Chapter 12: Caught in the Act
The library was quiet in the way that only libraries could be—not silent, exactly, but muffled. The sound of pages turning. The distant hum of a printer. The soft click of a keyboard somewhere on the second floor.
Miri sat in her usual corner.
Third floor. Behind the medieval history section. A table tucked between shelves so tall they blocked out the fluorescent lights, leaving her in a pool of warm lamplight. It was her spot. Had been since freshman year.
She'd been there for three hours.
Three hours.
And she hadn't read a single page.
The books were stacked beside her—The Plantagenets, A History of Medieval Warfare, The Book of Margery Kempe—all untouched. Her laptop was open, cursor blinking on an empty document. Her coffee had gone cold two hours ago.
She couldn't stop thinking about him.
It was pathetic. She knew it was pathetic. She was a twenty-year-old woman with a brain that had gotten her into every honors class she'd ever applied for, and she was sitting in a library daydreaming about a boy like some lovesick teenager.
But god.
The way he'd touched her.
The way he'd looked at her.
The way his voice had gone low and rough when he'd said her name, like it was something sacred, something worth protecting.
She shifted in her chair.
Her thighs pressed together under the table, and she felt it—that dull, pleasant ache that hadn't faded. The reminder of what they'd done. What he'd done to her.
She'd never felt like this before.
Never understood why people wrote poems about it, sang songs about it, started wars over it. She'd always thought it was exaggerated. Romanticized. That sex was probably fine, but not transformative.
She'd been wrong.
So wrong.
She reached for her coffee, took a sip, grimaced at the cold bitterness. She should get up. Get a refill. Do something other than sit here and replay the memory of Leo's mouth on her neck, his hands on her hips, his cock—
"Hey."
She jumped.
Leo stood at the edge of the table, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a paper cup. He was wearing a gray hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp like he'd just showered. He looked soft. Comfortable. Like he belonged in a catalog for things she couldn't afford.
"Hi," she managed.
"Can I sit?"
She nodded.
He slid into the chair across from her, setting the cup down between them. Steam curled from the lid.
"I brought you coffee," he said. "Figured you'd need it."
"How did you know I was here?"
"Chloe."
"Of course."
"She said you'd been here since noon. Said you looked like you were having a crisis." He tilted his head. "Are you?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I'm—" She stopped. Sighed. "I'm fine. I just couldn't focus."
"On what?"
She gestured at the books. "Medieval stuff. The usual."
"Uh-huh." He didn't look convinced. "And what were you actually thinking about?"
She felt her cheeks warm.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm not—"
"You're blushing."
She covered her face with her hands.
"Leo."
"What?" He was grinning. She could hear it in his voice. "I'm just asking a question."
She dropped her hands.
"You know what I was thinking about."
"Do I?"
"You're insufferable."
"I've been called worse."
She laughed despite herself. It came out breathless, nervous, embarrassingly eager. She hated how easily he did that—how easily he could make her forget she was supposed to be smart and careful and guarded.
He leaned back in his chair.
His arm found the back of hers.
Not touching. Just... there. Close.
She could smell him—soap and cologne and something underneath that was just him. She wanted to lean into it. Wanted to close her eyes and breathe him in.
"So," he said. "This is your spot."
"What?"
"The library. This table. This is where you hide."
"I don't hide."
"You hide." He gestured at the shelves. "Third floor. Medieval history. The most obscure corner of the most obscure section. It's a fortress."
"It's quiet."
"It's a bunker." He smiled. "I like it."
She looked at him.
"You do?"
"Yeah. It's you. Books and quiet and a thousand years of dead people."
"That's—that's actually kind of accurate."
"I'm smarter than I look."
She snorted.
"Doubtful."
"Ouch."
"You know what I mean."
He laughed. Low and warm. She felt it in her chest.
They sat in silence for a moment. Not awkward—comfortable. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
Then Leo leaned in.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he said.
Her breath caught.
"Leo—"
"I'm serious." His voice dropped. Quieter. Rougher. "I've been thinking about it all day. You. That dress. The way you looked when I—"
He stopped.
"Someone might hear."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"Should I?" He leaned closer. His breath brushed her ear. "Because I keep thinking about you bent over my desk. In my jersey. With those fuzzy pink socks."
She shivered.
"Leo."
"And the sounds you made." His hand found her knee under the table. Squeezed. "The way you said my name."
