Fresh Meat | Skeinscribe

Fresh Meat

Contemporary, Romance·11 chapters·~74,491 words

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Chapter 1

New in Town

~7,293 words

The coffee shop's back room smelled like burnt espresso and nervous energy. Shawn pushed through the curtain to find maybe fifteen people scattered across mismatched furniture—some in leather, some in cardigans, one guy in a Zelda t-shirt. A woman with silver-streaked hair and a name tag reading "HAVEN" looked up from her clipboard.

"Fresh meat," she said, not unkindly. Please don't be one of the creepy ones. Please.

The guy beside her—rope coiled over his shoulder like a badge—grinned. "First munch?" Garrett's eyes did a quick inventory. Decent build. Shame if he's vanilla-curious.

A woman in a leather jacket leaned back in her chair, boots kicked up on the table. Bex didn't look up from her phone. "Garrett, you have three seconds before you start explaining the difference between SSC and RACK to someone who didn't ask."

Haven snorted. She extended a hand toward Shawn. "Ignore them. You picked a good night—we've got a demo later if you're interested. Shibari basics." Her smile was warm, but her eyes were assessing. "So. What brings you to our little den of perverts?"

"Oh that's fun." Shawn shifted his weight. "I'm new in town but not to the life, just looking to get my bearings really."

Haven's expression shifted—relief, mostly. Thank god. Someone who won't need the 'consent is sexy' speech from scratch. "Well, you came to the right place. We're pretty chill here." She gestured around the room. "Mix of everything—rope, impact, service dynamics, a few lifestyle folks."

Garrett leaned forward, that coiled rope sliding down his arm. "Yeah, so like, the scene here is pretty different from bigger cities. More community-focused, you know? We do a lot of education, workshops—" Wonder what he's into. Bet I could show him some advanced ties.

"Garrett." Haven's voice had an edge of fond exasperation. "Let the man breathe."

Bex finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze was direct, unapologetic. Experienced. Good. Means he won't be weird about boundaries. "What brought you to our charming little town? Work? Witness protection?"

Chapter 2

Bex and Breakfast

~14,211 words

That night, Haven texted Bex to check in about how it went, starting with a tease, because of course she did: "Sooooo? How wrecked are you right now? Scale of 1 to 'can't feel my legs.'"

Bex stared at her phone, sitting in her car in her own parking lot. She'd been there for ten minutes, just... processing. "He fed me dinner and sent me home," she typed back.

The response was immediate: "WHAT"

"Tomorrow. 8pm. Said I needed another day to process." Bex's fingers hovered over the keyboard. How do I explain that I'm not mad about it? "Haven, he COOKED for me. Good food. Good whisky. Then told me I belong to him the moment I walk in tomorrow."

"Oh my god you're already gone for him."

Bex dropped her phone in her lap and pressed her palms to her eyes. Fuck. Haven wasn't wrong.

She barely slept. She drifted through the day on autopilot through the morning and afternoon. Couldn't focus on anything but the anticipation building. And then it suddenly occurred to her—that was the point. That motherfucker.

He'd wound her up on purpose. Three days from the munch to coffee. Three more days to last night. Fed her, got her ready, then sent her home to marinate in it for one more night. By the time she walked through his door at eight, she'd be desperate. Exactly where he wanted her.

Bex grabbed her phone and texted Haven: "He's been edging me since Wednesday and hasn't even touched me yet."

The response came fast: "THAT'S SO HOT. Also you're definitely in love with him."

"Fuck off." But Bex was grinning despite herself. She checked the time. 3 PM. Five more hours.

Marcus texted her about the next game night. They talked—when was she free, what system did she want to try, had she heard about the new expansion for that co-op board game. It was almost normal. Grounding. Just a couple hours left.

"Thursday work for you?" Marcus sent. "Rosa's bringing her girlfriend, so we'll finally have enough for a full party."

Bex typed back one-handed while reorganizing her overnight bag for the third time. "Thursday's good. I'll bring snacks." Normal. This is normal. Game night with friends. You're a functioning adult who does regular things.

"Cool! Oh and bring the new guy if he's around. We need a DM."

She paused. The new guy. Shawn. Who was currently orchestrating a week-long mindfuck that had her checking the clock every ten minutes. "Maybe. I'll ask." She hit send before she could overthink it.

6:47 PM. Just over an hour left. Bex looked at herself in the mirror—same outfit as last night. Black tank, jeans, boots. She'd showered, shaved everything, done her makeup carefully casual. You belong to me from the moment you enter. Her reflection stared back, pupils already dilated with anticipation.

By 7:58 PM she was at his door.

Two minutes early. Bex stood in the hallway, overnight bag over her shoulder, heart hammering against her ribs. Belong to him from the moment I enter. She'd been replaying those words all day, all night, all morning. The anticipation had built until it felt like a physical thing, coiled tight in her belly.

She raised her hand to knock, then paused. Two minutes. Do I wait? Walk in early? Her fingers trembled slightly. Get it together. She'd negotiated this. She wanted this. But standing here, about to cross this threshold knowing what waited on the other side—he's going to take me apart—her breath came shallow.

Fuck it. She knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. Her pulse thundered in her ears. This is it. The moment I walk through that door, I'm his.

She waited two minutes, knocking occasionally and starting to spiral just a bit. Did he not hear me? Is this part of it? Should I text? Her hand raised to knock again—

At exactly 8 PM the door opened. "Hey you. Come on in." His voice was warm, friendly, playful even.

He made me wait those two minutes on purpose. The realization hit as she stepped over the threshold. Already playing with me. Her bag slipped from her shoulder as the door closed behind her. The apartment looked the same—minimalist, lived-in, those moving boxes still in the corner—but the air felt different now. Charged. From the moment I enter.

Bex turned to face him, her pulse hammering. The casual dinner atmosphere from last night was gone. This was something else entirely. She opened her mouth to say something—some quip, some challenge, something to ground herself—but her throat was dry. I belong to him now. The thought sent heat flooding through her.

He raised his finger to her lips before she could speak. The touch was gentle but firm—quiet now—and Bex's breath caught. He took her bag, slinging it over his shoulder with easy confidence, then took her hand. Led her down the hall toward the bedroom.

Oh god. Her heart hammered as she followed. The silence felt deliberate, weighted. His hand was warm around hers, steady, and she realized her palm was sweating. A week of buildup and now it's actually happening. The hallway seemed longer than it should be. She could hear her own breathing, too fast, too shallow. Belong to him. From the moment I entered.

They reached the bedroom door. He pushed it open.

The room matched the rest of the apartment—minimalistic but neat. Gaming computer in the corner with an ultrawide monitor, and on the other side, the bed. One of those adjustable ones, with a soft headboard featuring thick rings in several places that definitely hadn't come with it.

He brought her next to the bed and lifted his hands to the hem of her shirt, looking into her eyes. "Remember the safety signals. They're your only out after this point." His smile was playful.

Bex's breath stuttered. This is it. His fingers were warm against the sliver of skin at her waist, barely touching but promising everything. Her pulse hammered so hard she was sure he could see it in her throat. Traffic lights. Fist pumping. I remember. But the words wouldn't come—caught somewhere between anticipation and the weight of his gaze holding hers.

She nodded once, sharp. Yes. I remember. I want this. Her hands hung at her sides, trembling slightly. The playfulness in his smile did something to her—made this real and immediate and now. A week of buildup condensing into this single moment: his hands at her hem, those rings in the headboard visible in her peripheral vision, the knowledge that once this shirt came off there was no more waiting.

He pulled her shirt off slowly, the fabric sliding up and over her head before he tossed it onto the chair near the bed. Then his hands found the button of her jeans, undoing it with deliberate precision. He dragged them down until gravity took over and they pooled around her ankles. He helped her step out of them, added them to the chair, then stepped back to really look at her. Hungrily.

Bex stood there in just her bra and underwear—black, simple, nothing fancy—and felt his gaze like a physical thing. Oh god. Her skin flushed hot under his scrutiny. The way he was looking at her—not rushing, not grabbing, just looking—made her hyperaware of every inch of herself. Her breath came faster. A week of waiting and now he's just... studying me.

She fought the urge to cover herself, to say something bratty to break the tension. But his eyes held her pinned as surely as if he'd used those rings in the headboard. This is what he meant. I belong to him. The thought sent a pulse of heat straight between her legs. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

He made a little 'turn around' motion with his finger.

Bex turned slowly, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with how little she was wearing. He's inspecting me. Like I'm his to examine. The thought should have made her self-conscious—the soft curve of her stomach, the thickness of her thighs, all on display—but instead it sent another wave of heat through her. His silence was deliberate, she realized. Making her feel every second of his attention.

She completed the turn, facing him again. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, nipples visible through the thin fabric of her bra. Beautiful, his expression said, even without words. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable now—patient but intense. A week of buildup and he was savoring this moment, making her stand here and be seen before he touched her again.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Say something. Do something. But she stayed quiet, waiting. The rings in the headboard caught her eye again. Soon.

He reached around her and popped open the clasp of her bra, letting it slide down her arms and off. Then he tucked his thumbs into the sides of her panties and dragged them down, again letting gravity do the work once it could. He stepped back.

Fuck. Bex stood completely bare now, fighting every instinct to cover herself. His gaze traveled over her—slow, methodical, hungry. Her breasts, full and soft, nipples already peaked hard from exposure and anticipation. The curve of her waist, the slight roundness of her belly. Her hips, generous and feminine. The dark triangle between her thighs that she was acutely aware was already slick with arousal. Her thighs, thick and strong, pressed together unconsciously.

She could feel his attention like a touch—cataloging every inch, every curve, every imperfection she'd ever worried about. But the way he looked at her wasn't critical. It was possession. Like he was memorizing what belonged to him now. His toy. The thought made her breath hitch audibly.

Her hands trembled at her sides. A flush crept down her chest, blooming pink across her breasts. He hasn't even touched me yet and I'm already this wound up. She could feel how wet she was, could feel her pulse hammering between her legs. Say something. Do something. Please.

"You look... delicious." His voice was still playful but turning firm—like a predator deciding when to pounce.

Oh fuck. The shift in his tone hit her like a physical thing. Bex's breath came faster, her thighs pressing together harder. Delicious. The word hung in the air between them, promise and threat all at once. She could see it in his eyes now—the patience wearing thin, the hunger sharpening into intent. A week of waiting and he was done making her stand here. Done inspecting. Ready to take.

Her pulse hammered everywhere—throat, wrists, between her legs. She opened her mouth, some instinctive need to say something—anything—to break the tension coiling tighter and tighter. But her voice came out as barely a whisper. "Then stop looking and—" She cut herself off. Don't give orders. Not when you're standing here naked and his. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

The playfulness in his expression didn't disappear, but something darker threaded through it now. Something that said he'd heard exactly what she'd almost said—and was deciding whether to make her wait even longer for it.

He cocked his head just slightly, amused. "I don't remember telling you to speak. I remember shushing you. That's your one." Firm, but clearly playful—not cruel. This was the game.

Oh. Bex's mouth snapped shut, heat flooding through her. That's your one. A warning. A promise. The playfulness kept it from being harsh, but the firmness underneath made her thighs clench. He's not asking. He's telling. And god, she liked this game. Liked the edge of control, the way he could be warm and commanding at once. Her breath came faster, pulse hammering. Shut up and let him work.

She nodded once—sharp, obedient—and pressed her lips together. Her hands unclenched slightly at her sides. Good. Be good. Let him take you apart. The silence stretched between them, loaded with anticipation. She could feel his eyes still on her, that predatory patience shifting into something more immediate. What comes next?

He guided her to the bed with a hand on her hip, the touch firm and possessive, and motioned for her to lay down. Bex moved without hesitation, the cool sheets against her bare skin making her hyperaware of every sensation. Her heart hammered as she settled back, arms instinctively moving above her head even before he directed them.

He reached to the side of the bed and grabbed a set of thick leather cuffs on a dark chain—high quality, the kind that spoke of experience and preparation. He hooked the middle link onto the center ring of the headboard with a solid click that made her stomach flip. Then he moved to cuff each of her wrists, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there as he secured the buckles. The leather was soft but unyielding, holding her arms stretched above her head.

Oh god. Bex tested the restraints instinctively—not trying to escape, just feeling the reality of them. The chain had some give, but not much. She was pinned. Exposed. Completely at his mercy. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her nipples peaked hard, and she could feel how wet she already was. A week of waiting and now I'm his toy. Actually his. The thought sent another pulse of heat straight through her core.

"Ok... now let's see what we're working with here..." His voice was playful but hungry as he moved around to the foot of the bed and climbed between her knees, pushing them outward so he could get a good close look.

Bex's breath caught, her thighs trembling as he spread her open. Oh god oh god oh god. The position was obscene—legs splayed wide, arms chained above her head, completely exposed to his inspection. She could feel his gaze like a physical touch, cataloging every detail. Her outer lips, already flushed and swollen with arousal. The glistening evidence of how wet she was, slick and ready. Her clit, peaked and sensitive, practically begging for attention. The way her body was responding to him—the flush spreading down her chest, her hips shifting involuntarily, seeking friction that wasn't there.

He's looking at me like I'm a five-star meal. The thought should have been embarrassing but instead sent another wave of heat through her. Her fingers flexed in the cuffs, the leather creaking softly. A small sound escaped her throat—half whimper, half plea—before she could stop it. Don't speak. He said don't speak. But god, the way he was just looking—patient, hungry, taking his time—was already unraveling her.

His hands ran up and down her inner thighs—slow, deliberate strokes that came just barely short of touching her vulva. The pressure was perfect, driving blood flow to exactly where she needed it most while giving her nothing. Her hips shifted involuntarily, seeking contact that stayed maddeningly out of reach.

Fuck. Bex bit down on her lip hard, fighting the whimper building in her throat. His hands were so close—she could feel the heat of them, the way each pass made her wetter, made her throb. Her thighs trembled under his touch, muscles tensing and releasing as she squirmed. Touch me. Please touch me. But she couldn't say it. He'd told her not to speak.

The leather cuffs creaked as her hands flexed uselessly above her head. She was pinned, spread open, completely at his mercy while he just—teased. A week of buildup and now he was going to take his time. Make her desperate. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her whole body flushed and aching.

She could feel his breath on her now. So close. Every nerve ending screamed for contact while he just—mapped her. Taking in every detail with that same hungry patience. Then finally, finally, he pressed his tongue to her clit. Firm pressure, not a flick, and left it there a moment.

Oh fuck— The sound that tore from Bex's throat was involuntary, raw. Her hips jerked against the contact, her whole body arcing into that single point of pressure. Then he pulled back. His breath hit the dampness he'd left behind and sent a shiver racing through her—the cool sensation fighting with the growing heat, making her gasp.

Her thighs trembled on either side of his head. The cuffs rattled as she pulled against them reflexively. More. Please more. But she bit down on the plea, remembering—don't speak. Her chest heaved, nipples peaked hard, and she could feel how desperately wet she was. A week of anticipation and one firm press of his tongue had her already unraveling.

He started slow—mapping, prodding, testing. His tongue explored her with methodical precision, learning what made her thighs clench, what made her breath hitch. Each stroke was deliberate, cataloging her responses like he was solving a puzzle. "Mmm, you ARE tasty..." Then he really started going for it, applying what he'd learned.

Oh god oh god oh— Bex's world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the pressure and rhythm that was suddenly, devastatingly perfect. Her hips rolled against his face, chasing the sensation as he worked her with focused intensity. The week of anticipation, the careful buildup, the way he'd made her wait—it all crashed into this moment. Her fingers twisted in the cuffs, the chain rattling against the headboard as pleasure built fast and sharp.

A broken sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp—and she didn't care anymore about staying quiet. Her thighs trembled on either side of his head, threatening to close around him as the tension coiled tighter in her core. Already. I'm already this close. The realization was embarrassing and intoxicating all at once.

"You better not fucking cum without permission." The tone was playful but firm—no wrong answers for a brat. Obedience or consequences, and Bex had to decide which she wanted.

Oh fuck. The words hit her like cold water and gasoline all at once. Her body was already racing toward the edge, pleasure coiling tight and inevitable, and now he was telling her to stop? Her thighs clenched around his head involuntarily, her hips stuttering in their rhythm. Hold it. Don't cum. He said don't— But his mouth was still working her with that devastating precision, tongue moving in exactly the pattern that was unraveling her.

A whimper tore from her throat—desperate, frustrated. Her fingers twisted white-knuckled in the cuffs. Obey or break the rule. Be good or be bratty. The choice crystallized in her mind even as her body screamed for release. She could feel it building, that point of no return approaching fast. What do I want more—to be good for him, or to see what happens when I'm not?

Her body made the decision before her mind caught up. The orgasm slammed into her—hard, inevitable, defiant. Bex's back arched off the bed as pleasure crashed through her in waves, her thighs clamping around his head, a broken cry tearing from her throat. The cuffs rattled violently against the headboard as she pulled against them, riding out the climax she'd been explicitly told not to have.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck I just— Reality crashed back as the pleasure ebbed. Her chest heaved, sweat beading on her flushed skin. She'd broken the rule. On purpose. The realization sent a different kind of thrill through her—part arousal, part nervousness. What happens now?

She looked down at him between her trembling thighs, unable to read his expression yet. Her voice came out breathless, still shaky from the orgasm. "I... couldn't help it."

"You'll pay for that." The words dripped out, almost pleased—which both worried AND excited her. Then his tongue dug into her, lapping up the flowing juices of her orgasm, not letting her relax through the aftershocks.

Oh god— Bex's body jerked, oversensitive and raw. The pleasure that had just peaked was still rippling through her when his mouth returned with renewed intensity. Her nerve endings screamed, caught between too much and not enough. The aftershocks she should have been riding down were being stoked back into something sharper, more demanding. Her thighs trembled violently around his head.

Pay for it. What does that mean? But the almost-pleased tone in his voice told her everything—she'd given him exactly what he wanted. An excuse. Permission to push harder. Her fingers twisted desperately in the cuffs as sensation built again, faster this time, her body already primed and sensitive. A broken whimper escaped her throat. I'm in so much trouble.

The second orgasm was already building as he added two fingers to the mix, focusing on her clit with his tongue. Bex's mind started drifting from the intensity—everything blurring at the edges, pleasure becoming abstract and overwhelming. Then sharp pain bloomed on her inner thigh as he pinched her.

Fuck! The sensation snapped her back into her body with jarring clarity. The pleasure was suddenly concrete again—his fingers curling inside her, his tongue working her clit with relentless precision, the sting on her thigh grounding her in the present moment. Her hips bucked against his mouth, caught between chasing the building climax and the overstimulation that made every nerve scream.

She was going to cum again. Already. Too fast, too much, I can't— But her body didn't care about her protests. The tension coiled tighter, her walls clenching around his fingers as he drove her toward the edge again. Her breath came in ragged gasps, sweat slicking her skin. The cuffs bit into her wrists as she pulled uselessly against them.

Permission. He said I need permission. The thought cut through the haze. She was right there, teetering on the brink, and this time she had to ask. Had to be good. Or break the rule again and face whatever consequences came with it.

She felt it building, that inevitable crest—and then he pulled back just enough, holding her suspended on the edge. "Not this time." His cackle was dark, delighted.

No no no please— Bex's whole body went taut, straining toward the release he'd just denied her. The orgasm hovered right there, so close she could taste it, but his mouth and fingers had shifted just enough to keep her from tipping over. A frustrated sound tore from her throat—half sob, half growl. Her hips rolled desperately, chasing friction he wasn't giving her anymore.

He's going to do this. Over and over. The realization crashed through her pleasure-hazed mind. This was the payment—not pain, not punishment, but this exquisite torture of being brought to the edge and held there. Her thighs shook violently, her walls clenching around his fingers that had stilled inside her. Sweat beaded on her flushed skin.

"Please," she gasped before she could stop herself, the word breaking her silence. Her voice was wrecked, desperate. "Please, I—" She cut herself off, remembering too late that she wasn't supposed to speak. Fuck. Two rules broken now.

"Please WHAT?" He nibbled her inner thigh—not hard, just keeping her present. His fingers slowed inside her, holding her suspended on that unbearable edge.

Say it. What am I even asking for? Bex's mind scrambled through the haze of denied pleasure. Her thighs trembled around his head, her whole body strung tight as a wire. The gentle pressure of his teeth on her inner thigh kept her grounded, present, forced to feel every agonizing second of being held just short of release. His fingers had stilled to an almost-nothing rhythm that maintained the tension without letting it build.

"Please let me—" Her voice broke. God, I sound desperate. She was desperate. A week of anticipation, one stolen orgasm, and now this exquisite torture of being denied. Her hips shifted uselessly, seeking more pressure he wasn't giving. "Please let me cum," she finally gasped out, the words tumbling free. Three rules broken. Speaking without permission, cumming without permission, and now begging.

The leather cuffs creaked as her hands flexed above her head. Sweat slicked her skin, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. She could feel how wet she was, could feel his fingers still inside her maintaining that maddening almost-enough pressure.

"That's my good girl. You can cum for me." His fingers curled into her g-spot, tongue digging into her as the bridge of his nose pressed into her clit.

Good girl— The words detonated something in Bex's chest even as the physical sensations overwhelmed her. Permission. Finally, finally permission. The orgasm that had been hovering just out of reach slammed into her like a freight train. Her back arched violently off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as pleasure ripped through her in waves that seemed endless. She heard herself crying out—broken, incoherent sounds—as her walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers.

Good girl good girl good girl. The praise echoed in her mind, tangling with the physical pleasure until she couldn't separate them. This was what she'd been chasing—not just the orgasm but this, being given permission, being called good while she fell apart. The intensity was staggering, nothing like the first quick climax she'd stolen. This one rolled through her in surges, each curl of his fingers prolonging it until she was gasping, trembling, completely undone.

This time he let the aftershocks roll through her, his movements gentling just enough to bring her back from the edge of overwhelm. Bex's breathing slowed fractionally, her body still trembling but no longer seized in climax. Okay. Okay I can—

Then he went feral.

His mouth and fingers attacked her with renewed intensity—no buildup, no teasing, just relentless focused pressure that launched her directly into another orgasm before the last one had fully faded. Bex's vision blurred at the edges, the bedroom dissolving into nothing but sensation. Her mind couldn't hold onto thoughts anymore—they slipped away like water through her fingers. Can't... I can't... But her body didn't care, responding to his touch with another violent surge of pleasure that ripped a hoarse cry from her throat.

She was drifting now, barely holding onto her mind. The leather cuffs, the bed beneath her, even her own body—it all felt distant, abstract. There was only the overwhelming cascade of sensation and the knowledge, dim but certain, that he was taking her exactly where he'd promised. Into subspace. Into that glassy-eyed blankness she'd been chasing for over a year.

Time got weird for Bex.

One moment she was aware of the fourth orgasm cresting—or was it the fifth?—her body responding on autopilot to the relentless precision of his mouth and fingers. The next moment she was floating, untethered, sensation bleeding into sensation until she couldn't tell where one peak ended and another began. The bedroom ceiling swam in and out of focus. Am I still cumming? Did I stop? When did—

Her thoughts fractured before they could complete. There was only the endless cycle: building, cresting, falling, building again. His hands on her thighs keeping them spread. The wet sounds of his mouth working her. Her own voice making sounds she didn't recognize—pleading, sobbing, wordless. The leather cuffs had stopped feeling like restraints and started feeling like the only thing anchoring her to reality.

Glassy-eyed. Blank. Some distant part of her recognized it—this was subspace, this was what she'd been chasing. But knowing it didn't help her hold onto anything. She was gone, dissolved into pure sensation, her mind finally, blissfully quiet.

Eventually her mind faded, unable to stay. And she was gone. Drifting.

Her body kept responding—walls clenching, hips rolling weakly—but Bex wasn't there anymore. The glassy-eyed stare he'd wanted finally arrived, pupils blown wide and unfocused. Her breathing had gone shallow and rhythmic, automatic. The sounds she'd been making trailed off into silence. She'd slipped completely under, floating in that space where thought dissolved and only sensation remained—and even that was becoming abstract, distant.

Shawn felt the shift immediately. The way her muscles went slack despite the continued physical response. The quality of her silence. There it is. He gentled his touch, slowing to soft, grounding strokes rather than the relentless intensity that had driven her here. His fingers slipped free carefully, his mouth pressing one last gentle kiss to her oversensitive flesh before he pulled back to look at her properly.

She was beautiful like this—completely undone, lost to subspace, exactly where he'd promised to take her. Sweat-slicked skin flushed pink, chest rising and falling steadily, arms still stretched above her head in the cuffs. But her eyes were what told him everything: unfocused, glassy, gone. He'd pulled her apart at the seams until there was nothing left but this floating blankness.

Time to bring her back.

She felt it in the distance—the release of the cuffs, one wrist and then the other. A warm wet cloth cleaning her, gently, between her legs and across her thighs. The sensations registered but didn't quite connect to meaning yet. Her body slowly came into focus over... minutes? Impossible to say. Time was still elastic, slippery. She became aware of softness—a blanket? She'd been cleaned up and tucked in.

When her eyes finally opened, the world resolved in pieces. Ceiling. Lamp casting soft light. The nightstand beside the bed holding an open water bottle beaded with condensation—ice cold—and a plate of cheese and crackers arranged simply. Her mouth was dry, her body heavy and boneless. She turned her head, searching.

The room was empty. He wasn't there.

Bex blinked slowly, her mind still foggy and distant. He left. The thought should have sparked something—concern, confusion—but she couldn't quite grasp onto it. She was warm, clean, safe. The water bottle sat within easy reach, condensation pooling on the nightstand. Aftercare. The word surfaced dimly. He said he'd stay.

He heard her stirring and returned to find her half-propped up, eating cheese and leaving the crackers untouched. "There's my nice new toy. Did you have a good nap?"

Bex's eyes tracked to him slowly, her mind still fuzzy around the edges. Toy. His toy. The word settled somewhere warm in her chest. She glanced around, found the clock on the other nightstand. Almost 10. Even accounting for the parts she remembered—the orgasms that had blurred together, the moment she'd slipped under—it had been at least an hour, maybe more, since she'd drifted away completely.

An hour. She'd been out for an hour and he'd cleaned her, tucked her in, left water and food within reach. Her throat felt thick suddenly, emotion mixing with the lingering haze of subspace. She reached for the water bottle with a shaky hand, took a long drink. The cold helped ground her further, brought the world back into sharper focus. Her body felt wrung out, pleasantly heavy, thoroughly used.

"I..." Her voice came out rough, wrecked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yeah. Good nap." Understatement of the fucking century.

"Good. Once you're ready, get dressed and we can talk." He left, heading back to the living room. Her clothes sat folded neatly on the chair next to the bed.

Bex watched him go, still processing through the fog of aftercare and subspace hangover. Get dressed and talk. She looked down at herself—naked under the blanket, body still humming with residual sensation. Her thighs ached pleasantly, her wrists bore faint red marks from the cuffs, and she felt hollowed out in the best possible way. He wrecked me. Actually wrecked me.

She finished the water bottle and most of the cheese before her legs felt steady enough to trust. Standing was an adventure—her knees wobbled, and she had to grip the nightstand for a moment. Jesus. She made her way to the chair, touching her neatly folded clothes with something like wonder. He folded them. The small gesture of care hit harder than it should have.

Getting dressed took longer than usual, her fingers clumsy and her body moving like it belonged to someone else. But eventually she was clothed again—tank top, jeans, socks. She finger-combed her hair, knowing it was a lost cause, and padded out toward the living room on unsteady legs.

She found him sitting on the couch in the living room, reading on an e-ink tablet. "Hey." He patted the couch beside him.

Bex crossed the space on legs that still didn't feel entirely like hers, settling onto the cushion he'd indicated. The apartment was quiet, just the soft hum of the fridge and distant city sounds filtering through the windows. She tucked one leg under herself, turning slightly toward him. Debrief. This is the debrief part. Her mind was clearer now but still soft around the edges, thoughts moving slower than usual.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice still rough. She could feel him watching her—not assessing like before, but checking in. Making sure she was actually present. He folded my clothes. Cleaned me up. Left me water and food. Came back when he heard me moving. The care threaded through every action was almost overwhelming in its thoroughness. She swallowed hard. "So. That was..." Words felt inadequate. Intense? Life-changing? Exactly what I needed?

"Are you good for a chat? It can wait if you need more time. No rush."

The gentleness in his voice steadied something in her chest. He's not rushing me. Even now. Bex nodded, pulling the other leg up so she was curled into the corner of the couch, facing him fully. "Yeah. I'm good." Her voice was still rough but clearer now. I want to talk about it. Need to, maybe. The subspace fog was lifting gradually, leaving her grounded but soft. Vulnerable in a way that would have terrified her with anyone else.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how wrecked she must look—smudged makeup, sex hair, the flush still visible on her chest. But his expression held no judgment, just patient attention. Waiting for her to be ready. He folded my clothes, she thought again, the detail anchoring her. The care wasn't just performative—it was woven through everything he did.

"I'm good," she repeated, more firmly this time. Her fingers found the edge of the couch cushion, something to ground herself with. "Let's talk."

"Ok." He smiled. "So... how you feel, about all that? First scene, kinda sets the tone, ya know. We should get on the same page as far as... the direction of things."

Bex's fingers tightened on the couch cushion. Direction of things. The question hung between them, loaded with possibility. She took a breath, trying to organize thoughts that still felt cotton-soft and scattered. "I feel..." She paused, searching for honesty. "Wrecked. In the best possible way." Her voice was steady despite the vulnerability of the admission. "You did exactly what you said you would. The edging, the control, putting me under—" She swallowed. "I haven't gone that deep in over a year. Maybe longer."

Her eyes met his, dark and serious. "So yeah. That set a tone." A really good fucking tone. "But I need to know what you're thinking. Because that was..." She gestured vaguely, encompassing everything—the week of buildup, the dinner, the way he'd taken her apart with methodical precision. "Intense. And I don't do intense casually unless we're clear about what this is."

The question underneath was obvious: Was this just a good scene, or are we building toward something more?

"What do YOU want it to be?" His question turned it back on her, direct and unflinching. "It sounded like you were looking for... some play time. Do you want more like that? Something else?"

Bex's breath caught. He's making me say it. She could deflect, play it cool, keep her cards close like she usually did. But sitting here in his apartment, still feeling the phantom weight of those cuffs on her wrists, the honesty felt necessary. Essential, even.

"I came here looking for play," she admitted slowly. "Someone who could actually deliver on what they promised, which—" She gestured toward the bedroom. "Mission fucking accomplished." A pause. Her fingers drummed once on her knee before she stilled them. "But that was..." She searched for the right words. "You put thought into this. The vetting, the dinner, the way you handled aftercare. That's not just scratching an itch—that's building something."

Her eyes locked on his, vulnerable but steady. "So yeah. I want more like that. Regular play partner, someone who knows my body and what makes me tick." She swallowed. "But I need to know if you're looking for the same thing, or if this was just a really good one-off for you."

"Well, that was a LOT of fun." He licked his lips, playful. "I would absolutely love to do that, and other things, again. Are you the... exclusive play partner sort?" No judgment in his voice—clearly just a question that needed answering.

Bex's stomach did a complicated flip. He wants to do it again. Other things. The relief was immediate, followed by the weight of his actual question. She shifted on the couch, buying herself a second to think. Normally the answer was easy—no, she wasn't exclusive, she liked variety, keeping things casual. But sitting here in the aftermath of the most intense scene she'd had in years, the automatic response felt... incomplete.

"Historically? No." Her voice was measured, honest. "I've always kept play partners separate, non-exclusive. Easier that way." She met his eyes. "But I'm also not looking to juggle multiple people right now. Between moving here, getting settled, work..." And you just wrecked me so thoroughly I can't imagine anyone else touching me for a while. She didn't say that part out loud. "So for now, yeah. I'd be down for exclusive play partnership. See how it goes." Her fingers drummed once on her knee. "What about you? You looking for multiple partners, or...?"

"I honestly don't know." He shrugged. "Generally I'm not much for monogamy. Tried it, hasn't worked out for me so far haha. Not that I'm itching to hunt for variety right this second, but... it would be a conversation for sure."

Bex nodded slowly, processing. Not monogamous. That's fair. The honesty was refreshing, actually—no promises he couldn't keep, no pretending to be something he wasn't. And she'd never been the jealous type anyway. The idea of him playing with other people didn't trigger the knee-jerk possessiveness she might have expected after tonight. We just met. One incredible scene doesn't mean ownership. Still, something in her chest tightened slightly at the thought of sharing his attention.

"Okay," she said finally. "So we're on the same page—regular play partners, exclusive for now while we figure out what this is, but with the understanding that might change." She met his eyes. "And if either of us wants to add someone else to the mix, we talk about it first. Communication, boundaries, all that responsible adult shit." Her mouth quirked. "Sound good?"

"That sounds good, yeah." He nodded. "And... just for clarity... I'm the compersion sort, not the jealous sort, and there's a high chance I could get flirty with folks, because that's how I deal with social awkwardness haha... so if words and stray looks at others will be an issue, we should set the rules now, before I put my foot in my mouth." He laughed.

The tension Bex had been holding in her shoulders broke. She actually laughed—genuine, surprised. Compersion. He's upfront about being flirty and he's calling it out before it becomes a problem. "God, you're refreshingly honest." She shook her head, grinning. "No, that's not an issue. I'm not the jealous type either—never have been. Flirt away. Look at whoever you want. As long as we're communicating about actual play partners and you're not making promises to me you can't keep, we're good."

She stretched her legs out, feeling more settled now. The conversation had grounded her further, pulled her fully back from the subspace haze into clear-headed reality. "I appreciate you saying it though. Most people would just... do it and then act surprised when it caused problems." Her smile turned wry. "So yeah. We're on the same page. Regular play partners, communication about adding others, and you get to be your socially awkward flirty self without me getting weird about it."

"Ok great. So that's settled. That pile of cheese wasn't much... you hungry? Leftover pizza in the fridge."

Bex's stomach answered before she could, growling audibly. She laughed, pressing a hand to it. "Apparently yes. I didn't realize how hungry I was until you said that." When did I last eat? Lunch? The cheese had helped but it was nothing substantial, and her body was clearly demanding fuel after what he'd put it through. She unfolded herself from the couch, legs steadier now but still carrying that pleasant ache.

"Cold pizza sounds perfect, actually." She followed him toward the kitchen, her bare feet quiet on the floor. The domesticity of it struck her—standing in his kitchen after he'd just wrecked her so thoroughly, about to eat leftover pizza while they figured out the logistics of being regular play partners. This is... nice. Weird, but nice. She leaned against the counter, watching him move to the fridge. "What kind of pizza are we talking about? Please tell me it's not pineapple."

"God no, that was a dealbreaker for me, remember? Haha. Meat lovers." He got them both pizza. "You want a drink? Water? soda? Whisky?"

Bex accepted the plate, the cold pizza actually looking amazing right now. "Water's good. I should probably rehydrate before I add more alcohol to the mix." She grabbed a slice, taking a bite. Cold meat lovers pizza at 10 PM after the best scene of my life. This is perfect. The grease and salt hit exactly right, her body craving the calories and substance.

She leaned against the counter, watching him move around his kitchen with easy familiarity. The whole evening had this surreal quality—the intensity of what had happened in the bedroom contrasted with this comfortable domesticity. Most play partners she'd had were strictly scene-focused: meet up, play, leave. But this felt different. More... real, somehow. Like they were building something that existed outside just the physical.

"So," she said between bites, "you mentioned 'other things' earlier. What kind of other things are we talking about?" Her tone was curious, not challenging. He already delivered on everything he promised. What else is he planning?

"Well, if you LIKE... being... used, as a toy. I would enjoy... doing some using next time probably." He smirked.

Bex nearly choked on her pizza. Heat flooded through her—immediate, visceral. Using. He wants to actually use me. The phrasing was deliberate, she realized. Not just edging her into oblivion again, but taking what he wanted while she was his toy. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, body already responding despite how thoroughly wrung out she was. Jesus, I just had—what, five orgasms? Six?—and he's already got me thinking about next time.

She set her pizza down, needing both hands to grip the counter. "Yeah," she said, voice rougher than intended. "I like that. A lot." Understatement. The objectification he'd described during vetting—being treated like a thing to use—had been theoretical then. But after tonight, after feeling his methodical control, the way he'd taken her apart piece by piece? The idea of him actually using her body for his pleasure while she was pinned and helpless sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.

"So next time you'd actually..." She trailed off, leaving the question hanging. Get yourself off? Fuck me while I'm too gone to do anything but take it?

"Say it." He smiled at her. "Can't play if you can't say... right?"

Oh, he's making me ask for it. Bex's fingers tightened on the counter edge, her pulse kicking up despite the exhaustion still weighing her limbs. The smirk on his face told her he knew exactly what he was doing—making her voice what she wanted, no hiding behind implications or half-finished sentences. He did this during vetting too. Made me spell it out. And god help her, she liked it. Liked being forced to own her desires out loud.

She took a breath, meeting his eyes. "Next time you'd actually fuck me. Use me while I'm pinned down and can't do anything but take it." The words came out steadier than she felt, heat creeping up her neck. "That's what you meant, right? Get me worked up, edge me until I'm desperate, then take what you want while I'm your toy?" Her voice dropped lower. "Because yeah. I want that."

The admission hung between them, charged and explicit. She could see the satisfaction in his expression—not just arousal, but something deeper. He likes making me say it. Likes hearing me own what I need.

"Yeah, that would be the idea. If you want to set boundaries around anything, cool... if not, you know the safety signals, and we just lean in." He took a big bite of pizza.

Just lean in. Bex's stomach flipped—anticipation mixed with something darker, hungrier. The casualness of his tone while discussing using her body was doing things to her. She picked up her own slice again, needing something to do with her hands. "No additional boundaries," she said after a moment. "We already covered the big stuff during vetting. Everything else..." She met his eyes. "Yeah. We just lean in."

The phrase settled between them like a promise. Next time wouldn't be just about her pleasure—it would be about his too. About him taking what he wanted while she was helpless to do anything but experience it. God, I want that. The realization was immediate and certain. Tonight had proven he knew exactly how to play her body, how to push her into subspace and care for her after. The idea of giving him that same control while he used her for his own satisfaction? Yes.

She took another bite of pizza, grounding herself in the mundane act even as her mind spun forward to possibilities. "When were you thinking? For next time?" Her voice was steady, curious. Not too eager. Don't sound desperate. Even though part of her wanted to ask if tomorrow was too soon.

"Whenever. I work from home and my schedule is pretty open. Never did have the normal 'what do you do?' conversation did we?" He laughed. "What... do you do for work?"

Bex blinked, then actually laughed—surprised and genuine. "Oh my god, you're right. We went straight from traffic lights to 'I'm going to wreck you' without hitting any of the normal getting-to-know-you stuff." She shook her head, grinning. We negotiated kinks before jobs. That's so backwards and so perfect.

