Roomie's Racket

Alison Rey works from home, headset on, trying to keep her voice steady during the call. Every few seconds she flinches, because the moans coming from down the hall keep cutting through her answers. She mutes the mic, sighs, waits for quiet. It never comes. When the call finally ends, she pushes the chair back and heads straight for the noise. The door to her roommate’s room stands wide open, and the sight stops her cold. Ember Snow has both hands clamped on Mocha Menage’s hips, fingers digging in while Mocha rides her face. Their bodies move in a slow, greedy rhythm; big, natural breasts bounce and glisten with sweat. Ember’s fingers slide lower, push inside, and Mocha answers with a sharp, filthy cry. Alison’s mouth goes dry. Heat coils between her thighs. She presses her back to the wall, slips her hand beneath the waistband of her sweats, and starts rubbing herself in time with every wet thrust she hears. She watches Ember lick, suck, curl two fingers deep until Mocha’s thighs shake. Her own breath gets louder, shorter. Mocha’s eyes flick toward the hallway and freeze on Alison. The room goes quiet for half a beat—then Ember turns too, lips shiny, smile lazy. Alison stammers an apology, words tumbling out. Ember just laughs, low and warm. “Door’s open for a reason. Come here.” Mocha reaches out a hand, and Alison steps forward. Clothes fall in soft heaps. Three bodies tangle on the bed, mouths tasting, fingers seeking, every careful touch an apology that turns quickly into hunger.