Straight Seduction Therapy

Avery and Freya had been scraping against each other for months, love rotting into habit. Their tongues only fought. Freya called it the last straw, one bare foot already pointing toward the door. Avery said nothing, just watched her lover's pulse flicker under silk. The next evening, Cami arrived—tall, smooth, nervous, straight as a church pew—clutching a grocery bag of white wine like a shield. Avery smiled like a cat unspooling its claws, then turned to Freya. "First to take her wins," she said, voice low. Freya's eyes narrowed. Wine splashed into three glasses. Cami's laugh started polite, then loosened. Avery leaned in first, fingertips tracing Cami's thigh, feeling heat rise through denim. Freya countered with a slow whisper to the other ear, tongue grazing the lobe. Wine rings darkened the tablecloth. Fabric whispered down shoulders. Hands roamed, retreated, returned with hungrier intent. No one pretended anymore. Skin met skin, breath mixed. The straight girl learned fast; the lovers remembered why they had ever begun.