"We're in a library."
"I know."
"There are people—"
"Third floor. Medieval history. No one comes here." His thumb traced a circle on her knee. "You said so yourself."
She couldn't breathe.
"Leo."
"What?"
"I—" She swallowed. "I have an outfit at home."
He pulled back.
Just enough to look at her.
"Yeah?"
"At home. In my closet. Something I bought and never wore."
"What kind of outfit?"
"The kind that would drive you mad."
His jaw tightened.
"Let's go."
She grabbed her bag.
She didn't bother with the books.
They didn't speak on the way out.
The library doors swung open, then shut. The cool night air hit her face—sharp and clean, a relief after the stale warmth of the stacks. Leo's hand found hers. His palm was rough and warm.
His car was parked in the faculty lot.
He opened her door. She climbed in. The leather seats were cold against her legs, and she realized she was still wearing her baggy jeans, her loose sweater, her usual armor.
Not for long.
The drive took twelve minutes.
She counted.
Leo drove fast, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. He didn't talk. Neither did she. The silence was thick, electric, loaded with everything they weren't saying.
The house was dark when they pulled up.
Empty.
Chloe's car was gone. Jess's too.
Miri's heart pounded.
Leo killed the engine.
"Your roommates?"
"Out."
"Good."
They walked up the path together. Her hands were shaking when she unlocked the door.
The house smelled like vanilla and old wood. A lamp in the living room cast soft shadows. Somewhere, a clock ticked.
Leo closed the door behind them.
His hands found her waist.
His mouth found hers.
She dropped her bag.
He kissed her like he'd been starving for it—hungry, desperate, all tongue and teeth and heat. She grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he groaned against her lips.
"Upstairs," she breathed.
They made it to her room.
Barely.
His shirt came off in the doorway. Hers somewhere down the hall. She kicked off her shoes, peeled off her socks, and then—
"Wait."
He stopped. Looked at her.
"What?"
"Give me a minute."
She slipped behind her wardrobe door.
Her room was small—bed, desk, bookshelves overflowing. A window that looked out onto the street. Posters of medieval castles and old maps pinned to the walls.
She reached into the back of her closet.
The clothing was hidden in a garment bag. She'd bought it six months ago, after a night of too much wine and too much self-pity. She'd never worn it. Never even tried it on.
She did now.
White thigh-high socks.
Nothing else.
Except her glasses.
She looked at herself in the mirror on the back of her door.
She didn't look like herself.
She looked...
Beautiful.
Then she stepped out.
Leo was sitting on the edge of her bed.
His shirt was gone, and she could see the muscles in his shoulders, his chest, the way his abs rippled when he turned toward her. He was still in his sweatpants. His hair was a mess.
He looked at her.
And went still.
"Fuck."
She didn't move.
"You like it?"
"Like it?" He stood. Slowly. "Miri, I—"
He shook his head.
"You're so beautiful."
The words hit her like a punch.
She'd heard it before. From her mom. From Chloe. But not like this. Not from him. Not when she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but socks and glasses, her body on display, her heart in her throat.
"You mean it?"
"I mean it." He stepped closer. "I've been meaning to tell you. I should have told you sooner."
"What?"
"That you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
She swallowed.
"You don't have to—"
"I'm not lying." He reached for her. His hand cupped her cheek. "I've been with a lot of girls. You know that. But I've never—I've never felt like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I don't want to look at anyone else."
She kissed him.
Or he kissed her. She couldn't tell anymore. Their mouths met, and everything else fell away.
His hands slid down her back. Her hips. Her thighs.
He lifted her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock was hard against her, pressing through his sweatpants, and she moaned at the feel of it.
"Bed," she whispered.
He laid her down.
The sheets were cool. His body was warm. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. She arched into him, gasping.
"I want—" She stopped.
"What do you want?"
"You." She pulled his face up. "I want to ride your face."
His eyes went dark.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He rolled onto his back.
She straddled his chest.
Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of his head, and she looked down at him—at his sharp jaw, his full lips, the way his hands found her thighs.
"You sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure."
She lowered herself.
His mouth was hot.
His tongue found her clit, and she gasped, her hands flying to the headboard. He licked up, down, in circles, and her hips bucked against him.
"Fuck," she breathed.
He groaned against her.
She started to move.
Slow at first. Rocking. Grinding. His hands on her ass, holding her steady, pulling her closer. She rode his tongue like she'd been doing it for years, not minutes. Like she'd been born for this.
