam only smiles, drawing her closer with a conspiratorial squeeze.
Jamie is the first to climb out of the water. She stands, unselfconscious, every curve of her bikini and skin gleaming wet under the security lights. “Round two?” she calls, voice husky from drink and chlorine, and Becca watches Taylor’s gaze follow the droplets running down Jamie’s thighs as she pads barefoot to the bar. He lingers for a second before hauling himself up after her, his swim trunks clinging to his body in a way that is suddenly, unmistakably sexual.
Becca looks away, embarrassed by her own voyeurism, but Adam only laughs, tracing a lazy circle around her wrist with his thumb. “You want another?” he asks, nodding toward the bar. She shakes her head, her stomach fluttering. She’s had enough of wine, of surprises, of pretending this is just another night.
Adam doesn’t press. Instead, he guides her to the shallow end, where they can sit on the sun-warmed steps, half-submerged, his arm draped behind her shoulders.
“You’re not like the others,” he says, voice dropping so low she has to lean in to hear him. “You know that, right?”
She tries to muster a smile. “What others?”
He shrugs, sending a little shudder through the water. “Most people who come here want something. To impress, to get ahead. You just want to be left alone.”
She lets herself laugh, but there’s a lump in her throat. “Maybe I’m just boring.”
Adam’s hand slides down, settling on her shoulder. “You’re not boring. You’re just... honest. I like that.”
She doesn’t know what to say. The compliment is disarming, but the way Adam’s hand lingers on her bare skin is even more so. She shivers again, and this time it isn’t the cold.
On the deck, Jamie pours two more drinks, then hands one to Taylor with a flourish. “To freedom,” she says, tapping his glass. Her wet fingers leave glistening prints on his as she wraps both their hands around the drink, holding it steady while he takes a long gulp.
Taylor tries to joke, but his voice wobbles. “Should I be nervous?”
Jamie grins, her teeth perfect and a little predatory. “Only if you want to be.”
She sets her glass down and leans in, her shoulder pressed against Taylor’s, their knees touching. “You know, I always thought Becca was the wild one.”
Taylor snorts. “Becca’s never been wild. She doesn’t even jaywalk.”
Jamie’s fingers trace the rim of her glass. “So what about you, Taylor? Ever do anything crazy?”
Taylor hesitates, then shakes his head. “I mean... no. Not really.”
Jamie makes a little tsk. “Maybe tonight’s the night you learn how.”
She says it as a joke, but there’s an edge to it, a promise. Taylor blushes, the color high and sharp on his cheeks, and Becca sees the way Jamie looks at him—not just with amusement, but with hunger.
Adam shifts behind Becca, hands moving up to her shoulders, thumbs pressing gentle circles into the knots there. She stiffens, but he doesn’t stop.
"You seem tense," he says, the smile audible in his voice. "Why don't you let me help you relax?"
Before she can protest, Adam's hands begin to knead her muscles, slow and deliberate, his fingers warm and strong against her bare skin. She tries to focus on the fireworks, on the conversation above them, but Adam's touch is a revelation—firm, confident, and so intimate it makes her dizzy.
"Does that feel good?" Adam says.
She hesitates, her mind ping-ponging between terror and want. Then she nods, so slight she isn't sure he's seen it.
Adam's hands are warm and firm, kneading the muscles at the base of her neck, thumbs working out the knots with practiced ease. Becca tries to focus on the pool lights, on the sound of Jamie's laughter, but Adam's touch is a drug—every pass of his hands sends a jolt straight to her core. She lets herself melt, just a little, and feels him smile against her cheek.
Jamie has moved behind Taylor now, her arms draped over his shoulders. She leans in, pressing her breasts to his back, her voice low and syrupy. "You know, you're allowed to touch me, too," she purrs.
Taylor looks helplessly at Becca, searching for permission or rescue, but finds neither. Becca watches, transfixed, as Jamie guides Taylor's hands, until his palms fan over her thigh under the water. Jamie whispers in a slow exhale, over the top of his ear, "Mmm, yes. Isn't that much better?"
