More Her Type

Jordan Maxx stepped inside after a long day out. She found her stepdaughter Madi Collins on the couch and dropped the news: Naomi Foxxx had shot her down. Jordan’s crush on Naomi ran hot and heavy, but Naomi preferred girls half her age. Madi watched the hurt flicker across her face. She couldn’t stand it. A scheme sparked—quick, dirty, and reckless. The next afternoon the two of them knocked on Naomi’s door. Naomi’s eyes brightened when she met Madi. Conversation flowed easy, air thick with glances. Madi leaned in a little closer each time she spoke. Jordan checked her phone and muttered an excuse about a sudden work fire. She was gone in seconds, leaving Naomi alone with her stepdaughter and an open invitation to drive Madi home. Door clicks shut. Silence stretches. Madi turns bolder, brushing Naomi’s thigh while they talk. Minutes later they’re kissing, hands roaming, clothes falling in a trail to the bedroom. Madi slides a silk blindfold over Naomi’s eyes and Naomi moans her consent. The moment Naomi’s sight goes dark, Madi texts Jordan waiting in the car. Jordan creeps back inside and takes Madi’s place between Naomi’s spread thighs. Naomi gasps at the new rhythm—still thinking it’s the younger girl driving her higher. Her hips roll, her breath turns ragged. Then she reaches up, tugs the blindfold off, and freezes. Jordan’s mouth glistens. Panic flashes across the room. Apologies tumble out. Jordan admits she orchestrated everything because she wanted Naomi so badly it hurt. Naomi stares, chest heaving, then softens. She confesses she liked Jordan too but was scared of wrecking their friendship. Now the truth hangs bright between them. Heat rises again. Three bodies press close, unfinished desire demanding completion.