There's No Need To Choose

Marie’s ten minutes late. Raven tells Belle she’ll have to wait. Belle shrugs. She can stay. The moment Marie sees her, the idea locks into place. She tells Belle to take the first slot. Belle steps into the dim room, towel loose around her hips. When Raven leaves, Marie asks if she can stay and watch. A quick joke about applying for the job softens it. Raven almost laughs her out the door, but Marie already has her palms on Belle’s bare shoulders. The touch is sure, light, then heavier. Belle exhales and says nothing. Raven, finishing Belle’s calves, glances up. They trade a look. Soon Marie’s hands wander lower, stroking the curve of Belle’s ass. Belle doesn’t protest. Raven’s fingers follow. The room smells like coconut oil and warm skin. They knead, knead, fingers slipping together across the smooth, lush flesh, giggling like schoolgirls who know they shouldn’t. When Belle rolls onto her back, the towel slips away. Raven’s breath catches. Two mouths close on two nipples at once. Belle arches, fingers in their hair, legs parting. Clothes drop in soft piles. Mouths move down. Raven tastes first—wet, sweet, slick against her tongue. Marie follows, tongue flicking beside Raven’s. They trade turns, tasting themselves on each other’s lips, on Belle’s thighs, again and again until the table creaks and the air is thick with sighs. At last Belle pulls them both upward, mouths meeting, hands everywhere, the three of them tangled and hungry until nothing else exists but heat, sweat, and the steady slide of skin on skin.