Becca is getting caught up in it, the way Jamie's boldness makes her own skin tingle, the way Taylor's uncertain fumbling mirrors her own trembling insides. She wants to look away, but watching is its own kind of pleasure, and she lets herself fall into it, headfirst.
She feels Adam's hands slow, then stop, his mouth close to her ear. "You like watching," he murmurs, lips right at her ear. It isn't a question.
Becca's breath hitches. She should deny it, but her body betrays her, shivering as Adam's hands continue their slow, delicious assault. His mouth brushes the curve of her shoulder, and her pulse stutters.
Adam's hands drift down, settling at the small of her back, pulling her closer. Becca's body fits against his, and she can feel every hard line, every twitch of muscle. His mouth finds her neck, a soft kiss just below her jaw, and she gasps—more from surprise than anything else.
"Seeing your husband like this is turning you on, isn't it?" Adam murmurs, his voice rumbling through her.
Becca swallows hard. She's sure Adam can feel the way her body tenses, the way her thighs flex under the water. She wants to say "no," but she's afraid of how truthful her "yes" would sound.
Adam nuzzles closer, his voice a dare in her ear, "I want you to let go, Becca. Let yourself want this."
His hands slide lower, tracing the curve of her waist, stopping just above the waistband of her bikini bottoms. He presses a kiss to her collarbone, then another, each one lower than the last. Becca shiverers, her whole body humming.
On the steps, Jamie has turned Taylor to face her, his knees on either side of his lap. She cups his face in both hands, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. Looking deep into his eyes, she says, “I want you, Taylor,” and kisses him—soft, then harder, her tongue flicking out to taste him. Taylor hesitates, then kisses her back, his hands coming up to grip her hips under the water.
The married couple’s eyes meet again, this time with something like awe. Becca smiles at Taylor, and he smiles back, their faces flushed and open. There is no turning back now, no pretending this is just an accident.
Adam’s hand moves down, cupping Becca’s ass through the thin fabric. She arches into him, and he groans, the sound vibrating against her skin. His fingers dig in, not roughly, but possessively, and Becca feels herself throb in response.
“You’re perfect,” Adam whispers. “Do you know that?”
Becca shakes her head, laughing softly. “I’m really not.”
“You are,” he insists, kissing her again, this time on the mouth. She lets him, lets herself be kissed, and finds she likes it—likes the way Adam tastes, the way his hands make her feel both safe and reckless.
Jamie and Taylor are a tangle of limbs now, Jamie grinding against him in the shallow water, Taylor’s hands roaming freely over her body. Jamie moans, loud enough that Becca hears it even over the rush of blood in her ears.
Adam breaks the kiss, his forehead pressed to hers. “You want to keep going?” he asks.
Becca looks at Taylor, at Jamie, at the blue-lit water swirling around them. She nods, her heart pounding so hard it hurts.
“I want to see what happens next,” she says.
Adam grins, his hands squeezing her ass. “Me too.”
They drift together, the four of them, closer than before, the air heavy with want. For a long time, they just float, touching and kissing and watching each other, each new contact a dare, a promise, a step further into the unknown.
It is terrifying. It is thrilling. It is exactly what they all want.
The line between friend and lover blurs in the heat, until there is nothing left but bodies, breath, and the slow, inexorable drift toward something unspeakable. They circle each other in the pool, sometimes touching, sometimes just watching, their voices gone soft and urgent in the hush of the backyard.
Adam’s hand, never quite still, trails from Becca’s shoulder down to her elbow, then skims the inside of her forearm. He grazes her skin with his knuckles, each pass lingering longer. The goose bumps rise instantly.
He leans in, his mouth close enough to her ear that she feels the vibration before she hears the words. “I’m not sure, but isn’t there something irresistibly intimate about the air tonight?”
Becca lets out a nervous laugh, which Adam catches with his hand, his palm light but insistent across her lips. He stares at her, unblinking, his pupils wide in the blue glow of the pool lights. She shudders, the heat building in her chest, spreading downward in a slow, greedy burn. She wants to say something, but her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. Instead, she nods, hoping the gesture will be enough.
