This Ass Ain't Gonna Rub Itself!

Charlotte waited naked, silk blindfold snug over her eyes. She’d planned this for Casey—heels off by the door, candles lit, the whole bedroom smelling like warm skin and cedar. Every footstep on the stairs made her pulse flutter. April walked in and froze. Charlotte heard the door, smelled unfamiliar perfume, felt nothing but anticipation. “Casey, baby… come touch me. I’m all yours tonight.” April bit her lip, studied the smooth line of Charlotte’s back, the swell of her ass, the tiny tremor that ran through her thighs. Her sister-in-law’s wife. Forbidden. Tempting. April stepped closer, fingertips skimming Charlotte’s shoulders, sliding lower, tracing the dip of her spine. Charlotte moaned, arching into it. April gave in. They never heard Casey on the landing. The bag hit the floor first—then silence. Then chaos. “You’re kidding me.” Casey’s voice sliced through the air. April jerked back. Charlotte yanked the blindfold down, wide-eyed. Three voices climbed, words tumbled, accusations flew. Until they didn’t. Breath, heat, a shared glance that hung too long. Casey’s anger cracked open into something darker, hungrier. April’s apology melted into a slow smile. Charlotte licked her lips, pulse still racing for all the right reasons. “Fine,” Casey finally said, already unbuttoning her blouse. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” She pulled April in for a bruising kiss, then reached for Charlotte, guiding them both onto the bed. Hands tangled—wet mouths, bare skin, the frantic rhythm of three bodies suddenly starved for one another. Moans drowned out everything else. Whatever lines they’d crossed, they kept crossing them until the room smelled like sweat, perfume, and fresh sex.