"If it becomes a problem, babe, I'll walk and you two can have at it," he said. "I'm used to shit falling apart."
I sat and stared at him for several minutes and then got up. "I'll get Jenna."
"Let me do it." He got up and went outside. I moved to the couch and lit another cigarette. This was not the edge I wanted to live on, but Jenna was right. I loved both regardless of how fucked up it looked or sounded. Fuck it, I decided and waited.
When they came inside, I slid off the couch and to the floor, tugging Seneca’s hand until he followed. Jenna came too, her legs folding underneath her like she was at confession. The cheap carpet scratched at my knees. Seneca sat between us, his legs crossed, and for a second, he looked like a man who’d never fought or fucked or killed in his life. Just another tired soul, trying to hold together the pieces. The truth was, most of us were tired souls trying to survive in a chaos we didn’t create or didn’t mean to create.
I ran my fingers over the ink on his forearm. A skull in a helmet, a string of Latin that I couldn’t translate. “Tell me about this one,” I said.
He didn’t flinch. “It means ‘if you want peace, prepare for war.’”
I nodded. “Seems right.”
Jenna leaned in and kissed the tattoo. It was such a soft, broken gesture that I almost looked away. But I didn’t. I watched her mouth, the slow press of her lips on his skin, the way her eyes closed when she lingered there. She looked up at me, and I realized I was holding my breath.
Seneca moved then, fast and sure, pulling me in so our faces were inches apart. His stubble scraped my cheek as he leaned in, and I felt the static shock of his breath on my neck. He kissed me, not gentle but not rough either, just a press of want, a declaration, a challenge.
Jenna’s hands were on his chest now, fingers splayed wide. She let them drift down, unbuttoning the fly on his jeans with a practiced flick. I watched, my own hands on his shoulders, holding him steady while she worked him free. His cock came out, thick and veined, already half-hard from the tension in the room. Jenna wrapped her hand around the base and stroked him, slow and steady, like she was winding a music box.
Seneca kissed me harder, then shifted his mouth to my ear. “You’re still the most dangerous person I know,” he whispered.
“Liar,” I said, but I smiled anyway.
He reached for my shirt, fingers hooking under the hem. He dragged it up over my head, then tossed it onto the couch behind us. My breasts were bare, nipples hard from the chill in the room and the way he stared at them. Jenna leaned in and pressed her lips to one, her tongue circling, her teeth nipping just enough to make me gasp. Seneca watched, his face hungry, then bent to take the other between his lips. I was where I was always meant to be, with who I was meant to be.
They worked in tandem, like a pair of conspirators, each touch and kiss passing me back and forth like a secret. I arched against them, felt the ache build between my legs, and let the need overtake the fear. I reached for Jenna’s head, tangled my fingers in her hair, and pulled her up to meet my mouth. We kissed, her lips tasting like sweat and whiskey and maybe something bitter underneath.
Seneca groaned, his hands gripping my hips. He pulled me forward until I was straddling his lap, my jeans scraping against his. Jenna pressed up against my back, her arms wrappingaround my waist, her hands exploring every inch of exposed skin.
“Take them off,” she whispered in my ear, her breath hot.
I did. I shimmied out of them and let them puddle on the floor. Jenna helped, running her hands down the backs of my thighs as she did. Seneca’s hands never left my body; he slid them up my calves, over my ass, up to the small of my back, pulling me closer with every inch.
I ground against him, felt the head of his cock rub between my folds, slick already. He didn’t fuck me right away. He just held me, teasing, the tip nudging but never breaching. I wanted to curse him, but I couldn’t speak. I was too busy kissing Jenna, too busy letting her hands explore me.
She moved around to my front, unbuttoned her own shirt, let it fall to reveal the small, perfect breasts I’d admired for years. The rest of her clothes was next, and she stood, peeled down the fabric, kicked it away, and then sank back down to the floor, kneeling between my legs.
Seneca let her take the lead. Jenna kissed my inner thigh, then licked a slow path up to my center. Her tongue was deft, insistent, years of courtroom ruthlessness distilled into pure focus. She knew exactly how to make me gasp, how to keep me hanging right at the edge. Seneca watched, hands still gripping my hips, his cock twitching as Jenna licked and sucked, never looking away from my face.
When I came, it was a slow build, then a rush, then a shock that left me shaking. I let out a cry, one I’d never have allowed myself in any other life. Jenna kept going, licking me through it, drawing out every last pulse. When she finished, she looked up at me, her mouth wet, her eyes shining with something that looked a lot like pride.
Seneca didn’t wait. He lifted me, turned me, pressed me down onto the carpet. He slid in, thick and hard, all the way to the hilt.I arched, cried out again, and felt Jenna’s hand stroking my hair, soothing me even as Seneca fucked me slow and deep.
He set the pace, hips grinding, hands everywhere—my breasts, my stomach, my face. He kissed me, then kissed Jenna, sharing my taste with her. She moaned, desperate, and slid her hand between her own legs, rubbing herself as she watched us.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Seneca said. He leaned back, letting me ride him, my hands braced on his chest. Jenna crawled up beside us, her mouth finding my nipple again, her free hand squeezing Seneca’s balls, stroking the base of his cock as I moved on him.
We switched, rotated, bodies twisting on the floor. Seneca pulled out of me, turned to Jenna, and lifted her onto his lap. She was slick, ready, and he entered her in one smooth motion. Jenna’s head dropped back, hair spilling over her shoulders, her mouth open in a silent scream. I moved behind her, kissing her neck, running my hands over her breasts, pinching her nipples until she gasped.
He fucked her hard, the way she liked it, his hands on her ass, guiding her up and down. I reached between her legs, found her clit, and rubbed, slow at first, then faster as she begged for it. She came fast, a quick, sharp pulse, but Seneca kept going, fucking her through it, his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
He pulled out, then lay her down on the floor beside me. He moved between us, one hand on each of our thighs, then licked me, licked her, licked us both in turns. His tongue was rough, relentless, and when I came again, I grabbed Jenna’s hand, squeezed it so tight she cried out.
The carpet left marks on my back, and the room smelled like sweat and bourbon and old, sunbaked vinyl. When Seneca finally came, he did it with a roar, pulling Jenna’s hair and burying his face in my neck. I felt the hot pulse of him inside me, the way his body shuddered and then went limp.
We lay there for a long time, tangled, the aftermath settling over us like a sheet.
Jenna curled into my side, her head on my shoulder, her arm flung across my stomach. Seneca lay on the other side, face buried in the crook of my neck, his breath slow and even.