"I'm a graphic designer," she said, taking another bite of pizza. "Freelance, mostly. Do branding work, some web design, the occasional logo project. So my schedule's pretty flexible too—as long as I hit my deadlines, I can work whenever." She leaned back against the counter, studying him. "What about you? You said you could work from anywhere, so... tech? Writing? Professional pizza taste-tester?"

The domesticity of the conversation felt surreal after everything—standing in his kitchen at 10 PM, eating cold pizza while casually discussing work schedules and when they'd next scene together. This is what building something looks like, she realized. Not just the intense physical connection, but these quieter moments too. Getting to know each other as actual people, not just play partners.

"Oh nice. Yeah, writing. Mostly silly supernatural smut... sometimes other things. Nothing's really taken off but do well enough to pay the bills. You ever do book covers?" He grinned.

Bex's eyebrows shot up. Supernatural smut writer. Of course he is. A laugh bubbled out of her—delighted, surprised. "You write smut and you're this good at actual sex? That's almost unfair." She set down her pizza, leaning forward with genuine interest now. "And yeah, actually—I've done a few book covers. Mostly indie romance stuff, some fantasy. Never supernatural smut though." Her grin turned wicked. "You looking for a designer, or just making conversation?"

He writes what he does. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her. All that methodical precision, the way he'd orchestrated her pleasure—of course he spent his days crafting scenes on paper. Practicing, essentially. No wonder he knew exactly what he was doing. She picked up her water, taking a long drink to cool the flush creeping up her neck.

"So what kind of supernatural are we talking? Vampires? Werewolves? Please tell me it's not sparkly vampires."

He walked over to the bookcase and pulled out a book—a collection of the first few novellas in his "Bound & Brewed" series—so she could read the back cover.

Bex took it, her eyes scanning the cover first. Bound & Brewed. The title alone made her grin. Then she flipped it over, reading the synopsis. Her eyebrows climbed higher with each sentence. "A capitalist cryptid doing demonic insider trading?" She looked up at him, delighted. "An influencer house run by Fae that drains people's creativity? A werewolf divorce?" She kept reading, her grin widening. "Oh my god, a horny ghost haunting a kink club by possessing people mid-scene?"

She set the book down on the counter, laughing. "Okay, these are actually brilliant. And you're telling me you write this stuff and then just... casually live it?" She gestured between them. "Because that scene you just put me through? That was professional-grade work. You've been workshopping technique through fiction, haven't you?"

No wonder he knew exactly how to edge me into oblivion. The realization was equal parts amusing and arousing. He'd literally been practicing—building scenes on paper, thinking through pacing and power dynamics and what made people tick. And then applying it to real life with devastating precision.

"Brilliant? Tell that to my agent and publisher haha." He sat back down, resting his hand on her knee. "Ok, so... we're doing this, exclusive for play, but not side eying each other for talking with others... just... open communication so we can decide how to play things out. I can deal with that. That sounds... nice actually."

The warmth of his palm on her knee was grounding, casual but intimate. Bex looked down at his hand, then back up at his face. Nice. The word was simple but it carried weight—like he was genuinely relieved they'd found this middle ground. No games, no hidden expectations, just honest communication about what they both wanted.

"Yeah," she said softly, covering his hand with hers. "It does sound nice." Her thumb brushed across his knuckles once. Regular play partner who can wreck me and then sit here eating pizza talking about work. Who folds my clothes and tucks me in and makes sure I'm actually okay before sending me home. The care threaded through everything was what sold it, really. Not just the incredible sex—though that was a major factor—but the thoughtfulness behind every action.

She squeezed his hand gently. "So. When do you want to do this again? Because I'm already thinking about next time and I literally just put my clothes back on twenty minutes ago." Her grin was self-deprecating but honest. No point pretending I'm not already hooked.

"What you up to Thursday?"

Bex blinked, the question pulling her out of her thoughts about next scenes. "Thursday?" Then it clicked—game night. Marcus had texted her earlier, asked her to bring Shawn if he was around. Oh. She'd gotten so caught up in negotiating their play dynamic that she'd completely forgotten about the normal social stuff. "Actually, that's game night at Marcus's place. He invited you—well, invited me to invite you." She squeezed his hand still resting on her knee. "Rosa's bringing her girlfriend, so we'll finally have enough for a full party. Marcus is desperate for a DM who isn't him."

The domesticity of it struck her again—not just planning their next scene, but folding him into her actual life. Her friend group. The community. This is what regular play partners looks like when it's working. She studied his face, curious how he'd react to the invitation. Some people kept kink and vanilla life strictly separate, but given how open the local scene was, most of her friends knew each other from both contexts anyway.

"You interested? No pressure if that's too much too fast, but..." She shrugged, smiling. "Figured I'd ask."

"Oh god... just escaped DM hell before I moved here... but you know what, I'm down if it'll get me in on game night with your friends. If we're gonna be a thing... I'm gonna need to... integrate, at least a little." He chuckled. "But that won't help with your original question... Friday?"

Friday. Bex's pulse kicked up despite the exhaustion still weighing her limbs. Five days. She could wait five days to be wrecked again—especially if Thursday meant introducing him to her friends, weaving him into her actual life beyond just play. He wants to integrate. That's... that's actually really sweet. Most play partners stayed firmly in their lane, but he was actively choosing to blur those lines. To be part of her world, not just her bedroom.

"Friday works," she said, her voice steadier than the flutter in her chest. "Same time? Eight o'clock, belong to you from the moment I walk in?" The phrasing sent heat through her even now, remembering how thoroughly he'd delivered on that promise tonight. Her thumb traced another circle on his knuckles. "And Thursday you can meet everyone. Fair warning—Marcus is going to try to recruit you for his Cyberpunk campaign the second he finds out you know the system."

She grinned, imagining the chaos of game night with Shawn there. Rosa would absolutely grill him with questions, and Haven would give her that look the whole time. My friends are going to know exactly what we're doing. They'll take one look at us and know. The thought should have been embarrassing but mostly just felt... right.

"Sounds great." He took her empty plate and refilled her water, then sat back down. "So... getting late, you feel like heading out, or staying. I'm told my waffles are decent, but no pressure if an overnight is too much too soon or whatever."

Bex accepted the fresh water, the gesture so casually thoughtful it made her chest tight. Waffles. He was offering her breakfast. An actual overnight, not just aftercare and then sending her home. She glanced at the clock—nearly 10:30. Her overnight bag was still by the door where she'd left it hours ago, packed with everything she'd need. I brought it assuming I might stay. Did I want to stay?

The answer surprised her with its immediacy: yes. Not because she was too tired to drive—though her body still felt pleasantly wrung out—but because the idea of waking up here, of breakfast and morning-after conversation, felt... right. Natural, even. Like a continuation of what they were building rather than an overstep.

"Your waffles, huh?" She set down the water, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "That's a bold claim." Her fingers drummed once on her thigh before she stilled them. "But yeah. I'd like to stay. If the offer's genuine and not just you being polite because I look like I can barely walk." The self-deprecating humor softened the admission, but her expression was sincere. I want to see what morning looks like with you.

"Absolutely genuine." He laughed. "I'd never lie about waffles, I'm not a monster!"

Bex snorted, the tension she'd been holding dissolving completely. Not a monster about waffles. That's the line. Something warm settled in her chest—not just arousal or satisfaction from the scene, but genuine affection. He was funny. Thoughtful. Could wreck her so thoroughly she lost track of time, then sit here making jokes about breakfast foods like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Okay then." She stood, stretching carefully. Her body protested the movement—muscles still loose and heavy, that pleasant ache between her thighs reminding her exactly what he'd done to her. "I'm staying for the waffles. But if they're mediocre, I'm leaving a bad Yelp review." Her grin was teasing, warm.

She padded over to grab her overnight bag from by the door, slinging it over her shoulder. The weight of it felt different now—not preparation for an unknown, but a natural extension of the evening. I'm staying. We're doing this. The simplicity of it was almost startling. No games, no second-guessing, just honest communication and mutual interest. She turned back to face him, bag in hand. "So where am I sleeping? Guest room, couch, or...?"

"The couch folds out and it's... fine... but if you wanna just share the bed, I... well it's not like modesty is a TOP priority at this point... but no pressure from me, I know sleeping next to someone isn't quite the same..."

His voice carried that same careful consideration—offering without pushing, acknowledging the difference between scene intimacy and sleeping-beside-someone intimacy. Bex felt something shift in her chest at the thoughtfulness of it. He gets it. That sharing a bed is different. Most people assumed that after what they'd just done, sleeping together would be nothing. But he understood the distinction, gave her the choice without making either option feel wrong.

"The bed's fine," she said, surprising herself with how quickly the answer came. I want to wake up next to him. See what that's like. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "Fair warning though—I'm a blanket hog and I probably snore." The humor was self-deprecating but her expression was open, honest. "Also I'll need to borrow a toothbrush unless you want morning breath in your face when I inevitably steal your pillow too."

"Yeah, well... I sleep naked and I'm happy to use YOU as a pillow if needed, so we'll make it work." He chuckled and helped her with her bag, leading them back to the bedroom. He disappeared into the ensuite bathroom to brush his teeth.

He sleeps naked. Bex stood in the bedroom for a moment, processing. And he'll use me as a pillow. The casual intimacy of it—not sexual, just... comfortable—made her chest feel tight in a way she couldn't quite name. She set her bag on the chair where her clothes had been folded earlier, digging through it for her toothbrush and sleep clothes. Except now she was second-guessing the oversized t-shirt and shorts she'd packed. He's sleeping naked. Do I...?

No. Too much too fast. She grabbed the shirt and shorts, then padded to the bathroom doorway. He was at the sink, toothbrush in hand, and the domesticity of it hit her again—standing in his bathroom like this was normal, like they did this all the time. She held up her toothbrush. "Mind if I join you, or is this a solo teeth-brushing situation?" Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes were soft. This is nice. This whole thing is really nice.

He motioned for her to join. They brushed side by side, the mirror reflecting two people in a moment so ordinary it felt intimate in its own way—toothpaste foam and the sound of bristles against enamel. When they finished, he headed back to the bedroom while she rinsed her mouth one last time.

Bex followed a moment later to find him beside the bed, stripping without ceremony or shame. Her eyes caught the movement—the efficient way he pulled off his shirt, revealing the body she'd felt but not properly seen. Soft but solid, that dad bod she'd noted at the munch. Then his jeans came off, and she got just a glimpse before he climbed under the covers—enough to confirm he was absolutely serious about sleeping naked, enough to send an unexpected flutter through her stomach despite how thoroughly spent she was.

Okay. So that's happening. She stood there holding her sleep clothes, suddenly aware of how overdressed they seemed. But she pulled the shirt on anyway—oversized, falling to mid-thigh—and left the shorts in her bag. A compromise. The fabric was soft against her bare skin as she moved to the other side of the bed, hyperaware of him already settled under the covers. The sheets rustled as she slid in beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight.

The bed was comfortable—that adjustable frame she'd been cuffed to earlier now just a place to sleep. Except it wasn't just any bed. It was his bed, and he was naked under these same covers, and she was voluntarily choosing to stay. Her heart did something complicated in her chest.

"You a white noise person? Quiet? Disturbingly graphic crime podcasts? What we doing?"

Bex laughed, the sound muffled against her pillow as she settled in. Of course he's asking about sleep preferences. The thoughtfulness was almost excessive at this point—vetting, aftercare, now optimizing the sleeping environment. But it was also... really nice. She rolled onto her side to face him, tucking one hand under her cheek.

"Quiet's good," she said. "I can sleep through pretty much anything, but I don't need sound." Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in from the streetlamp outside, making out the shape of him in the bed beside her. Close but not touching yet. The space between them felt loaded with possibility—he'd said he'd use her as a pillow, but he wasn't presuming. Still giving her room to choose. "What about you? You one of those people who needs a fan running or you'll die?"

The conversation was so mundane, so normal after everything that had happened tonight. But that was what made it feel significant somehow—like they were building something real, not just a play dynamic. Getting to know each other's sleep habits right alongside their kinks.

"Usually quiet. Sometimes an audiobook or something if I can't sleep... but quiet is good." He smiled. "You need anything? Water? Whatever?"

Still checking on me. Bex shook her head against the pillow, that warm feeling in her chest expanding. "No, I'm good. You already refilled my water earlier." Her voice was soft, drowsy now that she was horizontal and comfortable. The exhaustion from the scene was catching up to her properly—that bone-deep satisfaction of being thoroughly worked over mixing with the simple comfort of a good bed.

She shifted slightly closer, testing. Not pressing against him yet, but closing some of that careful distance he'd maintained. "Thanks though. For asking." Her eyes were already getting heavy, the events of the evening—the week, really—finally settling into her body. A thought surfaced through the drowsiness. "Hey. Tonight was... really good. Like, really fucking good." The vulnerability in her voice was unguarded now, softened by tiredness and contentment. "Just wanted to make sure you knew that."

The darkness made it easier to say somehow, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his bedroom with sleep pulling at the edges of her awareness.

They settled into the quiet darkness. Shawn's breathing shifted first—deepening, evening out into the rhythmic pattern of sleep. The mattress barely moved as he relaxed fully, one arm draped across his stomach beneath the covers.

Bex lay there for a moment, listening to that steady breathing, feeling the warmth radiating from his side of the bed. He's out. The realization brought a smile to her face in the darkness. After everything—the scene, the conversation, offering her waffles and a place to stay—he'd just... fallen asleep. Trusting her in his space, comfortable enough to be vulnerable.

She carefully reached for her phone on the nightstand, the screen brightness making her squint. Her fingers found Haven's thread and started typing: "I'm in his bed. He's asleep. I'm STAYING FOR WAFFLES."

The reply came fast—Haven was clearly still awake. "WAFFLES? Bex. BEX. Details. Now."

Bex bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud, glancing at Shawn's sleeping form to make sure she hadn't disturbed him. Her fingers flew across the screen: "He wrecked me. Like WRECKED me. I lost count after 5. Went into subspace so hard I was out for an hour. He cleaned me up, tucked me in, left me water and cheese." She paused, then added: "And we're exclusive play partners now. With communication if that changes."

"Holy shit you're already in deep."

Bex stared at Haven's message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. In deep. Was she? She glanced over at Shawn's sleeping form—the rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed line of his shoulders. They'd known each other for a week. One incredible scene didn't mean—

Except it wasn't just the scene, was it? It was the vetting. The dinner. The way he'd delayed a full day to give her processing time. The folded clothes and the aftercare and the casual offer of waffles like staying over was the most natural thing in the world. The way he'd asked about her work, invited himself into her friend group, negotiated their dynamic with zero bullshit.

"Maybe," she typed back finally. "But it's a good deep. He's... different."

"Different how?"

Bex bit her lip, thinking. How did she explain it? That he made her feel safe and challenged at the same time? That he could wreck her so thoroughly she lost herself, then sit on the couch eating pizza and making jokes about his book covers? That every action—big and small—was threaded through with thoughtfulness?

"He cares," she typed. "Like actually cares. Not just about getting off or having a good scene. About ME." She hit send before she could overthink it, then added: "And yeah. I'm already thinking about Friday."

"Friday? Bex it's Sunday night."

"I KNOW." She glanced at Shawn again, making sure he was still asleep. "He's using me next time. Like actually using me. And I can't stop thinking about it."

"Oh you're GONE gone. This is amazing. I'm so happy for you." A pause, then: "Wait, you're texting me from his bed while he's sleeping right next to you? That's kind of rude."

Bex snorted quietly. Fair point. "You're right. Going to sleep. See you at game night Thursday—he's coming."

"HE'S MEETING THE CREW ALREADY?"

"Goodnight Haven." Bex added a laughing emoji and set her phone back on the nightstand, screen-down. The room settled back into quiet darkness, just Shawn's steady breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

She rolled onto her side, facing him. He'd said he'd use her as a pillow if needed, but right now he was perfectly content on his side of the bed. Should I...? The hesitation was brief. She shifted closer, closing the distance between them until her body pressed lightly against his side. Testing. Seeing if he'd stir.

His breathing didn't change. Still deep, still even. Good. Bex let herself relax into the warmth of him, her head finding a comfortable spot on his shoulder. He'd said he slept naked, and yeah—the heat of his bare skin against her cheek through the thin fabric of her shirt was... nice. Really nice.

This is what I wanted, she realized, her eyes already growing heavy. Not just the incredible sex, but this too. The quiet intimacy of falling asleep next to someone who made her feel safe. Who cared enough to ask about white noise preferences and offer waffles and fold her clothes while she was unconscious.

Bex woke slowly, awareness returning in pieces. Warmth against her back. The unfamiliar weight of someone else in the bed. Then the sensation that had pulled her from sleep—a hand on her thigh, just slightly under the hem of her oversized shirt. Fingers resting there with casual possession, warm and solid against her skin.

Oh. Her eyes opened, adjusting to the morning light filtering through the curtains. She'd shifted in the night—or he had—and now she was curled on her side with Shawn pressed against her back, one arm draped over her waist, that hand settled high on her thigh. His breathing was still deep and even against her neck. Still asleep.

Her pulse kicked up despite the drowsiness still weighing her limbs. The touch wasn't sexual—just his hand resting there in sleep—but after last night, after everything, it felt charged anyway. Intimate in a different way than being cuffed to his headboard had been. This was unconscious trust, his body seeking hers in sleep without thought or negotiation. He said he'd use me as a pillow. Apparently she'd become his in more ways than one.

Bex stayed still, not wanting to wake him yet, hyperaware of every point of contact between them. His bare chest against her back through the thin shirt. His legs tangled with hers under the covers. That hand on her thigh, thumb resting just at the crease where leg met hip. This is nice, she thought, surprising herself with how much she meant it. Really nice.

She started to feel it—the unmistakable signs of him getting hard, pressing against her ass as their micro-movements caused enough friction to kick off biology outside his control while he slept.

Oh. Heat flooded through Bex immediately, her body responding before her mind could catch up. The hand on her thigh suddenly felt heavier, more deliberate even though she knew it wasn't—he was still asleep, his breathing unchanged against her neck. But his body was reacting to her proximity, to the unconscious press and shift of her hips against him, and now she could feel exactly how he was responding. The growing hardness trapped between them, separated only by the thin fabric of her shirt and whatever—if anything—the covers were doing to contain the situation.

Her thighs clenched involuntarily. He's asleep. This isn't—we're not— But her body didn't care about the distinction. After last night, after being edged into oblivion and tucked into his bed, feeling him hard against her sent a pulse of want straight through her core. She bit her lip, trying to stay still, trying not to shift in a way that would wake him or make this worse. Better? God, I don't even know.

His hand on her thigh flexed slightly in sleep, fingers pressing just a fraction deeper. Still unconscious. Still unaware of what his body was doing to her. Bex's breathing had gone shallow, her pulse hammering. What do I do? Wake him? Pretend I'm still asleep? Move away? But she didn't move. Just lay there, hyperaware of every point of contact, feeling him grow harder against her with each small unconscious shift of their bodies.

"Oh." He stirred, suddenly noticing the situation and backing off with his hips just a little. "Sorry... I... well... sorry haha. Mornin'!"

The loss of pressure against her was immediate—and disappointing in a way that made Bex's face flush hot. He's apologizing. For morning wood. After what we did last night. The absurdity of it made her want to laugh and groan at the same time. She rolled onto her back to look at him properly, finding him propped on one elbow, sleep-rumpled and sheepish, morning light catching in his hair.

"Morning," she managed, her voice still rough with sleep and arousal she was trying to ignore. Don't make it weird. He's being respectful. Even though part of her wanted to press back against him, wanted to see what would happen if she did. But they'd negotiated Friday. Not Sunday morning in bed with both of them barely awake. "Don't apologize. Biology happens." Her smile was wry, self-deprecating. "I was the one pressed up against you like a barnacle anyway."

The hand that had been on her thigh was gone now, and she felt the absence of it like a physical thing. Her body was still humming with want, still primed from last night and the accidental intimacy of waking up tangled together. Friday. We said Friday. She needed to remember that. Needed to not push for more when he'd been so careful about boundaries and communication.

He shifted onto his back and stretched. "How'd ya sleep? And... very importantly... how do you take your coffee?"

The casual shift in topic was a relief and a frustration all at once. Bex watched the stretch—the way his body moved under the covers, the morning light catching on bare skin—and had to force her eyes back to his face. Coffee. He's asking about coffee. Normal morning-after questions. She could do normal. Even if her body was still humming with want, even if she could still feel the phantom pressure of him against her.

"I slept great, actually." She propped herself up on one elbow, mirroring his earlier position. "Better than I have in weeks. Your bed is obscenely comfortable." And you make a good pillow, but I'm not saying that out loud. Her smile was genuine despite the tension still coiled in her stomach. "Coffee-wise, I'm easy. Little bit of cream, no sugar. The stronger the better—I'm useless before caffeine."

The domesticity of the conversation grounded her somewhat, pulling her back from the edge of want into something more manageable. This is what morning-after looks like when it's working. Casual questions about sleep and coffee preferences, both of them sleep-rumpled and comfortable despite the biological awkwardness of two minutes ago. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how much of a mess she probably looked. "What about you? How'd you sleep with me stealing all your covers and using you as furniture?"

"Slept great honestly. Weird dreams, but... good weird. Haha." He slid out of bed and stood, stark naked and shameless. "Coffee and waffles in 10." He smiled, then slid on a pair of boxers and t-shirt and headed out to the kitchen.

Bex watched him go, her brain short-circuiting for a solid three seconds. Stark naked. Just—completely comfortable. She'd gotten a glimpse last night, but this was full daylight, zero hesitation, just him moving through his space like nudity was the most natural thing in the world. Which, given what they'd done twelve hours ago, it probably was. But still. Her face felt hot, her body still humming with residual want from waking up pressed against him.

Coffee and waffles in 10. She needed to get up. Get dressed. Be a functional human being who could sit across from him at breakfast without thinking about Friday. About being used. About the way he'd looked standing there before pulling on clothes—comfortable in his skin in a way that was somehow more attractive than any performance could be.

She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, her body protesting slightly—that pleasant ache between her thighs a reminder of how thoroughly he'd worked her over. Her overnight bag sat on the chair, and she dug through it for actual clothes. Jeans, a clean tank top, her leather jacket if she got cold. She dressed quickly, finger-combed her hair into something resembling order, and padded out toward the kitchen on bare feet.

The smell of coffee hit her first—rich and strong, exactly what she needed. Then she saw him at the stove, already working on waffle batter, morning light streaming through the kitchen window. This is what domestic looks like with him, she thought, leaning against the doorway. Comfortable. Easy. Like they'd been doing this for months instead of less than twenty-four hours.

Minutes later, she was drinking coffee and taking the first bite of waffle. It was pretty good—not earth-shatteringly good, but in that grounded "this is just food that tastes good and feels real" way. The kind of breakfast that didn't try to be fancy, just hit the spot exactly right. Crispy edges, fluffy center, the butter melting into the grid pattern. Exactly what her body needed after last night.

Bex took another bite, chasing it with coffee that was strong enough to make her eyes widen appreciatively. He wasn't lying about the coffee. She looked up at him across the small table, morning light catching in his sleep-mussed hair, and felt something settle in her chest. This. This was what she'd been missing with other play partners—the after. The quiet morning domesticity that made the intensity feel sustainable rather than just a one-off thrill.

"Okay," she said, gesturing at her plate with her fork. "You weren't overselling. These are solid waffles." Her smile was warm, genuine. "And the coffee's perfect. So you've officially passed the morning-after test." She took another sip, letting the caffeine start working its magic. Her body still felt pleasantly used, that ache between her thighs a constant reminder, but the food and coffee were bringing her fully back to herself. Grounded. Present.

"So," she said, meeting his eyes over the rim of her mug. "Thursday. Game night. What time should I pick you up, or do you want to meet there?"

"Oh, a chauffeur? Love that for me." He laughed. "Pick me up whenever... I'll be here."

Bex snorted into her coffee, nearly choking. "Chauffeur. Right. Because driving ten minutes across town is such a hardship." But she was grinning, warmth spreading through her chest at how easy this was. The banter, the casual planning, the way he could make her laugh over breakfast waffles after wrecking her so thoroughly the night before. "I'll text you Thursday afternoon with a time. Marcus usually starts around seven, but people drift in whenever."

She took another bite of waffle, chewing thoughtfully. "Fair warning—Rosa's going to interrogate you about your books the second she finds out you write. And Haven's going to give me looks all night because she already knows what we're doing." Her smile turned wry. "Small community means everyone knows everyone's business eventually. You good with that?"

The question was light but genuine. Some people wanted to keep their play life separate from their social circle, even in a scene as integrated as theirs. But if he was coming to game night, meeting her friends, he needed to know what he was walking into. They're going to know. They're going to look at us and just know.

"Are you asking if I'm ok with people knowing I ate you out? OH NO, my reputation as a monk will be ruined and people will think I'm WAY cooler than I am... the shame of it!" He cackled.

Bex nearly spit out her coffee, choking on laughter and caffeine. Monk. He said monk. She set her mug down hard, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she tried to catch her breath between laughs. "Oh my god, you're ridiculous." Her face was hot, equal parts embarrassment and amusement. Way cooler than I am. The self-deprecating humor was so genuine it somehow made the explicit statement less mortifying and more endearing.

"Okay, point taken," she managed once she could breathe again. "You're not worried about your monk reputation." She picked up her fork again, grinning at him across the table. "Though for the record, Haven already knows. I texted her last night while you were asleep like the terrible person I am." Her smile turned sheepish. "So yeah. The crew's going to know before you even walk in the door Thursday. Rosa will probably have questions prepared."

She took another bite of waffle, letting the comfortable silence settle between them for a moment. The morning light, the coffee, the easy banter—it all felt so normal despite how not-normal their dynamic actually was. This is what it looks like when it's working, she thought again. When someone can make you laugh over breakfast after making you lose your mind the night before.

"Ok." He laughed. "Fair enough... so I guess the real question is... how much... detail... are you good with me actually talking about? You a 'privacy is sacred' person, or a 'yell about getting laid from the rooftops' person? No judgement either way, just need to know the boundaries." He smiled.

Bex paused mid-bite, the question catching her slightly off-guard. How much detail? She set her fork down, considering. Most of her previous play partners had been strictly need-to-know—what happened in scene stayed in scene, maybe broad strokes to close friends but nothing specific. But this felt different. He was meeting her crew, integrating into her life. And honestly? She trusted him. Trusted that he wouldn't be gratuitous or disrespectful, just... honest.

"Somewhere in the middle," she said finally. "I don't need you protecting my reputation—anyone at that munch already knows I'm not vanilla. And Haven knows most things anyway because she's my person." She picked up her coffee, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. "But maybe don't lead with 'I edged Bex into subspace for an hour' as your opening line to Marcus?" Her smile was wry. "Broad strokes are fine. Specifics if it comes up naturally in conversation. Just... use your judgment. And same goes for me—if there's anything you want kept private, tell me now."

"Ok, sounds good. And... you can say whatever you like. Nothing that happened could do anything but help my social standing." He chuckled and made a slightly silly face.

Bex snorted, shaking her head at him. Nothing but help my social standing. The confidence wasn't arrogant—just honest, delivered with that self-deprecating humor that somehow made it charming instead of cocky. And he wasn't wrong. Walking into game night as the guy who'd successfully wrecked her would absolutely earn him points with her crew. Especially with Jess, who'd already expressed interest at the munch.

"Fair point," she said, grinning around another bite of waffle. "Though you might want to brace yourself for Rosa asking extremely detailed questions about technique. She's got no filter when she's curious." She drained the last of her coffee, feeling more human now with caffeine and food in her system. The pleasant ache in her body was settling into something manageable, grounding rather than distracting.

She leaned back in her chair, studying him across the table. Morning light, silly face, completely comfortable in his own skin. This is really working. The thought was simple but significant. One incredible scene, one easy morning after, and already she was looking forward to Thursday. To Friday. To whatever came next. "So. Thursday at seven. I'll text you when I'm on my way." Her smile turned playful. "Try not to traumatize Marcus too badly when he inevitably asks you to run his Cyberpunk campaign."

"Ok, sounds like a plan. This was... a lot of fun. I look forward to more... game night AND the... other things." His smile was wide, genuine, as she stood and began gathering her things.

Bex felt that smile do something complicated to her chest—warm and anticipatory all at once. Game night AND the other things. The casual way he bundled both together, like they were equally important parts of what they were building, made her feel steadier somehow. Seen. She collected her overnight bag from the bedroom, did a quick sweep to make sure she hadn't left anything behind, then returned to find him still at the table with that easy smile.

"Yeah," she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. Her voice came out softer than intended. "It really was." Understatement of the century. She moved toward the door, hyper-aware of him following, of the shift from morning-after domesticity back to the real world. Her hand found the doorknob, but she paused, turning back to face him. "Thanks. For... all of it. The scene, the aftercare, the waffles." Her smile turned slightly self-deprecating. "For not being weird about me texting Haven from your bed at midnight."

She could still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her thigh, the morning warmth of waking up pressed against him. Friday felt both impossibly far away and dangerously close. Five days. She could make it five days.

"You really will have to get used to me not minding that you're telling people you had a good time with me." He laughed. "See ya Thursday, but... text me before that if you wanna chat or anything."

Text me if you wanna chat. The casualness of the offer—like they were friends who happened to have incredible sex, not just play partners with scheduled scenes—made something warm unfurl in Bex's chest. She shifted the bag on her shoulder, suddenly aware of how much she didn't actually want to leave yet. But staying longer felt like pushing, like asking for more than they'd negotiated.

"I will," she said, and meant it. Not just about texting—about getting used to his comfort with her talking. Most partners wanted discretion bordering on secrecy, but he was actively encouraging her to share. He wants people to know. Wants me to tell Haven I had a good time. The thought made her smile despite the odd reluctance to walk out his door. "And yeah. Thursday. I'll text you." She pulled the door open, cool morning air rushing in from the hallway. One last look at him—sleep-rumpled, easy smile, completely comfortable in his space—and she forced herself to step through. "Thanks again. For everything."

The door closed behind her with a soft click, and Bex stood in the hallway for a moment, bag over her shoulder, still feeling the ghost of his hand on her thigh and the taste of his coffee on her tongue. Friday, she reminded herself, heading toward the elevator. Just make it to Friday.

Her phone was in her hand before she'd even reached her car, pulling up Haven's thread: "I'm leaving now. The waffles were good. Everything was good. I'm so fucked."

Chapter 3

Fun and Games

~5,339 words

Bex met Haven for lunch at a small café downtown, sliding into the booth across from her with the kind of bone-deep satisfaction that came from a weekend well spent. Haven took one look at her face and grinned like a shark scenting blood.

"Oh, you are glowing," Haven said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "Like, legitimately glowing. I need details. All of them. Starting with why you texted me 'I'm so fucked' this morning and then went radio silent for three hours."

Bex groaned, hiding her face in her hands for a moment before reaching for the menu. "Because I was driving home and then I passed out for two hours because someone edged me into oblivion and I apparently needed a recovery nap." She peeked over the top of the menu at Haven's delighted expression. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what? Like my best friend just had the best sex of her life with the hot new dom and is now trying to pretend she's not completely gone for him?" Haven's smile was knowing, warm. "Bex. You stayed over. You never stay over with play partners. And you're meeting him again Thursday and Friday? That's not casual."

Bex set down her menu, accepting defeat. "Okay, fine. It's not casual." The admission felt significant, saying it out loud to Haven in the bright afternoon light of a café instead of just thinking it in the privacy of her own head. "But we talked about it. We're exclusive play partners for now, with communication if that changes. He's not the jealous type, I'm not the jealous type, and we're both being adults about it."

"Uh-huh." Haven's expression was entirely too knowing. "And the part where you're glowing and texting me about waffles and already planning your next two encounters? That's just being adults about it?"

"He made good waffles," Bex said defensively, then immediately realized how that sounded. Haven's laugh was bright and delighted, drawing looks from nearby tables. Bex felt her face heat. "Oh my god, shut up. Yes, fine, I like him. He's—" She paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound completely ridiculous. "He's thoughtful. And funny. And he actually listens instead of just waiting for his turn to talk. And yeah, the sex was incredible, but it's not just that."

Haven reached across the table and squeezed her hand, her expression softening from teasing to genuine warmth. "I'm really happy for you, Bex. You deserve someone who actually shows up." She leaned back, picking up her own menu. "So. Thursday. Game night. Are you ready for Rosa to absolutely grill him about those supernatural smut books?"

Bex laughed, the sound slightly nervous. "God, I'm not ready for any of it. Marcus is going to try to recruit him immediately, Rosa's going to have a million questions, and you're going to give me that look all night." She picked up her water glass, taking a long drink. "But yeah. He's coming. He wants to integrate, apparently. Meet my friends, be part of the actual community instead of just showing up for scenes."

"That's a good sign," Haven said, her tone turning more serious. "Most people keep that stuff separate. The fact that he's actively choosing to blur those lines means he's thinking long-term." She paused, studying Bex's face. "How do you feel about that? The integration thing?"

Bex considered the question while their server appeared to take their orders. Once they were alone again, she leaned back in the booth, fingers drumming once on the table before stilling. "I feel... good about it? Which is weird because usually I like keeping things compartmentalized. But with him it just feels natural." She met Haven's eyes. "Like we're building something real, not just a play dynamic. And that's terrifying and exciting at the same time."

"Welcome to actual feelings," Haven said with a grin. "They're the worst and the best simultaneously." Her expression turned playful again. "So what's the plan for Friday? You said he's 'using' you this time?"

Heat flooded Bex's face immediately. "Yeah. That's—yeah." She couldn't quite meet Haven's eyes, suddenly fascinated by the condensation on her water glass. "We talked about it. After he wrecked me, we negotiated what comes next, and he said he wants to actually use me. Like, get himself off while I'm..." She trailed off, the memory of that conversation in his kitchen sending a fresh pulse of want through her. "God, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Five days," Haven said sympathetically. "You just have to make it five days without combusting from anticipation." Her smile turned wicked. "Though based on how you look right now, that might be asking too much."

Thursday evening arrived faster than Bex expected. She stood in front of her closet, second-guessing her outfit choice for the third time. It's just game night. With friends. Who you've known for months. Except this time she was bringing Shawn, and somehow that changed everything. She finally settled on dark jeans and a fitted green henley—casual but put-together, nothing that screamed "I'm trying too hard."

Her phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: "Rosa's here early and she's already asking questions about your 'mystery DM.' Fair warning."

Bex groaned, typing back: "His name is Shawn and he writes supernatural smut. That should keep her busy for at least ten minutes."

She grabbed her keys and headed out, the drive to Shawn's apartment taking exactly nine minutes in Thursday evening traffic. Her pulse kicked up as she pulled into his parking lot, remembering the last time she'd been here—stumbling out Sunday morning with her overnight bag, still feeling the phantom weight of leather cuffs on her wrists.

He came out to meet her, dark pants and an old Atari t-shirt that looked soft from years of wear. "Hey you." He slid into the passenger seat with easy confidence, bringing the faint scent of soap and something woodsy with him—cologne or aftercare product, she couldn't tell.

Hey you. The casual greeting did something to Bex's chest, made the nervous energy she'd been carrying all day settle into something warmer. She pulled out of the parking lot, merging into traffic toward Marcus's place. "Hey yourself." Her smile felt more natural now, the weirdness of seeing him again after Sunday morning fading into comfortable familiarity. "Fair warning—Rosa got there early and is apparently already asking Marcus questions about you. I may have told him you write supernatural smut to buy us some time."

The drive was short, maybe fifteen minutes across town to Marcus's apartment in the arts district. Bex found herself hyperaware of him in her passenger seat—the way he sat relaxed, one arm draped casually along the door, completely comfortable in her space. This is what it looks like when someone integrates into your life, she thought. Not just showing up for scenes but being present for the mundane parts too. Game nights and car rides and meeting the crew.

"So," she said, glancing at him as she stopped at a red light. "You ready for this? Because once Rosa gets going with the questions, there's no stopping her."

"Haha, I'll survive I'm sure. It'll be fun."

His easy confidence was either genuine or a very good front—Bex couldn't quite tell which. The light turned green and she accelerated, taking the turn toward Marcus's neighborhood. He thinks it'll be fun. Most people would be at least a little nervous about walking into an established friend group, but he seemed completely unbothered. Then again, this was the same guy who'd walked into his first munch with tactical pen confidence and charmed half the room, so maybe social anxiety just wasn't in his repertoire.

"Famous last words," she said, grinning as she pulled into a parking spot outside Marcus's building. The lights were already on in his second-floor apartment, shadows moving behind the curtains. They're all up there waiting. Her stomach did a complicated flip—part excitement, part nervousness about her two worlds colliding. She killed the engine and grabbed her bag from the back seat. "Okay. Let's do this before I overthink it."

The walk up to Marcus's door felt shorter than usual. Bex knocked twice, the familiar pattern, and heard immediate movement inside. The door swung open to reveal Marcus, grinning wide, with Rosa already visible over his shoulder looking intensely curious.

"There she is!" Marcus stepped aside to let them in. "And this must be the famous Shawn." His handshake was enthusiastic, genuine. "Marcus. Welcome to chaos central. Rosa's already claimed the good chair, Haven's in the kitchen stress-eating my snacks, and we're still waiting on Jess and her girlfriend."

"Hey, hi. Yeah I remember, the TTRPG guy from the munch. Nice place ya got here." Shawn stepped through into the apartment, looking around with genuine interest before nodding to the others already there.

Marcus's place was exactly what you'd expect from a perpetual DM—shelves crammed with rulebooks and miniatures, a large table already set up in the living room with character sheets and dice scattered across its surface, and posters for various fantasy games covering most of the available wall space. The couch had seen better days but looked comfortable, and the kitchen was separated by a half-wall where Haven was indeed stress-eating chips directly from the bag.

Rosa unfolded herself from the good chair—a worn leather recliner positioned perfectly for table access—and crossed the room with the purposeful stride of someone on a mission. She was tall, dark-skinned, with box braids pulled back in a high ponytail and an expression of intense curiosity. "Rosa," she said, extending her hand. "Bex mentioned you write supernatural smut. I have so many questions." Her handshake was firm, her smile warm but slightly predatory in that way academics got when they found a new subject to dissect.

Haven emerged from the kitchen, chips still in hand, and gave Bex a look that clearly said he's cute and you're glowing again. Out loud she just said, "Haven. We've met briefly at the munch. Good to see you again, Shawn." Her tone was friendly, welcoming, with just enough knowing warmth to make Bex want to sink into the floor.

Marcus gestured toward the table. "Make yourself at home. Beer's in the fridge, snacks everywhere, and we're starting with a one-shot tonight since Jess is bringing someone new. You play much Cyberpunk, or are you more of a fantasy guy?"

"I've played a decent bit of Red, but only read of the horrors of Nethacking in 2020." He laughed.

