The bed shifts, and I’m awake.
Not all the way, just enough to track Chris climbing out, the soft pad of his feet on the floor, the bathroom door clicking shut. I stay half-asleep, listening. The toilet flushes. Water runs. Then the door opens again and he’s moving around the bed instead of back to his side.
The mattress dips behind me. Chris sliding in, his chest warm against my back.
“Someone’s a bed hog,” he murmurs. “Ran out of room over there.”
Nina stirs against my chest, making a soft questioning sound.
“Hey,” she murmurs.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t go back to sleep. Instead she presses closer, her body warm and soft against my front. And now Chris is behind me, his chest against my back, already half-hard where he’s pressed against my ass.
She shifts, tilting her hips back against me. I’m already responding, my body waking up faster than my brain.
Chris’s mouth finds the back of my neck. His hand slides down my hip, pulling me tighter against him.
Everything is slow, unhurried. No urgency. Just warmth and touch and the need to be close after everything.
“Is this okay?” Nina asks, her hand finding mine in the dark.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
She pulls my hand to her breast. Her nipple tightens under my palm, a soft sound escapes her as I squeeze gently. Behind me, Chris is tugging my sweats down, his cock pressing hot against the curve of my ass.
We move together slowly. Nina shifts her hips, finding the angle she wants. I slide into her easily, a sigh escaping both of us.
Chris’s fingers trail down my spine. He takes his time, kissing my shoulder, my neck, the spot behind my ear that makes me shiver. I feel him reach for something on the nightstand. The click of a bottle. Then his slick fingers pressing between my cheeks, slow and careful.
I reach back, find his wrist. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” His voice is steady. No hesitation. Just languid and relaxed and confident. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”
I believe him. I let go of his wrist.
He presses into me slowly. I feel every inch—the stretch, the burn, the fullness. Nina rocks back against me, taking me deeper, and for a moment I’m suspended between them, overwhelmed by sensation.
“Fuck,” I manage.
Chris huffs a laugh against my shoulder. “Good fuck or bad fuck?”
“Give me a minute to decide.”
He gives me more than a minute. He gives me all the time I need—holding still inside me, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to where I’m joined with Nina. His fingers brush us both and she gasps, clenching around me.
“Move,” she says. “God, both of you, move.”
We find a rhythm. Slow, rocking, nothing athletic or performative. Just three people who almost lost each other, proving we’re still here.
Nina comes first, her whole body shuddering, pulling me over the edge with her. Chris follows a few strokes later, his forehead pressed to my shoulder, breathing my name.
Afterward: tangled limbs, slowing hearts, the quiet of Nina’s bedroom.
“We should do this more often,” Nina murmurs against my chest. “The sleeping part, I mean. Not just the?—”
“Both,” Chris says, his arm tightening around my waist. “Both is good.”