Jamie, on the far steps with Taylor, ups her game. She straddles him more openly, her hips perched above his, her arms draped around his neck. She lets her hands play across his shoulders, nails scoring faint red lines down his back.
Jamie’s voice is honey and smoke: “You know, now that you mention it, it does feel that way. Almost as if it’s inviting us to indulge in our most hidden fantasies.”
Taylor’s breath catches so loudly that Becca hears it across the water. He tries to laugh it off, but Jamie just presses in closer, her thigh sliding up until it presses against his, skin on skin, hot and slick beneath the water.
Becca watches as Taylor’s hand, tentative at first, comes to rest on Jamie’s thigh, just above the knee. He squeezes, not quite believing the firmness of the muscle, the give of her flesh. Jamie rewards him with a wicked smile, then dips her head and bites his ear—not hard, but enough to make him jerk in surprise.
On Becca’s side, Adam’s fingers have migrated to her waist, his thumb tracing the soft hollow above her bikini bottoms. He doesn’t ask permission; he just moves, slow and inevitable, like gravity.
“You ever wonder,” he says, lips brushing her neck, “what would happen if you just stopped resisting for a night?”
Becca doesn’t know if he is talking about her, or himself, or all of them. She doesn’t care. She lets her head fall to the side, exposing her throat, and Adam takes the invitation gladly, his mouth warm and wet against her skin. She gasps, the sound embarrassingly loud, but Adam only smiles and bites her gently, his teeth scraping a line up to her ear.
The pool water is rippling around their bodies, echoing every shiver and twitch. Chlorine mingles with the tang of sweat, the sharp bite of alcohol, the faint sweetness of Jamie’s perfume. Becca’s senses are overloading; all she can do is feel.
Jamie’s hand is snaking along Taylor’s shoulder, her nails tracing the line of his collarbone before dipping below the water. Taylor’s eyes are fluttering shut, his lips parted.
“You can touch me,” Jamie whispers, her voice so low it barely exists. “Anywhere you want.”
Taylor’s hand is sliding up, over Jamie’s hip, then around to her back, fingers splaying as if to anchor himself. Jamie’s arms are tightening, and she is pressing herself against him, chest to chest, her bikini top doing nothing to hide the hard peaks of her nipples.
Taylor shudders, and Becca can see the ripple of arousal through his body, his knuckles whitening as he clings to the pool edge.
Becca’s own breathing is growing shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling in time with Adam’s hands. He’s moved behind her, his body pressed along her back, one hand resting low on her abdomen, just above the line of her bikini. The other hand is sliding up, cupping her breast, thumb flicking over the fabric and then, daringly, the swollen tip beneath.
Becca moans, the sound ripped from her without warning. She tries to clamp her mouth shut, but Adam’s hand is already there, muffling the sound, his fingers splayed over her jaw.
“You’re beautiful when you let go,” Adam says, his voice rough.
Becca melts into him, her body yielding to the pressure of his hands, the insistent grind of his erection against her lower back. She reaches down, under the water, and finds him—hard and eager, straining against the thin fabric of his trunks. She squeezes, and Adam’s breath hitches, his hands tightening on her body.
On the steps, Jamie and Taylor are lost in their own world of depravity. Jamie’s bikini top is gone, floating somewhere in the pool, her tits bare and glistening under the soft blue light. Taylor’s mouth is latched onto one nipple, his tongue flicking and sucking with a hunger that borders on obsession. Jamie’s head is thrown back, her hair fanning out in the water, her hand tangled in Taylor’s hair as she guides him to her other breast. Her free hand is stroking his arm, her nails digging into his skin as she urges him on.
Becca watches, her pussy clenching with envy and arousal. She’s never seen Taylor like this—so primal, so desperate. It’s intoxicating. She feels a surge of pride, mixed with something darker and more dangerous: jealousy, or perhaps just the thrill of being watched.
Adam’s lips find her ear again, his breath hot and ragged. “You like seeing him like that?” he whispers, his voice thick with lust. “You like watching him fuck her?”
Becca nods, her hand still working his cock under the water. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water sloshing around them.