Marcus's eyes lit up immediately. "Oh thank god, someone who actually knows the system." He moved toward the bookshelf, pulling down a well-worn copy of Cyberpunk Red. "Most people come in thinking it's all chrome and no consequences, but Red actually makes you work for your upgrades." He flipped through pages marked with sticky notes. "And yeah, 2020's Netrunning was... a choice. Red streamlined it way better, but there's still that nostalgia factor, you know?"

Rosa had settled back into her chair but was watching Shawn with renewed interest. "So you write and you game. Does the gaming influence the writing, or is it the other way around?" Her tone was genuinely curious, not interrogative—yet. But Bex recognized that look. Rosa was building up to something, cataloging information for later use.

Haven caught Bex's eye from across the room and mouthed he's perfect with an exaggerated expression that made Bex want to throw something at her. Instead she just rolled her eyes and moved to claim a spot at the table, pulling out a chair and settling in. The familiar chaos of pre-game setup was already happening around them—Marcus pulling out his DM screen, Rosa organizing her dice collection, Haven finally abandoning the chips to grab character sheets from a folder.

Marcus looked up from his book, grinning at Shawn. "So here's the thing—I was planning to run tonight, but if you're familiar with Red and willing to take the reins, I would love to actually play for once. No pressure though. I've got a one-shot prepped either way."

"Make you a deal, I'll run it tonight, but next time I play. I'm not trapping myself in another forever DM situation!" His voice was clearly MOSTLY joking, but there was enough real feeling underneath to suggest he'd been burned before.

Marcus's face split into a grin so wide it was almost comical. "Deal. Absolutely deal." He thrust the book toward Shawn like he was afraid the offer might evaporate. "You have no idea how long it's been since I got to actually play instead of herding cats." He grabbed a battered folder from the shelf. "Here's the one-shot—pre-gens are already done, it's a straightforward heist scenario in Night City. Should be easy to pick up."

Rosa leaned forward in her chair, dice clicking between her fingers. "Oh this is going to be good. Fresh DM means fresh chaos." Her smile was sharp, delighted. "Fair warning—I play a netrunner and I will try to break your encounter design."

Haven had settled at the table now, character sheet in hand, watching the exchange with obvious amusement. She caught Bex's eye again and this time her expression said see? Integrating perfectly. Bex felt something warm settle in her chest—he wasn't just tolerating this, he was actively participating. Offering to DM despite his joke about forever DM hell, engaging with Marcus's obvious enthusiasm, handling Rosa's competitive energy with easy humor.

The apartment door opened again, admitting Jess and a woman Bex didn't recognize—petite, dark hair, nervous smile. "Sorry we're late!" Jess called out, then spotted Shawn and her expression brightened with recognition. "Oh hey! Shawn, right? From the munch?" She guided her girlfriend further into the room. "This is Lara. Lara, this is everyone—and apparently we have a new DM tonight?"

"Hey! Nice to meet you Lara, and nice seeing you again Jess... we need to chat later at some point." He smiled conspiratorially.

Jess's eyebrows rose slightly, her expression shifting to intrigued curiosity. "Oh? Should I be worried or excited about that tone?" But her smile was warm, clearly reading the conspiratorial energy as friendly rather than concerning. Lara gave a small wave, still looking slightly overwhelmed by the group energy but gamely taking in the organized chaos of Marcus's apartment.

Bex watched the exchange, noting the easy way Shawn navigated the social dynamics—friendly with Jess without being flirty, welcoming to Lara without overwhelming her. He's good at this. The thought settled warm in her chest. Haven was watching too, that knowing look still firmly in place, and Bex deliberately avoided making eye contact with her.

Marcus clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Okay! So here's the situation—Shawn's graciously agreed to run tonight's one-shot, which means I actually get to play for once in my life." He gestured everyone toward the table. "Let's get settled, pick your pre-gens, and we'll get started. Lara, you're welcome to jump in or just watch and learn how we do things. No pressure either way."

The group began migrating toward the table properly now, the pre-game energy shifting into actual setup mode. Rosa was already eyeing the character sheets spread across the table, clearly hunting for the netrunner. Haven grabbed drinks from the kitchen—beers for most, soda for Lara—while Marcus pulled out his collection of dice for anyone who needed to borrow some.

Shawn looked over the one-shot, scanning through the scenario until something caught his attention. "Hey Lara, if you're up for it, I'd love some help managing this..." He gestured to a particular NPC sheet. "Nothing to remember but rolling a d10 now and then, and... can you make any silly voices? No pressure if not!" His tone was friendly and warm, clearly offering an easy entry point rather than throwing her into the deep end.

Lara leaned over to look at what he was indicating, her nervousness easing slightly at the low-stakes proposal. She read through the NPC description—a fixer with personality but minimal mechanical complexity—and her expression shifted from uncertain to cautiously interested. "I can try?" she said, glancing at Jess for reassurance before nodding more firmly. "Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot."

Jess squeezed her girlfriend's hand, clearly pleased that Lara was willing to jump in rather than just observe. "You'll be great," she murmured, then looked up at Shawn with obvious appreciation. "Thanks for the easy on-ramp. First time can be intimidating."

Marcus was practically vibrating with excitement at the table, already flipping through the pre-generated characters like a kid in a candy store. "This is amazing. I'm playing. I'm actually playing." He held up a character sheet triumphantly. "I call the Solo. I want to shoot things without having to balance encounter design in my head."

Rosa had indeed claimed the Netrunner, as predicted, and was already studying the quickhacking rules with the focused intensity of someone planning to cause problems. Haven grabbed the Tech, grinning at the prospect of building and breaking things in equal measure. That left the Rockerboy and the Fixer for Jess and Bex.

"I'll take Rockerboy," Jess said, claiming the charisma-focused character. "Social manipulation is my jam."

Which left Bex with the Fixer—the party face, the one who knew people and could get things. She picked up the sheet, scanning the skills and backstory. Appropriate, she thought with some amusement. I'm playing the person who connects people and makes deals. She caught Shawn's eye across the table and felt that warm flutter again. He'd given Lara an easy role, brought Marcus out of DM hell for a night, and was about to run a table full of people he barely knew. Integrating perfectly.

They played for a couple of hours, the one-shot flowing with surprising smoothness despite half the table being new to each other. Shawn ran the scenario with practiced ease—setting scenes with enough detail to ground them in Night City's neon-soaked chaos, giving each character moments to shine, keeping the pacing tight without railroading. Marcus was clearly in heaven, getting to actually roll dice and make decisions without worrying about encounter balance. Rosa tried exactly once to break the hacking system and Shawn adapted on the fly with a grin that said nice try.

But the real surprise was Lara. What started as tentative line-reading evolved into full commitment somewhere around the second act. By the time her fixer NPC showed up for the climactic confrontation, she was leaning into a full 80s action movie bad guy Russian accent that had Jess absolutely delighted and everyone else struggling not to break character laughing. "You think you can just walk into my territory and take what is mine?" Lara growled, her attempt at menacing coming out more cartoonish but somehow perfect for the tone. "In Night City, little edgerunners, everybody pays price!"

The scenario ended on a cliffhanger—the crew had the data they'd been hired to steal, but their employer was clearly setting them up for a fall, and the fixer they'd just escaped from had connections that ran deeper than expected. Shawn let the tension hang for a moment before sitting back with a satisfied smile. "And that's where we'll leave it. Could be the end—you got the data, you survived. Or..." He glanced around the table. "Could be the start of something bigger if people want to continue this."

Marcus immediately raised his hand like an overeager student. "Continue. Absolutely continue. I need to know if my Solo can actually punch his way out of this conspiracy." Rosa was nodding too, already making notes on her character sheet about potential upgrades. Haven looked game, and Jess was beaming at how much fun Lara had clearly had despite her initial nervousness.

"Ok great, so... next time... and... I'm trapped once again hahahahahaaa. I'll get you for this Marcus, you're my nemesis now!" The teasing was obvious, his tone warm despite the mock complaint.

Marcus threw his hands up in victory, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Yes! I have successfully trapped another DM in my web of 'please run games for us.' My evil plan is complete!" He pointed dramatically at Shawn across the table. "You walked right into it. No one can resist the siren call of an engaged table and a campaign hook."

Rosa was laughing, gathering her dice back into their container. "Welcome to the forever DM club. Population: you and every other person who made the mistake of being competent at storytelling." But her smile was genuine, warm. "Seriously though, that was fun. You've got good pacing and you didn't panic when I tried to quickhack my way through your encounter design."

Haven leaned back in her chair, stretching. "And you gave Lara the perfect entry point. That accent was chef's kiss." She grinned at Lara, who was still looking slightly stunned that she'd committed that hard to a ridiculous Russian villain voice. Jess had an arm around her girlfriend's shoulders, clearly proud and delighted.

"Next week same time?" Marcus was already pulling out his phone to check schedules, the eternal organizer. "We need to figure out if you're getting set up or if there's actually a deeper conspiracy. My Solo has opinions about being double-crossed."

"Same time is good for me." The others chimed in with agreement, phones already out to confirm schedules. Marcus was making notes about the campaign, Rosa discussing potential character builds with Haven, while Lara was still basking in the glow of her villainous performance with Jess.

Shawn took the opportunity to pull Jess aside privately, moving toward the kitchen area where the conversation at the table wouldn't easily overhear. "Hey, I wasn't sure when I'd hit the munch again, so figured I'd bring something to show you as promised, if you'd like. It can wait too, just figured since we'd both be here..." He let it trail off, the offer hanging between them.

Jess's expression shifted immediately to interested curiosity, her eyes lighting up. "Oh! Yeah, absolutely. Now works." She glanced back toward the table where Lara was still engaged in animated conversation with Haven about the game, then back to Shawn. "What did you bring?"

Bex noticed the private conversation from her spot at the table, saw Jess's interested expression, and felt... nothing uncomfortable. Just curiosity about what he'd promised to show her. Leatherwork, probably. He mentioned that at the munch. She caught Haven watching her watch them, and Haven raised an eyebrow in silent question. Bex just shrugged, turning back to help Marcus organize the scattered dice and character sheets.

He grabbed his laptop sling bag and brought it over to Jess, pulling out a leather flogger. It was striking—made of dozens of small leather shapes all interconnected and overlaid in a pattern that made it look almost like the back of an armadillo. The craftsmanship was immediately obvious: each piece carefully cut and positioned, the overlapping scales creating both visual texture and what would likely be interesting sensory variation in use.

Jess's eyes went wide. "Oh wow." She reached out, then paused, glancing up at him for permission before touching. When he nodded, her fingers traced the scaled pattern with obvious appreciation. "This is gorgeous. Did you make this?" The weight distribution looked intentional, the handle wrapped in complementary leather that showed the same attention to detail as the falls. "The pattern—it's not just aesthetic, is it? The overlapping would create different impact depending on angle."

Lara had noticed them huddled over something and drifted over, curiosity overcoming her earlier shyness. When she saw what Jess was examining, her eyebrows rose but her expression stayed interested rather than scandalized. "That's really cool looking. What is it, exactly?" Her tone suggested she had some idea but wasn't quite sure of the specifics.

At the table, Rosa's attention had shifted too, her academic curiosity clearly piqued by whatever had Jess so focused. Marcus was still organizing dice but glancing over occasionally. Haven caught Bex's eye with an expression that clearly said your boyfriend is showing off his leatherwork to your friends and everyone's into it with entirely too much amusement.

"I did, yeah. Took forever to get the internal stitching just right for the transformation." That piqued Jess's interest immediately. He turned the flogger over and it flopped slightly—like tension that had held it in one direction was no longer there. The little leather shapes loosened and shifted, a bunch of them moving outward like little leather teeth. Not sharp, but they would definitely add to the sting and leave an interesting pattern.

"Oh that's clever." Jess's voice carried genuine admiration as she watched the transformation, her fingers hovering over the shifted scales without quite touching. "So you can use it one way for a more traditional flogger sensation, then flip it for something with more bite?" She looked up at him, clearly impressed. "The engineering on this—getting the internal structure to allow that kind of flexibility while maintaining integrity—that's not easy."

Lara leaned in closer, fascination overcoming any residual uncertainty. "It's like... reversible impact?" Her phrasing was tentative but her interest was obvious. "That's actually really cool from a design perspective. Form following function."

Rosa had fully abandoned the table now, crossing to get a better look with her characteristic directness. "Can I see?" She didn't wait for a full answer before examining the piece from a respectful distance, her analytical brain clearly cataloging the construction. "The pattern work alone would take hours. How long did this actually take you to make?"

At the table, Marcus had given up pretending to organize and was just watching with open curiosity. Haven was still next to Bex, her expression shifting from amused to genuinely impressed. She leaned over and murmured quietly, "Okay, the leatherwork thing is legitimately cool. He made that?"

Bex nodded, watching Shawn explain the construction to an increasingly engaged audience. He's in his element. The easy confidence, the way he could discuss craft and function without pretension—it was the same energy he brought to everything else. Thoughtful, skilled, willing to share knowledge. She felt that warm flutter in her chest again, watching her worlds blend seamlessly.

"A few days to make all the pieces, and... 6 or 7 hours maybe to put it all together. Wasn't in one sitting, but... something like that haha."

The casual way he described what was clearly dozens of hours of meticulous work made Jess shake her head with a mixture of amusement and respect. "Something like that," she echoed, her tone gently mocking his understatement. "This is easily fifty-plus hours of work if you count design time and all the pieces." She carefully handed the flogger back to him, her fingers lingering on the scaled pattern one last moment. "If you ever want to sell these or take commissions, there's definitely a market. This level of craftsmanship doesn't come cheap—and shouldn't."

Rosa nodded agreement, still studying the piece from her angle. "The reversible mechanism alone is patent-worthy. Most impact toys are single-function by necessity. This is legitimately innovative." Her academic brain was clearly churning through possibilities. "Have you documented the construction process? Because this could be a whole tutorial series."

Lara had stepped back slightly, giving the more experienced folks room, but her expression remained interested rather than uncomfortable. Jess noticed and reached for her girlfriend's hand, squeezing once—a silent you okay? that Lara answered with a small nod and genuine smile.

Marcus finally abandoned the table entirely, crossing to get a proper look. "That's actually really cool, man. I do some leatherwork for cosplay armor but nothing this intricate." He studied the overlapping scales with obvious appreciation. "The tension system for the flip—is that internal weights or just clever stitching distribution?"

"Yes." He laughed. "The spikes have weights in one corner to help them slide into place, but it's mostly the stitching—extra support in one direction, almost none in the other. Took a WHILE to get it just right, and to be honest I don't know how long it'll hold, but it's been good the few times I've used it so far."

Marcus leaned in closer, clearly fascinated by the engineering challenge. "That's brilliant. Asymmetric support structure—so when you flip it, gravity and the weights do most of the work while the loose stitching allows the movement." He straightened up, grinning. "And here I thought getting leather armor to articulate at the joints was tricky. This is a whole other level."

Jess was nodding thoughtfully, still examining the flogger with obvious appreciation. "If it's held up through multiple uses already, the construction is probably solid. Leather's pretty forgiving once you get the stress points right." She glanced up at him with a smile that held genuine respect. "You should be proud of this. It's really impressive work—both the craft and the innovation."

Rosa had her phone out now, clearly taking mental notes if not actual ones. "Would you be willing to do a demonstration at some point? Not necessarily use, just the mechanics of the flip and how the weight distribution works? I know several people in the community who'd be fascinated by the engineering." Her expression was eager, academic curiosity fully engaged.

At the table, Haven caught Bex's eye and mouthed he made that with an expression of impressed disbelief. Bex felt a surge of pride that surprised her with its intensity—not possessive pride, just genuine happiness that people were recognizing his skill. That her friends were seeing what she'd seen: someone thoughtful, talented, willing to share knowledge without ego.

Lara had relaxed further, clearly comfortable now that the conversation had shifted fully into craft discussion rather than anything more explicitly intimate. "How did you even learn to do that?" she asked, her earlier shyness mostly gone. "Is there like... a leatherworking school for this kind of thing, or did you just figure it out?"

"Demonstration, yeah I could do that. I learned a lot of it from an old friend who worked at a renfaire years ago, and I tend to fall down rabbit holes, so it got a little out of hand haha. Not super practical for sale at a price anyone would pay for it... but I've made a couple of them, and things like it. I tend to... over-engineer. Makes it fun, and... almost certainly unprofitable haha."

Jess laughed, warm and understanding. "The curse of the craftsperson—making things so well that you price yourself out of the market." She handed the flogger back carefully, her expression fond. "But that's what makes it art instead of just product. The fact that you're willing to spend fifty hours on something because it's interesting rather than profitable? That's the good stuff." She glanced at Lara, then back to Shawn. "Seriously though, let me know when you want to do that demo. I know at least five people who'd show up just to see the mechanism."

Rosa was nodding enthusiastically, already typing something into her phone. "I'll spread the word. We could do it at the next munch, or if you want a smaller group first, I host craft nights sometimes at my place." Her academic energy had fully taken over, the same intensity she brought to netrunning now focused on documentation and knowledge-sharing. "Also if you have any build photos or process documentation, I'd love to see them. For science."

Marcus clapped Shawn on the shoulder with easy camaraderie. "Renfaire leatherworker friend and rabbit hole tendencies. That tracks perfectly with everything else about you." His grin was genuine, welcoming. "Next time you fall down a craft rabbit hole, let me know. I'm always looking for people to enable my own terrible hobbies."

Bex watched from the table, that warm feeling in her chest expanding as her friends integrated him seamlessly into the group dynamic. Haven leaned over and murmured, "He fits. Like, really fits." Her tone held no teasing now, just honest observation and approval.

Chapter 4

Interrogation

~3,411 words

An hour later, as people were starting to wind down and prepare to leave Marcus's place, Rosa finally decided it was time. She'd been circling, Bex realized—letting the evening unfold, gathering data, waiting for the right moment. Now she moved with purpose, abandoning her conversation with Haven mid-sentence to plant herself directly in Shawn's path as he helped Marcus gather empty beer bottles.

"Okay," Rosa said, her tone friendly but absolutely determined. "I've been patient. I've waited. Now I need answers." She crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter in a posture that said you're not escaping this conversation. "Supernatural smut. Bex mentioned it but didn't elaborate, probably because she knew I'd have questions. So: what's your subgenre? Are we talking paranormal romance with explicit scenes, or full erotica with supernatural elements? And more importantly—" her eyes gleamed with academic intensity "—how do you handle the intersection of kink dynamics and supernatural power imbalances? Because that's a minefield of consent issues if you're not careful."

Haven had followed Rosa over, clearly not wanting to miss this. Marcus paused in his bottle-gathering, also interested. Jess and Lara were by the door putting on jackets but had stopped to listen. Bex felt everyone's attention shift to Shawn, the entire group suddenly focused on Rosa's interrogation.

"Also," Rosa added, warming to her subject, "do you publish traditionally or indie? Because the market for well-written supernatural erotica is actually pretty robust if you know where to position yourself."

"Think of it like if the Dresden Files was a kink.com exclusive." He laughed. "High on silliness and fun, but the spice is... pretty spicy. I can bring you copies if you want. There are seven novellas and a fun novel so far. Traditionally published, but a small press, not big 5... as for the consent and such, I keep it as theoretically ethical as I can but it IS basically dark romance, and not all supernatural beings are... particularly nice... so there are exceptions within the genre... if that makes sense?"

Rosa's entire face lit up like he'd just handed her the keys to a research library. "Dresden Files meets kink.com. That's—okay, that's actually a brilliant pitch." She was already pulling out her phone, presumably to make notes or look up his work. "Dark romance with supernatural elements and actual kink dynamics? Yes. Absolutely yes, I want copies. All of them." Her enthusiasm was infectious, academic curiosity blending with genuine reader excitement. "And the ethical framework thing—that's actually smart positioning. Acknowledging that supernatural beings operate under different moral codes while still maintaining a consent framework for the reader? That's threading a difficult needle."

Haven was grinning, clearly delighted by Rosa's complete capture. "I love that you just casually dropped 'seven novellas and a novel' like that's not a substantial body of work." She glanced at Bex with an expression that clearly said your boyfriend is secretly prolific and you didn't mention this?

Marcus had abandoned the bottles entirely now, leaning against the counter with obvious interest. "Wait, so are we talking like... supernatural creatures with inherent power dynamics? Vampires, fae, that kind of thing?" His DM brain was clearly spinning up worldbuilding questions. "Because the consent issues there get fascinating when you add in supernatural compulsion or hierarchical species dynamics."

Jess called from the doorway, "If you're bringing Rosa copies, bring me one too. I'm curious now." Lara nodded agreement beside her, apparently also intrigued despite her earlier shyness.

Bex watched the whole exchange with a mixture of amusement and warmth. Rosa had gotten her interrogation, and instead of being put off or defensive, Shawn had engaged with genuine enthusiasm for the craft discussion. Of course he did. The man who spent fifty hours on an over-engineered flogger would absolutely be the type to think seriously about consent frameworks in supernatural erotica.

"Yeah the consent stuff can get a bit sticky here and there, especially with your classic mind-fuck creatures. Vampires, succubi, etc. One of the main characters is a succubus, but thankfully, consent is between the reader and author, not really the characters... so... ethically it works out ok, even if on the page things get... dicey at times haha."

Rosa's grin turned sharp, delighted. "Oh that's a great answer. The meta-consent layer—the reader choosing to engage with dubious fictional consent scenarios—that's actually the ethical framework that makes dark romance work as a genre." She was fully animated now, hands gesturing as she talked. "Because you're right, the characters might be in morally compromised situations, but the reader has full agency and knowledge going in. That's the difference between problematic content and thoughtfully executed dark fantasy."

Marcus was nodding along, his DM brain clearly engaged. "A succubus main character though—that's walking right into the hardest version of that consent problem. They literally feed on sexual energy, right? So the power dynamic is baked into their biology." He looked genuinely interested in how that played out narratively. "How do you handle that without making it feel exploitative? Or is the exploitation kind of the point in a dark romance context?"

Haven had moved closer, abandoning her spot by the table entirely. "I'm fascinated by the fact that you've got seven novellas and a novel out and you just... casually mentioned it tonight like 'oh yeah, I write stuff.'" Her tone was teasing but warm. "That's a whole secret career you've been sitting on."

Bex caught Shawn's eye from across the room, her expression somewhere between amused and fond. She'd known he wrote—they'd talked about it over breakfast Sunday morning—but watching her friends get genuinely excited about his work was doing something complicated to her chest. Pride, maybe. Or just happiness that the integration was working so seamlessly, that he fit into her world without friction.

Jess called from the doorway again, "Seriously though, bring copies next week. I want to read the succubus character now." Lara was nodding enthusiastically beside her, any earlier shyness completely gone in the face of interesting storytelling craft.

He looked at Haven. "I generally try not to pimp out my work to potential friends... feels icky haha..." Then to Marcus: "I mostly get around it by leaning into comedy. The two main characters are a succubus, and a normal dude that just happens to be immune to her charms, and it fucking drives her UP THE WALL." He laughed.

Rosa slapped the counter, delighted. "Oh that's perfect. You subvert the entire power dynamic by making him immune, which means she can't use her usual toolkit and has to actually—what, seduce him like a normal person?" Her grin was wide, appreciating the narrative cleverness. "That's brilliant. It makes the relationship actually interesting because neither of them has the automatic upper hand."

Marcus was nodding enthusiastically, his storyteller brain clearly spinning. "And the comedy comes from her frustration at meeting someone who breaks her entire worldview. That's solid character work—you're using the supernatural element to create genuine interpersonal conflict instead of just window dressing for sex scenes." He paused, then added with a grin, "Though I'm guessing there are still plenty of sex scenes."

Haven's expression had softened at Shawn's comment about not pimping his work to potential friends, something warm flickering across her face. "That's actually really considerate," she said, her teasing tone gentling. "But for the record, we're asking because we're genuinely interested, not because we feel obligated. Rosa would interrogate you about craft regardless of whether she wanted to read it." She glanced at Rosa, who nodded unrepentantly.

Bex watched the exchange, that warm feeling in her chest expanding again. He doesn't want to make it transactional. The same thoughtfulness he brought to everything else—considering how his friends might feel pressured, trying to keep boundaries clean even when people were enthusiastically asking. She caught his eye across the room and smiled, a small private thing that said I see what you're doing and I appreciate it.

Jess had finally committed to leaving, opening the door but lingering in the threshold. "Okay but seriously, if you decide you're comfortable sharing, I'm genuinely curious about the craft side. The consent framework stuff Rosa was geeking out about—that's interesting from a writing perspective." Lara tugged her gently toward the hallway, laughing, and Jess waved as they finally departed. "See you all next week!"

"See you next week! Bex, you good to head out, or... should I find my own way home like a lost puppy?" He chuckled.

Bex grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, rolling her eyes with obvious affection. "I'm not making you walk home, dramatic." She slung her bag over her shoulder and moved toward the door, pausing to give Haven a quick hug and Marcus a wave. "Thanks for hosting. Same time next week for more conspiracy and betrayal."

Marcus grinned, already starting the cleanup process in earnest now that people were actually leaving. "Wouldn't miss it. And Shawn—seriously, thanks for running tonight. That was great." His tone carried genuine appreciation, the kind that came from a forever DM finally getting to play.

Rosa was still lingering by the kitchen counter, phone in hand, clearly making notes about the conversation. She looked up as they headed for the door. "I'm holding you to those book copies. And the flogger demonstration. You've given me too many interesting things to research now." Her smile was warm, welcoming in that particular way Rosa had—intense but genuine.

Haven caught Bex's eye one more time as they reached the door, her expression saying call me tomorrow, I want details without words. Bex just shook her head slightly, smiling, and guided Shawn out into the hallway before Haven could say anything out loud that would embarrass both of them.

The night air was cool when they stepped outside, the walk to her car quiet in that comfortable post-social way. Bex unlocked the doors and slid into the driver's seat, waiting for him to settle before starting the engine. The dashboard lights cast everything in soft blue as she pulled out of the parking spot.

He climbed in and clicked his seatbelt into place. "So... I pass the friend group test?" His smile was warm in the dashboard light as his hand found her knee, squeezing gently.

Bex felt the touch send a small spark of warmth through her, his palm solid and reassuring against her jeans. She pulled onto the main road, streetlights sliding past in regular intervals as she considered her answer. "You more than passed," she said finally, glancing at him before returning her attention to the road. "Rosa's already planning your craft demonstration, Marcus wants to enable your hobbies, and Haven definitely approves." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Pretty sure you could've shown up in a potato sack and still won them over with that DM performance, but the leatherwork sealed it."

The drive back to his apartment was familiar now, the route becoming automatic after just a few trips. His hand stayed on her knee, thumb moving in an absent pattern that felt comfortable rather than demanding. This is what integration looks like, she thought. Not just the successful game night or the friend approval, but this—the easy quiet between them, the casual touch, the way he fit into her passenger seat like he belonged there.

"They liked you," she added, her voice softer now. "Actually liked you, not just tolerated you for my sake. That's... not nothing." She stopped at a red light, turned to look at him properly. "You were good with Lara. Giving her that easy role, making space for her to jump in without pressure. Jess noticed. I noticed."

"I know what it's like to not quite know where I fit. She seems awesome, just needed something she could wrap her head around without all the extra stress and overwhelm."

The light turned green and Bex accelerated, his words settling warm in her chest. He gets it. Not just the surface-level kindness of including someone new, but the actual experience of being the outsider trying to find your footing. She'd seen it tonight—the way he'd read Lara's nervousness and offered exactly the right amount of structure without overwhelming her. The same thoughtfulness he brought to everything else.

"That's exactly what it was," Bex said quietly, navigating the turn toward his apartment complex. "Jess has been trying to figure out how to bring her into the group without it being too much too fast. You just... made it easy." She pulled into his parking lot, finding a spot near his building and killing the engine. The sudden silence felt weighted, intimate in the small space of her car.

She turned to face him properly, dashboard lights catching the angles of his face. "Thank you. For tonight. For being willing to integrate instead of keeping everything separate." Her hand found his where it still rested on her knee, fingers threading through his. "I know it's only been a week, but this—" she gestured vaguely between them, encompassing everything "—it feels real. Not just the scenes, but all of it."

"I'm glad. Still up for tomorrow then?" His voice was warm, no stress or judgment in it—just scheduling, making sure they were still on the same page.

Bex felt heat bloom low in her stomach at the question, the casual way he asked about something that had been occupying significant mental real estate all week. Friday. Using me. The memory of that kitchen conversation—his careful explanation of what he wanted, how he'd checked in about her comfort with being an object for his pleasure—sent a fresh pulse of want through her. She squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.

"Yeah," she said, her voice coming out slightly rougher than intended. She cleared her throat, smiling at her own reaction. "Definitely still up for tomorrow. I've been thinking about it all week." The admission felt vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the physical acts they'd negotiate and everything to do with the wanting itself. "Should I come over after work? Same time as last week?"

The parking lot was quiet around them, streetlights casting long shadows across the asphalt. His apartment building loomed nearby, windows lit in irregular patterns where other residents were settling in for the night. Bex realized she was still holding his hand, neither of them making moves to leave the car yet despite the evening clearly winding down.

"Sure, same time works for me." He smiled and got out, then turned around. "Tonight was fun. Thanks for inviting me. See you tomorrow." The car door closed with a solid thunk, and he headed inside, his figure disappearing into the building's entrance.

Bex sat in the sudden quiet of her car, engine ticking as it cooled, the ghost of his hand still warm on her knee. Tomorrow. The word hung in the air like a promise, weighted with anticipation that had been building all week. She watched the light come on in what she now knew was his second-floor window, a brief silhouette passing behind the curtains before disappearing deeper into the apartment.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately—Haven, of course. "So??? How'd it go after you left? He's perfect and you know it."

Bex smiled at the screen, typing back: "He fits. You were right. And yes, I know it." She hesitated, then added: "Seeing him tomorrow night."

The response was instant: three fire emojis and "GET IT." Bex laughed, pocketing her phone and finally starting the car. The drive home felt different somehow—lighter, easier, like something had settled into place tonight. Her friends liked him. He'd integrated seamlessly, brought his whole self to the table without performance or pretense. And tomorrow...

Tomorrow he was going to use her, and she couldn't wait.

That night, after Bex had gotten home and changed into comfortable clothes, her phone rang with her mom's contact photo lighting up the screen. She answered with a mix of affection and mild resignation—the weekly check-in call, right on schedule.

"Hi Mom."

"Bex, honey! How are you? I haven't heard from you in days." Her mother's voice carried that particular blend of concern and casual guilt-trip that only mothers could master. "Are you eating properly? Getting enough sleep? You know how you get when you're working too much."

Bex settled onto her couch, tucking her legs under her. "I'm fine, Mom. Eating, sleeping, all the basic human functions." She could already feel the conversation steering toward familiar territory—work, health, social life. "How are you and Dad?"

"Oh, we're good. Your father's obsessed with the new grill, you know how he gets. But never mind us—I want to hear about you." There was a pause, weighted with maternal curiosity. "Are you seeing anyone? You sounded different last time we talked, happier maybe. Is there someone new?"

Bex felt her face heat despite being alone in her apartment. Of course Mom picked up on something. The woman had emotional radar that could detect a mood shift through a phone line across three states. "I... yeah, actually. Someone new. His name is Shawn." Saying it out loud to her mother felt strange, significant in a way she hadn't anticipated. "We've been seeing each other about a week."

"A week! And you're already telling me about him?" Her mother's delight was audible. "He must be special. What's he like? What does he do?"

Bex navigated the conversation carefully, giving her mother the sanitized version—freelance writer, recently relocated, met through mutual friends. She left out the BDSM community context, the munch, the fact that their relationship had started with explicit negotiation about edging and subspace. Her mother didn't need those details, and Bex had long ago made peace with the compartmentalization required for family conversations.

"He sounds lovely, honey. Thoughtful, you said? That's important." Her mother's approval was warm, genuine. "You deserve someone who treats you well. Are we going to meet him? Maybe at Thanksgiving if things are still going well?"

Thanksgiving. That's months away. The timeline felt simultaneously too soon and perfectly reasonable. "Maybe, Mom. It's still really new. Let's see how it goes." She steered the conversation toward safer topics—her mother's book club, her father's grilling obsession, the neighbor's drama with the HOA. By the time they hung up twenty minutes later, Bex felt the familiar exhaustion of managing parental expectations while maintaining boundaries.

She dropped her phone on the couch beside her, staring at the ceiling. I told my mom about him. That felt significant, a marker of something shifting from casual to real. The kind of detail you mentioned because it mattered, because he was becoming integrated into your actual life and not just a separate compartment labeled "play partner."

Her phone buzzed with a text—not her mother this time, but Shawn: "Sleep well. See you tomorrow."

Simple, casual, but it made her smile anyway. She typed back: "You too. Looking forward to it." Then, feeling bold: "Really looking forward to it."

Friday dragged. Every client email felt like it took twice as long to answer, every design revision like pulling teeth. Bex found herself checking the clock repeatedly, watching the afternoon crawl toward evening with agonizing slowness. By four-thirty she gave up pretending to work, closed her laptop, and started getting ready with far more care than was strictly necessary.

Shower. Shave. The good underwear—black lace that made her feel confident and attractive. Dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that was easy to remove. She left her hair down, applied minimal makeup, and tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was preparing to be used, to be the object of someone's pleasure rather than an active participant. That's what you want. That's what you negotiated. The reminder helped settle the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

The drive to his apartment at six felt longer than usual despite taking the exact same amount of time. Bex parked in a spot she was starting to think of as "hers" and sat for a moment, steadying her breath. You've done this before. Well, not exactly this, but close enough. Except it hadn't felt like this with anyone else—this particular combination of anticipation and trust, knowing he'd follow through on exactly what he promised.

Chapter 5

The Toy

~6,796 words

The door opened and he waved her in. "Right on time, as a good toy should be." His voice was playful but already carried that edge—the shift into scene space, the subtle change in tone that said they'd crossed the threshold from casual to intentional.

Bex felt the words land with a small shock of heat, her body responding before her mind fully caught up. Toy. Not partner, not person—toy. Exactly what they'd negotiated, what she'd asked for, but hearing it out loud in his voice made it real in a way the kitchen conversation hadn't quite managed. She stepped inside, her overnight bag suddenly feeling heavy in her hand, hyperaware of the way his gaze tracked her movement. Not assessing her mood or checking her comfort—not yet. Just... looking at her like she was something he planned to use.

The apartment smelled like his soap and something cooking—he'd made dinner again, she realized, the scent of garlic and herbs drifting from the kitchen. Of course he did. Even in a scene about objectification, he'd made sure she was fed first. The thoughtfulness threaded through the dominance in a way that made her chest tight.

She set her bag down by the door, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. The familiar space felt different tonight, charged with intention. His bedroom door was open behind him, the bed visible in the background—already prepared, she suspected, with whatever he'd planned for the evening.

"Come on, dinner should be just about ready. Rules for tonight... only speak when spoken to. Follow directions without question or face consequences, and..." He held a beat, his gaze steady on her. "You have forty-five seconds to strip naked and meet me in the dining room. Toys don't wear clothes." He turned and walked into the kitchen to plate the food, leaving her standing alone in the entryway.

The command hit her like a physical thing—not harsh, but absolute. Bex's hands moved to her sweater before her brain fully processed the instruction, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. Forty-five seconds. The clock was already running. Jeans next, fumbling slightly with the button, then kicked aside along with her shoes. The black lace underwear she'd chosen so carefully—gone in seconds, pooled on the floor with everything else.

The air against her bare skin felt sharp, exposing. She was naked in his entryway, her clothes scattered like she'd been in a rush, and he was in the kitchen calmly plating dinner like this was perfectly normal. Because it is normal. For tonight. She moved toward the dining room on unsteady legs, hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin, the vulnerability of being completely bare while he remained fully clothed.

The dining table was set simply—two plates, silverware, water glasses. She stood beside one of the chairs, uncertain whether she was supposed to sit or wait for permission, her hands wanting to cover herself but staying deliberately at her sides. From the kitchen came the quiet sounds of him finishing up, unhurried and methodical. Toys don't wear clothes. The words echoed in her head, grounding her in the role, in what she'd asked him to give her.

"Sit and eat." He settled into his chair and started eating, his attention on her—quiet, not talking. Just the steady rhythm of fork to plate, his gaze tracking her movements while he clearly enjoyed the view.

Bex sank into the chair across from him, the wood cool against her bare skin. The food smelled incredible—pasta with garlic and herbs, simple but clearly made with care—but eating while naked and watched felt surreal, exposing in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of clothes. She picked up her fork with fingers that wanted to tremble, forcing herself to take a bite. The flavors registered dimly through the haze of hyperawareness: he was looking at her. Not staring, not leering—just observing with that same calm attention he'd brought to everything else, like she was something interesting he'd decided to study while he ate.

The silence stretched between them, weighted with intention. Every small sound felt amplified—the scrape of silverware, her own breathing, the shift of her body against the chair. He ate without hurry, his expression content, appreciative. This is what he wanted. Not conversation, not interaction—just the pleasure of watching her exist as something for his enjoyment while he took his time with dinner.

Bex tried to focus on her food, on the mechanical act of eating, but her awareness kept circling back to him. The way his eyes tracked the movement of her hand to her mouth. The small satisfied curve at the corner of his lips. The casual dominance of being fully dressed while she sat bare and vulnerable across from him, following his rules without question because that's what toys did.

She dripped a little sauce on her breast. He stood without a word, crossed the small distance between them, and his tongue was hot against her skin—one slow deliberate stroke collecting the stray drop of marinara. Then he returned to his seat and continued eating, expression unchanged, as though nothing had happened.

Bex froze, fork halfway to her mouth, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. The casual intimacy of it—the way he'd simply taken what he wanted and returned to his meal without comment or acknowledgment—sent heat flooding through her in a wave that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Object. The word crystallized in her mind with perfect clarity. Not a person who'd made a mess that needed addressing, but a thing he'd casually cleaned because it was his to maintain. The lack of ceremony made it more potent somehow, more real than if he'd made it into a moment.

She forced herself to take another bite, her body humming with awareness now, every nerve ending awake and waiting. He continued eating across from her, his gaze still tracking her movements with that same calm appreciation, like the brief interruption had been as mundane as reaching for the salt. The silence felt heavier now, charged with the understanding that he could do that whenever he wanted—touch her, taste her, use her—and she would sit there and accept it because that's what she'd agreed to be tonight.

The pasta was excellent. She barely tasted it.

He finished first and simply watched her, his smile warm for a moment that felt suspended outside the scene's intensity—genuine pleasure in what he was seeing, not just dominance but appreciation. Then he stood and moved beside her chair, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet room. His hand found her free one where it rested on the table, lifting it with deliberate gentleness, guiding it to wrap around his cock.

The weight of him in her palm was immediate and grounding, hot skin against her fingers, already half-hard and thickening as she held him. Bex's breath stuttered, her other hand still holding her fork though she'd completely lost track of eating. The casual nature of it—him standing beside her while she sat naked and tried to finish dinner, her hand now occupied with stroking him—made her head swim with the reality of what "toy" actually meant. Available. Accessible. His to use however he wanted, whenever he wanted, even while she was mid-bite.