"Leo—"
He sucked her clit.
She cried out.
"Right there—don't stop—"
He didn't.
His tongue worked her over—fast then slow, hard then soft, until she was shaking, until her thighs clamped around his head, until she came with a sob.
She collapsed onto his chest.
He kissed her hip.
"Good?"
"Shut up."
He laughed. Low and smug.
She slapped his arm.
Then she reached for his sweatpants.
He kicked them off. His cock sprang free—thick, hard, already glistening at the tip. She stared at it for a moment. Then she reached down and wrapped her fingers around it.
He hissed.
"Fuck."
She stroked him.
Once. Twice.
"Did you think about this?" she asked.
"About what?"
"Me. Touching you."
"Every second."
She let go.
Then she climbed on top of him.
His hands found her hips. She positioned herself. Lowered.
He slid inside her.
Slow. So slow. She felt every inch, every vein, every ridge. Her body stretched around him, and it burned, and it felt so fucking good.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
"You okay?"
"More than okay."
She moved.
Up. Down. Her hips finding a rhythm. His eyes on her face. His hands on her breasts. Her glasses fogging up.
"Fuck, Miri—"
"You like that?"
"I love it."
"Tell me."
"I love it. I love the way you feel. I love the way you move. I love—"
She leaned down.
Kissed him.
He grabbed her ass.
She rode him harder. Faster. The headboard slammed against the wall. The world narrowed to the feeling of him inside her, filling her, stretching her, making her forget everything except his name.
"Leo—"
"I know."
"I'm gonna—"
"Me too."
"Come with me."
"Fuck—"
She shattered.
And a second later, so did he.
His hips jerked. His hands tightened. He groaned, low and long, and she felt it—pulse after pulse, hot and wrong and perfect.
She collapsed on top of him.
They lay there.
Both of them gasping.
Her heart was pounding. His too. She could feel it under her ear.
"Jesus Christ," he said.
She laughed.
"I know."
"That was—"
"I know."
He wrapped his arms around her.
Pulled her close.
"You're incredible."
"Stop."
"I'm serious."
"I'm not—"
The door swung open.
Chloe froze.
Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped. She stood in the doorway, keys still in her hand, staring at the sight of her shy roommate naked on top of the football star, still joined together, sweat-slicked and breathless.
"Oh my God," she said.
Miri screamed.
Leo laughed.
Chloe didn't move.
"Chloe—" Miri grabbed for the sheets. "Chloe, get out!"
"I—" Chloe blinked. "I just—you said you were at the library."
"I was!"
"And now you're—"
"Chloe!"
"I'm going." She backed out of the doorway. "I'm going. I'm—wow. Okay. I'm going."
The door closed.
Miri buried her face in Leo's chest.
"Oh my God."
He was still laughing.
"That was—"
"Stop laughing!"
"I can't."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
She went still.
He went still.
They both realized what he'd said.
Leo cleared his throat.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know."
"I mean, I—"
"Leo."
"Yeah?"
She lifted her head.
Looked at him.
His hair was a mess. His lips were swollen. He had a hickey forming on his neck, and she didn't remember giving it to him.
He was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world.
"I might," she said.
"Might what?"
"Might love you."
He went very, very still.
"You might?"
"Might." She smiled. "Ask me again later."
He pulled her down.
Kissed her.
"You're impossible."
"I know."
"I like it."
"I know."
And somewhere downstairs, Chloe was definitely making coffee and waiting to demand every single detail.
But that could wait.
Right now, Miri was exactly where she wanted to be.
Right now, Miri was exactly where she wanted to be.
The sweat was cooling on her skin. Leo's heartbeat thrummed beneath her ear—steady, slow, the kind of rhythm that made her want to stay forever. His fingers traced lazy circles on her lower back.
Then the stairs creaked.
Miri's eyes flew open.
"Oh God."
Leo's chest shook with silent laughter.
"Stop," she hissed. "This isn't funny."
"It's a little funny."
"I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die."
"I'm going to kill her, actually. Then die."
The creaking got closer. Footsteps in the hallway. A soft knock on the door—light, deliberate, annoying as hell.
"Miri." Chloe's voice came through muffled. "I made tea. I also made a mental list of every question I'm going to ask you, and I'm not leaving until you answer them."
Miri buried her face in Leo's neck.