Adam’s hand slips beneath her bikini bottoms, his fingers parting her slick folds with ease. She is so wet, her pussy dripping with need. He moves slowly at first, just teasing, his fingers brushing over her clit in lazy circles. But when Becca arches her hips back into him, he plunges two fingers inside her, curling them to find that sweet spot that makes her see stars.
“Fuck!” Becca gasps, her body tensing as pleasure shoots through her like a bolt of lightning. She bites down on Adam’s hand, hard, but he only laughs, his breath hot against her cheek.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, his fingers moving faster now, fucking her with a rhythm that has her trembling. “You want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Becca moans, her voice breaking as the pleasure builds and builds, threatening to consume her. “Please, Adam. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. His fingers work her pussy with ruthless precision, his other hand pinning her against him as she comes apart.
“Oh… fffuuucccckkk…” she gasps, while her body shakes with the force of her orgasm, her pussy clenching around his fingers as she rides out the waves of pleasure. Adam holds her through it, his fingers never stopping, his cock still hard and throbbing against her ass.
When she finally slumps against him, spent and trembling, Adam kisses her temple, then her cheek, then her lips. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive.
On the steps, Jamie is grinding against Taylor, her hand guiding his cock beneath the water, lining him up with her dripping pussy. She pauses, just for a second, and looks straight at Becca—a challenge, or an invitation, or maybe both. Then she sinks down, taking Taylor inside her with a single, smooth motion. Taylor groans, his hands clamping onto Jamie’s hips as she begins to ride him, her tits bouncing with every thrust.
Becca watches, stunned, as Jamie fucks Taylor in the warm, blue-lit water. She can’t look away. Adam’s hand is still between her legs, his cock hard and insistent against her ass.
“You want more?” Adam asks, his voice dark and dangerous.
Becca nods, her body already craving him again. “Yes. Please.”
He turns her around, so they are face to face, and kisses her hard, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a hunger that matches her own. His hands yank down her bikini bottoms, leaving her naked from the waist down. He guides her to the steps, where Jamie and Taylor are still locked together, oblivious to anything but each other. Adam pulls off his own trunks, then lifts Becca onto his lap, her legs straddling his.
He enters her in one smooth thrust, filling her completely. Becca gasps, the sensation overwhelming, and clings to Adam’s shoulders. He moves slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of Jamie and Taylor a few steps away.
They are close enough to touch, to see every gasp and tremor, every shudder of pleasure. Becca reaches out, her hand finding Jamie’s, and their fingers tangle together, slick with water and sweat and come.
For a moment, they all move as one, four bodies joined by need and want and the reckless urge to see how far they can go.
The pool water rocks around them, sloshing over the edge, the sound a perfect counterpoint to their ragged breaths and the slap of skin on skin. The air smells of chlorine and sex, the taste of it sharp on Becca’s tongue.
Adam's fingers dig into the supple flesh of her ass, guiding her rhythmically up and down his rigid shaft. Every thrust surges through her body, a raw, electric pleasure that teeters on the edge of sweet agony. Becca's head lolls back, her hair cascading over the water's surface as she teeters on the brink of climax. Her cries of ecstasy echo, a primal scream of impending release.
“Fuck me Adam! Fuck me harder!”
Adam’s hands grip harder, thumbs spreading her cheeks as he hammers up into her, the slap-slap-slap amplified in the still, night air. Becca claws at his wet shoulders, her nails leaving red crescents, her body riding the ragged knife edge of bliss and overload. She is vaguely aware of Jamie and Taylor beside her, Jamie’s voice a breathless, feral chant, Taylor answering with low moans and the hollow, desperate pant of a man drowning in want. But mostly it is Adam: his cock splitting her open, his hands greedily mapping her body, his mouth swallowing her cries with greedy, hungry kisses.
He pulls her down, forehead to forehead, his breath hot on her lips. “You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he demands, and Becca—shocked at the certainty in his voice, at the way her body quakes with need—can only nod, a whimper shivering out of her.
“Cum for me Becca. Show your husband how hard I can make you cum!”