She looked up at him from her seat, uncertain if she was supposed to do something specific or just hold him, her thumb moving in an unconscious stroke along his length. The rules echoed in her mind: only speak when spoken to, follow directions without question. He hadn't given her a direction yet—just placed her hand where he wanted it and left her there, waiting to see what came next.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "Stroke. I want to be rock hard by the time you're done eating."

The command sent a shiver down her spine, quiet and absolute. Bex's hand tightened reflexively around him, then began to move—slow deliberate strokes, her palm learning the shape and heat of him while he stood beside her chair. The position was awkward, her body twisted slightly to accommodate the angle, but that seemed to be part of the point. Eat dinner. Stroke his cock. Do both simultaneously because he'd told her to, because toys didn't get to choose which task took priority.

She brought another forkful of pasta to her mouth with her left hand, chewing mechanically while her right hand worked him with increasing confidence. He was getting harder under her touch, thickening and lengthening in her grip, and the knowledge that she was doing that—that her hand was making him ready—sent heat pooling low in her belly. The dual focus split her awareness in a way that felt deliberately disorienting: the taste of garlic and herbs, the weight and warmth of his cock, the sound of her own breathing getting slightly unsteady.

He stayed there beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, could smell his soap and the faint musk of arousal. Watching her. Waiting for her to finish her meal while she made him hard, patient and unhurried in a way that made the whole situation feel inevitable, like this was exactly how dinner was supposed to go.

She finished eating, and he was pretty damn hard in her grip—thick and ready, her hand slick with the evidence of her work. He leaned in close, his whisper warm against her ear. "Well done, Toy. No punishment... yet. Come with me." He turned, letting her hand slip away, and walked to the living room. He settled onto the couch with easy confidence and pointed to the floor between his legs.

Bex stood on unsteady legs, leaving her plate half-finished on the table, and followed. The carpet was soft under her bare feet as she crossed into the living room, her body humming with anticipation and the disorienting headspace of being naked while he remained fully clothed. She sank to her knees between his spread thighs, the position instantly familiar and grounding—submission made physical, her body lower than his, her gaze naturally drawn upward to his face.

The floor was cool against her knees. His cock was right there, still hard from her stroking, jutting from his open fly. She waited, hands resting on her thighs, trying to keep her breathing steady while her mind spun with possibilities. No punishment yet. The qualifier hung in the air like a promise—she'd followed his rules so far, but the night was young and there were plenty of opportunities to fail. The thought sent a thrill through her that was equal parts nerves and want.

She kept her eyes on him, waiting for instruction, hyperaware of the vulnerability of her position—kneeling, naked, ready to be used however he decided.

"Do your job, Toy. Do it well, and get a treat. Not so well... a consequence." He fully undid his pants, fabric sliding open to give her complete access.

The command settled over her like a weight—simple, clear, and loaded with implication. Do your job. Bex leaned forward, her hands coming up to steady herself against his thighs as her mouth found him. The first contact was tentative, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock, tongue tracing the ridge before taking him deeper. The taste of him flooded her senses—salt and skin and the faint musk of arousal—grounding her fully in the moment, in the role she'd asked to inhabit.

She worked him with focus, hollowing her cheeks and using her tongue the way she'd learned he liked, finding a rhythm that felt deliberate and thorough. Do it well. The pressure of his expectation drove her technique, made her attentive to every shift in his breathing, every small sound that might indicate pleasure or the lack of it. Her hands stayed on his thighs, anchoring herself while she took him deeper, feeling the stretch in her jaw, the way her body had to adjust to accommodate him.

Above her, he watched—she could feel his gaze even with her eyes closed, the weight of his attention tracking every movement of her mouth, every stroke of her tongue. The silence was absolute except for the wet sounds of her work, the occasional catch in her own breathing when she pushed too deep and had to pull back. Treat or consequence. The binary choice hung over everything, sharpening her focus, making every moment feel weighted with potential judgment.

His fingers threaded through her hair, deep to the roots, gripping but not controlling—just holding there, anchoring her without forcing the pace. "Mmm you are a good little cock sucker aren't you. I'm going to have SO much fun ruining you."

The words hit her like a physical shock, praise and promise tangled together in a way that made her core clench with want. Ruining you. The casual certainty in his voice—not a question or negotiation but simple statement of fact—sent heat flooding through her body even as she kept working him with her mouth. She moaned around his cock, the sound muffled and desperate, her rhythm faltering slightly before she caught herself and steadied again. Focus. Do the job well.

His grip in her hair was possessive without being painful, just enough pressure to remind her that he could control the pace if he wanted to—that he was choosing to let her manage it herself for now. The weight of his hand grounded her in the moment, in the reality of kneeling between his thighs while he praised her technique and promised to wreck her completely. Her jaw was starting to ache but she pushed through it, hollowing her cheeks and taking him deeper, chasing the approval in his voice and the treat he'd dangled in front of her like a carrot.

Good little cock sucker. The phrase echoed in her mind, filthy and affirming, reducing her to function and finding her excellent at it. She felt herself sliding deeper into the headspace she'd been chasing—not Bex the graphic designer or Bex the friend, just Toy, just the thing that existed to please him.

He tugged the back of her hair just slightly, pulling her face up so their eyes met. "That's right Toy, you're doing so well. You look good with a dick in your mouth."

The angle forced her to look at him while her lips stayed wrapped around his cock, jaw stretched, saliva beginning to gather at the corners of her mouth. Bex felt the exposure of it—not just physically naked but emotionally bare under his gaze, caught in the act of servicing him while he studied her face with that same calm appreciation he'd shown at dinner. The praise landed warm in her chest even as the position made her neck strain slightly, made breathing through her nose more deliberate. You look good. Not just performing well, but actually pleasing to look at like this—debased and useful and his.

She couldn't respond with words, her mouth too full, but something in her eyes must have shown her reaction because his grip in her hair tightened fractionally, holding her there another moment longer. The intimacy of the eye contact while she had his cock in her mouth felt more vulnerable than anything physical they'd done so far—he was seeing her completely, watching her submit not just with her body but with her gaze, and finding her exactly what he wanted.

Her hands flexed against his thighs, fingers pressing into the fabric of his pants, anchoring herself while she waited to see if he'd let her continue or if he had other plans. The ache in her jaw was becoming more pronounced but she didn't care—she'd keep going as long as he wanted, chasing that approval in his voice and the promise of a treat if she did well enough.

"Hands behind your back now." The words were warm but firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

Bex's hands left his thighs immediately, moving behind her back where they found each other—fingers lacing together in a position that felt both natural and utterly exposing. The shift changed everything. Without her hands for balance, she was completely at his mercy, unable to control depth or pace, unable to push back if it became too much. This is what you asked for. The thought flickered through her mind as his grip in her hair tightened, the pressure more pronounced now, more controlling.

He took over the rhythm, pulling her forward onto his cock with deliberate force, then easing back just enough for her to snatch a breath before driving in again. The pace built gradually—testing her limits, finding the edge where her throat protested and her eyes watered but she could still manage. Just shy of choking. Just barely enough air. He was reading her body with the same careful attention he'd shown during their first scene, pushing her right to the boundary of dangerous without crossing it, using her mouth with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes from the intensity, saliva slicking her chin, the wet sounds of him using her throat obscene in the quiet room. She focused on breathing through her nose in the brief moments he allowed, on keeping her body loose and receptive, on being the toy he'd told her to be. Her hands stayed locked behind her back, fingers gripping each other hard enough to ache, the only outlet for the overwhelming sensation of being completely controlled.

The moment she genuinely couldn't catch her breath, he pulled back to give her air. "That's a good Toy. Your throat feels so nice, but I bet that tight little cunt of yours will feel even better." He stood, his grip in her hair shifting to pull her up by the roots—firm enough to guide but angled to avoid real pain as long as she followed and didn't fight it. He started walking toward the bedroom like that, half-dragging her along.

Bex scrambled to her feet, stumbling slightly as her body fought to keep up with the sudden shift in position. Her scalp burned where his fingers gripped, not quite painful but insistent, demanding she move with him or face the consequences of resistance. She followed on unsteady legs, gasping air into her lungs while her mind spun with the transition—throat to cunt, one use to another, her body just a collection of holes for his pleasure. The casual way he'd said it, the matter-of-fact tone that suggested he was simply stating his plans rather than asking permission, made her core clench with anticipation and want.

The bedroom doorway loomed ahead, his bed visible beyond with its restraint rings already waiting. Her hands were still locked behind her back even though he hadn't told her to keep them there, the position feeling right somehow—more vulnerable, more object-like. The wet mess on her face was cooling in the air, tears and saliva mixing together as evidence of how thoroughly he'd used her mouth. That tight little cunt. The words echoed in her head, promise and threat rolled into one, and she knew whatever came next would push her even further into the headspace she'd been chasing all week.

He tossed her face-down onto the bed, her feet still on the floor so she was bent over the edge, and reached down to roughly test how wet she was. "Let's see if you're ready for me."

His fingers found her without preamble—no teasing, no buildup, just a direct assessment of her body's readiness. Bex gasped into the mattress as he pushed inside, two fingers sinking into her with embarrassing ease. She was soaked, had been since dinner, the evidence of her arousal slicking his fingers immediately. The rough handling sent a shock of sensation through her—not pain but intensity, the kind of touch that said he wasn't asking, just taking inventory of his toy's condition before use.

The position left her completely exposed, ass in the air, face pressed into his sheets, unable to see what he was doing or prepare for what came next. She could only feel—his fingers moving inside her with clinical efficiency, testing her readiness like he might check the oil in a car. The casual nature of it, the way he was confirming she could take him without ceremony or romance, made her clench around his fingers involuntarily. Ready for me. Not ready to be fucked, not ready to have sex—ready for him, like her state of arousal existed solely in relation to his plans.

Her hands were still locked behind her back, fingers white-knuckled where they gripped each other. The bed smelled like him—soap and clean laundry and something distinctly Shawn underneath it all. She waited, bent and dripping and ready, for him to decide what came next.

"Oh, I think you are." She could hear him licking the juices from his fingers—the wet sound of his tongue collecting her taste—and then the rustle of fabric as he finished stripping away his shirt and let his pants fall away completely. One hand stayed on her lower back throughout, not forceful, just... keeping her there. A gentle weight that said stay exactly where I put you.

The sound of him tasting her sent a fresh pulse of heat through Bex's core, her hips shifting involuntarily against the edge of the bed. She was hyper-aware of every noise behind her—fabric hitting the floor, the shift of his weight, the quiet efficiency of him removing the last barriers between them. That hand on her back was steady, possessive without being harsh, a constant reminder that she was positioned exactly how he wanted her and she would stay that way until he decided otherwise.

The air felt different now with both of them naked, the temperature of the room registering against her exposed skin in a way it hadn't before. She could feel him behind her, close but not touching yet, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Her face pressed deeper into the mattress, her breath coming in short uneven bursts while she waited for him to use her the way he'd promised. Ready for me. She was—god, she was so ready her thighs were trembling with it, her body aching to be filled, to be the tight little cunt he'd described with such casual certainty.

The hand on her back shifted slightly, his palm warm against her spine, and she held herself perfectly still, waiting for whatever came next.

He used his foot to bump her feet further apart, really opening her up to him, and ran a hand between her legs. "Mmmm yes I think I'm going to enjoy fucking this sweet little cunt. I wonder what noises my Toy will make..."

The forced spread of her stance made Bex's breath hitch, her balance shifting as her legs widened and the vulnerability of the position increased exponentially. She was completely open now, exposed in a way that left nothing hidden—ass raised, thighs spread, every intimate part of her accessible to his touch and his gaze. His hand moved between her legs with leisurely confidence, fingers trailing through the wetness there like he was savoring the evidence of her arousal, taking his time to explore what belonged to him.

What noises my Toy will make. The question hung in the air, rhetorical and loaded with promise. She could feel the head of his cock against her entrance now, the blunt pressure of him positioning himself, and her body tensed in anticipation despite her best efforts to stay relaxed and pliant. Every nerve ending was screaming for him to just do it—to fill her, use her, take what he'd been building toward all evening—but he was taking his time, drawing out the moment before he claimed her completely.

Her fingers were still locked behind her back, knuckles white with the effort of keeping them there. The mattress muffled her breathing, each exhale hot against the fabric. She wanted to beg, to plead for him to stop teasing and just fuck her already, but the rules were clear: only speak when spoken to. So she waited, trembling and open and desperate, for him to decide she'd waited long enough.

He pushed into her slowly—so slowly—but smoothly, sinking all the way to the base until she could feel his balls pressed against her. Then he stayed that way, buried completely inside her, unmoving.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, her body accommodating his thickness with a fullness that bordered on too much. Bex's breath punched out of her in a ragged gasp, her fingers unlacing behind her back only to grip each other again even tighter, needing something to anchor against the sensation of being filled so completely and then held there. He wasn't moving—wasn't thrusting or grinding or giving her any friction to work with—just keeping himself seated deep inside her while her body adjusted and clenched around the intrusion.

The stillness was its own kind of torture. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to rock back against him, to chase the friction her body was begging for, but that hand on her lower back remained steady—a silent reminder that she stayed where he put her, that movement happened when he decided and not before. She could feel every inch of him, the heat and hardness stretching her open, and the knowledge that he was choosing to just wait there, savoring the feeling of being inside her without rushing toward anything, made her head spin with the reality of what being a toy actually meant.

Her face pressed harder into the mattress, a whimper building in her throat that she barely managed to swallow. What noises will my Toy make? He was finding out—testing her, learning what sounds she made when filled and denied, when given exactly what she wanted but not the way she needed it.

He grabbed her hips, and instead of moving himself, he rocked her back and forth—letting the motion of the bed do the work, using her whole body like a sex toy he was fucking. Because in that moment, that's exactly what she was.

The realization hit Bex with visceral clarity as he manipulated her body, pushing and pulling her onto his cock with the same casual efficiency someone might use stroking themselves with their hand. She wasn't participating—she was being used, her weight and momentum doing all the work while he stayed perfectly still, just gripping her hips and controlling the rhythm. The bed creaked beneath them with each thrust, springs protesting the repetitive motion, and the sound was obscene in its mechanical regularity. Back and forth. On and off his cock. A living fleshlight with a pulse and the capacity to make desperate noises into his mattress.

A moan tore from her throat, muffled by the sheets but audible enough that he'd hear it—the sound of someone being reduced to pure function and finding it exactly what they needed. Her body rocked in his grip, thighs trembling with the effort of staying spread and stable while he fucked her with her own momentum. The angle hit something deep inside her that made stars burst behind her closed eyelids, pleasure building with each mechanical thrust, each deliberate use of her body as an object for his satisfaction.

Her hands had gone numb behind her back but she didn't dare move them, didn't dare do anything except exist as the toy he'd told her to be—passive, available, responsive only in the ways he permitted. The fullness of him inside her, the relentless rhythm he'd established, the complete lack of agency in how she was being used—it was perfect and overwhelming and exactly what she'd asked for when she'd negotiated this scene.

"Fuck... you ARE a tight little Toy." He flipped her onto her back and put her legs on his shoulders, then continued using her hips to create the motion, driving into her.

The sudden shift in position made Bex's world spin—one moment face-down and anonymous, the next on her back with her legs folded up and him looming over her, his face visible now, his eyes locked on hers while he used her body the same way he had before. The angle was deeper like this, almost too much, his cock hitting places that made her vision white out at the edges. She could see him now—the focused intensity in his expression, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his jaw was set with concentration and pleasure—and being watched while he fucked her like an object added a new layer of exposure she hadn't anticipated.

Her hands were trapped beneath her at this angle, still locked together behind her back, the position forcing her chest up and out in an arch that left her completely vulnerable. The mechanical rhythm continued, his grip on her hips firm and controlling, pulling her onto him with each thrust while her legs draped over his shoulders kept her folded and open. The praise—you ARE a tight little Toy—echoed in her head, the confirmation that she was performing her function well, that her body was exactly what he wanted to use.

A broken moan escaped her throat, louder now that her face wasn't buried in the mattress, and she couldn't stop the sounds from coming—whimpers and gasps and desperate noises that seemed to be pulled from her with each deep thrust. Her eyes wanted to close, to escape the intensity of his gaze, but something kept them open, kept her locked in the connection of watching him use her while he watched her take it.

He reached down and gripped her nipple, roughly pulling for extra leverage. She could feel him getting close inside her—the shift in his rhythm, the way his cock seemed to swell even thicker, the tension building in his body as he drove into her with increasing urgency.

The pain in her nipple was sharp and immediate, a bright point of sensation that somehow amplified everything else—the fullness of him inside her, the relentless pace, the way her body was being used without mercy or gentleness. Bex cried out, the sound ragged and desperate, her back arching involuntarily which only gave him better leverage to pull. The dual sensations of pleasure and pain blurred together until she couldn't distinguish between them, her mind dissolving into pure sensation while he chased his release using her body as the vehicle.

She could feel how close he was—not just in the physical changes but in the way his control was fraying at the edges, his grip on her hip tightening to the point of bruising, his breathing harsh and uneven above her. He's going to come inside me. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her core, the knowledge that this was the endpoint of being a toy—to be filled, used completely, marked from the inside out as his. Her legs trembled where they rested on his shoulders, her whole body shaking with the force of his thrusts and the overwhelming intensity of sensations she couldn't process or escape.

The sounds filling the room were obscene—skin against skin, her desperate whimpers, his ragged breathing, the wet slide of him using her. She was close too, teetering on an edge she hadn't given herself permission to cross, her body responding despite the lack of clitoral stimulation purely from the angle and the fullness and the complete surrender of being nothing but a receptacle for his pleasure.

"Oh THAT was a fun noise." He drove harder into her, the increased force punching the air from her lungs.

The shift in intensity was immediate and devastating—what had been controlled and mechanical became something rawer, more primal, his hips slamming into her with enough force that the bed frame protested loudly beneath them. Bex's cry broke into fragments, each thrust driving a new sound from her throat that she had no hope of controlling or suppressing. Fun noise. He'd heard her break, had liked it, and was now deliberately chasing more of those sounds by fucking her harder, using her body's responses as feedback for his own pleasure.

Her nipple was still caught in his grip, the sharp pull adding to the overwhelming cascade of sensation—pain and pleasure and the relentless fullness of him driving deep. She could feel him swelling inside her, his rhythm losing its precision as he got closer, becoming rougher and more urgent. The knowledge that he was about to come, that all of this—the dinner, the throat-fucking, the mechanical use of her body—had been building toward him filling her completely, sent her own arousal spiraling higher despite the lack of direct stimulation.

Her legs trembled violently on his shoulders, her whole body shaking with the force of his thrusts and the desperate need building in her core. She was close, so close, teetering on an edge she hadn't been given permission to cross. The rules echoed dimly in her mind through the haze: follow directions without question or face consequences. He hadn't told her she could come. She bit down on her lip hard, trying to hold back the orgasm threatening to crash through her, her body clenching tight around him in a way that must have felt incredible because his grip on her hip turned bruising and his breathing went ragged above her.

"Oh, is my toy going to cum? By all means, get loud for me and cum." He cackled as he fucked her, hard and deep, but not fast... just... relentless.

The permission hit her like a physical blow, shattering the last thread of control she'd been desperately clinging to. Bex's orgasm crashed through her with devastating force, her body clenching around him in waves that felt endless, pulled from somewhere deep in her core by the relentless pressure of him driving into her. She screamed—there was no other word for it—the sound raw and uncontrolled, everything she'd been holding back pouring out in a cry that filled the room. Her legs shook violently on his shoulders, her hands trapped beneath her back flexing uselessly as the pleasure rolled through her in pulses that seemed to sync with each deep thrust.

Get loud for me. She was—god, she couldn't stop even if she wanted to, the sounds torn from her throat with each wave of sensation, whimpers and cries and broken gasps that said more clearly than words how completely he'd wrecked her. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, intensified by the way he kept fucking her through it with that same relentless rhythm—not speeding up to chase his own release but maintaining that steady deep pressure that wrung every last bit of pleasure from her trembling body.

The grip on her nipple released as she came, his hand moving to brace against the bed for better leverage, and the sudden absence of that sharp pain somehow made everything else feel more intense. She could feel him inside her—thick and hard and so deep—could feel her body clenching around him in aftershocks that made her vision blur. The permission to come, the encouragement to be loud about it, the way he was using her pleasure as part of his own enjoyment—it all blended together into something that felt like complete surrender, like she'd given him every part of herself and he'd accepted it without hesitation.

Her orgasm pushed him over the edge and he leaned in close, pressing his chest into her breasts and bending her nearly in half in the process, exploding into her.

The angle folded Bex completely, her flexibility tested as her knees pressed toward her shoulders, his weight bearing down on her while he came with a groan that vibrated through both their bodies. She felt the heat of him flooding her, pulse after pulse, his cock jerking inside her as he emptied himself with the same relentless intensity he'd brought to everything else tonight. The pressure of his chest against her breasts made breathing difficult, made everything feel compressed and overwhelming, but she didn't care—couldn't care—her own pleasure still rippling through her in aftershocks that seemed to sync with each throb of his release.

His face was close to hers now, close enough that she could see the satisfaction written across his features, the way his jaw had gone slack with the intensity of his orgasm. The intimacy of it—being folded beneath him, filled with his cum, watching him come undone after maintaining such perfect control all evening—felt more vulnerable than anything that had come before. This is what toys are for. The thought drifted through her hazy mind, distant but grounding. To be used completely, to bring him pleasure, to accept whatever he chose to give or take.

Her body was trembling beneath him, exhausted and oversensitive, every nerve ending raw and singing. She could feel the mess between her legs—his cum mixing with her own wetness, the evidence of being thoroughly used—and the knowledge of it sent one more weak pulse of pleasure through her core. Her hands were still trapped beneath her back, completely numb now, but she made no move to free them. Not until he decided she could.

He pulled back, letting her legs fall so she could unfold herself. "Such a messy Toy. Go clean that dripping pussy before you leak cum on my carpet." His voice was firm, but playful and teasing.

Bex's legs dropped heavily to the bed, muscles protesting the sudden shift from folded to flat. She lay there for a moment, boneless and dazed, feeling the immediate rush of warmth between her thighs as gravity did its work. Messy. She was—god, she could feel him leaking out of her already, the wet slide of their combined fluids starting to drip. Her hands finally came free from behind her back, pins and needles shooting through her fingers as circulation returned, and she pushed herself up on shaky arms.

Standing was an adventure in coordination her body wasn't quite ready for. Her legs trembled as she got to her feet, hyperaware of the mess between her thighs, the way each movement made more of his cum slide down toward her inner thighs. The bathroom was just across the hall—she could see the light switch from here—but the few steps felt impossibly far when her entire body was still humming with aftershocks and her brain was floating somewhere in the stratosphere.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she stumbled into the bathroom—flushed face, messy hair, the evidence of tears and saliva still visible around her mouth, and between her legs the unmistakable wet mess of being thoroughly used. Toy. The word echoed in her head as she grabbed toilet paper and started cleaning herself up, following his instruction because that's what toys did—they maintained themselves, kept themselves ready for the next use, didn't make messes on the carpet.

By the time she came back from a quick shower—hair damp, skin warm and pink from the hot water, feeling more human and less like a collection of used parts—he had a glass of milk, a plate of cookies, and an oversized band t-shirt laid out for her on the nightstand. "Hey you."

The shift in his tone was immediate and unmistakable—no longer the firm dominance of Toy and consequences, but something softer, warmer. Aftercare. Bex felt the transition like stepping from one room into another, her body still floating in the pleasant haze of subspace but her mind starting to reconnect with the reality of being a person rather than an object. She crossed to the bed on steadier legs now, reaching for the t-shirt first because being naked suddenly felt different without the scene's context around it.

The shirt was huge on her—some band she didn't recognize, the fabric soft and worn from many washings—and it fell to mid-thigh, covering her completely. She sank onto the edge of the bed beside the nightstand, reaching for the milk with hands that were almost steady. The cold sweetness of it was grounding, washing away the lingering taste of him from her throat, and she drank half the glass before setting it down and picking up a cookie. Chocolate chip, still slightly warm like he'd baked them earlier in the day.

"Hey," she managed, her voice rougher than expected from the throat-fucking but present, hers again. She looked at him—really looked, not through the haze of being used but with clear eyes—and felt something warm and complicated settle in her chest. He made cookies. He has milk ready. He's taking care of me. The thoughtfulness threaded through everything, even here in the aftermath when she was wrung out and floating.

Chapter 6

Brunch

~6,853 words

The café was bright and loud with Sunday brunch crowd—families with restless kids, couples nursing hangovers over mimosas, the constant hiss and clank of the espresso machine behind the counter. Bex sat across from Jess and Lara in their usual corner booth, picking at an omelet she wasn't particularly hungry for while trying to ignore the pleasant ache between her thighs and the slight rasp still lingering in her voice.

Jess noticed immediately. Of course she did—Jess noticed everything. "You sound like you've been gargling gravel," she said, eyebrow raised over her coffee cup. Not judgmental, just observant, but with that edge of protective concern that meant she was already cataloging details. "Good weekend?"

"Very good weekend," Bex managed, reaching for her water glass because talking still felt slightly raw. The memory of last night was vivid—being bent over the bed, the mechanical rhythm of being used, the way he'd made her scream when she came. Her face heated slightly despite her best efforts at casual composure.

Lara was quieter, as always, but her gaze was steady and thoughtful where it rested on Bex. "You look happy," she said simply. "Different than last week. More... settled, maybe?" There was a question buried in the observation, gentle but present, like she was trying to figure out what had shifted beneath the surface.

Bex felt the weight of both their attention, the way Jess's protective radar was pinging and Lara's quiet perceptiveness was picking up on things Bex wasn't sure she was ready to articulate yet. She took another sip of water, buying herself a moment to figure out how much to share.

"Settled is... one word for it," she said finally, setting the glass down with careful precision. "Shawn and I had our second scene last night. The 'use me like a toy' one we'd talked about." She watched Jess's expression shift—not disapproval exactly, but that particular look that meant her friend was already running calculations about safety and aftercare and whether Bex was processing everything properly.

"And?" Jess prompted when Bex didn't immediately continue. Not pushy, but definitely not letting her off the hook either. Lara had gone still in that way she had when she was really listening, her fork paused halfway to her mouth.

Bex exhaled slowly, trying to find words for something that felt too big and too complicated to fit into casual brunch conversation. "It was intense. Really intense. He—" She paused, feeling heat creep up her neck at the memory of being bent over the bed, of his hand in her hair, of the way he'd used her body with such deliberate control. "He's really good at this. Like, scary good. And I think I might be in way deeper than I planned to be this fast."

Jess leaned back in the booth, her arms crossing in that way that meant she was shifting into protective-friend mode but trying not to be obvious about it. "Define 'way deeper,'" she said carefully. "Because a week ago you were talking about finding a competent play partner, and now you sound like—" She paused, searching for the right words. "Like this is becoming something else."

"It is something else," Bex admitted, finally pushing her omelet aside and wrapping both hands around her water glass like it could anchor her. "We negotiated exclusivity. He's integrated into the friend group. He runs our game night now. And last night I was..." She trailed off, aware that they were in public, that there were limits to what she could say even in their corner booth. "I went somewhere I haven't been in over a year. He got me there and brought me back safely and had cookies waiting."

Lara's expression softened, something knowing flickering across her features. "That's not just play," she said quietly. "That's... more."

"Yeah." Bex met her eyes, feeling the weight of admitting it out loud. "Yeah, it is. And I don't know if that's what he wants or if I'm just reading too much into really excellent aftercare, but—" She stopped as the café door opened and Shawn walked in, his timing either impeccable or terrible depending on how this conversation was about to go. He spotted their booth immediately, his expression shifting into something warm and easy as he approached.

"Oh hey you." He nodded to Jess and Lara, then looked back at Bex. "Wasn't expecting to run into you today. I gotta say, that's maybe another small town thing... Not a lot of brunch spots." He laughed. "I won't intrude, I'm just picking up some maple syrup. The grocery store didn't have any of the real stuff left. Can you believe that?"

She could, actually. The local chain had a habit of running out of basics at the worst possible times, and real maple syrup was always the first casualty of Sunday morning pancake rushes. Bex felt the surreal collision of her two worlds—Shawn standing there in jeans and a henley looking completely casual and normal, while she sat across from her friends with her throat still raw from last night and the conversation they'd been having hanging in the air like smoke.

Jess's gaze flicked between them with the precision of a sniper calculating windage, taking in Bex's flush and Shawn's easy demeanor and the way the air had shifted the moment he'd walked in. "Maple syrup emergency," she said dryly. "Critical."

Lara was quieter, but her slight smile suggested she was reading the situation perfectly—the timing, the way Bex had gone still, the fact that they'd just been talking about him and now here he was like she'd summoned him by speaking his name. "You could join us," she offered, her tone genuinely welcoming rather than polite. "If you're not in a rush."

"Oh." Slight surprise colored his voice as he looked between them. "I wouldn't want to intrude on brunch with the girls." He chuckled warmly, his gaze moving from face to face, clearly trying to read whether he should go or stay.

Bex felt the weight of the moment—the way Jess was watching with that sharp protective assessment, the way Lara had already extended a genuine invitation, and the fact that thirty seconds ago she'd been confessing to both of them that this thing with Shawn had become more than she'd planned. The universe had a sense of humor, apparently. She could feel the heat still in her cheeks, the awareness of him standing there while her friends sat across from her with full knowledge of where she'd just admitted to being emotionally.

Jess's expression shifted fractionally, something calculating giving way to something more neutral. "You're not intruding," she said, though her tone was measured rather than effusive. "Lara invited you. Besides, if you're going to be a fixture at game night, might as well get used to being around all of us in different contexts." There was a test buried in the casual words—are you just here for the scenes, or are you actually sticking around?

Lara gestured to the empty space beside Bex in the booth, her smile warm and uncomplicated. "Sit. Tell us about your maple syrup crisis. I didn't know people had strong opinions about that."

He slid into the booth beside Bex, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through her jeans. "Well okay, I'm not one to refuse brunch." He laughed. "I was going to make waffles this morning but noticed I was low on maple syrup. Can't stand the fake stuff after being spoiled up in Toronto for a couple years." He smiled, easy and comfortable despite walking into what was clearly girl-talk territory. "So what's on the brunch agenda, we complaining about work? Gossiping about..." He caught himself, and the context visibly hit him. "...boys? Oh I've stepped in it now haven't I?" He chuckled.

The booth suddenly felt smaller with him in it. Bex was acutely aware of his proximity—the casual way he'd settled in beside her like this was completely normal, like he hadn't spent last night bending her in half and making her scream. Jess's eyebrow climbed fractionally higher, her expression shifting into something that looked suspiciously like amusement mixed with assessment. Oh, he's charming when he wants to be. The thought was written clearly across her face.

"You've definitely stepped in it," Jess confirmed, but her tone had softened slightly, some of the protective edge giving way to genuine curiosity. "Though to be fair, you were the subject of the gossip, so maybe it's better that you're here to defend yourself." She took a deliberate sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim with the kind of focus that said she was cataloging every micro-expression for later analysis.

Lara's smile widened, something warm and quietly pleased flickering across her features. "Toronto," she said, latching onto the safer topic. "What brought you out here from the city? That's a pretty significant downgrade in terms of maple syrup availability."

"Defend myself? Oh no, am I on thin ice for some reason? Haha." He looked at Lara. "I used to move around a lot, since I can write from anywhere. Had a friend up there so I stayed with her a while but Toronto... wasn't for me. Too much chaos. What about you? I feel so bad... We played Cyberpunk for hours and I don't know anything about you..."

The deflection was smooth—acknowledging Jess's comment without engaging with the weight behind it, then pivoting to Lara with what seemed like genuine interest. Bex watched the maneuver with a mix of appreciation and awareness that he'd just neatly sidestepped the "what are your intentions" conversation her friends had clearly been building toward. Friend up there. The phrasing was careful, neutral—not girlfriend, not partner, just friend. She filed that detail away for later consideration.

Lara's expression softened at being asked about herself, the way it always did when someone showed actual curiosity rather than polite obligation. "Not much to tell, really," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm a librarian at the county branch—children's section mostly. Moved here about three years ago for the job. It's quiet, which I like. The chaos would definitely not be for me either." She paused, studying him with that thoughtful gaze that missed very little. "You said you move around a lot. Past tense or present tense? Are you planning to stay, or is this another temporary stop?"

Jess leaned forward slightly, her coffee cup cradled between both hands, clearly interested in his answer to that particular question. The subtext was obvious: Are you sticking around, or is Bex going to get attached to someone who's already planning his exit?

He looked at Jess. "You bagged a hot librarian who plays TTRPGs? So lucky it's almost cruel!" The teasing was warm, genuine—the kind of observation that acknowledged their relationship while keeping things light. Then he turned back to Lara. "Not sure honestly, but it seems nice here. I'm not planning an escape or anything."

Jess's expression shifted—surprise flickering across her features before settling into something that looked almost like approval. "I really did," she said, her hand finding Lara's across the table with easy affection. "Though she'd probably argue I'm the lucky one." The protective edge had softened considerably, his comment about Lara clearly landing well. Points earned, whether he'd meant to or not.

Lara flushed slightly, clearly unused to being called hot so casually, but her smile was genuine. "Not planning an escape is... diplomatic," she observed, her tone gently teasing. "That's the kind of answer someone gives when they're keeping their options open but don't want to admit it." There was no judgment in the words, just that same quiet perceptiveness that seemed to be her default mode.

Bex felt the conversation circling closer to territory she wasn't sure she wanted to navigate with Shawn sitting right beside her and her friends watching every interaction like they were gathering data for a post-mortem later. The weight of what she'd admitted before he arrived—I'm in way deeper than I planned—hung in the air alongside his carefully neutral answer about staying. Not planning an escape. Which wasn't the same as planning to stay. She reached for her water glass, needing something to do with her hands while the silence stretched just a beat too long.

"I guess it is... But the options are ALWAYS open. Aren't they?" He smiled as the server approached, ordering a grilled cheese and tomato soup before continuing. "Any of us could decide tomorrow to move or... do whatever. Hiding that in subtext and assumption isn't something I'm good at. I blame the 'tism." He laughed, the sound easy and self-deprecating.

The comment landed with unexpected weight—not deflection this time but actual honesty, the kind that reframed the careful diplomatic answer into something more straightforward. Options are always open. Bex felt something settle in her chest at the acknowledgment, the recognition that he wasn't promising permanence because nobody could, really. The autism mention was casual, matter-of-fact, like it was just another piece of information about himself rather than something that needed explanation or apology.

Jess's expression shifted again, the analytical assessment giving way to something more genuine. "Fair point," she said, her tone losing its edge entirely. "And honestly, I appreciate the directness. Saves everyone a lot of time and misunderstanding." She glanced at Bex briefly—a look that said okay, I see why you like him—before returning her attention to Shawn. "Though for what it's worth, the community here is pretty solid. People tend to stick around once they find their people."

Lara nodded, her fingers still laced with Jess's across the table. "The 'tism' explains why you're so good at running games, actually," she observed quietly. "You have a way of tracking all the moving parts without getting overwhelmed. That takes a specific kind of brain." There was warmth in the comment, recognition rather than observation—like she understood something about how his mind worked and appreciated it.

He chuckled. "Thank you for the kind words, though a lot of that is more practice with improv than anything else. A learned skill. Could teach you if you like... Little side project on game nights maybe?" He smiled.

Lara's eyes lit up with genuine interest, the quiet enthusiasm that came when someone offered to share knowledge rather than just display it. "I'd like that," she said, leaning forward slightly. "I've always been intimidated by the idea of running a game. Too many variables to track, too much pressure to keep everyone entertained. But if it's teachable..." She trailed off, the possibility clearly appealing to her in a way that suggested she'd been thinking about it longer than this conversation.

Jess squeezed Lara's hand, her expression softening into something affectionate and proud. "You'd be good at it," she said, then looked back at Shawn with what was clearly a reassessment happening in real-time. "That's a generous offer. Most DMs guard their secrets like they're proprietary trade craft." There was approval in her tone now, the protective barriers lowering incrementally as he continued to demonstrate that he wasn't just passing through Bex's life without consideration for the people already in it.

The server returned with Shawn's grilled cheese and soup, setting the plate down with practiced efficiency before refilling water glasses around the table. The brief interruption gave Bex a moment to process the easy way he'd just woven himself deeper into their social fabric—not pushing, not performing, just offering something genuine that happened to create another connection point. He's doing it again. The integration wasn't accidental; it was deliberate and thoughtful, the same way everything else about him seemed to be.

He squeezed Bex's knee under the table. "Anyway... Don't let me take over Brunch... I'm sure you were talking about something before I stumbled in. Don't let me derail you." He smiled and started eating.

The touch was brief but grounding—his hand warm through her jeans, the casual intimacy of it sending a small shock of awareness through her that had nothing to do with last night and everything to do with the easy familiarity he was claiming in front of her friends. Bex felt her breath catch slightly, hyperaware that Jess had definitely noticed the gesture even if she couldn't see it under the table. The squeeze said I'm here, you're okay, we're okay—reassurance wrapped in possessiveness wrapped in affection, all compressed into a single touch.

Jess's eyes narrowed fractionally, that protective radar pinging again, but her expression remained neutral as she picked up her coffee. "We were actually talking about you," she said bluntly, because of course she was going to call it out rather than pretend. "Specifically, we were discussing whether what you and Bex have going is just excellent play partnership or something more complicated." She held his gaze steadily, not aggressive but definitely not backing down. "Since you're here now, maybe you have thoughts on that?"

Lara made a small sound that might have been protest or amusement, her free hand coming up to cover her face briefly. "Jess," she said, the name carrying gentle reproach, but she didn't actually argue the point. Just looked between Shawn and Bex with that quiet perceptiveness that suggested she was very interested in how this conversation was about to unfold.

"Excellent you say?" He cackled. "I'll take that as high praise. And honestly... Not sure. It's been a LOT of fun, but it's also only been a couple weeks. So it's early days on how complicated it might get... But I'm... not ruling out complicated."

The answer was characteristically honest—no promises, no deflection, just the acknowledgment that whatever was happening between them was still forming, still undefined. Bex felt the weight of his words settle alongside the lingering warmth of his hand on her knee, the casual way he'd just admitted in front of her friends that complicated was a possibility he was open to rather than something he was actively avoiding. Not ruling it out. Which wasn't a commitment, but it also wasn't a door closing.

Jess studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before something in her posture relaxed fractionally. "That's a fair answer," she said finally, her tone losing the sharp protective edge entirely. "Better than pretending you have it all figured out when you obviously don't." She glanced at Bex, one eyebrow raised in a look that clearly said your turn to respond to this, because I just got you an opening. "Complicated can be good, as long as everyone's honest about what they're feeling and what they want."