"Tell her to go away."
"You tell her."
"She's your friend."
"She's your roommate."
"Same thing."
Another knock. Harder this time.
"I can hear you whispering. Let me in. I brought cookies."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "She brought cookies."
"Don't."
"I like cookies."
"You're not helping."
"I'm just saying. Cookies."
Miri lifted her head. Glared at him. He grinned—slow and easy, completely unbothered by the fact that they were both naked, tangled together, and about to be interrogated.
"Fine," she called. "Give us a minute."
"You have thirty seconds. Then I'm coming in whether you like it or not."
Miri scrambled off the bed.
She grabbed the first thing she could find—Leo's hoodie from the floor—and pulled it over her head. It hung past her thighs, swallowing her whole. The sleeves dangled past her fingertips.
Leo sat up. Leaned against the headboard. Didn't bother covering himself.
"Put something on," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because—"
The door opened.
Chloe stood in the threshold, a mug in each hand, a plate of cookies balanced on her forearm. She was still in her sweats—the loose gray ones with the paint stain on the knee. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her eyes swept the room like a detective surveying a crime scene.
They landed on Leo.
Naked.
Unashamed.
"Jesus Christ," she said.
"Hey, Chloe."
"Hey, Leo." She set the mugs on Miri's desk. The cookies followed. "Nice dick."
"Thanks."
Miri made a strangled sound.
"I'm kidding." Chloe crossed her arms. "Mostly."
"Chloe—"
"What? I'm being polite."
"You're not being polite. You're being—"
"Honest?" Chloe tilted her head. "I'm being honest. There's a difference."
Leo laughed.
Miri wanted to disappear.
Chloe walked further into the room. She moved like she belonged there—because she did. She'd been in this room a thousand times. Had sat on that bed, eaten takeout on that floor, complained about professors at that desk.
This was different.
This was her roommate standing in front of her, wearing her boyfriend's—was he her boyfriend?—hoodie, both of them smelling like sex, both of them looking guilty as hell.
Chloe picked up a cookie.
Bit into it.
"So," she said. "The library."
Miri groaned.
"I was at the library."
"Clearly."
"Before. I was at the library before."
"Uh-huh." Chloe sat on the edge of the bed. Leo hadn't moved. "And then?"
"And then Leo showed up."
"And then?"
"And then we came here."
"And then?"
"Chloe."
"What? I want details."
"You don't need details."
"I definitely need details." She gestured at Leo. "Look at him. Look at his shoulders. Look at his—"
"Okay!" Miri held up her hands. "Okay. Fine. We had sex. Happy?"
"I mean, I could have guessed that from the way you were screaming."
"I wasn't—"
"You were."
"I wasn't screaming."
"Maybe not screaming. But definitely loud. There was moaning. There was 'oh God.' There was 'don't stop.'"
Miri's face burned.
Leo was grinning.
"You heard that?" he asked.
"The whole street heard that." Chloe took another bite of cookie. "I heard it from the driveway."
"I hate you," Miri whispered.
"You love me."
"That's what I said." Leo's voice was soft. He was looking at Miri when he said it.
She froze.
Chloe's eyes flicked between them.
The room went quiet.
Chloe swallowed her cookie. Set the rest down on the plate. Wiped her hands on her sweats.
"Okay," she said. "So that's a thing."
"It's not—" Miri started.
"It's a thing." Chloe stood. "You said you might love him. I heard you through the door."
"You heard—"
"The door was open, Miri. You didn't close it after you screamed."
Miri pressed her hands to her face.
Leo reached over. Pulled her back onto the bed. She landed against his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I might," he said. "For the record."
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Might?"
"I'm working on it."
"Work faster." Chloe picked up her mug. Took a sip. "She's a catch. I've been telling her that for three years, but she never listens."
"I listen."
"You don't."
"I do."
"You didn't listen when I told you to wear that dress to the party."
"That was different."
"How was it different?"
Miri didn't answer.
Chloe smiled.
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't even smug. It was just... knowing. The smile of someone who'd watched her best friend hide behind sweaters and books for years, who'd held her hand through every rejection, who'd listened to her cry about crushes who never noticed her.
"That's what I thought," Chloe said.
She moved toward the door.
Then she stopped.
Turned around.
Her eyes found Miri's—hazel meeting brown, something unspoken passing between them. Something that had been building since the party, since Leo caught Miri in his arms, since everything changed.