Becca’s body convulses, muscles ripping taut as a livewire, the orgasm tearing through her so abruptly she almost blacks out. Her mouth opens and a shriek spills from deep in her belly, raw and wild and utterly unguarded. She can feel herself milking Adam’s cock, spasms wringing every last nerve as she clings to him, nails digging bloody furrows in his back.
He doesn’t let up. He keeps thrusting, relentless, the head of his cock battering her insides, his arms tight around her waist so she can’t even think of escaping. It is too much, too good, and even as the aftershocks make her twitch and sob, the friction flares her nerves all over again. She bites his shoulder, tasting salt and sun and the faint metallic tang of her own blood from where she’s cut her lip on his jaw. It grounds her, and for a second, she is nothing but sensation—a trembling vessel for Adam’s desire, a thing to be used and filled and worshipped.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jamie’s head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream as Taylor’s hands crush her breasts, his face buried against her chest. Jamie’s hips piston, water sluicing off her skin in diamond arcs, and when she comes, her whole body goes rigid, spine arched like a bow. Taylor clings to her, helpless, lost, and Becca feels his desperation like a fire across her own skin.
Adam’s hand finds its way between Becca’s legs, thumb pressing hard on her clit even as his cock batters her walls. The second orgasm hits harder than the first, a blinding white heat that makes her see stars behind her eyelids. She screams, not caring who hears, not caring if the neighbors or the whole fucking city catches a glimpse of what she’s doing, who she has become in this moment.
Adam’s cock is still hard inside her, and he isn’t done. He flips Becca onto her hands and knees on the steps, his hands gripping her hips as he slams into her from behind. The sound of their bodies colliding echoes through the pool area, mingling with Jamie’s moans and Taylor’s grunts.
T Becca’s pussy is so fucking tight around him, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She reaches back, grabbing Adam’s thigh for support as he fucks her harder, deeper. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her nipples hard and sensitive against the cool night air.
“Fuck me,” Becca begs, her voice hoarse with need. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Adam obliges, his hips slamming into hers with a force that has her screaming his name. He reaches around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles as he fucks her. The dual sensation is too much—Becca comes again, her pussy clenching around Adam’s cock as she screams into the night.
Adam follows her over the edge, his cock pulsing inside her as he fills her with his cum. They collapse onto the steps, their bodies tangled together as they catch their breath.
Jamie and Taylor finish seconds later, Jamie’s cries echoing off the water, Taylor’s face twisted in blissful agony. They cling to each other, trembling, then slide down the steps to float in the shallows, limbs tangled.
For a long time, none of them speak. They just lie there, the water cooling around them, the world reduced to the thrum of their hearts and the slow return of breath.
But even then, the heat between them doesn’t fade. It is only a matter of time before they are at it again, because when it comes to this kind of depravity, there is no such thing as enough.
Adam is the first to move. He stands up, the water cascading off his body, his cock still half-hard and glistening. He offers Becca his hand, and she takes it, letting him pull her upright as if she were something precious and breakable. She blinks, lightheaded, her body a mess of aftershocks and trembling. Adam’s arms wrap around her, hoisting her up so her legs circle his hips. He kisses her, slow and deep, then carries her to the edge of the pool and sets her down on the warm concrete.
She sprawls there, legs splayed, her pussy swollen and raw, Adam’s cum dripping out of her and pooling beneath her ass. The air is cool on her skin, and she shivers, but she doesn’t reach for a towel. She wants to feel everything.
Jamie and Taylor follow, Taylor supporting Jamie as she climbs out of the pool with a sort of drunken grace. Jamie is still topless, and she makes no effort to hide it, her breasts proud and perfect, nipples still hard from the cool air and the force of her climax. Taylor, dazed and blinking, stares in open worship, his hands hovering as if unsure whether he is allowed to touch her now that the spell is broken. Jamie catches his uncertainty and, wicked as ever, takes his hands and places them firmly on her hips.
“Don’t look so rattled,” she coos, slumping into his lap and licking a stray droplet of chlorine from his jaw. “You did great, baby. You kept up.”