Lara's smile was soft, knowing, like she'd just watched something click into place that she'd been waiting to see. "Two weeks is early," she agreed quietly. "But sometimes you know pretty quickly when something has potential to be more than what it started as." Her gaze moved to Bex, gentle but expectant, clearly curious about whether Bex was going to acknowledge her own feelings now that Shawn had laid his cards on the table—or at least admitted he was still holding cards rather than folding.

Bex felt the spotlight shift to her, three sets of eyes waiting for her response—Jess's sharp and assessing, Lara's gentle and encouraging, Shawn's steady and curious beside her. The squeeze on her knee had left an imprint she could still feel, a reminder that he was right there, that whatever she said would be heard not just by her friends but by him. The conversation she'd been having thirty seconds before he walked in echoed in her head: I'm in way deeper than I planned to be this fast.

She picked up her water glass, took a deliberate sip to buy herself a moment, then set it down with careful precision. "I think—" She paused, choosing her words with the same care she'd use placing a knife edge. "I think Lara's right. Two weeks is early, but sometimes you know pretty quickly when something feels different. More substantial." Her gaze flicked to Shawn briefly, then back to her friends, because looking at him while saying this felt too exposed. "And yeah, it's complicated. Or it's becoming complicated. But I'm not running from that either."

Jess's expression softened into something that looked almost like relief, the protective tension finally draining from her shoulders. "Good," she said simply. "As long as you're both being honest with each other and yourselves, complicated is manageable." She reached for her coffee, the gesture signaling that the interrogation portion of brunch was officially over. "Though for the record, if either of you hurts the other, you'll have to answer to the entire game night crew. We're a package deal."

Lara laughed quietly, her hand squeezing Jess's across the table. "What she means is we care about both of you and want this to work out however it's supposed to." Her smile was warm as she looked between them. "But yes, also the mild threat of community accountability."

"Extremely valid. And oddly reassuring that I'm worth threatening. Is that weird?" He laughed. "Can I ask you both something? I'm looking at Jess and Lara. "About... what 'complicated' looks like. For you?"

The question landed with unexpected sincerity—not deflecting or making light of the interrogation, but genuinely asking for insight from the couple across the table. Bex felt something shift in her chest at the directness of it, the way he was treating Jess and Lara's relationship as a resource rather than just an example to observe from a distance. He wants to understand. Not just navigate this conversation, but actually learn from people who'd figured out how to make complicated work.

Jess and Lara exchanged a look—one of those wordless communications that came from years of practice reading each other. Jess spoke first, her tone thoughtful rather than protective now. "For us, complicated looks like figuring out how to be individuals while also being a unit," she said, her fingers still laced with Lara's on the table. "I'm intense and protective and tend to bulldoze when I think I'm right. Lara's quiet and thoughtful and needs space to process. We had to learn how to not let my intensity overwhelm her gentleness, and how to not let her need for space make me feel shut out."

Lara nodded, picking up the thread seamlessly. "It meant being honest about what we each needed, even when it felt vulnerable or like we were asking too much. And trusting that the other person would show up for those needs rather than dismissing them." She paused, her gaze moving between Shawn and Bex with that quiet perceptiveness. "The complicated part isn't the differences—it's learning how to communicate about them without making each other wrong for having them."

"That's... really sweet. Actually. I love that. What about the... individual things? Jess seemed poised to go to a play party the first time we met... I didn't get details or anything but then after meeting Lara that context... shifted haha. Not in a bad way. You'll get ZERO judgment from me, regardless haha... Just wondering how you navigate that sort of thing."

The question was careful but curious—acknowledging what he'd observed without making assumptions, leaving space for them to share or not. Bex felt herself go still beside him, suddenly hyperaware that this was territory she'd wondered about herself but had never quite asked directly. The munch dynamics, the way Jess moved through kink spaces with easy confidence while Lara seemed more reserved—she'd noticed the contrast but hadn't pushed for details.

Jess's expression shifted into something that was equal parts amused and appreciative. "You're observant," she said, leaning back in the booth with her coffee cradled between both hands. "Yeah, I play outside the relationship sometimes. Lara doesn't—not because she can't, but because it's not something she's interested in. We're not fully open, but we're not strictly monogamous either. It's more... selectively non-monogamous? With a lot of communication beforehand."

Lara nodded, her thumb tracing absent patterns on the back of Jess's hand. "It works because we're honest about what we each need," she said quietly. "Jess gets something from playing with other people that's different from what we have together—variety, different dynamics, the social aspect of community play. I get my needs met completely within our relationship, so I don't feel the pull to play outside it. But I'm not threatened by her doing so, because I trust that what we have is solid and separate from those other connections."

"The key is that it's not a compromise," Jess added, her gaze steady on Shawn. "Neither of us is sacrificing what we need to make the other comfortable. We found a structure that actually works for both of us, where we both get to be fully ourselves. But it took a lot of talking to get there—and we still check in regularly to make sure it's still working."

"Ok. Cool. That very much clarifies it. Thank you. Now I don't have to worry about putting my foot in my mouth so much by accident." He laughed and took another bite of his grilled cheese, the tension of the conversation dissolving into something easier.

Jess's smile turned genuine, the last traces of protective interrogation falling away entirely. "You're doing fine," she said, her tone warm rather than assessing now. "Better than fine, actually. Most people either get weird and judgmental about the non-monogamy thing, or they assume it means we're down for whatever without boundaries. You just... asked a clarifying question like a normal person." She raised her coffee cup in a small salute. "Points for that."

Lara's expression had softened into something pleased and comfortable, clearly relieved that the conversation had gone well rather than awkward. "It's nice to be able to talk about it openly," she said quietly. "A lot of people in our lives don't know, or we have to explain it carefully to avoid judgment. Having community where we can just... be ourselves without performance is important." Her gaze moved to Bex, something knowing and gentle in her eyes. "Which is why we're invested in making sure the people who join that community are actually safe to be around."

The subtext was clear: You passed the test. Both of you. The brunch table felt different now—less like an interrogation and more like an actual gathering of friends, the kind where people could ask real questions and get honest answers without walking on eggshells. Bex realized she'd been holding tension in her shoulders that was only now beginning to release, the relief of having her friends approve of Shawn mixing with the vulnerability of having admitted her own feelings out loud.

"Oh.. Yeah... People truly are the worst. Aren't they? Well you won't get judgment from me on any of that. I'm not much for monogamy... Rather just honestly deal with things as they come up and let the cards fall where they fall. Ya know?"

The statement landed casually, matter-of-fact, but Bex felt it ripple through her with unexpected weight. Not much for monogamy. She'd known that, technically—they'd negotiated exclusivity for play but acknowledged the possibility of other partners with communication. But hearing him say it out loud in front of her friends, right after she'd admitted to being in deeper than planned, created a dissonance she wasn't quite prepared for. The cards falling where they fall sounded freeing in theory, but sitting beside him with his warmth still radiating through her jeans and the memory of last night vivid in her body, she wasn't sure how she felt about cards and falling and the implication that whatever happened just... happened.

Jess's expression shifted fractionally, something thoughtful crossing her features as she processed the comment. "That's fair," she said carefully, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they flicked briefly to Bex before returning to Shawn. "As long as everyone involved knows that's the operating philosophy. Honesty about where you stand is important—more important than the actual structure, really." There was a question buried in the statement, an invitation for him to clarify whether honestly dealing with things meant active communication or just seeing what developed without intervention.

Lara had gone quiet again, that observant stillness that meant she was reading between lines and cataloging dynamics. Her gaze rested on Bex with gentle concern, clearly picking up on the slight tension that had entered her friend's posture. "Letting cards fall can work," she said softly, "but it helps to know what game you're playing first. Otherwise people end up with different rule books and nobody wins."

"Oh for sure. Can't have fun playing the game if people aren't playing by the same rules. Like with Bex and I... We talked it out. Found common ground and some basic rules about communication and where the mines were... So we can both just exist in that framework and see how it goes." He squeezed her knee again, the touch warm and affectionate through the denim.

The reassurance in the gesture helped, a little—the acknowledgment that they had talked, that there were rules even if those rules allowed for flexibility and evolution. Bex felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders, though the dissonance between I'm in way deeper than planned and let the cards fall where they fall still hummed quietly in the back of her mind. They'd negotiated a framework. That was something. That was more than just chaos and hope.

Jess nodded slowly, her expression settling into something that looked like cautious approval. "That's the right approach," she said, her tone losing the sharp edge of assessment entirely. "Having the conversation up front, knowing where the boundaries are—that's how you avoid the kind of mess where someone gets hurt because expectations didn't match reality." She glanced at Bex with an expression that clearly said we're talking about this later, just the two of us, but her words stayed directed at Shawn. "And checking in regularly as things develop. Frameworks are good, but they need maintenance."

Lara's smile returned, soft and genuine, her concern easing as she watched the affectionate squeeze and the way Bex seemed to settle slightly under the touch. "It sounds like you're both being thoughtful about it," she said quietly. "That's what matters—not the specific structure, but the care you're taking with each other while you figure out what works." Her gaze moved between them with that quiet perceptiveness that saw more than most people gave her credit for. "Just... keep talking. Even when it's uncomfortable. Especially when it's uncomfortable."

"Oh I'm.. Pretty good at just saying the uncomfy stuff. I blame the autism for THAT too. A blessing and a curse." He chuckled as he finished his food, setting down his spoon with the satisfied air of someone who'd just demolished comfort food at exactly the right moment.

Jess's expression shifted into something that looked almost like respect, her protective barriers lowering another degree. "Honestly? That's probably going to serve you well in this community," she said, leaning back in the booth with her coffee. "We've had too many people who dance around things or hint instead of just saying what they mean. Direct communication is refreshing, even when it's uncomfortable." She glanced at Bex with a look that clearly said this one might actually work out, though whether that was approval or just cautious optimism was hard to tell.

Lara nodded, her smile warm and genuine. "It's definitely a blessing in relationships," she agreed quietly. "Even when the uncomfy stuff is hard to hear, it's better than guessing or making assumptions. And it means people know where they stand with you, which builds trust faster than almost anything else." Her gaze moved between Shawn and Bex with that gentle perceptiveness, clearly pleased with how the conversation had unfolded despite its rocky start.

The server appeared to clear Shawn's empty plate, refilling water glasses with practiced efficiency. The café noise felt louder now that the intensity of their conversation had eased—the clatter of dishes, the hiss of the espresso machine, families laughing at nearby tables. Brunch was winding down, the post-interrogation atmosphere settling into something comfortable and easy, like they'd all passed some unspoken test and could finally just exist together without performance.

"Well I should go and stop intruding... This was a nice surprise. Bex, text me later?" He nodded to Lara and Jess, then put down enough money to cover the full brunch—not just his meal—and headed for the door. Then he spun back around to go to the counter and get the maple syrup he'd nearly forgotten was the reason he'd come in the first place.

The gesture of paying for everyone hung in the air after he left, casual generosity that felt both thoughtful and slightly presumptuous. Bex watched him through the café window as he walked to the counter, his easy confidence visible even from a distance, and felt the complicated tangle of emotions she'd been managing all morning settle into something she couldn't quite name. Text me later. Not a demand, just an invitation—leaving the ball in her court while he went off to make waffles with proper maple syrup.

Jess waited exactly three seconds after the door closed behind him before leaning forward, her expression shifting from polite neutrality to full protective-friend intensity. "Okay, so we're definitely talking about the 'not much for monogamy' comment, right?" Her tone wasn't judgmental, just concerned—the kind of concern that came from watching someone you cared about admit they were falling while the other person was talking about letting cards fall where they may. "Because you said you're in deeper than planned, and he just said he's not interested in traditional relationship structures. Those things can coexist, but they can also create a lot of hurt if you're not careful."

Lara's hand found Bex's across the table, her touch gentle and grounding. "How are you feeling about all of this?" she asked quietly. "Not what you think you should feel, or what makes logical sense—just... what's actually happening in your chest right now?"

Bex pulled her hand back from Lara's gentle touch, wrapping both around her water glass like it could anchor her against the question she didn't want to answer. "I don't know," she said finally, the words coming out rougher than intended—partly from her still-raw throat, partly from the tangle of emotions she'd been trying not to examine too closely. "I mean, I knew going in that this wasn't... We negotiated play partnership with the possibility of more. That's what we agreed to. But hearing him say it like that, so casually—'not much for monogamy, let the cards fall'—it just..." She trailed off, frustrated with her inability to articulate the disconnect.

"It made it real," Lara supplied quietly, her expression gentle and knowing. "One thing to negotiate flexibility in theory, another thing to hear someone you're developing feelings for say they're fundamentally not wired for the kind of commitment you might be wanting." There was no judgment in her voice, just understanding—the kind that came from watching someone process a realization they'd been avoiding.

Jess's jaw tightened, her protective instincts clearly warring with her appreciation for Shawn's honesty. "Look, he's being upfront about who he is and what he wants. That's good—it means you can make informed choices. But Bex..." She paused, her gaze direct and concerned. "You told us thirty seconds before he walked in that you're in deeper than you planned. And he just told us—told you—that he's content to see what happens without any expectation of where it goes. Those are two very different emotional places to be operating from."

Jess's expression shifted, something calculating settling into her features—not cold, but deliberately testing. "You know what?" she said, her tone casual but her gaze sharp as it fixed on Bex. "We've shared play partners before. A couple times, actually, when someone interesting came through town or at parties." She leaned back in the booth, her fingers drumming once against her coffee cup. "Shawn's clearly skilled, you've said he's excellent at what he does, and I'm curious about his rope work after seeing that flogger. Maybe I should ask if he'd be interested in a scene sometime—nothing complicated, just a chance to play with someone new and see what his technique is actually like."

The words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin half-pulled. Lara's eyes widened fractionally, her gaze moving immediately to Bex's face with concern and understanding—she knew exactly what Jess was doing, the controlled test being run in real-time to see how theory met reality. How does it feel when it's not abstract? When it's your friend asking to play with the person you just admitted you're falling for?

Bex felt her chest tighten, her hands gripping the water glass hard enough that her knuckles went white. The rational part of her brain knew this was the framework they'd negotiated—communication before adding partners, flexibility built into the structure, no promises of exclusivity beyond play partnership. The emotional part of her brain was screaming something entirely different, a visceral response that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the way Shawn's hand had felt on her knee and the cookies he'd baked and the fact that she'd been in subspace in his bed less than twenty-four hours ago.

"I mean, it would just be a scene," Jess continued, her tone deliberately light even as her eyes stayed locked on Bex's face, cataloging every micro-expression. "Not dating, not romantic—just technical play between people who know what they're doing. The kind of thing you and I have done together before with other partners. And if he's as good as you say he is, it would be educational. Plus it would give me a better sense of whether he's actually safe for you to be playing with at the intensity level you've been describing." The justification was reasonable, the logic sound, but the test underneath it was crystal clear: Can you actually handle this in practice, or is the framework you negotiated going to shatter the first time it becomes real?

Lara's hand stayed on the table, palm up and available if Bex wanted to reach for it, but she didn't push. Just watched with that quiet perceptiveness, ready to support whatever reaction came next—whether that was Bex saying it was fine, or Bex realizing that maybe the cards falling where they may wasn't actually what she wanted when those cards involved someone she cared about playing with her friends.

Bex felt like the café had gotten too loud and too bright all at once, the sounds of brunch crowd pressing in while her mind spun through scenarios she absolutely did not want to be picturing. Jess with Shawn. Shawn's hands on Jess the way they'd been on her. Jess in subspace while he—she cut the thought off viciously, her stomach churning with something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy mixed with panic. This is what you agreed to. This is the framework. Communication before adding partners. But the communication was supposed to come from him, not from her friend testing whether she could actually survive the reality of what she'd negotiated.

Lara watched Bex's knuckles go white around the water glass, saw the way her breathing had gone shallow and quick, and recognized the panic spiral starting before it could fully take hold. She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to something gentle but grounding. "Bex. Breathe." Not a command, just a reminder—the kind of anchor that said you're here, you're safe, this is just a conversation.

Jess's expression softened immediately, the test clearly yielding results she could read without needing Bex to articulate them. "Hey," she said, her tone losing all the casual lightness and shifting into something warmer, more protective. "I'm not actually going to ask him. I was just—" She paused, clearly weighing how honest to be about the manipulation. "I needed to see if you could handle the reality of what you negotiated, or if the framework was going to hurt you the first time it became concrete. And I have my answer."

Lara's hand moved across the table again, this time more insistent, waiting for Bex to take it if she needed the physical grounding. "You don't have to be okay with something just because it's what you agreed to in theory," she said quietly, her gaze steady and understanding. "People's feelings change. What sounded reasonable two weeks ago might not match where you actually are now. And that's okay—it just means you need to have another conversation about what the framework should actually look like going forward."

The café noise felt distant, muffled, like Bex was underwater and the world was happening somewhere above her. Her chest was tight, her throat even tighter, and the rational part of her brain that knew Jess was right—that this was just a test, that no actual boundary had been crossed—was losing the fight against the emotional response screaming that she absolutely could not handle the idea of Shawn with anyone else right now, framework be damned.

Chapter 7

Therapy

~3,931 words

Dr. Miriam Chen's office was the same as always—soft gray walls, the white noise machine humming by the door, the overstuffed chair that Bex had spent countless hours in over the past three years working through everything from work anxiety to family trauma. But today felt different. Today, Bex had walked in carrying the weight of Sunday's brunch conversation like a stone in her chest, and the moment she'd sat down, Dr. Chen had tilted her head with that particular look that meant she already knew this session was going to be significant.

"So," Dr. Chen said, her pen poised over her notepad but not writing yet, just waiting. "You texted that you needed to talk about 'relationship stuff,' which is new territory for us. What's going on?"

Bex exhaled slowly, her hands twisting together in her lap. Where did she even start? With Shawn? With the negotiated framework that had sounded so reasonable two weeks ago? With the way her chest had seized up when Jess suggested playing with him, the visceral panic that had made it impossible to breathe? "I met someone," she said finally, the words feeling inadequate for the complexity of what had developed. "A dom. We negotiated a play partnership with flexibility built in—communication before adding other partners, no strict monogamy, just seeing where things go. And I thought I could handle that. I thought I wanted that."

Dr. Chen's expression remained neutral, but her pen moved across the page in quick, precise strokes. "Past tense," she observed quietly. "You thought you could handle it. What changed?"

Bex stared at her hands, watching her fingers twist together in patterns she recognized as anxiety tells. "My friend Jess—she's in the community, she and I have shared play partners before—she suggested maybe playing with him. Just a scene, nothing romantic, the kind of thing that should be completely fine within the framework we negotiated." The words came out flat, clinical, like she was describing someone else's experience. "And I... couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to throw up. The idea of him touching someone else, of someone else experiencing what I—" She cut herself off, her throat tight.

Dr. Chen set down her pen, her full attention shifting to Bex with the kind of focus that meant they were getting to the heart of something important. "That sounds like a pretty strong reaction," she said carefully. "Especially for a framework you thought you'd be comfortable with. What do you think that panic was telling you?"

"That I'm in way deeper than I should be after two weeks," Bex said, the admission rough and unwilling. "That I've developed feelings that don't match what we agreed to. That I'm apparently possessive and jealous in ways I didn't think I was capable of being, and I don't know what to do with that because he's been completely honest about not wanting traditional relationship structures and I can't just—" She stopped, frustration bleeding into her voice. "I can't ask him to change the terms because I caught feelings he never promised to reciprocate."

Dr. Chen leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting into something that was both compassionate and direct. "Let me ask you something, Bex. When you negotiated this framework with Shawn—the flexibility, the possibility of other partners—were you negotiating from a place of what you actually wanted, or from a place of what you thought you should want? What would make you seem cool and low-maintenance and not like the kind of person who gets too attached too fast?"

The question landed like a punch to the sternum. Bex opened her mouth to protest, to say of course she'd wanted that framework, but the words stuck in her throat because Dr. Chen had just named something she hadn't been willing to look at directly. She'd been so focused on seeming like the kind of partner who could handle casual, who wouldn't make demands or create drama, that she hadn't stopped to ask herself whether that was actually what she wanted—or just what she thought would make her more appealing.

"You're allowed to want things," Dr. Chen continued quietly. "You're allowed to want commitment, or exclusivity, or emotional primacy—even if those things weren't part of the original negotiation. Feelings change. Needs evolve. The question isn't whether you're being unreasonable for developing feelings he didn't promise to reciprocate. The question is: what are you going to do now that you know where you actually stand?"

Bex felt the weight of Dr. Chen's question settle over her like a blanket she couldn't shake off. What are you going to do now that you know where you actually stand? The answer should have been simple—talk to Shawn, renegotiate, be honest about what she was feeling. But the thought of having that conversation made her chest tight all over again, because what if he said no? What if the framework they'd negotiated was all he could offer, and asking for more meant losing what they already had?

"I don't know," she admitted finally, her voice small in the quiet office. "I'm afraid if I tell him I want more than we agreed to, he'll... end it. Or think I'm trying to trap him into something he never signed up for. He's been completely upfront about not wanting traditional relationship structures, about letting things develop organically without expectations. And I agreed to that. I can't just change the rules now because I caught feelings."

Dr. Chen's expression was patient but firm, the kind that meant she was about to push back on something Bex had just said. "You're not changing the rules unilaterally, Bex. You're communicating that your needs have evolved and asking if there's room to renegotiate. That's not a trap—that's honesty. And if he can't meet you where you are, if the framework he needs is fundamentally incompatible with what you need, then you have information. Painful information, maybe, but information that lets you make choices about what's actually sustainable for you." She paused, letting that sink in before adding quietly, "Staying silent to avoid losing what you have means you've already lost something—yourself."

Dr. Chen nodded slowly, her expression settling into something that looked like a plan forming. "I think some space to think might be a good idea," she said carefully. "Not avoidance—space. Time to sit with what you're feeling and get clear on what you actually need, not just what you think you should be okay with. And then a direct conversation with Shawn. Not accusatory, not demanding he change—just honest. 'This is where I am. This is what I'm feeling. Can we talk about whether there's a way forward that works for both of us?'"

Bex felt her stomach twist at the thought of having that conversation, the vulnerability of laying out feelings that might not be reciprocated. But Dr. Chen was right—staying silent wasn't protecting what they had. It was just delaying the inevitable moment when the gap between what she needed and what they'd negotiated became too wide to ignore.

"And regardless of how it goes," Dr. Chen continued, her tone warm and grounding, "I'll be here. If he says yes and you renegotiate into something that feels better, we'll talk through how to maintain that. If he says no and you have to make hard choices about what's sustainable for you, we'll work through that too. You're not alone in this, Bex. But you do need to be honest with him—and with yourself—about where you actually stand."

The session wound down with practical discussion about timing, about how to approach the conversation without making it feel like an ultimatum, about recognizing that her needs were valid even if they didn't match what she'd originally agreed to. By the time Bex walked out of Dr. Chen's office, she felt steadier—not less scared, but clearer about what needed to happen next.

The text came through while Bex sat in her car outside Dr. Chen's office, still processing the weight of the session. She stared at her phone for a long moment, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as she tried to figure out what to say. Not the whole truth—not yet, not over text—but enough that it didn't feel like she was disappearing or playing games. Just... touching base. Keeping the line open while she figured out how to have the conversation that needed to happen.

Hey. Sorry I've been quiet. Processing some stuff. Not ghosting you, promise. I'll see you at game night Thursday?

She hit send before she could second-guess the wording, then set the phone face-down on the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Space to think. Direct conversation after. Dr. Chen's plan was solid, even if the thought of executing it made her stomach churn. Thursday would come soon enough, and she'd have to face him then—have to sit across from him at Marcus's table and pretend everything was normal while knowing she needed to ask for something he might not be able to give.

Her phone buzzed with his response, but she didn't pick it up immediately. Just sat there in the parking lot, breathing slowly, trying to hold onto the clarity she'd found in Dr. Chen's office before the fear could take it apart.

The response came through almost immediately: Ok. Cya then! Casual, friendly, completely oblivious to the weight behind her carefully neutral message. The exclamation point felt like a small knife—not because he'd done anything wrong, but because the ease of it highlighted exactly how different their emotional places were. He had no idea there was drama brewing. No idea she'd spent the last hour in therapy unpacking how badly she'd miscalculated what she could handle. No idea that Thursday's game night was going to be followed by a conversation that might change everything between them.

Bex stared at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard like she might add something—clarify, warn him, give some hint that things weren't as simple as "see you Thursday" implied. But Dr. Chen's voice echoed in her head: Space to think. Get clear on what you need. Sending cryptic warnings over text wasn't clarity. It was anxiety looking for reassurance she couldn't ask for yet.

She set the phone down again and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot with her mind already spinning ahead to Thursday. Two days to figure out how to say I want more than we agreed to without it sounding like an ultimatum. Two days to sit with the fear that he might say no, that the framework he needed might be fundamentally incompatible with what she was realizing she needed. Two days to prepare for the possibility that honesty might cost her the best thing that had happened to her in years.

The drive home felt longer than usual, every red light giving her too much time to think.

Bex sat on her couch for hours after getting home, letting herself spiral through the question that had crystallized somewhere between the parking lot and her living room. Was this actually the best thing that had happened to her in years, or just really good sex after a long dry spell? The distinction felt crucial suddenly, like everything hinged on being able to separate genuine connection from the dopamine rush of finally being touched the way she'd been craving.

The sex had been extraordinary—no denying that. Two scenes that had delivered on every promise, subspace she'd been chasing for over a year, aftercare that felt like genuine tenderness rather than obligation. But what else was there, really? Waffles and coffee. Game night where he'd been charming and skilled and integrated seamlessly into her friend group. A handful of conversations where he'd been thoughtful and direct. Was that enough to build the kind of feelings that had made her panic at the thought of him touching someone else? Or was she just so starved for intimacy—physical and emotional—that she'd latched onto the first person who delivered competently and called it love?

She cried for a while, messy and frustrated, because she didn't have an answer and that felt worse than either option. If the feelings were real, she was about to risk everything by asking for more than they'd agreed to. If they weren't—if this was just projection and desperation dressed up as connection—then she'd been ready to blow up a perfectly good arrangement because she couldn't tell the difference between chemistry and actual compatibility. Dr. Chen's words echoed: Were you negotiating from what you wanted, or what you thought you should want? But the inverse was just as damning: Are you feeling what you're actually feeling, or what you think you should feel after someone finally gives you what you've been missing?

By the time the sun started setting, Bex felt hollowed out and no clearer than when she'd started. Thursday was two days away. The conversation would happen regardless of whether she had answers, because staying silent wasn't an option anymore. But sitting here alone in her apartment, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd somehow managed to fuck this up before it even had a chance to become whatever it was supposed to be—whether that was something real, or just a really excellent distraction she'd mistaken for depth.

Bex texted Haven that evening: Need to talk. Can I come over? The response came back almost immediately: Door's unlocked. I've got whisky. Which was Haven-speak for this is going to be messy, come prepared.

Haven's apartment was smaller than Bex's but somehow felt more lived-in, with climbing gear hung on one wall and bookshelves crammed with everything from queer theory to pulp sci-fi. She was already pouring two glasses when Bex walked in, her expression shifting from casual welcome to focused concern the moment she got a good look at Bex's face. "Okay," Haven said, handing over the whisky and gesturing to the couch. "You look like you've been crying for hours and thinking in circles. What happened?"

Bex took the glass and sank into the couch cushions, the whole story spilling out in a rush—the brunch conversation, Jess's test, the therapy session, and finally the question that had been eating at her all afternoon. "I don't know if I'm actually falling for him or if I'm just... drowning in finally being touched after being starved for so long," she finished, her voice rough. "How do I tell the difference? How do I know if this is real or if I'm just projecting because he's competent and I've been desperate?"

Haven was quiet for a long moment, swirling her whisky and studying Bex with that particular intensity that meant she was actually thinking rather than preparing a comforting lie. "Okay," she said finally. "I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest. Not what sounds right, not what you think you should feel—just honest." She leaned forward, her gaze direct. "If Shawn told you tomorrow that he wanted to keep playing but needed the relationship to stay exactly where it is now—good sex, friendly integration, no deeper emotional commitment—could you do that? Could you keep fucking him and hanging out and watching him be charming at game night, knowing it wasn't going to become more? Yes or no."

The question hit like a physical blow, cutting through all the circular thinking and theoretical framework discussion straight to the core of what actually mattered. Bex opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, because Haven's eyes were locked on her face and she'd know immediately if Bex tried to lie or hedge or give the answer that made her sound reasonable instead of honest.

"No," she said finally, the word coming out quiet but certain. "No, I couldn't. I thought I could—I negotiated for that, I agreed to it—but sitting at that brunch table listening to Jess talk about playing with him, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. And it's not just jealousy or possessiveness. It's..." She paused, trying to find words for something she'd been avoiding looking at directly. "When I think about him being with someone else, it's not the sex that hurts. It's the cookies after. The waffles. The way he listens when I talk. The fact that he showed up at game night because he wanted to be part of my actual life, not just my bedroom. I don't want to share that. And I don't think I can keep doing this if all I get is good sex and friendly integration while he keeps his options open for something better to come along."

Haven nodded slowly, something that looked like recognition settling into her expression. "Then you have your answer," she said quietly. "You're not projecting. You might be moving faster than is wise, but what you're feeling is real—you want more than the framework allows, and pretending you don't is going to destroy you from the inside out." She took a sip of whisky, her gaze steady and unflinching. "Which means you need to tell him. And if he can't meet you there, you need to walk away before this gets worse. Because staying in something that hurts while hoping it changes into what you need? That's not love. That's just slow-motion self-destruction."

Haven leaned back against the couch, her whisky glass balanced on her knee as she studied Bex with that particular intensity that meant she was working through something. "Okay, follow-up question," she said, her tone shifting into something more analytical. "Give me an example of a way Shawn has treated you—specifically you—that he hasn't shown to other people in your presence. Something that makes you feel like what you have is actually different from how he interacts with everyone else, not just good chemistry plus integration."

The question landed with unexpected weight, forcing Bex to actually think rather than just feel. She opened her mouth, then paused, running through interactions in her mind. The game night where he'd been charming with everyone. The brunch where he'd paid for everyone's meal and offered to teach Lara how to DM. The way he'd complimented Jess and Lara's relationship with genuine warmth. He was... consistently thoughtful. Consistently engaged. The cookies and waffles felt special, but were they actually unique to her, or just part of how he operated with people he liked?

"I..." Bex started, then stopped, her stomach sinking as she realized she didn't have a ready answer. "He's attentive during scenes. The aftercare is really thorough. But I don't know if that's because it's me, or because that's just how he does aftercare with everyone." She felt something cold settling in her chest, the question exposing a gap she hadn't wanted to look at. "He integrated into my life really easily, but he also... integrated into everyone's life easily. He's good with people. That's just who he is."

Haven's expression was gentle but unflinching, like she'd suspected this might be where the question led. "So what you're feeling—this depth, this specialness—might be about how good he is at making everyone feel seen and valued, not about you being particularly important to him." She let that sit for a moment before adding quietly, "Which doesn't mean your feelings aren't real. But it might mean you're reading significance into behavior that's just... his baseline."

The realization settled over Bex like cold water—clarifying and uncomfortable in equal measure. The warmth and kindness Shawn showed was part of why she liked him, part of what made him different from previous play partners who treated scenes like transactions and aftercare like obligation. But Haven's question had exposed the truth she'd been avoiding: that warmth wasn't reserved for her. It was just who he was. The way he'd charmed her friends, integrated into game night, paid for everyone's brunch—those weren't signs of special feelings for her. They were signs of someone who was genuinely good with people and generous by nature.

"Fuck," Bex said quietly, setting down her whisky glass before she could grip it hard enough to crack. "I've been reading my own feelings into his behavior, haven't I? Taking his baseline kindness and turning it into evidence that he feels what I feel." The sting of it was sharp—embarrassment mixed with relief mixed with something that felt uncomfortably like grief for a connection that maybe hadn't been as deep as she'd convinced herself it was. But underneath the sting was something else: clarity. Space to breathe. If she'd been projecting significance onto normal kindness, then maybe the panic at brunch had been about losing something she'd built up in her head rather than something that actually existed.

Haven reached over and squeezed her shoulder, her expression understanding rather than pitying. "It doesn't mean he doesn't care about you," she said gently. "It just means you might have been writing a story about what this was becoming instead of seeing what it actually is right now. Which is: really good sex with someone who's thoughtful and kind and integrated well into your life. That's not nothing. But it's also not the same as him being in as deep as you are."

Bex exhaled slowly, feeling tension drain from her shoulders that she hadn't fully realized she'd been carrying. "So what do I do with that?" she asked, her voice steadier now than it had been all evening. "Do I still have the conversation? Do I just... recalibrate what I'm expecting and see if I can actually handle the framework we negotiated now that I'm not reading more into it than exists?"

Haven nodded slowly, something that looked like approval settling into her expression. "Yeah," she said firmly. "You should still have the talk. Not because you're asking him to change or because you expect him to suddenly develop feelings he doesn't have—but because you need to be honest about where you actually are. Bottling it up, pretending you're fine with the framework when you're not, that's what destroyed your last relationship. You don't want to do that again."

Bex felt the weight of that truth settle alongside the clarity Haven had helped her find. Her ex had complained for months that she never said what she was really feeling, that she'd just shut down and pretend everything was fine until resentment built up and exploded. She'd promised herself she wouldn't do that again—wouldn't sacrifice honesty for the illusion of being low-maintenance. Even if the conversation with Shawn ended with them realizing they wanted fundamentally different things, at least it would be honest. At least she wouldn't be carrying around feelings she was afraid to name while slowly drowning in unmet needs.

"Thursday after game night," Bex said, the decision solidifying as she spoke it out loud. "I'll talk to him then. Not during—I'm not going to make it weird for everyone else. But after. Just... honest. 'This is where I am, this is what I'm realizing I need, can we figure out if there's a way forward that works for both of us or do we need to acknowledge this isn't sustainable.'" She looked at Haven, grateful and exhausted in equal measure. "Thank you for calling me out. For making me actually look at what was real versus what I was building up in my head."

Haven squeezed her shoulder again, her smile warm and a little sad. "That's what friends are for. And whatever happens Thursday, I'll be here after to help you process it. Whether it goes well or whether you need to cry into whisky again."

Chapter 8

The Talk

~6,045 words

Shawn arrived at Marcus's apartment about twenty minutes before the official start time, finding the door unlocked as usual. Marcus was in the kitchen area, pulling snacks out of grocery bags and muttering something about whether he'd bought enough chips. He looked up when Shawn walked in, his expression shifting into something grateful. "Oh good, reinforcements. Can you help me get the table cleared? I've got character sheets printed but need space to lay out the combat grid."

The apartment had that comfortable pre-game energy—the smell of fresh coffee brewing, the hum of Marcus's sound system playing ambient cyberpunk music at low volume, the organized chaos of someone who ran games regularly but still needed to scramble a bit before players arrived. Marcus gestured toward the dining table, which was currently covered in books, mail, and what looked like three weeks' worth of accumulated life debris. "Just shove everything onto the sideboard. I'll deal with it later."

As they worked, Marcus glanced over at Shawn with the kind of casual curiosity that meant he was about to ask something that wasn't actually casual at all. "So, you and Bex seem to be going well. She's been... I don't know, different lately. In a good way. More settled, maybe?" He paused, then added with a slight grin, "Or maybe just well-fucked. Hard to tell with her sometimes."

Shawn laughed, the sound easy and genuine. "Well-fucked, okay... so it really is THAT kind of friend group... good to know." He shook his head with amusement as he cleared the last stack of mail off the table. "Yeah, Bex is awesome. It's been a lot of fun, and... frankly, being a leech and crashing her friendships has been pretty nice too."

Marcus grinned, setting down a bowl of pretzels with a satisfied thunk. "Hey, you earned your way in. That one-shot last week was solid—Lara's still talking about her character's dramatic sacrifice. And the flogger thing didn't hurt either." He pulled the printed character sheets from his bag and started arranging them around the table. "But seriously, it's good to see Bex happy. She's been... I don't know, kind of closed off for a while? Like she was going through the motions but not really there, you know? Whatever you two have going on seems to be working."

The doorbell buzzed—early arrivals, probably Haven or Garrett based on timing. Marcus glanced toward the door, then back at Shawn with an expression that was friendly but just slightly assessing. "Just don't fuck it up, yeah? She's good people. And this group's protective." The words were light, but there was weight underneath them—not a threat, exactly, but a reminder that Bex had people who cared about her and would notice if things went sideways.

The group filtered in over the next fifteen minutes—Haven first with a six-pack tucked under her arm, then Garrett and Rosa together arguing about something related to academic politics, and finally Lara looking more relaxed than she had at the last session. Marcus directed traffic with the ease of someone who'd hosted a hundred game nights, getting drinks distributed and people settled around the table while Shawn laid out his GM notes and the combat grid.

When Bex arrived, she had that particular energy that Shawn had started recognizing—present but slightly elsewhere, like part of her attention was occupied with something she wasn't saying out loud. Still, her smile was genuine when she caught his eye, and she made her way over to where he was organizing initiative cards at the head of the table.

"Hey you," she said, her voice warm despite whatever was occupying the back of her mind. She dropped into the chair beside his usual GM spot, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm as she settled in.

"Hey you," he replied, his hand finding her arm for a brief squeeze—warm, familiar, the kind of casual touch that had become natural between them over the past two weeks.

Before Bex could respond, Jess appeared at Shawn's other side with the kind of excited energy that meant she'd been waiting to corner him about something. "Okay, so I've been thinking about your flogger design all week," she said, practically bouncing on her toes. "The reversible thing, right? I had this idea—what if you did a similar concept but with sensation contrast instead of just aesthetics? Like, one side is your standard deerskin falls, but the other side is something with more bite—maybe rubber or even chain if you wanted to get really intense. You could mark it with different colored handles so it's obvious which side you're using, and it would let someone escalate or de-escalate mid-scene without having to stop and switch tools entirely." She paused just long enough to take a breath, her eyes bright with creative enthusiasm. "Is that even structurally possible, or would the weight distribution get too wonky?"

Marcus called out from across the table where he was setting up his dice tower. "Jess, let the man breathe. We've got a campaign to run."

"I'm just asking a quick question!" Jess protested, though her grin suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.

"I think it might actually make it EASIER, since each side would have different weight," Shawn said, his expression shifting into that focused thoughtfulness that appeared whenever craft came up. "You'd just need to make sure the internal structure was solid enough, so it doesn't just fall apart into pieces haha... but... probably doable. We should talk later about that. You and Lara wanna do lunch or something soon?"

Jess's face lit up. "Yes! Absolutely. Lara's been wanting to pick your brain about DMing anyway—she's thinking about maybe running a one-shot for her coworkers but she's nervous about it." She pulled out her phone, already opening her calendar. "I'm free most afternoons next week if you are. Lara's schedule is more flexible than mine."