"Can I ask you something?" Chloe said.
"Sure."
"Was it good?"
Miri blinked.
"What?"
"The sex. Was it good?"
"Chloe—"
"I'm serious. I want to know."
Miri looked at Leo.
He shrugged.
"He's not going to answer for you," Chloe said. "I'm asking you."
Miri swallowed.
"It was good."
"Good?"
"Really good."
"Really good?"
"Chloe."
"What? I'm curious."
"Fine." Miri pulled the hoodie tighter around herself. "It was the best sex of my life."
Chloe's smile widened.
"Good."
"Why good?"
"Because you deserve it." Chloe's voice softened. All the teasing gone. Just warmth underneath. "You deserve good things, Miri. I've been telling you that forever."
Miri's throat tightened.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"I'm starting to."
Chloe nodded.
She looked at Leo.
"Take care of her."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
"I will."
Chloe held his gaze for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it. She nodded again—once, sharp—and turned toward the door.
Then she stopped.
Again.
Her hand hovered over the doorknob. Her shoulders tensed. Something shifted in the air—electric, uncertain, thick with a question no one had asked yet.
Miri noticed.
Leo noticed.
Chloe didn't move.
"Chloe?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not moving."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
Chloe turned around.
Slowly.
Her eyes were darker than before. Not angry. Not sad. Something else entirely. Something that made Miri's stomach flip.
"I'm thinking," Chloe said, "about how you used to come home from parties and cry in my lap."
Miri went still.
"Chloe—"
"I'm thinking about how you told me you'd never be kissed. How you told me you'd never be touched. How you told me you were invisible."
"I was—"
"You're not invisible." Chloe's voice dropped. "I see you. I've always seen you."
The words hung in the air.
Miri's heart pounded.
"Chloe."
"I'm not saying anything." Chloe held up her hands. "I'm just... I'm just saying."
She looked at Leo.
Then back at Miri.
"I should go."
"Chloe—"
"Really. I should go. I've invaded enough."
She turned.
The door opened.
The hallway stretched beyond.
And Miri—still wrapped in Leo's arms, still wearing his hoodie, still shaking from everything that had happened—felt something reach out. Something she didn't have words for. Something that had been there all along.
"Wait."
The word left her mouth before she could stop it.
Chloe froze.
Miri didn't know what she was doing.
She didn't know what she was saying.
But she knew what she felt.
Or maybe she didn't.
Maybe she was crazy.
Maybe it was the adrenaline.
Maybe it was the way Chloe had looked at her—like she was something worth looking at. Like she'd always been something worth looking at.
"Don't go," Miri said.
Chloe turned.
Her eyes met Miri's.
"What?"
"I said don't go."
"Why?"
Miri didn't answer.
She didn't have an answer.
She just knew that Chloe was standing in the doorway, and that the space between them felt too wide, and that something was shifting—something that had been shifting for weeks, maybe months, maybe years.
Leo's hand found hers.
Squeezed.
"You okay?" he murmured.
"I don't know."
"You want her to stay?"
"I don't know."
"You want her to go?"
"I don't—" She stopped. Breathed. "I don't know."
Chloe stepped back inside.
The door clicked shut.
She leaned against it. Arms crossed. Eyes fixed on Miri. Waiting.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand what's happening," Chloe said. "But I'm here. I've always been here."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Then what do you want?"
The question landed like a stone in still water.
Ripples spreading out.
Miri looked at Chloe. Really looked at her. The sharp jaw. The brown eyes. The way she stood—confident, unapologetic, so different from Miri in every way that mattered.
Then she looked at Leo.
His hand was still wrapped around hers. His eyes were soft. He wasn't jealous. He wasn't confused. He was just... there. Present. Waiting.
"I want—" Miri started.
She stopped.
She didn't know how to finish the sentence.
"Say it," Chloe said. "Whatever it is. Just say it."
"I want you to stay."
"I'm staying."
"No, I mean—" Miri swallowed. "I want you to stay."
The words came out different the second time.
Heavier.
Chloe's breath caught.
Leo's grip tightened.
Nobody moved.
The clock on Miri's nightstand ticked.
One second.
Two.
Then Chloe pushed off from the door.
She crossed the room in three steps.
She stopped at the edge of the bed.
She looked down at Miri—at her messy hair, her swollen lips, her glasses askew. At Leo's arm around her shoulders. At the hoodie that swallowed her whole.