Taylor blushes so fiercely his whole body goes blotchy, but he doesn't let go. He looks at Becca, at the way she sprawls on the poolside like a pagan sacrifice, and something in his expression shifts. He is shy, but he is hungry too. Maybe that's what Jamie likes in him—the contrast, the challenge.
Becca catches Taylor's gaze and doesn't look away. Instead, she widens her legs further, showing him everything: the bruise blooming on her thigh, the red bite mark at her hip, the glossy slick between her lips. Taylor's eyes flick from her face to her cunt and back again, not hiding the awe or the hunger. He runs his tongue over his lips, like he could taste her from where he sits, and the gesture sends a fresh throb of want up Becca's spine.
Adam kneels beside her and licks a lazy path from her navel to her breast, his tongue hot and possessive. He circles her nipple with his mouth, biting down just enough to make her gasp, then kisses up her throat until their mouths meet again.
Jamie watches them with a lazy grin, her hand rubbing slow circles on Taylor's bare chest. “You know, I'm not sure who had more fun tonight,” she drawls. “But it's definitely not over.”
Taylor's eyes dart to Jamie’s, his mouth slack in a crooked, disbelieving smile. He touches her face, almost reverently, then runs his hands down to her breasts, cupping them as if they could vanish any second. Jamie laughs and leans into his touch, grinding her ass against his lap, her head thrown back in mock ecstasy.
Adam, never one to shy away from a sexual dare, pushes Becca's legs further apart as he positions himself above her. The cold, unyielding concrete chafes against her bare ass, but the harsh sensation only serves to heighten her arousal, making her hips buck upward, eager for what is to come. Adam's cock is already rock-hard again, and he teases her, rubbing his length along her soaked pussy lips, coating himself in her wetness as she moans shamelessly, desperate for more. He enters her slowly this time, stretching her open centimeter by centimeter, allowing her to feel every vein and ridge of his cock as he buries himself deep inside her.
Jamie sees the show and gives Taylor’s cock a playful squeeze. “Ready for another round?” she whispers with a throaty laugh. Jamie wastes no time before straddling him, her bare tits bouncing as she eases herself down over him again. Taylor’s hands fly to her hips, gripping tight, knuckles white with frantic need.
Becca and Adam watch, riveted, as Jamie rides Taylor with animal grace, her back arching, her mouth open in a silent howl. Taylor’s head lolls back, eyes fluttering, but he is in another world, lost to sensation and the dizzying spectacle of Jamie’s body working his. She leans in, grabbing his face, kissing him so hard their teeth clack together, and then rakes her nails down his chest, leaving angry red tracks in their wake.
“ Adam, not to be outdone, drives into Becca with a slow, punishing rhythm, his hands never still—one gripping her thigh, the other sliding up her flank, over her ribs, cradling her breast as if it belongs to him. He bends close, his mouth hot at her ear. “You love being watched, don’t you?” he murmurs, voice a confessional hiss. “You want everyone to see what a good little slut you are for me.”
Becca’s mind reels, the word sparking another wet rush from deep inside her. The shame, the pride, the animal want—all braided together and making her ache for him, for this, for the four of them locked in a spiral of pleasure and need. She braces herself on the concrete, knees splayed wide, and rocks back against his cock with every thrust, her breath coming in gasps.
“Look at them,” Adam urges, tilting her chin toward Jamie and Taylor. “Look at the way they’re fucking.”
Becca obeys, vision blurring as she watches the couple opposite. Jamie is wild, clawing at Taylor’s shoulders, her nails digging half-moons into his flesh, her hips pistoning in a blur. Taylor’s face is a mask of desperation and awe, lips parted, hands holding on for dear life as Jamie rides him mercilessly. Their bodies are slick with water and sweat, the slap of skin on skin rhythmic and obscene.
Adam pounds Becca with short, brutal thrusts, his cock hitting deep places that almost border on pain, but she revels in it, wanting more, needing more. Every time she peaks, he keeps her right there, suspended on the edge, never letting her fall all the way off the cliff. Instead, he’ll shift, grind, bite a trail up her throat, and then back off, making her beg for release.
