“Yes,” I reply immediately, because I do.
She crosses the space between us, sliding her hands up my chest, over the soft cotton of my shirt. When her mouth meets mine, the rest of the room blurs. This, at least, Iknow. Her taste, her warmth, the way she sighs when I cup the back of her neck. The way my nerves always, always settle when I have something as concrete and perfect as the shape of her lips to focus on.
I feel Marissa’s presence like another heat source, but she doesn’t touch yet. When Tippi finally breaks the kiss, she turns her head slightly. “Marissa,” she murmurs. “Can I have you here?”
The first touch of Marissa’s hand is to my shoulder. Light, non-intrusive, giving me time to flinch if I want to.I don’t. Her fingers slide down my arm, a different texture than Tippi’s; cooler, firmer, but equally sure.
“Is this OK?” she asks.
“Yes.” My voice is rougher than I expected.
“What about this?” she asks, stepping closer so that we form a loose triangle, her body heat joining ours.
I nod. Tippi watches my face, eyes soft, gauging every micro-expression. I realise, with a small start, that I trusthercalibration more than mine.
Clothes become an incidental detail. Tippi’s dress ends up pooled somewhere on the floor, her skin warm and glowing in the amber light, the ink on her body catching shadows in new ways. Marissa’s dress slides down over her hips in a whisper of black fabric, revealing curves and lines that are more sculpture than anatomy in my overstimulated brain. My own shirt is unbuttoned slowly, each inch of skin exposed mapped by someone’s fingertips, someone’s mouth.
Details blur and sharpen in strange sequence.
The silky texture of Marissa’s hair under my hand when I tangle my fingers in it. The husky sound Tippi makes when someone’s mouth closes over her shoulder. The way their bodies fit around mine, one in front, one behind, positioning me, guiding me, but letting me choose the angle, the pressure, the pace.
My world condenses to heat and breath and the slick slide of skin on skin. To the hitch in Tippi’s voice when she says my name, like a benediction. To the way Marissa laughs softly in the middle of it all, delighted rather than mocking, like this is play and worship at once.
There are moments where it’s almost too much. The awareness of another body, another set of hands. I feel myself skidding toward overwhelm, senses blurring at the edges. Each time, Tippi’s hand finds mine and squeezes, grounding me back into my own body.
“Green?” she breathes against my ear at one point, when everything is moving and humming and I can’t tell which sound is mine.
“Green,” I gasp, desperate for this wild, impossible thing to continue. “Very green.”
It happens almost organically, with no sharp pivots and no theatrics; just the soft triangulation of bodies shifting into new configuration. One moment Marissa’s mouth is on my neck while Tippi’s is on my collarbone; the next, the two women glance at me before leaning towards each other, as though compelled by gravity, and kiss with the familiarity of people who know exactly what the other likes. “Any objections?” Tippi asks me quietly.
“N-no,” I reply, the words pulled out of me like a tide. “God, no. Please. Carry on.”
Marissa’s eyes light up as she eases herself into lying down, her inky hair spilling across the pillow, her breath already shallow as Tippi runs kisses over her breasts. I have to bite my own lip when she takes Marissa’s nipple between her teeth and lightly tugs.
This is better, hotter, more intoxicating than any porn, any fantasy, any idle daydream I’ve ever had, because this isTippi. Live and incolour, unashamedly enjoying herself like it’s the most natural thing imaginable.
Tippi’s tongue glides over Marissa’s stomach, gently nipping under her belly button, and then she settles between her thighs with the same unstudied grace I’ve come to expect from her. The tattoo on her shoulder catches the light, and her hair falls forward in a warm, golden curtain as she cups Marissa’s hips with tenderness rather than greed.
Marissa lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a tremor, as Tippi kisses up the inside of her thigh. My entire body prickles, my cock pounding harder than my heart, as she lowers her mouth to Marissa’s slit with visible appreciation. Marissa arches, her fingers tightening in the sheets as I watch.
I don’t feel replaced, or irrelevant. As I watch her hips lifting in a barely-there rhythm as Tippi licks her pussy like it’s sacred, I feel…invited.
A collaborator.
Watching something Tippi isgiftingme the chance to witness.
She’s almost serene as she works Marissa into a breathless fever pitch, deeply attuned, alternating long, swirling licks with gentle sucking on her clit over and over. “Right there,” Marissa whispers fitfully, her head lolling back onto the pillow.
You’re a collaborator, Jacob. Collaborate.
“May I?” I ask Marissa softly, holding my hand above her breast. She nods enthusiastic agreement, Tippi smiling up at me in approval, and I take a deep breath and stop being a spectator.
Her breasts are full, her nipples responsive as I rub them between my first two fingers. Marissa moves more frantically against Tippi’smouth in response. Emboldened, I dip my mouth and try to replicate the same sucking motion as Tippi performs on her bundle of nerves.
Marissa’s thighs tremble, her hands flying down to Tippi’s hair in reflex before she stops herself and breathlessly asks, “Can I…?”
God. She’s asking to come.