Lara looked up from where she'd been studying her character sheet, a slight flush coloring her cheeks at being called out. "I mean, only if you have time," she said quickly. "I know you're busy with writing and everything."

Marcus cleared his throat pointedly, gesturing at the table where everyone else had settled into their seats. "Okay, social planning can happen after we save Night City from whatever fresh hell Shawn's cooked up for us. Everyone ready?" He picked up his dice with theatrical ceremony. "Because I have a feeling tonight's going to get messy."

Haven leaned back in her chair, cracking her knuckles with a grin. "Messy is what we do best."

Bex watched the exchange from her seat, phone in hand but forgotten as Shawn enthusiastically discussed weight distribution and structural integrity with Jess. The invitation to lunch—casual, friendly, extended to both Jess and Lara as a unit—should have made her chest tight. A week ago it would have. Sunday at brunch, just the suggestion of Jess playing with him had made her want to crawl out of her skin.

But now, watching him geek out about craft with genuine excitement, offering his time and expertise the same way he'd offered it to Marcus about leatherwork, the same way he'd made space for Lara to ease into the game last week... it just felt like Shawn being Shawn. Warm. Generous. Good with people. His baseline, not something special reserved for her.

The realization settled over her with unexpected calm. She wasn't panicking. Her hands weren't shaking. The conversation she needed to have tonight was still waiting—she still needed to be honest about where she actually stood, what she could and couldn't handle going forward. But Haven's question had given her something crucial: the ability to see what was actually there instead of what she'd been projecting onto it. Shawn was kind and thoughtful and integrated beautifully into her world. That didn't mean he was in as deep as she'd let herself believe.

Marcus's voice cut through her thoughts. "Bex, you with us? Because your Netrunner's about to get very interested in what Haven just found in the Arasaka subnet."

The session unfolded with the kind of momentum that marked good tabletop gaming—players leaning forward, dice clattering, voices rising with excitement as the heist scenario Shawn had prepared began to spiral in unexpected directions. Haven's Solo had just discovered evidence of a double-cross in the Arasaka subnet, which sent Bex's Netrunner scrambling to cover their digital tracks while Marcus's Fixer tried to negotiate their way out of an increasingly complicated situation.

About an hour in, Lara's Rockerboy—a scrappy street performer with more charisma than common sense—ended up in a tense negotiation with one of Shawn's NPCs, a smooth-talking fixer named Kovacs who controlled access to the underground music venues they needed for the next phase of the plan. Shawn leaned into the character, his voice dropping into something smoother and more urbane as he described Kovacs leaning against the bar, studying Lara's character with obvious interest.

"Your reputation precedes you," Shawn said as Kovacs, his tone carrying just enough flirtation to make it clear without being heavy-handed. "Word is you put on quite a show. Makes a man curious what other talents you might be hiding."

Lara, who'd been quiet and careful in the first session, surprised everyone by leaning into it. A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth as she responded in character, her voice gaining confidence. "Depends on what you're offering in return. Access to the Afterlife isn't cheap, and I don't perform for free."

The table erupted in appreciative noise—Haven letting out a low whistle, Marcus grinning like a proud parent, Rosa calling out "Get it, Lara!" Jess reached over to squeeze Lara's hand, her expression equal parts surprised and delighted at her partner's sudden boldness.

Shawn's grin widened, clearly pleased that Lara was finding her footing. He let the moment breathe, Kovacs studying her character with renewed interest before finally pushing a datachip across the bar. "Then let's talk business. But after—" he paused, the flirtation sharpening into something more direct, "—I wouldn't mind seeing that show up close."

Lara's eyes glinted with mischief as she leaned forward in her chair, fully inhabiting her character now in a way she hadn't managed before. "Well, Kovacs," she said, her voice dropping into something deliberately sultry and absolutely ridiculous, "if you can handle front row, I promise you won't be disappointed. But fair warning—I've been told my performances leave people... breathless." The delivery was just over-the-top enough to make it clear she was having fun with it, testing the boundaries of what she could get away with at the table.

The group erupted. Haven actually slapped the table, Marcus choked on his drink, and Rosa let out a delighted cackle. Even Bex found herself laughing—genuine, surprised laughter that came without the tightness that had been living in her chest for days. She watched Shawn grin and shake his head in mock defeat, clearly pleased that Lara had found her groove, and something in Bex's mind settled further into place.

He'd mentioned compersion before—that capacity to find joy in his partners' pleasure with others, to celebrate connection rather than hoard it. She'd nodded along when he'd explained it, thinking she understood intellectually even if she wasn't sure she felt it herself. But watching him now, delighting in Lara's sudden confidence, creating space for her to play and flirt and explore through the safe remove of roleplay... maybe this was a version of it. Filtered through the absurdity of a Cyberpunk campaign, sure, but not nothing. The warmth she felt wasn't jealousy or panic—it was something closer to appreciation. He was good at this. Good at making people feel seen and valued and capable of more than they thought they were.

Jess was beaming at Lara, her hand still clasped around her partner's, pride written all over her face. Marcus wiped his eyes, still grinning. "Okay, okay," he managed between chuckles. "Shawn, please tell me Kovacs takes that bait because I need to see where this goes."

Shawn rolled a d10, his expression shifting from confident GM to surprised player as the die settled on something clearly low. "Kovacs is... flustered haha..." He shook his head, grinning at the unexpected turn. "He doesn't know where to look and is now trying VERY hard to only look you in the eye... leaving the others room to get past completely unseen. Is this reverse feminism? Did you just use toxic masculinity against a fixer?" His laughter broke through, genuine and delighted at how thoroughly Lara had derailed his NPC.

The table dissolved into chaos. Rosa was practically crying with laughter, Haven had her head down on her folded arms shaking silently, and Marcus was applauding slowly with exaggerated reverence. "That," he managed between gasps, "is the best use of seduction I have ever seen in a tabletop game. Lara, you just weaponized horny."

Jess looked at her partner with pure adoration, squeezing her hand hard enough that Lara actually blushed despite her triumphant grin. "I can't believe that worked," Lara said, her voice cracking slightly with her own laughter. "I was just trying to stay in character!"

Bex watched the whole scene unfold with something warm settling in her chest—not jealousy, not panic, just appreciation for the moment and the people in it. Shawn had created space for Lara to shine, and she'd taken it and run. The conversation waiting for after game night still loomed, but right now, surrounded by friends laughing themselves breathless over a ridiculous roleplay flirtation, things felt... manageable. Clear, even.

The session wrapped up with Lara's Rockerboy leading the thoroughly flustered Kovacs toward a back room of the club, her character's hips swaying with exaggerated confidence while the rest of the crew used the distraction to slip past security. Shawn leaned back in his chair, grinning at the perfect narrative beat to end on. "Maybe a trap, maybe some spicy fun... we'll see next week how the dice roll!"

The table groaned in unison—the particular sound of players left hanging on a cliffhanger they knew was going to haunt them all week. Marcus started gathering dice, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "You're a monster. You know that, right? Now I'm going to spend the next seven days wondering if Lara's about to get us all killed or if she just accidentally seduced her way into critical intel."

"Both," Haven said confidently, stretching her arms overhead with a satisfied sigh. "It's definitely going to be both. That's how these things always go."

Lara looked simultaneously proud and mildly horrified at what she'd unleashed. Jess pulled her into a side hug, kissing her temple. "You were amazing. I've never seen you get that into character before." Rosa was already packing up her books, calling out plans to grab late-night tacos with Garrett, while Haven lingered near the door checking her phone.

The group filtered out gradually over the next fifteen minutes—friendly goodbyes, promises to coordinate schedules for next week, Marcus reminding everyone to level up their characters between sessions. Bex stayed seated, organizing her character sheet with deliberate slowness, clearly waiting for the apartment to clear before saying whatever she'd been holding onto all evening.

The apartment gradually emptied—Marcus walking Rosa and Garrett out while discussing taco plans, Haven giving Bex a significant look before heading out with a casual "text me later," Jess and Lara the last to leave with promises to coordinate that lunch. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving just the two of them in the suddenly quiet space.

Bex moved from her seat at the table to sit beside Shawn as he packed up his laptop bag, her movements deliberate but not hurried. She watched him organize GM notes and dice for a moment before speaking, her voice steady despite the weight behind it. "Hey. Can we talk for a minute? Not about the game—about us."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her posture open but serious. "I've been doing some thinking this week. About what we negotiated, about where I'm at, and I realized I need to be honest with you about something." She paused, meeting his eyes directly. "I thought I could handle the framework we set up—the flexibility, the possibility of other partners, all of it. But I'm realizing I can't. Not the way I thought I could."

He looked at her—warm, curious, no judgment visible in his expression. "Okay... so what are you saying?"

Bex took a breath, holding his gaze even though part of her wanted to look away. "I'm saying that I caught feelings faster and deeper than I expected to. And I know that wasn't part of the deal—you were clear about not wanting traditional relationship structures, about letting things develop organically without expectations. I agreed to that because I thought I could handle it, thought I wanted the same thing." She paused, her hands twisting together briefly before she forced them still. "But watching Jess suggest playing with you at brunch, I realized I can't. The idea of you being with someone else—not just the sex, but the cookies after, the waffles, the way you show up and integrate into people's lives—I don't want to share that."

She looked down at her hands for a moment, then back up at him, her expression honest and a little vulnerable. "I talked to my therapist. And to Haven. And I realized I need to be clear about where I actually am instead of pretending I'm fine with something I'm not. I don't know if what I need is something you can give—or want to give. But I needed to tell you the truth instead of bottling it up and letting it poison what we do have."

The apartment felt very quiet around them, just the hum of Marcus's refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside. Bex waited, her posture open despite the obvious vulnerability of what she'd just laid out.

"Jess suggested playing with me at brunch?!" His laugh was surprised and genuine, breaking some of the tension in the room before his expression settled back into something more serious. "Sorry... not the point... anyway... thank you for telling me that, and not letting it fester. I'm going to be honest, Bex, because you deserve that... I don't really know if that's something I can offer. I do know I've had issues with resentment building up in the past because of things like that and I won't want to go through that, or put you through it... so I'm not sure I can promise exclusivity in that way right now. It's been less than three weeks. GREAT weeks, granted... but... still."

Bex felt the words land with the weight she'd been expecting—not cruel, not dismissive, just honest in the way she'd asked him to be. Her chest tightened, but not with panic this time. More like the ache of confirmation, of knowing something intellectually and then feeling it settle into reality. She nodded slowly, her hands still in her lap, forcing herself to stay present instead of retreating into the part of her that wanted to minimize or backpedal.

"Yeah," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tightness in her throat. "I figured that might be where you were at. And I get it—three weeks is fast, and asking for something you're not ready to give isn't fair to either of us." She took a breath, meeting his eyes directly. "So I guess the question is... where does that leave us? Because I don't think I can keep doing this the way we've been doing it. Not if I'm feeling things you're not, not if every time you're friendly with someone else I'm going to be wondering if it's going somewhere that's going to hurt me."

"Okay... what would need to change, in practical terms, for you? Not feelings, those are internal. Thought crimes aren't a thing and I won't play those mental games," he said with a soft chuckle that took some edge off the heaviness of the conversation. "But actions. What would CHANGE in the version of things you want?"

The question was direct but not unkind—practical rather than defensive, like he was genuinely trying to understand the shape of what she was asking for rather than immediately shutting it down. Bex appreciated that, even as she felt the weight of having to articulate something she'd been feeling more than thinking through in concrete terms.

She took a moment to consider, her gaze drifting to the window before coming back to him. "I think... I'd need to know that what we have isn't just good chemistry plus integration. That I'm not interchangeable with the next person who comes along and also happens to be compatible." She paused, trying to find the right words. "Practically? I guess that means... if you're interested in playing with someone else, I need to know about it before it happens, not after. And I need to know that the emotional stuff—the waffles, the way you show up at game night, the fact that you're becoming part of my actual life—that's not something you're doing with everyone. That there's a difference between how you treat me and how you treat people you're just friendly with."

She met his eyes, her expression honest and a little vulnerable. "I'm not asking you to promise you'll never be with anyone else. But I need to know I'm not just... one of several people getting the same experience. Does that make sense?"

"It does, but I want you to REALLY hear yourself, because to ME, that sounded exactly like what we'd already agreed to..."

The words hung in the air between them, not accusatory but gently challenging—asking her to sit with what she'd just said and recognize the gap between what she thought she was asking for and what they'd already negotiated. Bex opened her mouth to protest, then stopped, actually replaying her own words in her head. Communication before adding other partners. Check. Not treating her like she was interchangeable. That had never been on the table—he'd been thoughtful and present from the start. The waffles, the integration, the showing up... she'd just asked him not to do with everyone what he'd never promised to do with everyone in the first place.

Her shoulders dropped slightly, something between frustration and embarrassment settling into her expression. "Fuck," she said quietly, running a hand through her hair. "You're right. I just... I described the framework we already have, didn't I?" She looked at him, her vulnerability shifting into something more raw and honest. "I think what I'm actually asking for is something I can't articulate in practical terms because it's not about actions. It's about... knowing you're in this as deep as I am. Feeling like I matter in a way that's different from how you treat other people. And I don't know how to ask for that without it sounding like I'm asking you to feel something you don't feel."

She let out a slow breath, her gaze dropping to her hands. "So maybe the real question isn't what needs to change. Maybe it's whether I can handle what we already agreed to now that I know where I actually am."

"Okay... so... I can't control my feelings, and neither can you. That's just... not a thing, but what I can do is tell you that you mean a lot to me, and this thing with us... it's... intense. Faster and more intense than I'm used to. I don't fully know where that's going, but I feel really REALLY good about it, in a way that's definitely more than... normal play, so to speak. Those terms get so fuzzy haha."

The words landed with unexpected weight—not a promise of exclusivity or a declaration of matching depth, but something honest and real that cut through the theoretical framework discussion they'd been circling. Bex felt her chest loosen slightly, the tension that had been coiled there since Sunday easing just enough to let her breathe properly. He wasn't saying he was where she was, but he also wasn't dismissing what they had as casual or interchangeable. Faster and more intense than I'm used to. That meant something. Maybe not everything she wanted it to mean, but something.

She met his eyes, her expression softening from the careful vulnerability she'd been holding onto. "Yeah," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite the heaviness of the conversation. "The terms do get fuzzy. I think that's part of what's been messing with my head—trying to figure out what this is when it doesn't fit neatly into the boxes we started with." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "So... where does that leave us? Because I hear you saying this matters to you, that it's more than casual. But I also hear you saying you're not ready to promise exclusivity, and I need to figure out if I can sit with that tension without it eating me alive."

Shawn opened his mouth to respond, but before he could form the words, something shifted in Bex's expression—a flicker of recognition followed by what looked like exasperation directed entirely at herself. She closed her eyes briefly, letting out a breath that was half laugh, half groan.

"I just did it again," she said, her voice caught between frustration and amusement. "I literally just said I didn't want exclusivity—just open communication about other partners—and then immediately circled back to talking about you promising exclusivity like that's what I'm asking for." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes for a moment before dropping them back to her lap, looking at him with something that was equal parts sheepish and tired. "I'm sorry. I'm... clearly still working through what I actually want versus what my anxiety is telling me I need. Haven called me out on this earlier—asked me to give an example of how you treat me differently from other people, and I couldn't really come up with one that wasn't just... you being you. Kind and thoughtful with everyone."

She let that sit for a moment, her gaze steady on his face despite the vulnerability of the admission. "So maybe what I'm actually struggling with isn't the framework we negotiated. Maybe it's just... learning to trust that what we have is real even when it doesn't look like the traditional relationship escalator I'm used to measuring things against." Her smile was small but genuine, touched with self-awareness. "Which is my work to do, not yours to fix."

He pulled her into a side hug, his arm warm and solid around her shoulders as he kissed her temple—the gesture affectionate and grounding in a way that cut through the heaviness of the conversation. "Well, Bex... figure out your shit and let me know what the deal is, because I just heard a spicy rumour that Jess wanted to set up a play date." The tease in his voice was gentle, deliberately breaking the tension that had been building between them, offering her a way to laugh instead of spiraling further into anxious circles.

Bex let out a startled laugh against his shoulder, the sound halfway between amusement and exasperation. "Oh my god, you're terrible," she said, but there was warmth in it—relief, maybe, that he wasn't treating this like a crisis or pushing her to have answers she clearly didn't have yet. The joke landed exactly where it needed to: acknowledging the elephant in the room without making it bigger than it was, reminding her that whatever she was working through, he wasn't going anywhere in the meantime.

She pulled back slightly to look at him, her expression softer now, some of the tightness gone from around her eyes. "For the record," she said, her tone matching his lightness even as the words carried real meaning underneath, "I'm pretty sure that rumour was Jess testing whether I could handle what I said I could handle. Which I spectacularly failed at, in case you were wondering." She shook her head, a rueful smile tugging at her mouth. "But yeah. I'll figure out my shit. And I'll let you know when I do."

The apartment felt less heavy now, the conversation having reached something that wasn't resolution exactly, but maybe space to breathe—acknowledgment that they were both still figuring this out, that three weeks didn't require perfect answers, just honesty about where they stood.

"Okay. Talk soon, okay. I'm starting to get an itch to play with my new Toy... but feels like you have some things to ponder before we do anything like that again."

The words carried weight—not rejection, but boundaries drawn with care. Bex felt them settle into the space between them, acknowledging both the pull they still had toward each other and the reality that jumping back into a scene right now would be a mistake. The way he said "Toy" still sent a small shiver through her despite everything, muscle memory from Friday night responding even as her brain recognized he was right. She did have things to ponder. Big things. Things that would affect whether she could actually handle what they'd negotiated or whether she needed to walk away before this got messier.

She nodded slowly, pulling back from the side hug to look at him properly. "Yeah," she said quietly, her voice steadier than it had been at the start of the conversation. "I need to sit with this. Figure out if I can actually do the thing I said I could do, or if I was just... performing being cool and low-maintenance because that's what I thought would make this work." Her smile was small but genuine, touched with self-awareness and a hint of gratitude that he wasn't pushing. "Thank you for being honest with me. And for not making this weird."

She stood up from where they'd been sitting, collecting her bag and keys with movements that suggested she knew staying longer would just lead to more circles. The apartment felt quieter now, Marcus having retreated to his bedroom at some point to give them privacy. Bex hesitated at the door, her hand on the knob, like there was something else she wanted to say but couldn't quite find the words for. Finally she just offered him another small smile—complicated and genuine and a little sad around the edges—before stepping out into the hallway.

Shawn headed home, the drive quiet except for the hum of tires on pavement and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the windshield. The conversation with Bex replayed in his mind—her honesty, the way she'd caught herself circling back to asking for things she'd just said she didn't want, the vulnerability underneath her attempt to articulate needs she clearly hadn't fully processed yet. He'd meant what he said: she mattered, this thing between them was more intense than usual, and he felt good about where it was going. But three weeks wasn't enough time to promise the kind of emotional exclusivity she seemed to be reaching for, even if she couldn't quite name it directly.

Back in her own apartment, Bex sat on her couch in the dark for a long time, her phone face-down on the cushion beside her. The conversation had gone... well, maybe? Shawn hadn't shut her down, hadn't dismissed what she was feeling, but he also hadn't given her the reassurance she'd been hoping for without realizing she was hoping for it. Figure out your shit and let me know what the deal is. Fair. Honest. And absolutely right—she did need to figure out her shit, because she kept asking for one thing and then immediately contradicting herself.

But something about how it had all played out kept nagging at her, circling back to Sunday brunch and the way Jess had deployed that calculated test. I'm thinking about asking Shawn for a scene. The panic that had seized Bex's chest had been real and visceral, but now, sitting with it in the aftermath of tonight's conversation, she wondered if the panic had been about the right thing. Jess had been testing whether Bex could handle non-monogamy—but what if the test itself had been the problem? What if it wasn't about Shawn playing with someone else, but about being blindsided by it, about having no say or input into something that would directly affect her?

The thought settled into place with unexpected clarity, and Bex reached for her phone, pulling up her text thread with Haven. She needed to talk this through with someone who wouldn't let her spiral, someone who would call her out if she was just finding new ways to avoid the truth.

Bex typed out a message to Haven, her thumbs moving quickly before she could second-guess herself: So I talked to Shawn. It was... honest. Messy but honest. But I just realized something about the Jess thing and I need to run it by you. You free to talk?

The response came back almost immediately: Always. Call me.

Bex hit the call button, and Haven picked up on the second ring. "Okay," Haven said without preamble, her voice warm but direct. "What did you realize?"

"I think the panic at brunch wasn't actually about him playing with someone else," Bex said, the words tumbling out now that she'd found the thread to pull. "It was about being tested. About Jess setting up this scenario where she'd ask him for a scene and I'd have to just... sit there and be okay with it or prove I couldn't handle what I said I could handle. Like I had no agency in it, no say, just—here's the thing you negotiated for, now perform being cool about it." She paused, trying to articulate what was crystallizing in her mind. "What if the problem isn't non-monogamy? What if it's that I need to feel like I have some input or control over how it happens, not just get blindsided by it?"

Haven was quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that meant she was actually thinking rather than preparing to immediately agree or disagree. "That's... actually a really important distinction," she said finally. "So you're saying it's not about exclusivity. It's about agency and communication structure."

"Exactly," Bex said, feeling the clarity sharpen as she spoke it out loud. "It's not that I don't want him to play with other people ever. It's that I need to feel like I'm part of the conversation, like I have some say in how it happens instead of just being presented with a fait accompli and expected to be fine with it." She paced her living room, phone pressed to her ear, the pieces clicking together in a way that felt right for the first time all week. "What if... what if I actually leaned into that? What if Shawn and I invited Jess into a scene together? Like, we'd both be there, it would be something we planned together, and if there's drama I can't handle, Jess could absolutely deal with it. She's done scenes with me before, we have good chemistry, and she'd be honest if it got weird."

Haven made a thoughtful noise. "That's actually... kind of brilliant? It gives you agency, it tests whether the issue is really non-monogamy or just feeling blindsided, and it does it in the safest possible container. Plus Jess would be into it—she's been wanting to play with him anyway, and doing it as a group scene takes some of the weight off." She paused, then added with a hint of amusement, "Though you realize this means you have to actually propose it to both of them, right? Can't just think about it and hope it magically happens."

Bex stopped pacing, a nervous laugh escaping her. "Yeah. I know. But it feels... right? Like it's testing the thing I'm actually worried about instead of just spiraling in theory." She took a breath, feeling steadier than she had since Sunday. "I need to talk to Shawn first. Make sure he's even interested in that kind of scene. And then... yeah. I guess I'm asking Jess if she wants to play with both of us."

Chapter 9

The Proposal

~6,509 words

Bex's text came through about twenty minutes after Shawn got home: Hey. Can you come over so we can talk? I think I figured something out.

The message sat on his screen for a moment while he considered. They'd just had a heavy conversation less than an hour ago—one that had ended with him telling her to take time to process before they jumped back into play. But the tone felt different from the careful vulnerability at Marcus's place. Less spiraling, more purposeful. He texted back: Yeah, give me 20 minutes.

The drive to Bex's apartment was familiar now, muscle memory guiding him through turns he'd only learned a couple weeks ago. When she opened the door, something in her posture had shifted—still carrying weight, but standing straighter, like she'd found solid ground under her feet instead of trying to balance on something uncertain. She gestured him inside, her expression serious but not anxious in the way it had been earlier.

"So," she said once the door closed behind him, not bothering with small talk. "I've been thinking about what we talked about—about me asking for exclusivity when that's not actually what I want, about not being able to articulate what I need in practical terms." She took a breath, meeting his eyes directly. "I think I figured out what the actual problem is. And I have an idea. But I need to know if you're even open to it before I get too far into explaining."

He walked in and looked around, taking in the space with the kind of casual curiosity that came from only having seen the building from the outside before. "Okay, ideas are good. I like ideas. Hit me."

Bex's apartment reflected her in ways that made sense now that he'd spent time with her—clean lines and practical furniture, but with touches of personality scattered throughout. A collection of design books on the shelf, a half-finished graphic project pinned to a corkboard near her desk, a vintage concert poster framed on the wall. The space felt lived-in without being cluttered, organized in a way that suggested she valued knowing where things were.

She gestured toward the couch, waiting until they were both settled before diving in. "So I realized something after you left Marcus's place. The panic I had at brunch when Jess suggested playing with you—I don't think it was actually about you being with someone else. I think it was about being tested. About having no say or input into something that would directly affect me, just being presented with it and expected to perform being cool." She leaned forward slightly, her expression intent. "What if the problem isn't non-monogamy? What if it's that I need to feel like I have agency in how it happens—like I'm part of the conversation instead of just reacting to decisions other people make?"

She paused, watching his face for his reaction before continuing. "So here's my idea: what if we invited Jess into a scene? Both of us, together. It would be something we planned, something I had input on, and if there's drama I can't handle, Jess can deal with it. We've scened together before, the chemistry's good, and it would test whether my issue is actually with sharing you or just with feeling blindsided." Her hands twisted together briefly before she forced them still. "But I need to know if that's even something you'd be interested in before I go any further with this."

He looked at her, his expression shifting through several stages of processing—confusion giving way to comprehension giving way to something caught between amusement and disbelief. "So... okay. Processing in real time, so forgive me... but... it sounds like less than an hour after you called my joke about playing with Jess horrible... you're now asking me about having a threesome with her? Is that... what's happening?" The words came out carefully measured, like he was genuinely trying to take this seriously, but the corner of his mouth twitched with the effort of not cracking up entirely.

Bex felt her face flush—partly embarrassment at how completely ridiculous this must sound, partly relief that he wasn't shutting it down immediately, partly the absurd humor of the whiplash she'd just put them both through. "I know how it sounds," she said, fighting her own laugh that threatened to bubble up. "I know. Trust me, I'm aware of how insane this pivot is. But hear me out—when you made that joke, I wasn't panicking. I was laughing. And earlier tonight during the game when Lara was flirting with your NPC, I felt... good about it? Like, genuinely happy that she was having fun, that you were creating space for that." She took a breath, trying to articulate what had clicked into place during her conversation with Haven. "The difference is agency. At brunch, Jess was testing me—putting me in a position where I had to react to something already in motion. But this? This would be something we plan together, something I have input on from the start. It changes the entire dynamic."

She watched his face, trying to gauge whether this was landing as the genuine insight it felt like or just sounding like more confused spiraling dressed up as clarity.

"Okay, well at the risk of falling into a trap I can't see, willingly, haha... I mean... sure. Jess seems great, and Lara clearly is okay with her playing with others depending on context, so... if we can figure out something that could be fun... I... yeah. Sure."

The words settled between them with unexpected ease, and Bex felt something loosen in her chest—not relief exactly, but validation that this wasn't completely insane, that the distinction she'd drawn actually made sense to someone other than just her and Haven. Shawn's willingness to engage with the idea despite the absolute whiplash of the evening suggested he understood what she was trying to test here, or at least trusted her enough to find out.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, a slightly giddy laugh escaping. "Okay. Okay, so that's step one handled. Now I just have to actually ask Jess if she's interested in a group scene instead of a one-on-one, which is a completely different proposition." She ran a hand through her hair, the nervous energy shifting into something more purposeful. "And we'd need to figure out what that actually looks like—like, what are we doing, who's doing what to whom, what are the boundaries..." The practical details were already spinning out in her mind, the familiar territory of negotiation grounding her after the emotional chaos of the past week.

She looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "Thank you for not immediately thinking I've lost my mind. I know this is a lot to process after everything else tonight."

"Oh noooooo, the wonderful, cute woman I've been playing with wants ANOTHER awesome, cute woman to join us for a scene. However will I cope!" The teasing was gentle, his tone making it clear he was with her on this even if the evening had taken a turn neither of them could have predicted an hour ago. "Seriously though... if it's something you want to try... let's try. Worst case she's not into the group idea and we work on other ideas, right? Did you have a scene in mind at all?"

Bex felt the giddiness rise again, mixed with genuine relief that he wasn't treating this like she'd completely lost the plot. She tucked her legs up underneath her on the couch, her posture relaxing as the conversation shifted from heavy emotional processing into something that felt more like collaboration. "I haven't gotten that far yet," she admitted, a slight smile tugging at her mouth. "I literally went from 'oh god I'm panicking about non-monogamy' to 'wait, maybe it's about agency' to 'let's invite Jess' in the span of like forty minutes. The actual logistics are... very much TBD." She paused, her expression turning more thoughtful. "But I think whatever we plan, it needs to be something where I'm not just watching. Like, if I'm there but not participating, that defeats the whole point of testing whether I can handle sharing you. It needs to feel collaborative, not like I'm a spectator to you playing with someone else."

She tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. "What about you? Is there something you'd want to explore if we're bringing a third person in? I know you've done group scenes before—any preferences or ideas about what would make it work?"

"Hmm... you've played together right... both bi I take it? Just... from context haha."

Bex felt a flush creep up her neck—not embarrassment exactly, but awareness of what he was asking and where this line of questioning was heading. "Yeah," she said, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and something warmer. "We've scened together a few times over the past year or so. Nothing regular, just when we were both in the mood and available. And yes, bi—both of us." She paused, a slight smile tugging at her mouth as she added, "Jess is more fluid in general, comfortable with pretty much anyone regardless of gender. I'm... a little more selective, but women definitely work for me when the chemistry's right."

The admission hung in the air between them, shifting the conversation's texture from theoretical planning into something more tangible. Bex could see Shawn processing, his expression thoughtful in that way that meant he was actually considering possibilities rather than just going through conversational motions. She felt a flicker of nervousness—not about the idea itself, but about how quickly this had gone from emotional crisis to active planning, from her barely being able to articulate what she needed to sitting here discussing the logistics of a group scene like it was the most natural progression in the world.

"So yeah," she continued, her tone deliberately casual even as her pulse picked up slightly. "The dynamic could work pretty easily if she's into it. I guess the question is what kind of scene you'd want to run with both of us there. Because I'm realizing I have no idea what your preferences are when it comes to group dynamics—like, do you prefer directing things, or more organic interaction, or...?" She trailed off, genuinely curious about how he approached this kind of scenario.

"I'm pretty flexible on that, depends on the other folks and general vibe. I do TEND to default into taking charge though if no one else leans that way." His expression shifted into something more thoughtful, clearly running through possibilities in his mind. "I could see a few fun possibilities, I was just making sure I understood everyone's... preferences... since two straight women and a guy... well.... changes the dynamic a LOT compared to two bi women and a guy haha. Way more, and better options." The laugh was genuine, his tone carrying appreciation for the additional complexity rather than any kind of pressure.

Bex felt her face warm again, but this time it was accompanied by a flutter of anticipation rather than nervousness. The way he said "better options" made it clear he was already thinking through scenarios—not in a way that felt objectifying, but with the same careful consideration he brought to everything else. She could practically see the wheels turning, cataloging what he knew about her responses, what little he knew about Jess, how those pieces might fit together into something that worked for all three of them.

"Yeah, the dynamic definitely opens things up," she said, her voice steadier than she expected given how quickly her pulse had picked up. "Jess is... confident. Playful. She likes banter and doesn't mind being put in her place when someone can actually back it up." She paused, considering how to articulate what she'd observed in their previous scenes together. "She's a switch, but she tends to bottom when playing with me because I'm not really interested in topping. But with you there..." She trailed off, letting the implication hang—that the power dynamics could shift in interesting ways depending on how he wanted to structure things.

The apartment felt smaller suddenly, the theoretical planning taking on weight as it became more concrete. Bex shifted slightly on the couch, tucking her hair behind her ear. "So what are you thinking? Because I can see your brain working through possibilities."

"I'm thinking my new Toy might get shared between me and a brat... we bring Jess in to watch our growing dynamic, and maybe I 'let' her play a bit with my new Toy if she's good... or bad enough to convince me to do something about it..." The smile that accompanied his words carried heat and promise, the shift from theoretical planning into actual scene structure landing with weight between them. "Thoughts? Suggestions?"

Bex felt the words settle into her body before her brain fully processed them—the casual possessiveness of "my new Toy," the implication that Jess would have to earn access rather than just be granted it, the underlying structure where she'd be the center of attention between two people rather than watching from the sidelines. Her breath caught slightly, heat pooling low in her belly as the scenario took shape in her mind. This wasn't about her being sidelined while Shawn played with someone else. This was about her being the focal point, with Jess as the dynamic element who'd either behave or push buttons until Shawn decided what to do about it.

"That's..." She paused, trying to find words that weren't just fuck yes please because she needed to actually think this through, not just react to how immediately appealing the framework was. "That works. That really works, actually. Because it keeps me central to what's happening, and Jess would absolutely lean into the brat role—she's good at pushing without crossing lines, and she'd get off on having to work for permission." Her mind was already spinning through possibilities, the practical side of her brain catching up with her body's immediate enthusiasm. "We'd need to negotiate specifics with her obviously, make sure she's into that dynamic and not expecting something more collaborative or equal. But as a starting framework? Yeah. I think that could be really good."

She met his eyes, her expression caught between arousal and the remnants of the evening's earlier vulnerability. "And for the record, hearing you call me 'my new Toy' still does things to me even when we're just planning." The admission came with a slight flush, honest about her response even as they sat here fully clothed on her couch discussing logistics.

"Good. That's why I keep doing it." His grin carried satisfaction—not just at her reaction, but at the deliberate choice behind it, the way he'd learned what worked and kept deploying it with precision.

The next day, Bex texted Jess asking if she wanted to come over to talk about something. The phrasing was deliberately vague—not coy exactly, but leaving room for Jess to be curious rather than anxious. When Jess arrived at Bex's apartment that afternoon, she found both Bex and Shawn waiting, the energy in the room carrying a particular weight that made it immediately clear this wasn't just a casual hangout.

Jess raised an eyebrow as she stepped inside, her expression shifting from friendly curiosity into something more assessing. "Okay," she said, closing the door behind her and leaning against it with her arms crossed. "This feels like an Intervention or a Proposition, and I'm genuinely not sure which one I'm walking into." Her tone was light, but her gaze flicked between them with the sharpness of someone reading the room and coming up with multiple possible scenarios. "Should I be worried, or intrigued?"

Bex gestured toward the couch, her own nervous energy translating into movement as she settled into the chair across from where Jess sat down. Shawn remained standing near the kitchen counter, giving Jess space to process whatever was about to be said without feeling crowded. The apartment felt charged—not uncomfortable exactly, but carrying the weight of a conversation that could go several different directions depending on how the next few minutes unfolded.

"Bex had... an idea. I'll let her explain." Shawn's tone was easy, deliberately stepping back to let Bex take the lead on this—her idea, her invitation, her conversation to navigate.

Jess's eyebrow arched higher, her attention shifting fully to Bex now with an expression that mixed amusement and genuine curiosity. "An idea that requires both of you to be here for the explanation. Okay, I'm officially intrigued." She settled back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other in a posture that managed to be both relaxed and alert. "Hit me."

Bex took a breath, her hands twisting together briefly before she forced them still in her lap. "So... remember at brunch when you suggested playing with Shawn?" She didn't wait for confirmation, pushing through before she could second-guess herself. "That kind of sent me into a spiral, because I realized I wasn't as okay with the framework Shawn and I had negotiated as I thought I was. But after talking it through—with my therapist, with Haven, with Shawn—I figured out that the problem wasn't actually about him playing with other people. It was about feeling like I had no agency in how it happened, like I was just supposed to react to decisions other people made and be cool about it."

She paused, meeting Jess's eyes directly. "So here's the idea: what if instead of you and Shawn doing a one-on-one scene, we invited you into a scene with both of us? Something we plan together, where I'm not just watching but actually participating. It would test whether my issue is really with sharing him or just with being blindsided." Her voice steadied as she continued, the vulnerability giving way to something more purposeful. "We've scened together before, the chemistry's good, and I trust you to handle it if things get weird. But I need to know if that's even something you'd be interested in before we go any further with planning."

Jess's expression shifted through several stages in quick succession—surprise giving way to consideration, a flicker of something that might have been relief, then settling into genuine interest. She leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees as she processed what Bex had just laid out. "Okay," she said slowly, her tone thoughtful rather than immediately enthusiastic or dismissive. "So you're proposing a group scene instead of a one-on-one. With you participating, not spectating." Her gaze flicked briefly to Shawn, then back to Bex. "And this is about testing your comfort level with non-monogamy when you have agency in how it happens, not just reacting to it."

She sat back again, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I'm not gonna lie, when you texted asking me to come over with Shawn here, I had about five different theories about what this conversation was going to be. This wasn't one of them." The smile widened slightly, carrying genuine amusement now. "But yeah, I'm interested. I mean, obviously I was interested in playing with him—that's what started this whole thing. And you and I have good chemistry, so adding that dynamic into the mix..." She trailed off, her expression shifting into something more assessing as she looked between them. "What kind of scene are we talking about? Because there's a lot of ways a three-person dynamic can go, and I want to make sure we're all on the same page about what you're actually looking for here."

Her attention settled on Shawn, clearly waiting for him to fill in the framework they'd discussed the night before—what role she'd be playing, what the power dynamics would look like, whether this was collaborative or structured with him directing.

"I hear you're into bratting. I was thinking we lean into that, and use it as fuel... with Bex as prize for good behaviour... and me as the consequence for bad behaviour, basically... details TBD," he laughed, the sound easy and confident. "But that's the general vibe... you get to see our dynamic and if you want to play, you have to play nice, or maybe... I don't play so nice." The grin that accompanied his words carried heat and promise. "Either way, everyone wins, right?"

Jess's expression shifted immediately—eyes brightening with interest, a slow smile spreading across her face that suggested she knew exactly what kind of game was being proposed and found it extremely appealing. "Oh, so I'm the entertainment and the variable," she said, her tone carrying appreciation for the framework rather than any defensiveness. "I have to earn access to Bex by being good, or push your buttons enough that you decide to do something about it." She leaned back into the couch, clearly running through possibilities in her mind. "That's... actually really hot. And it puts Bex center stage, which addresses the whole agency thing you were talking about."

Her gaze flicked to Bex, assessing her reaction to this dynamic being laid out explicitly. "How do you feel about being the prize two people are competing over? Because that's essentially what this framework makes you—the reward I'm working toward, with Shawn controlling access." There was genuine curiosity in the question, not challenge—Jess making sure Bex was actually on board with this structure and not just going along because it had been proposed.

Bex felt heat rise in her chest at hearing it articulated so directly, the framework clicking into sharper focus now that Jess was engaging with it. "I think..." she started, then paused to make sure she was being honest rather than just saying what sounded right. "I think it works because I'm not passive in it. I'm there, I'm participating, and what happens depends on how all three of us interact rather than me just watching you two together." She met Jess's eyes, her voice steadier. "And yeah, being the center of attention between two people who both want access? That doesn't sound like a hardship."

"Okay, so the real question becomes... limits, boundaries, and wants. I know Bex's and she knows mine... and yours I suppose, but I'm out of the loop on that end."