“Please,” Becca whimpers, her voice raw. She tries to wrap her legs around Adam’s body, but he forces them back down, spreading her wider, keeping her on display.
“You’ll come when I let you,” Adam growls, his tone slipping between threat and promise. He pins her wrists to the concrete, looming over her, sweat and water dripping from his jaw onto her lips. Becca writhes beneath him, helpless and hungry. She searches for Taylor across the pool, and when she finds his face, she sees the same raw need mirrored in his eyes.
Taylor’s mouth works wordlessly at the sight of Becca, so utterly taken. Jamie catches the look, laughs, and leans in close “Does it turn you on?” she whispers, pressing her tits to Taylor’s chest as she grinds down on his cock. “Knowing your wife is getting split open right in front of you?”
Taylor nods, shuddering, and Jamie kisses him, deep and messy, tongue claiming his mouth. She rides him harder, each thrust timed to Adam’s punishing rhythm, their bodies moving in obscene, perfect counterpoint. Becca watches, moaning, as Jamie throws her head back, a ragged gasp escaping as she bounces on Taylor’s cock, her glistening cunt swallowing him whole with every downward thrust. She is on fire, hips pounding, hands braced on Taylor’s shoulders as she fucks him with a wildness that borders on violence. Taylor tries to keep up, tries to match her relentless need, but Jamie is a force of nature—untamable, insatiable, every nerve ending lit up with pleasure and hunger.
"Fuck, Jamie, I—" Taylor moans, his hands grasping her ass, fingers digging into soft flesh as he tries to ground himself in the reality of her body. He is seconds from cumming, the pressure in his balls mounting with every slick, obscene thrust.
Jamie claws his chest, leaving a lattice of red lines in her wake. "Not yet," she snarls, her voice guttural, barely human. She wants to savor this, wants to make it last.
Adam's grip on Becca tightens, his cock never slowing as he pounds away, and he brings his mouth to her ear once more. "You want to come now, slut?" he whispers, voice so low it's almost a growl. "You want your husband to see how perfect you are when you break?"
Becca can't find words, just claws his back and nods, a mess of sweat and tears and lust. Adam pounds into her harder, the slap of his balls against her ass a raw, wet percussion. "Come," Adam commands, his teeth biting hard at her neck. "Now."
She comes again, harder than before. Her pussy pulses, a brutal, endless aftershock, every muscle wracked as she buckles and sobs beneath Adam's weight. Somewhere in the haze, she hears Taylor's voice, a hoarse shout, and sees Jamie's body convulse, the two of them peaking in perfect, animal tandem, every sound raw and triumphant.
Adam keeps fucking Becca through her orgasm, never letting up, soaking up the tight, spasming grip of her cunt until he finally reaches his own edge. He slams into her one last time, so deep Becca thinks he'll split her in two, and then he comes—hot and thick, filling her until she can feel it leaking out around his cock. Adam groans, a sound so raw and triumphant it sends a fresh aftershock through Becca's body. He collapses on top of her, pinning her to the concrete, both of them panting in the humid night air.
Jamie and Taylor are spent too, bodies tangled at the pool's edge, Jamie draped over him like a wet, satisfied cat. She rakes her fingers through Taylor's hair, nuzzling his cheek, her laughter low and delirious. Taylor looks half-broken, half-sublime, eyes glazed with exhaustion and awe. His cock is still twitching inside Jamie, softer now, but the intimacy of it is almost sweeter than the violence from before.
Becca blinks up at the sky. The last of the fireworks had faded to nothing, but the stars overhead burn steadily, indifferent to the depravity below. The pool lights cast everything in dreamlike blue, and Becca's limbs feel weightless, unreal. She is ruined, but in the best way—a cathedral torn down, rebuilt into something holy by desire.
Becca smiles, exhausted and happy. She looks at Taylor, at Jamie, at Adam, and feels something new—something like pride, something like love.
They cross a line, yes. But it doesn't feel wrong. It feels inevitable.
Above them, the sky is empty of fireworks. But in the water, the afterimages linger—bright, wild, impossible to ignore.
The night is theirs, and they let themselves drift, side by side, into whatever comes next.
