Lara opens the door, and the man standing in the hallway smells of rain and cold tobacco. The scent invades her nostrils, heavy and familiar, as if she had always known it. Ben picked him up an hour ago at a bar – fleeting glances, a nod, an arrangement neither of them took entirely seriously. Now he’s here, and Lara feels her heart pound against her ribs, a wild, impatient rhythm. She steps aside, lets him in. Her fingers tremble on the door handle.
The First Impression
His name is Felix, mid-thirties, with dark hair falling into his forehead and a smile that is neither shy nor bold – it’s a smile that knows everything. He carries a worn leather jacket under his arm, a plaid shirt with an open collar revealing a hint of chest hair. Ben greets him with a slap on the shoulder, as if they were old friends. Lara watches the two men shake hands – Ben’s well-groomed fingers closing around Felix’s broader, rougher hand. A tingle shoots down her neck, an electric shiver that gathers in her belly.
“Wine?” Ben asks, already in the living room. Felix nods, and while Ben fills the glasses, Felix sits on the sofa, exactly where Lara had been sitting an hour ago, her feet tucked under her thighs, laptop on her knees. She takes the armchair across from him, the leather cold through her thin fabric pants, a shock on her heated skin. Ben hands Felix a glass, sits beside him, lets his hand rest casually on his shoulder. It’s a gesture Lara knows – Ben’s way of suggesting familiarity, of soothing. But tonight it feels like a bridge, something flowing back and forth between the men, something invisible and hot.
“Cheers,” Ben says. They drink. The wine is a Cabernet Sauvignon, dark and heavy, leaving a trail of cherry and vanilla on Lara’s tongue, a sweet promise. The apartment is silent except for the soft hum of the city outside, like a distant heartbeat. The curtains are drawn, the light from the floor lamp bathing the room in a deceptive gold, painting shadows into the corners.
The Game Begins
Ben talks about the bar, about a band that played there, about some guy who bought a round. Lara doesn’t listen. She watches Felix, how he holds the glass, swirls the wine, lets the liquid circle in patterns that mirror her thoughts. His gaze meets hers, pauses, then drops to her mouth. She feels her lips go dry, licks them, a slow, deliberate glide of her tongue. Felix smiles, a barely visible movement, but it tears something open inside her, a door she never fully closed.
“Lara plays piano,” Ben says suddenly. Felix’s gaze shifts to the old grand piano in the corner. “Will you play us something?”
“Maybe later,” she says. Her voice sounds foreign, deeper than usual, an octave full of desire. Ben stands, goes to the bar, pours himself whiskey. “You know,” he says, addressing Felix, “we’ve never done this before. Invited someone like this.” He laughs, a short, tense sound that shatters in the silence.
Felix leans back, arms spread across the sofa back, a king on his throne. “And why tonight?”
Lara sees Ben’s shoulders tighten. He takes a large gulp of whiskey, burning down his throat. “I don’t know. Because we’re curious.” He sits back next to Felix, this time closer, his hip almost level with Felix’s thigh. Lara’s pulse hammers against her temples, a violent thumping she hears roaring in her ears. She stands, goes to them, sits on the arm of the sofa, close to Ben. Her fingers slide into his hair, twist a strand that feels silky. Ben smiles up at her, but his eyes are serious, dark with anticipation.
The Touch
Felix watches them, like a spectator in a theater, savoring the tension on stage. Lara leans in and kisses Ben – a long, probing kiss that opens her lips and invites his tongue. She tastes whiskey and something salty, the sweat of his arousal. Ben’s hand lands on her hip, presses gently, pulls her closer. But Lara’s mind is on Felix’s presence, on the warmth radiating from his body, just inches away, an ember scorching her skin. She breaks away from Ben, turns her head. Felix’s gaze is dark, his pupils dilated, two black holes devouring her. “Do you like to watch?” she asks. Her own directness surprises her, a spark shooting from her.
Felix nods slowly. “Yes.” The word hangs in the air, heavy and final.
Ben pulls her onto his lap, and she feels his erection through the fabric of his pants, a hard, pressing bulge against her ass cheeks. She rubs against him, a slow, circular motion, while watching Felix. His hand moves slowly to his belt, unbuckles it, a metallic click that cuts through the room. But he makes no move to expose himself. Just the gesture. A threat. A promise. Lara breathes faster, her chest rising and falling under the thin fabric of her shirt. Ben’s hands slide beneath it, stroking her belly, her ribs, her skin burning under his fingers. She closes her eyes, opens them again – Felix is still there, motionless, a dark silhouette in the lamp light, a shadow that breathes.
“Take your clothes off,” Ben says to her. His voice is hoarse, rough with desire. Lara obeys. She pulls the shirt over her head, a jerk that tangles her hair, unbuttons her pants, lets them fall. She stands before them in only her black bra and thong, the fabric a thin veil over her wetness. The air is cool on her skin, a shiver that hardens her nipples into tight pearls. Ben reaches for her bra, unfastens the clasp with a practiced move, and she lets it fall. Her breasts are heavy, nipples hard, erect like little projectiles. Felix’s gaze sweeps over them, and she feels her nipples stiffen further, as if his look were touching them.
Ben leans in and takes one into his mouth. His tongue circles it, sucks, and Lara moans softly, her hand finding his neck, clawing into his hair. But her eyes seek Felix. He hasn’t moved yet. “Do you like it?” she asks, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Very much,” he says. His voice is rough, as if he hasn’t spoken in a long time, as if it comes from a deep cave.
Ben sucks harder, and Lara forgets everything else for a moment. Waves of pleasure flood through her.
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