Jess nodded, her expression shifting from playful interest into something more serious—the shift that happened when kink moved from theory into actual negotiation. She pulled out her phone, opening what looked like a notes app with practiced efficiency. "Right. Let me pull up my usual list so I don't forget anything." She scrolled for a moment, then looked up at both of them. "Hard limits: scat, age play, anything involving animals, permanent marks, and breath play without extensive negotiation first. I'm also not into heavy pain—like, spanking and impact are fine, but if you're looking for someone who wants to be caned until they cry, that's not me."

She paused, glancing at Bex with a slight smile. "You already know most of this from when we've played before, but for Shawn's benefit: I'm good with restraints, orgasm control, being objectified or used, degradation if it's in the context of the scene and not personal. I like being challenged, having to work for things, and I respond really well to praise when I've actually earned it." Her attention shifted to Shawn, her tone direct but not defensive. "I'm also very vocal about what's working and what isn't—if something's not landing right, I'll use yellow or red depending on severity. I don't do the 'suffer in silence and hope someone notices' thing."

She set her phone down on the coffee table between them, her posture open and engaged. "As for wants... I'm curious about your style, honestly. Bex has told me a little, but there's a difference between hearing about it and experiencing it. And the whole 'earning access' dynamic sounds fun as hell if we can make it work logistically." She looked between them, clearly waiting for Shawn to fill in his own boundaries and preferences so they could start mapping out where the overlaps were.

"Okay... and would you LIKE to fully hear about it in detail... or have that be part of the exploration of the scene?"

The question hung in the air with deliberate weight—Shawn offering Jess a choice about how much information she wanted going in, whether she preferred the security of knowing exactly what to expect or the thrill of discovery within negotiated boundaries. It was the kind of question that revealed his approach: careful about consent, but also attuned to the fact that different people wanted different levels of preview before stepping into a scene.

Jess's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly in a way that suggested she was genuinely considering rather than giving an automatic answer. She glanced at Bex, then back to Shawn, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You know what? I think I want the broad strokes—hard limits respected, safe words honored, general intensity level—but leave the specifics as surprises. I like not knowing exactly what's coming, as long as I trust the person running the show." She leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting into something more direct. "That said, I do need to know: what's your general philosophy on aftercare? Because that's non-negotiable for me. I need to know you're not going to just... finish the scene and bounce."

Bex watched the exchange with something that felt like relief settling into her chest. Jess was asking the right questions, engaging seriously with the negotiation rather than just jumping in because the idea sounded hot. This was going to work—or at least, it had a real chance of working if they kept communicating like this.

"I'm pretty big on aftercare. Hydration, food, comfy clothes and relaxation, then eventually a full debrief when everyone is up for it. Things like snuggling, a movie, whatever... depending on the other people and what they need."

Jess's posture relaxed visibly, the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders easing as that answer landed exactly where it needed to. "Okay, good. That's what I needed to hear." She glanced at Bex with a slight smile. "He passes the basic competency test. You can keep him."

Bex let out a surprised laugh, some of her own nervous energy dissipating with it. "Thanks for the approval," she said dryly, though the warmth in her voice made it clear she appreciated Jess taking this seriously. The fact that her friend was asking the right questions, pushing on the things that mattered rather than just going along because the idea sounded exciting, made this feel more real and less like they were all just riding the momentum of an impulsive decision.

Jess picked up her phone again, scrolling through her notes one more time before setting it aside. "So. Broad strokes: you'll respect hard limits, honor safe words, provide proper aftercare, and the general vibe is me bratting my way into either earning access to Bex or provoking you into consequences. Intensity level somewhere in the moderate-to-high range based on what Bex has told me about your previous scenes." She looked between them, her expression shifting into something more playful now that the serious negotiation was handled. "When are we doing this? Because now that we've talked it through, I'm actually pretty excited about it."

"Hold up... those are limits set, but there are boundaries that need to be clear still. Things like... what we're all okay with in the 'who can do what to who' sort of stuff... pretty clear Bex and I are good with each other doing... whatever to one another at this point," he laughed, the sound breaking some of the tension that had started building with Jess's excitement. "But how do you both feel about playing with each other in front of me, and am I free to play with Jess, including things like penetration? Are there boundaries we need to draw around anything in the group setting?"

The question landed with weight, shifting the conversation from general framework into the specific mechanics that would make or break the scene's success. Jess's expression turned thoughtful, her gaze flicking to Bex first—clearly recognizing that this was the crux of what Bex had been working through, the agency question crystallized into concrete permissions.

Bex felt her pulse pick up, not with anxiety this time but with the awareness that this was the moment where theory became practice. She took a breath, meeting Jess's eyes directly before glancing at Shawn. "I'm good with you and Jess playing together," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "Including penetration, if that's where things go. That's kind of the whole point of this—testing whether I can handle that when I'm part of it instead of just hearing about it after." She paused, then added with a slight smile, "And yeah, Jess and I playing with each other in front of you is... very much on the table. We've done that before, just not with an audience."

Jess nodded, her expression warming with something that looked like relief mixed with appreciation. "Same here. I'm good with you playing with both of us however makes sense in the moment—including penetration with me if that's what the scene calls for." She glanced at Bex, then back to Shawn. "The only boundary I'd want is around safer sex practices. Like, barriers for penetration unless we've all had recent testing and explicitly negotiated otherwise. But beyond that? I trust you to read the room and make good calls about what works in the moment."

"Okay. Well, full disclosure, the only one I've been with since last tested is Bex," he said with a slight chuckle, the casualness of the statement cutting through some of the clinical negotiation energy. "And I'm... clipped... but if you prefer using condoms regardless, that's absolutely fine with me."

Jess's eyebrows rose slightly, her expression shifting into something that was equal parts surprised and appreciative. "Oh. Well, that simplifies things." She glanced at Bex, clearly checking in without making it a big production. "I'm good without barriers if you are—I got tested after my last partner and came back clean. But Bex, this is your call too since we're all in this together."

Bex felt a flutter of something she couldn't quite name—not jealousy, but awareness that they were negotiating the specific mechanics of Shawn being with someone else, making it concrete rather than theoretical. Still, the question felt right, the agency she'd been looking for present in the way Jess deferred to her input rather than just deciding between herself and Shawn. "I'm okay with it," she said, her voice steady. "No barriers between any of us, as long as we're all clear on our testing status." She paused, then added with a slight smile that carried both nerves and genuine humor, "This is really happening, isn't it? We're actually planning this."

Jess grinned, the energy in the room shifting from serious negotiation into something lighter, more playful. "Looks like it. So... when and where? Because now that we've handled the logistics, I'm very curious to see this dynamic in action."

"My place? Sometime this weekend maybe? Or early next week, before game night?"

Jess pulled out her phone, swiping to her calendar with the kind of efficiency that suggested she was already mentally rearranging her schedule. "This weekend works for me—Lara's visiting her parents Saturday through Monday, so I'm wide open." She glanced up, her expression shifting into something more playful. "Plus it gives us a few days to sit with this and make sure we're all still feeling good about it. Cold feet are allowed, by the way—for any of us. No judgment if someone taps out before we actually do this."

Bex appreciated that—the explicit permission to change her mind, the acknowledgment that planning a scene and actually following through were two different things. She checked her own mental calendar, nodding slowly. "Saturday evening could work. Gives us time to prep, make sure we're all in the right headspace." Her gaze flicked to Shawn, something vulnerable showing through despite her steady voice. "And yeah... if I start spiraling between now and then, I'll tell you. I'm not going to white-knuckle my way through this just to prove I can handle it."

Jess stood, tucking her phone back into her pocket with a satisfied expression. "Okay. So Saturday evening, Shawn's place, we're doing this." She looked between them, her smile widening. "I'm not gonna lie—I'm excited. This is either going to be really hot or a spectacular learning experience, and honestly I'm good with either outcome." She headed toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob to glance back at Bex. "Text me if you need to process before Saturday. And Shawn—" her attention shifted to him, her tone warm but direct, "—thanks for taking this seriously. A lot of people would have just jumped straight to the fun part without all the talking."

He just nodded as Jess headed out, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that left the apartment suddenly quiet. He turned to Bex, his expression open and assessing. "So... that went pretty well I think, how you feeling?"

Bex let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her body sinking back into the chair as the adrenaline of the conversation started to ebb. "I feel... good? Nervous, but good." She ran a hand through her hair, her gaze drifting toward the door Jess had just left through before coming back to him. "It's real now. Like, we actually negotiated it, set a date, and she's excited about it. Which means Saturday I'm going to have to actually follow through on this theory I have about agency and non-monogamy instead of just talking about it."

A slight laugh escaped her, caught between genuine amusement and the weight of what they'd just committed to. "Part of me can't believe we're doing this. Three weeks ago I didn't even know you, and now I'm planning a group scene to test whether I can handle watching you fuck someone else." She shook her head, the smile on her face complicated—nervous and excited and still carrying traces of the vulnerability that had driven this whole pivot in the first place. "But yeah. It went well. Jess asked the right questions, you gave the right answers, and now we just have to see if I can actually handle what I said I wanted to try."

She looked at him directly, her expression softening slightly. "Thank you for going along with this. I know it's a lot of whiplash after last night."

"Bit of whiplash, but... and I don't know how to say this without it sounding weird... but from my end, I'm getting a scene with two smoke shows with no downside... so... I'll deal with a bit of emotional whiplash." His smile carried warmth and humor, the kind of honesty that acknowledged the absurdity of the situation without diminishing the seriousness of what they'd just negotiated.

Bex felt a laugh bubble up despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing as his words landed with exactly the levity she needed. "Smoke shows, huh?" She shook her head, the smile on her face genuine now, touched with affection and the particular relief that came from someone meeting heavy emotional processing with grounded practicality. "Well, when you put it like that, I guess the whiplash is worth it."

She stood from the chair, crossing the space between them to lean against the counter beside him, close enough that their arms brushed. The apartment felt less charged now, the weight of negotiation giving way to something more comfortable—the aftermath of a conversation that had gone well, even if it had taken unexpected turns to get there. "I'm still going to be a mess between now and Saturday," she admitted, her tone light but honest. "Probably going to text Haven approximately eight hundred times and second-guess every decision. But... I think this is the right call. Testing it this way instead of just spiraling in theory."

Her gaze drifted toward the window, then back to him, something softer showing through her expression. "And for what it's worth? I'm glad you're the person I'm figuring this out with. Even when it gets messy."

"Speaking of getting messy... Saturday is... a ways off........" He let the words trail off as he smiled at her, the implication hanging in the air between them with deliberate weight.

Bex felt the shift immediately—the conversation pivoting from negotiation and emotional processing into something else entirely, something that made her pulse pick up and heat pool low in her belly. She turned to face him more fully, her hip still against the counter, close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. "It is a ways off," she agreed, her voice dropping slightly as she met his eyes. "And you did say earlier that you were getting an itch to play with your Toy... before you very responsibly pointed out I had things to ponder first."

Her smile matched his now—aware of what he was suggesting, aware of how the energy in the room had changed from heavy emotional territory into something simpler and more immediate. "I've done my pondering," she said, the words carrying both confidence and invitation. "Talked to my therapist, talked to Haven, talked to you, negotiated a whole group scene to test my theories about agency and non-monogamy..." She took a half-step closer, closing the remaining distance between them until she was near enough to feel his breath. "So if you're still itching... I'm available."

He saw her grin as an invitation and bent down, lifting her up over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She let out a surprised yelp that dissolved into laughter as he headed toward the bedroom, her hands bracing against his back as she squirmed playfully, the movement more performance than actual resistance.

"Oh my god, really?" she managed between laughs, her voice bouncing slightly with each step he took. "You're just—caveman style, just throwing me over your shoulder?" The protest carried zero actual objection, her body already relaxing into the carry even as she kept up the playful wriggling. The shift from heavy emotional conversation to this—immediate, physical, uncomplicated—felt like exactly what they both needed. No more processing, no more negotiating, just the straightforward dynamic they'd established where he decided and she surrendered.

He pushed open her bedroom door with his free hand, the space beyond dim in the afternoon light filtering through half-closed blinds. The bed was unmade from this morning, sheets rumpled in a way that suggested she'd been restless before their conversation. He crossed the threshold with purpose, Bex still slung over his shoulder, her laughter giving way to something quieter—anticipation replacing amusement as the reality of what was about to happen settled over both of them.

Chapter 10

Three's Company

~13,764 words

The next couple of days passed in a strange equilibrium—Bex actually got real work done, finishing two client projects and responding to emails she'd been avoiding for a week. But the upcoming scene bubbled constantly in the back of her mind, a low hum of anticipation mixed with nervous energy that she couldn't quite shake. By Thursday afternoon, she'd decided she needed to talk to Jess about it—just the two of them, without Shawn present. Not to plot against him exactly, but to get on the same page as a team, to make sure the scene would be fun for everyone and not just something they were all white-knuckling their way through.

She texted Jess suggesting coffee, and they met at the Grind House that evening—the same place where she and Shawn had done their initial negotiation, which felt oddly appropriate. Jess arrived with her usual energy, sliding into the booth across from Bex with a knowing smile. "So," she said without preamble, wrapping her hands around her latte. "Are we here so you can panic-spiral at me, or are we actually planning something?"

Bex laughed despite herself, the directness cutting through her nervous energy in exactly the way she'd hoped it would. "Planning something," she said, leaning forward slightly. "I want to make sure we're on the same page about Saturday—like, what we're both hoping to get out of it, how we want to play off each other, that kind of thing. Because the framework Shawn laid out is solid, but I don't want to just show up and wing it. I want it to actually work."

Jess's expression shifted into something more thoughtful, her smile softening into genuine engagement. "Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. So what are you thinking?"

Bex wrapped her hands around her own cup, gathering her thoughts before diving in. "I think the biggest thing is making sure we're actually collaborative about this—like, we're both there to make it work, not competing in a way that feels hostile." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "The framework is you bratting to earn access to me or provoke consequences from Shawn, right? So I want to make sure we're playing off each other in a way that's hot for everyone, not just... I don't know, creating actual tension."

Jess nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. So you're thinking we coordinate a bit—I push buttons in ways that create opportunities for you to be the center of attention, and you respond in ways that make it clear whether I'm earning access or need to be dealt with." She leaned back slightly, a slight smile tugging at her mouth. "I can work with that. And honestly, the idea of us tag-teaming to keep him on his toes sounds way more fun than just me throwing myself at the wall and hoping something sticks."

"Exactly," Bex said, relief flooding through her at how quickly Jess was tracking with her. "Like, if you're bratting and I'm responding to it—either encouraging you or making it clear you need to behave—that keeps me active in the scene instead of just being the prize sitting there passively." She took a sip of her coffee, her mind already spinning through possibilities. "And it gives Shawn room to decide how to handle both of us, which is kind of the whole point of the dynamic he proposed."

Jess grinned, her energy shifting into something more playful now that they'd established the foundation. "Okay, so let's get specific. What kind of bratting are we talking about? Because I can go full chaos gremlin, or I can be more... strategically annoying. What's going to work best for you?"

Bex considered the question, her fingers drumming lightly against her coffee cup as she thought through what would actually work versus what just sounded good in theory. "I think strategically annoying is better than chaos gremlin," she said after a moment. "Like, if you're just being chaotic for the sake of it, that might actually stress me out instead of turning me on. But if you're pushing specific buttons—testing boundaries, being a little defiant in ways that create opportunities for him to step in—that feels more manageable."

She paused, trying to articulate what she was picturing. "Maybe start by being... curious? Like, you're there to see our dynamic, right? So you could ask questions, push for demonstrations, be a little too hands-on in ways that make it clear you're testing what you can get away with." Her cheeks flushed slightly as the scenario took shape in her mind. "And I can respond by either encouraging you—like, showing you what works—or by making it clear you need permission first. That way it's collaborative but still has that tension of you earning access."

Jess's grin widened, her eyes bright with interest. "Oh, I like that. So I'm the eager student who doesn't quite know how to follow instructions yet, and you're the demonstration model who gets to decide how much I'm allowed to participate." She leaned forward, her tone shifting into something more conspiratorial. "And when I inevitably push too far or don't wait for permission, that's when he steps in to remind me how this actually works."

"Exactly," Bex said, feeling the nervous energy in her chest start to transform into genuine excitement. "That keeps all three of us engaged—you're actively participating, I'm responding and guiding, and he's managing both of us. Nobody's just sitting there passively."

Jess nodded, taking a long sip of her latte before setting it down with a satisfied expression. "Okay. I'm fully on board with this plan. And just so we're clear—if at any point during the scene you need me to dial it back or change what I'm doing, just tell me. I don't want to accidentally make this harder for you when the whole point is testing whether you can handle it."

The directness of the statement landed with weight, and Bex felt a rush of gratitude for having a friend who understood the stakes here. "Same goes for you," she said firmly. "If something's not working or you need to adjust, speak up. We're doing this together."

They spent the next twenty minutes working through more specifics—boundaries around particular acts, safe words that would work for all three of them, logistics about timing and aftercare. By the time they left the coffee shop, Bex felt significantly more grounded. The scene wasn't just a theoretical test anymore; it was something they'd actually planned, with clear intentions and collaborative energy behind it. Saturday was still going to be intense, but at least now she felt like she had a partner in navigating it rather than just being swept along by whatever happened.

"Hello, Toy. Come in. You know the rule." His smile carried warmth and authority as she stepped across the threshold, the familiar instruction landing with immediate effect—the rule about clothing that had become part of their dynamic during their last scene here.

Bex felt the shift happen internally before her body even responded, the single word "Toy" flipping a switch that transformed nervous anticipation into focused surrender. She closed the door behind her and began undressing without ceremony—shoes first, then her shirt, jeans, bra, underwear—each piece removed with the kind of efficiency that came from knowing exactly what was expected. The apartment was warm enough that she didn't feel exposed in a way that made her self-conscious, just aware of her body and the deliberate choice she was making by being here.

"Jess should be here soon," he continued, his gaze tracking her movements with appreciation but not urgency. "I trust you'll show her how a good Toy behaves."

The words settled into her chest with weight—not pressure exactly, but responsibility. She was the model here, the demonstration of what this dynamic looked like when it worked. The nervous energy she'd been carrying all day transformed into something more purposeful as she folded her clothes neatly and set them aside. "Yes," she said simply, her voice steady despite the flutter in her stomach. She met his eyes, letting him see that she was present and ready, that whatever happened next, she was choosing this.

A knock sounded at the door a few minutes later—Jess's arrival perfectly timed, as though she'd been waiting outside to make sure she wasn't early. Bex's pulse kicked up another notch, awareness flooding through her that this was actually happening now, that the theory they'd planned was about to become reality.

"Toy, meet us in the dining room. There's dinner in there that needs to go to the table."

Bex nodded and headed toward the dining area, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. The instruction gave her something concrete to focus on—a task, a role to perform—and she moved with purpose, grateful for the momentary separation before Jess arrived. The dining room table was set simply but thoughtfully, and she found covered dishes waiting on the counter nearby, still warm. She began transferring them to the table with careful efficiency, her mind settling into the rhythm of the task even as her pulse continued to flutter with anticipation.

Behind her, she heard the door open, Shawn's voice carrying easily through the apartment. "Hey, come on in!"

Jess stepped inside, her energy bright and curious as she took in the space—then stopped short when she registered that Shawn was fully dressed while presumably Bex was somewhere in the apartment naked. Her eyebrows rose, a slow grin spreading across her face that suggested she was already cataloging the power dynamic on display. "Well," she said, her tone warm with amusement and interest, "I see we're starting as we mean to go on." She glanced past him toward where Bex had disappeared, then back to Shawn, clearly waiting to see what instruction would come next—whether she'd be joining Bex in undressing or if this was a privilege that had to be earned.

"Come on, let's have some dinner." He took her jacket and hung it up with casual efficiency, then led her toward the dining room. The contrast was immediate and deliberate—Shawn playing the perfect gentleman, pulling out Jess's chair and pushing it in once she sat, while Bex sat across the table completely naked, her posture composed despite her vulnerability.

Jess settled into her seat, her gaze flicking between Shawn's attentiveness and Bex's bare skin with an expression that mixed amusement and genuine interest. The dynamic was crystal clear without anyone needing to say a word: Bex had already surrendered her autonomy, while Jess remained a guest being courted. The juxtaposition created immediate tension—not hostile, but charged with the awareness that Jess was being shown what was possible if she played along, what kind of attention and control Shawn brought to the dynamic.

Bex met Jess's eyes across the table, her expression calm but carrying a flicker of something that might have been nervousness or anticipation. She'd set the table carefully, the covered dishes arranged within easy reach, and now she sat with her hands folded in her lap—waiting, demonstrating exactly what Shawn had instructed: how a good Toy behaves. The silence stretched for a moment, Jess clearly taking in the scene, reading the energy before deciding how she wanted to engage.

The food smelled incredible—something savory and rich, the kind of meal that suggested genuine effort rather than just throwing together whatever was convenient. Shawn remained standing near the head of the table, his attention shifting between his two guests with the ease of someone completely comfortable orchestrating this particular tableau.

He looked at Bex. "Eat." Then his attention shifted to Jess, his tone warming into conversational ease. "How was the drive here? Find the place okay?"

The single word directed at Bex carried absolute authority—not harsh, just matter-of-fact instruction that she was expected to follow. She reached for the serving spoon without hesitation, beginning to plate food for herself with the kind of quiet efficiency that demonstrated her comfort in this role. The contrast was stark: Bex moving to obey while Jess was being engaged as an equal, asked casual questions like this was just a normal dinner party.

Jess's gaze tracked Bex's movement for a beat before returning to Shawn, her expression thoughtful but carrying a hint of that playful energy she'd promised to bring. "Drive was easy, yeah. Your directions were good—I didn't get turned around at all." She paused, then added with deliberate casualness, "Though I have to say, the welcoming committee is... memorable." Her eyes flicked to Bex again, the comment clearly referencing the naked woman now eating across from her while Jess remained fully clothed. The observation wasn't quite bratty yet, more testing—seeing how Shawn would respond to her acknowledging the power dynamic explicitly rather than just accepting it in silence.

The dining room felt charged despite the mundane conversation, all three of them aware that this was the beginning, that how these opening moments played out would set the tone for everything that followed.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Something to play with later. First let's eat before it gets cold." His smile was warm, the words landing with easy confidence—acknowledging Jess's observation without making it a big deal, redirecting focus back to the meal while making it clear that Bex's nudity was intentional and would be addressed when he decided it was time.

Jess's eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of something appreciative crossing her face at how smoothly he'd deflected while still maintaining control of the scene's pacing. "Fair enough," she said, reaching for the serving dishes and beginning to plate her own food. The casual acceptance carried weight—she was following his lead, at least for now, playing along with the framework they'd established even as her gaze kept drifting back to Bex with undisguised interest.

Bex continued eating with quiet focus, her posture relaxed despite her vulnerability. The food was good—roasted chicken with herbs, vegetables that had been seasoned carefully, the kind of meal that demonstrated genuine effort. She could feel Jess watching her between bites, cataloging how she moved, how she responded to being the only one naked at the table. The attention didn't make her self-conscious; if anything, it grounded her further into her role. She was the demonstration, the model of what this dynamic looked like when it worked. Jess was here to learn.

The dining room settled into a strange equilibrium—conversation flowing easily about mundane topics while the underlying current of what was coming hummed beneath every word.

He caught Bex looking at Jess and snapped his fingers in the air, the sound sharp and deliberate. "I said eat, not stare at my guest. That's one." His voice wasn't harsh, just firm—the kind of tone that made it clear a line had been crossed and was now being tracked.

Bex's gaze dropped immediately back to her plate, a flush creeping up her neck that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the sudden spike of awareness that she'd been caught breaking a rule she should have known better than to test. Her fork moved with renewed focus, the food suddenly requiring all her attention as the weight of "that's one" settled into her chest. She didn't know what the consequences would be for accumulating infractions, but the fact that he was counting meant they existed.

Jess's fork paused halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening slightly as she processed what had just happened. The dynamic had shifted from theoretical to viscerally real in the span of a single snap—Bex being corrected, Shawn establishing his authority without raising his voice, the implication that there would be consequences hanging in the air. A slow smile spread across Jess's face, equal parts intrigued and delighted. "So you're keeping score," she observed, her tone light but carrying genuine interest. "Good to know." The comment was directed at Shawn, but her gaze flicked to Bex for just a moment—reading her reaction, cataloging how the correction had landed.

The dining room felt smaller suddenly, the casual dinner atmosphere giving way to something more deliberate. Whatever came next would depend on how the rest of the meal unfolded, whether Bex could follow instructions without accumulating more marks against her, and what Jess would do with the information she was gathering.

"So Jess, how's work these days?" The casual conversation felt exactly as strange as it was meant to—Bex sitting there naked, corrected and now deliberately excluded from the discussion while Shawn engaged Jess as though this were a perfectly normal dinner between friends.

Jess took a sip of water, her expression shifting into something more animated as she launched into an answer. "Actually pretty good—I just landed a new client who wants a complete rebrand, which is way more interesting than the usual 'make my logo bigger' requests I've been getting." Her tone was easy, conversational, but her gaze kept drifting toward Bex with barely concealed curiosity. "It's one of those projects where they actually trust me to do my job instead of micromanaging every decision, which is... refreshing."

Bex felt the flush deepen, spreading from her neck down across her chest as she continued eating in silence. Not quite ignored—but actively ignored, which was somehow infinitely more potent. Shawn was choosing to focus his attention on Jess, engaging her as a person while Bex remained present but excluded, her nudity and her silence rendering her more object than participant. The dynamic fed directly into what she'd been craving, that sense of being used and displayed, her value measured not by her conversation but by her obedience and availability. Her fork moved mechanically, food barely registering as her awareness narrowed to the feeling of being seen but not addressed, watched but not included.

Jess leaned back slightly in her chair, clearly enjoying both the conversation and the power dynamic playing out in front of her. "What about you? How's the writing going?" She directed the question at Shawn, her tone genuinely interested but carrying an undercurrent of playfulness—like she was testing how long this casual dinner charade would continue before things shifted into what they were all actually here for.

"Oh, pretty well, despite what my editor might say about my distaste for timelines haha." They finished eating, plates gradually emptying as the conversation continued its strange duality—casual on the surface, charged underneath. "I noticed you've been glancing at my new Toy. Pretty isn't she? I can tell you have questions. Feel free to ask me, just please... don't engage with her directly without permission. If she talks out of turn I have to punish her, and... well... I don't want to be too harsh." His smile carried warmth even as the words established an explicit boundary, making the rules crystal clear for Jess while simultaneously reinforcing Bex's position as object rather than participant.

Jess's expression shifted immediately—interest sharpening into something more focused as the permission landed. She set down her fork, her gaze moving deliberately over Bex now that she'd been given explicit license to look, to assess, to catalog. "She is pretty," Jess agreed, her tone thoughtful as her eyes tracked the flush still visible across Bex's chest, the way her posture remained composed despite the attention. "And clearly well-trained already, given how quickly she responded to that correction earlier." Her attention shifted back to Shawn, a slight smile playing at her mouth. "How long have you been working with her? Because that kind of responsiveness usually takes time to build."

Bex felt the objectification settle deeper into her bones—being discussed rather than addressed, her behavior analyzed like she wasn't sitting right there. Her hands remained folded in her lap now that her plate was empty, her gaze fixed downward in a way that suggested she understood the rules perfectly: be seen, not heard. The heat pooling low in her belly intensified with each word Jess spoke about her rather than to her, the dynamic clicking into place exactly as they'd planned. She was the demonstration. The prize. The thing to be earned or observed, but not engaged with directly—not yet.

"Just a few weeks. A very fast learner, this one." He reached over and stroked Bex's cheek, the touch casual but possessive, his thumb tracing along her jawline with the kind of easy affection reserved for something cherished. "Best Toy I've had by miles."

The words landed with devastating precision—praise wrapped in objectification, Bex's value articulated through her performance rather than her personhood. She felt herself lean slightly into the touch despite her stillness, the contact grounding her deeper into the role even as her pulse kicked up at being discussed so openly. The flush across her chest deepened, heat spreading through her body as Shawn's hand lingered for a moment before withdrawing, leaving her skin tingling where he'd touched.

Jess watched the exchange with undisguised fascination, her expression shifting between appreciation for the dynamic and genuine curiosity about how quickly Bex had adapted to it. "Just a few weeks," she repeated, her tone carrying a note of impressed surprise. "That's... honestly impressive. For both of you." Her gaze lingered on Bex's face—the way her eyes had briefly closed at the touch, the visible response to being praised even in such a dehumanizing context. "So what makes her the best? Is it the responsiveness, or something else?"

The question was directed at Shawn, maintaining the established boundary of not engaging Bex directly, but the weight of Jess's attention remained fixed on the woman sitting naked across from her—cataloging, assessing, clearly building toward something as the evening progressed.

"Her taste."

The words hung in the air for a beat, simple and direct, before their full implication settled. Jess's eyebrows rose, her expression shifting from curious to genuinely intrigued as she processed what he'd just said. A slow smile spread across her face, her gaze flicking between Shawn and Bex with newfound understanding. "Her taste," she repeated, the words carrying a note of appreciation mixed with something warmer. "Well, that's... specific. And here I thought you were going to say something about obedience or responsiveness."

Bex felt the flush deepen impossibly further, heat flooding through her entire body at having that particular detail laid bare so casually. It wasn't just objectification anymore—it was intimate knowledge being shared, her body's responses cataloged and praised in a way that made her feel both exposed and valued. Her breathing had shifted slightly, shallow and deliberate as she worked to maintain her composure while being discussed like this.

Jess leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table as her attention fixed more intently on Shawn. The playful energy that had been simmering beneath her conversational ease sharpened into something more focused. "That's a hell of a compliment," she said, her tone warming with genuine interest. "Makes me wonder what I'd have to do to earn a taste myself." The words carried weight—not quite bratty yet, but definitely testing, pushing gently at the boundaries to see how he'd respond to direct interest rather than just observation.

"Oh that could be arranged maybe." His smile carried promise and deliberate ambiguity—not a yes, not a no, just acknowledgment that the possibility existed if certain conditions were met.

Jess's expression brightened immediately, the careful testing giving way to genuine excitement barely contained beneath a veneer of composure. "Maybe," she repeated, her tone matching his—playful but respectful of the conditional nature of his response. Her gaze flicked to Bex again, longer this time, assessing her with renewed interest now that the possibility of direct interaction had been dangled in front of her. "What would I need to do to turn that 'maybe' into a 'yes'?"

Bex remained still, her hands folded in her lap, but something in her posture had shifted—a subtle tension that suggested she was acutely aware of being discussed as a reward, something to be earned rather than freely given. The objectification intensified with each exchange, her value measured not by her own desires but by Shawn's willingness to grant access. The dynamic they'd planned was clicking into place with devastating precision: Jess curious and testing boundaries, Bex silent and displayed, Shawn controlling both the conversation and what would happen next.

The dining room felt smaller, the casual dinner atmosphere fully dissolved now into something charged and deliberate, all three of them aware that the evening was shifting from preamble into the actual scene they'd come here to explore.

"Let me taste you... for a start..."

The words landed with deliberate weight, Shawn's tone carrying both invitation and challenge. The shift was immediate—from theoretical discussion to concrete proposition, the evening's carefully constructed tension crystallizing into something tangible and immediate.

Jess's breath caught audibly, her composure cracking just enough to show genuine surprise beneath the playful confidence she'd been maintaining. Her gaze flicked to Bex—seeking some kind of confirmation or reaction—before returning to Shawn with an expression that mixed excitement and uncertainty about whether he was serious. "You want me to..." she started, then paused, recalibrating. Her hands moved to the edge of the table as though she might push back her chair, but she hesitated, clearly trying to read whether this was permission or another test. "Right now? Here?"

Bex remained perfectly still, her breathing carefully controlled even as her pulse visibly quickened at her throat. Being present for this—watching Jess navigate the same kind of proposition she'd accepted weeks ago, knowing what would follow if Jess said yes—sent a complicated rush through her system. Not jealousy. Something else. Anticipation mixed with the acute awareness that she was about to watch someone else earn what she'd been given, that her role here was to be the prize they were both working toward.

The dining room held its breath, waiting for Shawn's clarification—whether this was the beginning of the scene proper or just another layer of the game they were all playing.

He stood and began clearing the table with deliberate efficiency—plates stacked and carried to the sink, placemats folded and set aside, everything removed until the dark wood surface was completely bare. The methodical nature of the task created a pause that stretched the tension rather than breaking it, each item cleared revealing more of the table's polished surface. When nothing remained, he tapped the wood with two fingers, right where Bex would have an unobstructed view from her seat. "Right now. Here."

Jess's eyes widened, her breath coming faster as the reality of what he was asking crystallized into something concrete and immediate. This wasn't theoretical anymore—he wanted her on that table, exposed and vulnerable, while Bex watched from mere feet away. Her hands gripped the edge of her chair, uncertainty flickering across her face before something else took over—determination mixed with the kind of excitement that came from being offered exactly what she'd been testing for. "Okay," she said, her voice steadier than her expression suggested. She stood slowly, her fingers moving to the hem of her shirt with only the slightest hesitation before pulling it over her head.

Bex's breathing had gone shallow, her gaze fixed on Jess with an intensity she couldn't hide even if she'd wanted to. This was it—the moment where theory became reality, where she'd find out whether she could actually handle watching someone else in the space she'd occupied, whether the agency of having planned this would be enough to keep the jealousy at bay. Her hands remained folded in her lap, but her knuckles had gone white with the effort of staying still and silent while her pulse thundered in her ears.

Jess stood and moved to where Bex sat, crouching slightly to meet her eyes with an expression that asked you good? without breaking the scene's established rules. Bex's gaze held steady, a barely perceptible nod confirming what they'd planned—she was okay, this was working, keep going. The silent exchange lasted only a moment before Jess straightened and returned her attention to the task at hand.

She reached for the button of her jeans, then paused deliberately, her gaze finding where Shawn stood near the cleared table. "You know," she said, her tone shifting into something playfully challenging as her fingers toyed with the button without actually undoing it, "I'm realizing you didn't say how I should get undressed. Fast? Slow?" Her smile carried deliberate provocation, the first real test of how far she could push before consequences materialized. "Should I make a show of it, or...?" She let the question hang, her body language suggesting she knew exactly what she was doing—buying time, testing boundaries, seeing what kind of reaction bratty behavior would earn her in this particular dynamic.

Bex's breathing had gone even shallower, her attention fixed on Jess with an intensity that bordered on painful. Watching her friend strip—watching her test Shawn the way Bex herself never would have dared in those early scenes—created a complicated knot of emotions. Not jealousy. Something closer to vicarious nervousness mixed with anticipation for what would happen when Jess pushed too far.

He smirked, the expression carrying both amusement and challenge. "If you want direction, I'll give it... but you lean that direction, you're subject to the same rules... and consequences... as my Toy here." He nodded toward Bex, the gesture making it clear what accepting his control would mean. "So... do you want me to tell you how, or do you have a mind of your own?"

The question landed with perfect precision—offering Jess a choice while making the stakes absolutely clear. Accept his authority and she'd be playing by the same rules as Bex, subject to correction and consequences if she stepped out of line. Or maintain her independence and figure it out herself, but lose the structure and attention that came with surrendering control.

Jess's fingers stilled on her button, her expression shifting as she processed the trap she'd walked herself into. The bratty confidence flickered, replaced briefly by genuine consideration before her smile returned—sharper now, more deliberate. "I have a mind of my own," she said, her tone carrying just enough defiance to make it clear she wasn't ready to surrender yet, but wanted him to know she'd heard the offer. She popped the button of her jeans and slid the zipper down slowly, her movements deliberate but not quite a show—finding some middle ground between compliance and continued testing.

Bex watched the exchange with rapt attention, her breathing shallow as she cataloged every micro-expression on both their faces. Jess was dancing on the edge of something, testing how far she could push before consequences materialized, and the tension of watching it unfold—knowing where this could go, what Shawn was capable of when someone needed to be put in their place—sent heat pooling through her body despite her stillness.

Jess pushed her jeans down over her hips, the denim sliding past her thighs before she stepped out of them entirely, leaving them pooled on the floor. Her movements carried a studied casualness—not quite the show she'd threatened, but deliberate enough to maintain some control over the moment. She straightened, standing in just her bra and underwear now, her body language shifting between confidence and awareness of being assessed.

Shawn's gaze moved over her with unhurried deliberation, taking in the curve of her hips, the line of her waist, the way her breathing had quickened despite her attempt at composure. The inspection was thorough and unapologetic, his attention tracking from her shoulders down to where her hands hung at her sides, cataloging her the same way he'd cataloged Bex weeks ago—reading her body's responses, noting the flush creeping across her chest, the slight tension in her posture that suggested she was acutely aware of being studied.

Bex watched from her seat with an intensity that made her chest ache, her pulse thundering as she witnessed someone else subjected to the same kind of assessment she'd experienced. Jess reached behind her back to unhook her bra, the motion practiced and efficient, letting the fabric fall away before pushing her underwear down and stepping out of them. Now fully naked, she stood near the table under Shawn's continued scrutiny, her breath coming faster as the weight of his attention settled over her. The confidence she'd carried into the apartment had been stripped away along with her clothes, leaving something more vulnerable and uncertain in its place—though the spark of challenge hadn't entirely disappeared from her expression.

He sat down right next to Bex, close enough that their bodies were almost touching, and motioned for Jess to lay on the table in front of them. "Right here, where my Toy can watch."

The instruction landed with devastating clarity—Jess wasn't just being positioned for his access, but specifically arranged so that Bex would have an unobstructed view of everything that happened. The framework they'd discussed became viscerally real: Bex wasn't a spectator removed from the action, she was an active participant through observation, her presence and attention integral to the scene's structure.

Jess's breath caught audibly, her gaze flicking between Shawn and Bex before she moved toward the table. She climbed onto the polished wood surface with less grace than she probably intended, her nervousness showing through as she settled onto her back, her legs dangling off the edge. The position left her completely exposed—vulnerable in a way that went beyond simple nudity, spread out like an offering while two people watched from mere feet away. Her hands moved uncertainly, not quite knowing where to put them before settling at her sides, fingers curling against the table's surface.

Bex's breathing had gone ragged despite her stillness, her eyes fixed on Jess's body with an intensity that bordered on painful. This was it—the moment where she'd find out whether agency was enough, whether planning this scene together would actually make the difference between spiraling jealousy and something she could handle. Her pulse thundered visibly at her throat, every muscle held carefully still even as heat flooded through her system. Jess was right there, naked and waiting, positioned specifically for Bex to witness whatever came next.