"You're sure?" Chloe asked.
"No."
"Good." Chloe smiled. "Me neither."
She climbed onto the bed.
The mattress dipped. Leo shifted, making room. His hand left Miri's and found Chloe's shoulder—not possessive, not demanding. Just there.
Chloe leaned in.
Her lips brushed Miri's.
Soft.
Tentative.
A question.
Miri answered.
She kissed Chloe back.
It was different from Leo. Softer. Sweeter. But no less electric. Her hands found Chloe's hair—the ponytail coming loose, dark strands spilling through her fingers.
Leo watched.
His hand moved to Chloe's back.
Then lower.
Then under the hem of her sweatshirt.
Chloe gasped against Miri's mouth.
She pulled back.
"Fuck."
"What?" Miri asked.
"Nothing. Just—" Chloe looked at Leo. At his hand on her skin. At the way he was watching both of them, pupils blown wide. "This is really happening."
"You want it to?"
"I've wanted it for years."
The admission hung in the air.
Miri stared at her.
"Years?"
"I didn't say anything." Chloe's voice was rough. "Because you were straight. Because you never looked at me like that. Because I didn't want to lose you."
"You wouldn't have—"
"I would have." Chloe's eyes were bright. Wet. "You're my best friend. I wasn't going to risk that."
Miri didn't know what to say.
Leo did.
He sat up. Gently pulled Chloe closer. Put himself between them—not as a barrier, but as a bridge. His hands found each of them. His voice was low.
"She looked at you," he said. "At the party. When you weren't paying attention."
Chloe frowned.
"What?"
"You were dancing with that guy from your psych class. She watched you the whole time."
Miri's face burned.
"I didn't—"
"You did."
"That was—"
"It wasn't nothing." Leo's thumb traced her cheek. "I saw it. That's why I noticed her in the first place. She was standing in the corner watching you, and she looked so sad, and I—" He stopped.
"You what?"
"I wanted to make her smile."
Chloe's breath hitched.
"Leo."
"I'm not good with words. Not like you. But I know what I saw." He looked at Miri. "She loves you. She's just too scared to say it."
Miri's eyes stung.
"Chloe."
"Don't." Chloe's voice cracked. "Don't say anything. Just—"
She kissed Miri again.
Harder this time.
Deeper.
Her tongue slid against Miri's. Her hands fisted in Leo's hoodie—Miri's hoodie—pulling her closer. Pulling them together.
Leo's hand found Chloe's waist.
His other hand found Miri's hip.
He pulled them both toward him.
The three of them tangled together.
Miri's head spun.
She'd never imagined this. Never allowed herself to. Two people. Wanting her. Touching her. She felt like she was drowning. Like she was flying. Like everything she'd ever known about herself was being rewritten in real time.
Chloe pulled back.
"Tell me to stop."
"I won't."
"Tell me you don't want this."
"I can't."
"Then what do you want?"
Miri looked at her.
Then at Leo.
Then back.
"I want you both."
Chloe's eyes went dark.
"Fuck."
"That's not—" Miri started, but Leo was already moving. Already pulling Chloe's sweatshirt over her head. Already unhooking her bra with one hand while his other found Miri's bare thigh.
Chloe laughed.
"Impatient."
"Yep."
She shucked the bra.
Her breasts were full, round, nipples pebbled from the cool air—or from something else. She looked at Miri. Half-naked. Confident. Waiting.
"I'm not going to break," Chloe said.
"I know."
"So stop staring."
"I can't." Miri's voice was barely a whisper. "You're so beautiful."
Chloe's expression shifted.
Softened.
"Really?"
"Yes."
She reached for Miri's hand. Guided it to her breast. Miri's fingers closed around it—hesitant at first, then firmer. She squeezed. Chloe's head fell back.
"Fuck."
"Is this okay?"
"It's more than okay."
Leo's mouth found Chloe's neck.
His teeth grazed her pulse point.
She moaned.
Miri watched.
Her body was on fire. Her cunt ached. She was still wet from before—from Leo, from everything. Now there was more. New heat. New want.
She reached for Chloe's sweats.
Pulled them down.
Underwear followed.
Chloe lay back on the bed. Naked. Exposed. Powerful. She looked at Miri with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Does that offer still stand?" she asked.
"What offer?"
"Riding my face."
Miri's heart stopped.