He pulled one of Jess's legs up and draped it over his shoulder, then guided the other to rest on Bex's shoulder—the positioning opening Jess up impossibly wide, her body fully exposed between them. His hands moved to Jess's thighs, fingers tracing slow paths up and down the soft skin with deliberate attention, the touch both clinical and hungry in a way that made the dual nature of the inspection devastatingly clear. He leaned in closer, his gaze tracking over every inch of her with the same meticulous focus he'd brought to Bex weeks ago—cataloging, assessing, appreciating.

Jess's breathing had gone shallow and quick, her fingers curling harder against the table's surface as she processed the vulnerability of her position. Spread between two people, held open by their bodies, subjected to scrutiny that felt both objectifying and intensely intimate. A soft sound escaped her throat—not quite a whimper, but close—as Shawn's hands continued their exploration, his thumbs pressing gently into the muscle of her inner thighs.

Bex felt the weight of Jess's leg settle against her shoulder, the contact grounding her into the reality of what was happening. She was holding her friend open for this, participating actively in the inspection rather than just watching from the sidelines. The care in Shawn's touch was familiar—she'd felt those same hands on her body, that same combination of possession and appreciation. But watching it directed at someone else while she remained still and silent, her role reduced to support rather than recipient, created a complicated knot of sensation in her chest. Not jealousy. Something closer to shared anticipation, her pulse thundering as she waited to see what would come next, whether Jess would hold her composure or break under the weight of being so thoroughly examined.

Jess could feel his breath against her now, the warmth ghosting over her trimmed pubic hair with enough proximity to make the fine hairs impossibly sensitive to each exhale. The anticipation was visceral—being held open, inspected so thoroughly, close enough to feel him but not yet touched where she desperately wanted contact. Her hips shifted infinitesimally, an unconscious motion quickly stilled as she fought to maintain some semblance of composure.

"Looks pretty tasty," he said, his voice carrying appreciation mixed with deliberate assessment. His gaze lifted, finding Bex's face over Jess's spread thigh. "What do you think, Toy? Do they deserve my tongue?"

The question landed with devastating weight—not rhetorical, but genuine. He was asking Bex's opinion, giving her agency in whether Jess would receive what she'd been working toward. The framework clicked into sharper focus: Bex wasn't just watching passively, she had input, her voice mattering even in her objectified state. The leg resting on her shoulder tensed slightly as Jess processed the same realization—that her access depended not just on Shawn's whim but on whether Bex would grant permission.

Bex's breathing had gone ragged, her eyes fixed on the vulnerable display in front of her—Jess spread wide, flushed and trembling with anticipation, waiting for judgment. The power of the moment settled into her chest, heady and complicated. She could say no. She could make Jess wait, make her earn it further. Or she could say yes and watch what happened when Shawn's mouth finally made contact, when theory became reality and she discovered whether she could actually handle witnessing this.

Bex's throat worked as she swallowed, her gaze tracking from Jess's flushed face down to where Shawn's breath was still ghosting over sensitive skin. The power of the question settled into her chest—not just permission to watch, but active participation in granting access. Her voice came out steadier than she expected, though quieter than usual. "Yes. She deserves it."

The words hung in the air for a beat before Jess let out a shaky exhale, relief and anticipation mixing visibly across her expression. Her fingers uncurled slightly from where they'd been gripping the table, her body relaxing infinitesimally even as the tension of waiting remained coiled in her muscles. The leg resting on Bex's shoulder trembled slightly, the vulnerability of her position amplified now that permission had been granted and she knew what was coming.

Bex felt the tremor through the contact point, her own breathing shallow as she maintained her role—holding Jess open, watching with rapt attention as the scene she'd planned became viscerally real. The heat pooling low in her belly intensified, not jealousy but something closer to shared anticipation, her pulse thundering as she waited to see what would happen now that she'd given her approval.

He leaned in and began, his tongue moving with the same deliberate precision he'd brought to Bex weeks ago—learning Jess's responses, cataloging what made her breath hitch and her hips shift. From her position holding Jess's leg, Bex had a perspective she'd never experienced before: watching the careful attention, the way his mouth moved with purpose rather than urgency, the methodical exploration that she'd only ever felt from the inside. She could see the moment Jess's composure cracked, her head tilting back against the table as a soft moan escaped her throat. The sound was raw and unfiltered, stripped of the playful confidence she'd carried into the apartment.

Jess's thigh trembled against Bex's shoulder, the muscle tensing and releasing in waves as sensation built. Her hands had moved from gripping the table to hovering uncertainly in the air before settling back down, fingers splaying wide as though she needed to anchor herself to something solid. "Oh fuck," she breathed, the words barely audible but carrying weight—acknowledgment that whatever she'd expected, the reality was more intense. Her hips shifted slightly, seeking more contact before she caught herself and forced stillness, clearly uncertain whether movement was allowed or would earn correction.

Bex's breathing had gone shallow and quick, her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding inches from her face. Watching Jess respond—the flush spreading across her chest, the way her body tensed and relaxed, the visible effort to maintain some semblance of control—created a complicated knot in her chest. Not jealousy. Something closer to recognition, to understanding viscerally what she looked like when Shawn worked her over with that same careful intensity. The heat pooling in her own body intensified with each sound Jess made, her pulse thundering as she held her friend open and witnessed exactly what she'd agreed to test.

He reached up and took Bex's hand, guiding it down to press low on Jess's stomach—not hard, just enough pressure that when combined with his tongue and fingers, everything aligned with devastating precision. The angle shifted internally, sensation intensifying as Jess's body responded with immediate, visceral reaction.

"Oh—fuck—" Jess's voice cracked on the word, her composure shattering entirely as the pressure hit exactly where she needed it. Her hips bucked despite her earlier attempts at stillness, her thighs trembling violently against both their shoulders as control slipped away. The sounds escaping her throat were raw and unfiltered—gasps and moans that suggested she'd stopped trying to manage her responses and had simply surrendered to what was being done to her. Her hands scrabbled against the table's surface, seeking purchase as her body writhed, squirming in ways that made it clear she was rapidly losing the ability to regulate anything.

Bex felt the tremors intensify through every point of contact—Jess's leg shaking against her shoulder, the muscle of her abdomen flexing beneath Bex's palm as she maintained the pressure Shawn had positioned. The active participation sent heat flooding through her system, the realization that she wasn't just watching but contributing to Jess's unraveling making everything more immediate and visceral. Her own breathing had gone ragged, her body responding to the sounds and movements even as she held perfectly still, following the implicit instruction to maintain pressure while Shawn continued his work.

Jess exploded into orgasm, her entire body seizing as the climax tore through her with devastating force. Her back arched off the table, thighs clamping involuntarily against their shoulders as waves of pleasure crashed over her in rapid succession. The sounds she made were broken and desperate, her hands finally finding purchase by gripping the edge of the table hard enough that her knuckles went white.

He fed his wet fingers to Bex, pushing them between her lips and rubbing the juices over her tongue with deliberate thoroughness. The taste flooded her mouth—salt and musk and something distinctly Jess, intimate and overwhelming in its immediacy. Bex's eyes widened slightly at the invasion, her lips closing automatically around his fingers as he continued the motion, ensuring she tasted every bit of what he'd drawn from their friend. His gaze lifted, staring into Jess's eyes with an intensity that suggested he was cataloging every micro-expression of her unraveling. "She IS tasty, isn't she, Toy?"

The question demanded acknowledgment, and Bex made a soft sound of agreement around his fingers—unable to form words with her mouth occupied, but the affirmation clear in the way she didn't pull away, didn't resist the feeding. The taste lingered on her tongue, undeniably intimate, proof of her active participation in what had just happened. Jess was still trembling through aftershocks, her breathing ragged and uneven as she tried to process the intensity of what had just torn through her system. Her leg had gone heavy against Bex's shoulder, the muscle slack now that the tension had released, her body utterly spent and vulnerable on the table between them.

Jess lay trembling on the table for a long moment, her breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to something more controlled. Her hands released their death grip on the table's edge, fingers flexing as sensation returned to them. Eventually she pushed herself up to sitting with visible effort, her legs still dangling off the edge, thighs still flushed and trembling slightly from the aftershocks. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her sweat-dampened forehead, her expression caught somewhere between satisfied and dazed.

Then something shifted in her face—a spark of her earlier confidence returning as her breathing steadied. She looked between them, her gaze settling on Shawn with a smile that carried deliberate provocation. "So that's what all the fuss was about," she said, her tone light and teasing despite the shakiness still audible underneath. "I mean, it was good, don't get me wrong, but I was expecting... I don't know, something more earth-shattering based on how Bex described it." The bratty energy was back, testing boundaries even in the vulnerable aftermath, clearly seeing what kind of reaction she could provoke after having just been thoroughly undone.

Bex's eyes widened slightly, her hand still resting where it had been positioned on Jess's stomach, the taste of her friend still lingering on her tongue. The audacity of the comment hung in the air—Jess deliberately downplaying what had just happened, challenging despite having just come apart completely under his attention.

"Oh, okay, fair enough. If you'd rather just head out, I'll get your coat." He stood, wiping his hand—still covered in her juices—deliberately on her inner thigh as he rose and turned away, his tone carrying the kind of casual dismissal that made it clear the offer wasn't a bluff.

Jess's expression shifted immediately, the bratty confidence draining away as the reality of what she'd just done landed with full force. Her mouth opened, then closed, panic flickering across her face as she processed that he was actually walking away, that her attempt to provoke had backfired spectacularly. "Wait—" The word came out sharper than she probably intended, desperation bleeding through despite her attempt to maintain composure. She scrambled to sitting more upright, her legs still dangling off the table, thighs trembling. "I didn't mean—fuck, I'm sorry, I was just—"

Bex remained frozen in her seat, her hand still hovering where it had been pressed against Jess's stomach moments ago. The shift in energy was visceral—from charged intimacy to the cold edge of consequences, Jess's bratty test meeting a boundary she hadn't expected. Bex's pulse thundered as she watched her friend spiral, the taste of Jess still lingering on her tongue while the scene threatened to unravel completely. This was the moment where agency mattered—where Jess would either figure out how to recover or prove she couldn't handle the dynamic they'd agreed to explore.

"You were just what?" His voice carried playfulness but the expectation underneath was crystal clear—he wanted an actual answer, not deflection or more bratty posturing.

Jess's breath caught, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she struggled to find words that would fix what she'd just broken. The casual confidence that had carried her through the evening was gone entirely now, stripped away by the reality that he'd actually walk away if she couldn't give him something real. "I was just—testing," she admitted, the words coming out quieter than her usual tone. "Seeing what would happen if I pushed. But I—fuck, I didn't actually mean it. That was..." She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping briefly before forcing herself to meet his eyes again. "That was incredible. I just—I don't know how to handle feeling that vulnerable without making a joke about it."

The honesty landed with weight, her voice carrying genuine distress beneath the admission. She was still trembling slightly, her body betraying how thoroughly he'd undone her even as her mouth had tried to downplay it. The leg that had been resting on Bex's shoulder shifted, her thigh pressing briefly against Bex's arm as though seeking some kind of anchor while she waited to see whether her apology would be enough.

Bex remained perfectly still, her role as silent observer reasserting itself even as her pulse thundered with the tension of watching Jess navigate consequences in real time. The taste of her friend still lingered on her tongue, the intimacy of what had just happened now tangled with the uncertainty of whether the scene would continue or collapse entirely.

"What do you think, Toy. Boot her to the curb, or let her stay and play?"

The question landed with devastating weight—not rhetorical, but genuine. He was giving Bex agency again, letting her decide whether Jess's apology was enough, whether the scene would continue or end right here with her friend scrambling for her clothes. The power of it settled into Bex's chest, heady and complicated, awareness flooding through her that this moment belonged to her in a way nothing else had tonight.

Jess's gaze snapped to Bex immediately, panic and hope warring visibly across her expression. Her hands were still gripping the table's edge, knuckles white with tension as she waited for judgment from someone who'd been silent and obedient all evening. The vulnerability was raw—not just physical nakedness but the stripped-bare awareness that she'd fucked up and her ability to stay depended entirely on whether Bex would grant mercy.

Bex felt the weight of both their attention, her pulse thundering as she processed what was being asked. Jess had apologized, had admitted the truth beneath the bratty deflection—that she didn't know how to handle vulnerability without armor. It was honest in a way that mattered, genuine fear showing through the cracks of her usual confidence. And more importantly, this was exactly what they'd planned: Jess testing boundaries, consequences materializing, the dynamic playing out with all three of them actively participating rather than Bex just watching passively from the sidelines.

Her voice came out quieter than usual but steady, her gaze holding Jess's as she spoke. "Let her stay."

"Okay fine, but she's your responsibility now, including consequences. Get her cleaned up and meet me in the living room." He walked off toward the living room without turning back, his departure leaving the two women alone in the dining room with the weight of what had just happened settling between them.

Jess let out a shaky breath, her entire body sagging with relief as the tension drained out of her. "Holy shit," she whispered, her voice still unsteady. "I thought he was actually going to kick me out." Her hands finally released their death grip on the table's edge, fingers flexing as she tried to process the whiplash of the past few minutes—orgasm to bratty comment to genuine panic to reprieve, all compressed into a span that had left her visibly rattled.

Bex stood slowly, her own pulse still elevated as she processed the shift in her role. She was responsible for Jess now—for cleaning her up, for managing her, for whatever consequences might follow if her friend couldn't keep herself in check. The agency she'd been seeking had just been handed to her in a form she hadn't entirely anticipated, and the weight of it settled into her chest with complicated heaviness. She moved to grab a clean towel from where Shawn kept them near the kitchen, dampening it with warm water before returning to where Jess still sat on the table, legs dangling, looking thoroughly undone.

"Come on," Bex said quietly, her voice carrying a gentleness that felt strange after hours of silence. She pressed the warm cloth against Jess's inner thigh, cleaning away the evidence of what had just happened with careful efficiency. Jess flinched slightly at the contact, still sensitive, but didn't pull away—just watched Bex's face with an expression caught between gratitude and lingering vulnerability as they prepared to face whatever waited for them in the living room.

Bex finished cleaning Jess with gentle efficiency, the warm cloth moving over her thighs and between her legs with the kind of care that suggested she understood exactly how sensitive everything still was. Jess's breathing had mostly steadied, though her hands still trembled slightly when she pushed herself fully upright on the table.

"You okay?" Bex asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper—the first words she'd spoken directly to Jess all evening.

Jess nodded, then shook her head, then laughed shakily. "I don't know. That was... intense. And I almost fucked it up completely." She ran a hand through her hair, her expression shifting between residual panic and something that might have been excitement. "Your responsibility now, huh? What does that even mean?"

"It means you need to behave," Bex said, her tone carrying more authority than she'd expected to muster. "No more bratty comments unless you actually want consequences. And if you get us both in trouble..." She trailed off, the implication hanging between them. They'd planned for Jess to test boundaries, but that moment at the table had gone further than testing—it had nearly ended the scene entirely.

"Got it," Jess said, her voice steadier now. "I'll follow your lead." She slid off the table, her legs still slightly unsteady as her feet hit the floor. They moved together toward the living room, Bex leading the way with Jess following close behind, both of them naked and hyperaware of what might be waiting for them.

When they entered the living room, they found him sitting on the couch, completely naked now, just lounging with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he'd been waiting patiently for them to sort themselves out. The sight stopped both women in their tracks, Jess's breath catching audibly while Bex's gaze tracked over him with an intensity that carried both familiarity and renewed hunger.

"Toy, show Jess how a mouth is meant to be used. Maybe we can find her something to do with hers other than mouth off." His smile carried heat and deliberate provocation, the words firm but clearly playing into the scene's energy rather than actual harshness.

Bex felt the instruction land in her chest with immediate clarity—not a suggestion, but a command that required action. Her role had shifted from passive observer to active demonstrator, responsible not just for Jess's behavior but for teaching her how to perform properly. She moved forward without hesitation, crossing the space between the doorway and the couch with purpose, her body responding to the familiar dynamic even as awareness prickled through her that Jess was watching every movement, cataloging how she approached, how she positioned herself.

She sank to her knees between his spread thighs with practiced ease, her hands coming to rest on his legs as she looked up at him briefly—seeking confirmation, showing readiness—before leaning in to take him into her mouth. The taste and weight of him was familiar, grounding her into the role even as her pulse thundered with the awareness that this wasn't private anymore, that Jess was standing mere feet away witnessing exactly how thoroughly she'd surrendered to this dynamic.

Behind her, Jess's breathing had gone shallow again, the sound audible in the quiet room as she watched Bex work with focused attention. The demonstration was visceral and immediate—showing rather than telling what was expected, what good behavior looked like when someone actually knew how to use their mouth for something other than bratty commentary.

"Mmhm... very good toy. Now let her try and I hope for both your sakes she learns fast." He was very hard now, clearly enjoying himself as he watched Bex work with focused attention.

Bex pulled back slowly, her lips releasing him with deliberate care before she turned to look at Jess over her shoulder. Her expression was serious despite the flush across her chest, the weight of responsibility settling visibly into her posture. "Come here," she said quietly, her voice carrying authority she hadn't known she possessed until this moment. "Kneel next to me."

Jess moved forward with visible uncertainty, her earlier confidence completely stripped away as she sank to her knees beside Bex. Her gaze flicked between Bex's face and where Shawn sat watching them both, her breathing quick and shallow. The vulnerability was raw—not just physical exposure but the awareness that she was about to be judged on her performance, that both of them would face consequences if she couldn't meet expectations.

Bex's hand came to rest on Jess's shoulder, grounding and guiding at once. "Watch first," she murmured, leaning back in to demonstrate again—her mouth taking him with the kind of practiced ease that came from weeks of learning exactly what he responded to, how to use her tongue, how deep to take him before pulling back. After a moment she withdrew again, turning to meet Jess's eyes directly. "Your turn. Start slow, pay attention to how he responds, and don't try to do too much at once." The instruction was clear and direct, teacher to student, before Bex shifted slightly to give Jess room to move into position.

Jess swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she moved into position where Bex had just been. She glanced up once—seeking some kind of reassurance or permission—before leaning forward with visible nervousness. Her first attempt was tentative, almost hesitant, her lips parting to take him in with none of the confidence she'd carried earlier in the evening. The inexperience showed immediately in the way she held herself, the slight awkwardness of her angle, the uncertainty in how much pressure to apply.

Bex watched with focused attention, her hand still resting on Jess's shoulder as she monitored the attempt. After a moment she spoke quietly, her voice carrying instruction without judgment. "Relax your jaw more. Use your tongue—yes, like that. And don't forget to breathe through your nose." The guidance was practical and direct, born from her own experience of learning what worked, what he responded to. Jess adjusted based on the feedback, her movements becoming slightly more confident as she found a rhythm that felt less awkward.

The room held a charged tension—Jess working to prove she could follow instruction, Bex responsible for ensuring her friend's performance met expectations, both of them acutely aware that consequences had been promised if this didn't go well. Jess's breathing had steadied into something more controlled, her initial nervousness giving way to concentration as she focused on the task, on reading responses, on not disappointing the person whose authority she'd tested earlier and nearly lost access to entirely.

His hands wove into both of their hair, one hand on each—guiding Jess's pace with gentle but firm pressure while his fingers threaded through Bex's hair in a way that grounded her, anchored her into the moment. "Mmmm not bad... not bad at all.... I think you're teachable."

The praise landed differently for each of them. Jess's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, relief flooding through her at the acknowledgment that she was doing well enough, that her earlier misstep hadn't completely ruined her chances. The guidance of his hand in her hair gave her something to follow, a physical cue that made it easier to find the right rhythm without overthinking every movement. Her confidence built incrementally with each pass, her technique smoothing out as she started to understand what he responded to.

Bex felt the weight of his hand in her hair like an anchor, the contact reminding her of her role even as she knelt beside Jess in this strange teaching position. The heat pooling in her body intensified—not jealousy at watching Jess work, but something more complicated. Pride that her instruction was working, arousal at being part of this dynamic triangle, the visceral awareness that she was responsible for both of them performing well. Her breathing had gone shallow again, her gaze fixed on where Jess's mouth moved with increasing confidence, cataloging every adjustment, every response that suggested the lesson was taking hold.

The room felt smaller, more intimate, all three of them locked into this moment where authority and surrender and teaching all tangled together into something that worked precisely because everyone understood their role.

"What do you think of her technique, Toy? Does she look good with a cock in her mouth?"

The question pulled Bex's attention fully into focus, his hand still threaded through her hair as he waited for her assessment. She watched Jess work for another moment—the way her friend's lips stretched around him, the visible concentration in her expression, the gradual smoothing of her technique as confidence built. The sight was undeniably arousing, heat flooding through Bex's system as she processed both the visual and the question itself, the way he was asking her opinion like it mattered, like her judgment held weight in this dynamic.

"Yes," Bex said, her voice quieter than usual but steady, honest. "She's learning fast. She looks good." The words felt strange leaving her mouth—praising another woman's performance while kneeling beside her, both of them naked and focused on the same task. But the strangeness didn't diminish the truth of it. Jess did look good, her earlier bratty confidence replaced by genuine effort and responsiveness to instruction.

Jess's eyes flicked briefly toward Bex at the praise, something grateful showing through her concentration before her attention returned fully to what she was doing. The acknowledgment seemed to bolster her further, her movements gaining another increment of confidence as she worked to prove that the assessment was accurate, that she could meet expectations when she actually tried instead of deflecting with commentary.

Jess could feel him getting close—the tension building in his thighs, the subtle shift in his breathing that telegraphed what was coming. His voice cut through her concentration with clear instruction. "Now Jess, give that back to my Toy so she can get her treat. If you're GOOD, maybe you get it next time."

The words landed with immediate clarity—not a suggestion but a command that required her to pull back, to surrender the moment of completion to Bex despite having worked for it. Jess hesitated for only a fraction of a second before withdrawing, her lips releasing him as she shifted back to give Bex room. The disappointment was visible in her expression—wanting to finish what she'd started, to prove she could see it through—but the promise of "next time" hung in the air like a carrot, motivation to actually follow instructions instead of testing boundaries.

Bex moved back into position without needing additional prompting, her mouth taking him with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly what he needed in these final moments. The transition was seamless, her technique polished and confident as she worked to bring him over the edge, to earn the reward that had been explicitly framed as hers rather than something to be shared. Jess knelt beside her, breathing hard, watching with an intensity that suggested she was cataloging every detail—learning not just technique but also the hierarchy, the structure of who got what and when.

The room held its breath as Bex continued her work, his hand still tangled in her hair providing pressure and guidance, the other hand having released Jess entirely now that her role in this particular moment had concluded.

He exploded into Bex's mouth moments later, his hand still tangled in Jess's hair—holding her in place, making her watch every bit of it. The grip wasn't harsh but it was absolute, ensuring she witnessed the completion she'd been denied, the reward going to someone who'd earned it through obedience rather than testing. His breathing came hard and uneven as the climax worked through him, Bex's mouth still working him through the aftershocks with practiced attention until he finally stilled.

"Toy, if you feel like sharing your treat, kiss Jess."

The instruction hung in the air for a beat before Bex pulled back slowly, her lips closing as she processed what he'd just asked. Her gaze flicked to Jess—whose eyes had gone wide with surprise and unmistakable hunger, her breathing shallow as she remained held in place by his hand in her hair. Bex shifted closer, her hand coming up to cup Jess's jaw as she leaned in and pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was immediately intimate and filthy, Bex's tongue sliding against Jess's as she shared what she'd been given. Jess made a desperate sound against her mouth, her hands coming up to grip Bex's shoulders as she kissed back with intensity that bordered on frantic—tasting him secondhand, taking what she'd been offered even as the hierarchy remained crystal clear. When they finally broke apart, both women were flushed and breathing hard, their foreheads resting together briefly before Bex pulled back to meet his eyes—checking whether she'd performed as expected, whether sharing her reward had been the right choice.

His hand came to rest on Bex's head, fingers stroking through her hair with gentle approval. "Such a good Toy." Then his attention shifted to Jess, his tone warming with promise. "I think you've earned your taste of my Toy, and she certainly deserves it..." He motioned for Bex to lay down on the carpet in front of him, repositioning the scene so he could watch and enjoy the show from his seat on the couch.

Bex moved to comply immediately, her body still humming with arousal as she settled onto the soft carpet. The position put her directly in his line of sight, displayed for his viewing pleasure while Jess would work between her legs. The role reversal from earlier was complete now—she'd been the one holding Jess open for inspection, and now she'd be the one spread and vulnerable while her friend returned the favor. Her pulse thundered as she looked up at Jess, seeing the hunger and determination mixed in her expression, the eagerness to prove she could deliver after having been denied completion earlier.

Jess shifted down to kneel between Bex's thighs, her hands trembling slightly as she positioned herself. The nervousness from earlier had transformed into focused intensity—this was her chance to show she could follow through, to earn her place in this dynamic they were all building together. She glanced up once at Shawn, seeking confirmation or permission, before her attention fixed fully on Bex with an expression that promised she intended to make this worth the wait.

As Jess worked on Bex, he ran a hand up and down her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine with appreciation before occasionally cupping her ass and patting playfully. "That's right, dig in. She's delicious isn't she?"

Jess made a muffled sound of agreement against Bex's skin, her mouth already busy with focused attention. The encouragement seemed to embolden her, her technique gaining confidence as she explored with her tongue—learning what made Bex's breathing hitch, what caused her hips to shift involuntarily. The earlier nervousness had burned away entirely, replaced by genuine hunger and the determination to prove she could deliver on what she'd been given permission to do.

Bex's head tilted back against the carpet, her hands fisting in the soft fibers as sensation built with devastating efficiency. Watching Jess from this angle—seeing her friend's head between her thighs, feeling the careful attention being paid to her body while Shawn watched and touched and praised from above—created a feedback loop of arousal that threatened to overwhelm her completely. The agency she'd been seeking crystallized into something visceral: this was happening because she'd chosen it, because she'd granted permission, because all three of them were actively participating in building this dynamic together rather than her being sidelined or excluded.

Jess's hands gripped Bex's thighs, holding her open as she worked with increasing intensity, clearly reading the responses and adjusting accordingly. The praise from Shawn seemed to fuel her efforts, each pat and touch reinforcing that she was doing well, that her earlier misstep had been forgiven in favor of this moment where she could actually prove her worth. Bex's breathing had gone ragged, her body tensing as pleasure built toward an inevitable peak, the combination of Jess's mouth and Shawn's presence and the sheer intensity of the dynamic pushing her rapidly toward the edge.

It didn't take long for Bex to hit orgasm after everything that had come before. The climax tore through her with devastating force, her entire body seizing as pleasure crashed over her in waves that felt endless. She exploded—actually squirted—the release so intense that it caught even her by surprise, liquid coating Jess's face and upper body in a wonderful mess that left both of them shocked into stillness for a heartbeat.

Jess pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with surprise and unmistakable satisfaction as she registered what had just happened. Her face and chest were soaked, droplets running down her skin as she caught her breath. A slow, delighted grin spread across her features despite the mess—or maybe because of it—her expression shifting between pride at having drawn such an intense response and genuine awe at the visceral proof of Bex's pleasure. "Holy shit," she breathed, her voice carrying wonder and satisfaction in equal measure.

Bex lay trembling on the carpet, her body still wracked with aftershocks as she tried to process what had just happened. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, her hands still fisted in the carpet fibers as sensation continued to ripple through her system. The intensity had stripped away everything else—thought, self-consciousness, the complicated tangle of emotions she'd been carrying all evening—leaving only raw, overwhelming pleasure in its wake.

Jess wiped at her face with the back of her hand, the gesture somehow making the mess more obvious rather than cleaning it up. She was still grinning, clearly pleased with herself despite being thoroughly soaked, her earlier nervousness completely burned away by the success of what she'd just accomplished.

"Well done... I think my Toy enjoyed that." His laugh was genuine, the sound breaking through the scene's intensity as he nearly broke character entirely. "I'll get a towel." He stood and headed toward the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp cloth and a dry towel, his demeanor shifting seamlessly from commanding dom into caretaker as the scene wound down into aftercare.

Jess was still kneeling between Bex's thighs, her grin wide despite being thoroughly soaked, when he knelt beside them with the towels. "Here," he said gently, pressing the warm damp cloth into Jess's hands first. "Get yourself cleaned up." His tone had softened completely, the authority from moments ago replaced by genuine care and warmth. He turned his attention to Bex, who was still trembling on the carpet, her breathing gradually slowing as the aftershocks subsided. "You okay?" he asked quietly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder with grounding pressure.

Bex nodded weakly, unable to form words yet as her body continued processing the intensity of what had just happened. She'd squirted—something that had never happened before, not in any of their previous scenes, not with anyone else. The vulnerability of it settled into her chest alongside the lingering pleasure, awareness flooding through her that both of them had witnessed her completely undone in a way she hadn't anticipated. Jess wiped at her face and chest with the damp cloth, her movements still slightly dazed as she cleaned away the evidence of Bex's release.

"Let's get you both comfortable," he continued, helping Bex sit up slowly before offering the dry towel to wrap around her shoulders. The scene had clearly ended—what remained now was the careful work of bringing everyone back down, ensuring they were grounded and cared for after the intensity they'd just navigated together.

He led them both to the shower, the three of them fitting comfortably in the oversized space he'd been grateful for more than once. Warm water cascaded over skin still flushed and sensitive, his hands moving with practical efficiency as he helped wash away sweat and evidence of what they'd just done. The intimacy of it felt different from the scene—quieter, softer, grounded in care rather than power dynamics. Jess stood still under the spray, letting him work shampoo through her hair with the kind of docility that suggested she was still floating somewhere between headspaces. Bex leaned against the tile wall, her eyes half-closed as the heat soaked into muscles that had been held tense for hours.

Once clean, he wrapped them both in soft robes—the kind that were oversized and plush, designed for comfort rather than aesthetics. They shuffled back to the living room together, movements slow and slightly uncoordinated as their bodies adjusted to being upright and functional again. He settled them on the couch before disappearing briefly to gather supplies: water bottles, coffee already brewed and waiting, an assortment of snacks spread across the coffee table. Crackers, cheese, chocolate, fruit—simple things that required minimal effort to consume.

They ate in silence for several minutes, the quiet broken only by the sound of wrappers crinkling and water bottles being opened. Jess curled into one corner of the couch, her robe pulled tight around her as she worked through a handful of grapes with focused attention. Bex sat in the middle, close enough to both of them that her shoulder brushed against his arm, her fingers wrapped around a coffee mug like it was anchoring her to reality. The scene had ended, but the weight of what they'd just navigated together still hung in the air—not uncomfortable, just present, requiring acknowledgment before anyone could fully return to themselves.

Eventually it seemed like the energy had settled, the silence shifting from necessary recovery into something more comfortable. "Sooooooooo," he started, his tone deliberately light as he broke the quiet. "How we feeling about all that?"

Jess let out a slightly hysterical laugh, the sound bursting out of her before she could stop it. She set down her water bottle and ran both hands through her still-damp hair, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and satisfaction. "I feel like I just got put through a very sexy boot camp," she said, her voice carrying residual shakiness beneath the humor. "Like, that was... intense doesn't even cover it. The orgasm on the table was incredible, but then watching Bex—" she gestured vaguely toward her friend, "—and being part of that? That was something else entirely." She paused, her smile softening into something more genuine. "Also I'm sorry about the bratty comment. That was stupid and I almost ruined everything."

Bex had been quiet through Jess's response, her hands still wrapped around her coffee mug as she processed. When she finally spoke, her voice was steadier than expected given how thoroughly she'd been undone less than thirty minutes ago. "I'm good," she said, meeting his eyes directly. "Really good, actually. I thought—" she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "—I thought watching you with someone else would trigger all the jealousy and panic I've been spiraling about. But it didn't. Having agency in how it happened, being part of it instead of just hearing about it after... that made all the difference." Her gaze flicked to Jess briefly before returning to him. "And the squirting was... unexpected. That's never happened before."

"Do NOT ever be sorry for a bratty comment. It's all part of the game." His laugh was warm and genuine, the sound breaking through any lingering tension. "I was SO close to having to figure out a reason not to send you packing.... maybe even would have, but that would just fuel the NEXT scene. As long as you're in bounds on boundaries and limits.... breaking the 'rules' is fine... and... sometimes fun, right?" Another laugh, his tone making it clear the threat had been performance rather than genuine rejection. "And the squirting, that caught me by surprise, but.... was really hot, to be honest. My front row seat was... a very nice view. Of both of you." The smile he directed at them both carried appreciation and affection in equal measure.

Jess's expression shifted immediately, relief flooding through her so visibly that her shoulders sagged. "Oh thank god," she breathed, her hand pressing briefly against her chest. "Because I was genuinely terrified I'd fucked everything up and wouldn't get invited back." The admission came with a shaky laugh, vulnerability showing through despite her attempt at lightness. "So just to be clear—bratting is encouraged as long as I'm not actually crossing hard limits or being genuinely disrespectful?" Her tone carried genuine curiosity now, seeking clarification on where the actual boundaries were versus the performance boundaries they'd been playing with.

Bex had been watching the exchange with quiet attention, her coffee mug still cradled in her hands. Something in her expression had softened during his explanation—the reassurance that the scene's structure allowed for testing, that consequences were part of the game rather than genuine punishment. "The view was pretty good from where I was too," she said quietly, a slight smile tugging at her mouth as she glanced at Jess. "Watching you try to keep your composure while he worked you over was... educational. And hot." The honesty in her voice suggested she was still processing how well the evening had gone, how the agency she'd been seeking had actually manifested in practice rather than just theory.

He turned to Bex, his expression shifting into something more serious despite the warmth still present in his tone. "So... how did all that feel for you, really? Don't hold back... that was the point of this... talk to me."

The question landed with weight, cutting through the lighter debrief energy to focus on what had actually been at stake tonight—whether Bex could handle the framework they'd negotiated, whether agency would be enough to keep jealousy at bay. Bex set her coffee mug down on the table, her hands folding in her lap as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. The vulnerability from earlier in the evening resurfaced, but tempered now by the evidence of what had just worked.

"It felt good," she said slowly, her voice steady but carrying the careful consideration of someone working through complex emotions in real time. "Like, genuinely good. When you were with Jess on the table, I thought that would be the hard part—watching you touch someone else, taste someone else, make her come apart the way you do with me." She paused, her gaze flicking briefly to Jess before returning to him. "But having her leg on my shoulder, being part of it, having you ask my permission... that changed everything. I wasn't just watching from the sidelines. I was participating, I had input, and that made all the difference between spiraling and actually enjoying what was happening."

Her hands twisted together briefly before she forced them still. "And then when you had me demonstrate, when you made me responsible for her—that was even better. I wasn't competing with her or feeling replaced. We were working together, and you were managing both of us." A slight flush crept across her cheeks as she continued. "The squirting surprised me, but I think it happened because I felt safe enough to completely let go. Because I knew I'd chosen this, that we'd planned it together, and that if I needed to stop we could." She met his eyes directly, her expression open and honest. "So yeah. It worked. The agency thing—it actually worked."

"Glad to hear that, because... and I don't think it will surprise either of you, I think that was a LOT of fun." His smile stretched wide, completely open about his enjoyment of two beautiful women—no false modesty, no pretense of detachment, just honest appreciation for what they'd all just shared.

Jess let out a laugh that sounded more relaxed than anything she'd managed all evening, the tension finally draining out of her entirely. "Yeah, I picked up on that," she said, her tone warm with amusement. She reached for another grape, popping it into her mouth before adding, "And for the record? Also a lot of fun from where I was sitting. Or kneeling. Or... whatever." The humor carried genuine satisfaction beneath it, her earlier panic about almost getting kicked out now transformed into the kind of giddiness that came after successfully navigating something intense and coming out the other side intact.

Bex's smile matched his, something lighter showing through her expression now that the heavy emotional processing had been acknowledged and validated. "It was fun," she agreed quietly, her voice carrying a note of surprised pleasure—like she was still catching up to the reality that the evening had actually worked, that her theory about agency had been proven right in practice. She leaned slightly into his side, the contact casual and comfortable in a way that suggested she'd fully returned to herself after the scene's intensity. "So... does this mean we're doing it again sometime?" The question was directed at both of them, genuine curiosity mixed with hope that this wasn't just a one-time experiment.

"I would like that... if you're both up for it... no pressure though of course."

The words settled into the space between them with gentle weight—invitation without expectation, openness without demand. The careful balance of enthusiasm and respect for boundaries felt consistent with everything else about the evening, the acknowledgment that wanting something didn't mean pushing for it if either of them needed time or distance to process.

Jess's response was immediate, her expression brightening as she sat up straighter on the couch. "Oh I am absolutely up for that," she said, her tone carrying zero hesitation. "Like, yes please. That was incredible and I would very much like to do it again when everyone's ready." She glanced at Bex, clearly checking whether her friend's answer would match her own enthusiasm or if there would be complications to navigate.

Bex's smile widened, something that looked like relief mixing with genuine excitement as she nodded. "Yeah. I'm in." Her voice was steady, confident in a way that suggested the evening had done exactly what it was supposed to—proven that the framework could work, that agency made all the difference, that she could actually handle what she'd been so terrified of weeks ago. "Maybe not next weekend because I think I need a few days to fully process all of this," she added with a slight laugh, "but definitely again. Soon."

The living room settled into comfortable warmth, all three of them relaxed now that the debrief had confirmed what the scene itself had suggested—this had worked, they'd all enjoyed it, and the door was open for future exploration without anyone feeling pressured or uncertain about where they stood.

Chapter 11

Fresh... Start?

~339 words

The weeks that followed settled into a rhythm that felt both natural and deliberately constructed—the kind of pattern that emerged when people actually communicated about what they wanted instead of just hoping things would work out. Game nights continued every Thursday at Marcus's place, the campaign gaining momentum as characters leveled and the story deepened. Bex watched Shawn run sessions with the same appreciation she'd had from the beginning, but now with the added comfort of knowing exactly where she stood, what they were building together, and that his attention to other players didn't diminish what existed between them.

Play dates happened with comfortable frequency—sometimes just the two of them exploring the dynamic they'd been refining since that first scene, sometimes with Jess joining to add complexity and energy that all three of them enjoyed. Bex discovered that the agency framework didn't just work once; it continued working because she had input every time, because nothing happened without explicit negotiation, because the structure they'd built actually held up under repeated testing. Jess proved herself a quick learner and an enthusiastic participant, her bratty tendencies providing exactly the kind of playful tension that made scenes fun rather than stressful.

Haven checked in periodically with that knowing look that suggested she'd predicted this outcome from the beginning, satisfied that her advice about agency had proven correct. The friend group absorbed the shift without drama—Bex and Shawn were together in whatever way worked for them, Jess occasionally joined their play, and nobody felt the need to make it more complicated than that. Life continued: client projects and writing deadlines, coffee shop lunches and game nights, scenes that left everyone satisfied and cared for, the comfortable domesticity of building something real rather than just chasing intensity.

The story wasn't over—it never really was with dynamics like this, always evolving and deepening as people learned more about themselves and each other. But for now, things had settled into something that felt sustainable and genuine, the kind of foundation that could support whatever came next.