🔥🔥STEAMY ALERT—this is borderline 3 fires, what do you think?🔥🔥

♫ Can't take it back once it's been set in motion
You know I love to rub it in like lotion ♪
{Billie Eilish—Oxytocin}

Thankful that Delilah wasn't in, Coralie dashed to her bedroom, removed her painful heels, and collapsed onto her bed.

It had been a close one; a near destruction of the promises she'd given herself. She'd almost succumbed—technically, she had, giving her tongue away to be tormented by Ryan's—and almost brought herself back to square one. Back to the place she'd been desperate to get out of.

And it was her own fault. She should have known that going to a party with Ryan would end like this, no matter how many times he assured her he'd be on his best behavior. How could he be? With the rush of success, the flowing alcohol, the air of decadence and excess—and surely her tight dress hadn't helped. And neither had his tight trousers, and that damn bulge she couldn't quit staring at—

A river of chills roamed down her spine, tingling down her legs, making her numb, nauseous with desire. She had flashes of his ocean eyes, his puckered lips, his strong hands cupping her ass. Those vivid visions doused her in a near painful arousal, and she had no means to stop it. Even with her eyes open, he was there. She smelled him; sugary spice and citrus, a scent that invaded her nostrils with every inhale. She still tasted him; that mix of mint and champagne, the sweet smoothness of his tongue twirling around hers. His body pressing into her, hardened, weakening her knees, dampening her underwear.

She shivered again. And again.

Fuck.

This intense arousal had to be remedied.

She ensured the bedroom door was locked—screw Delilah, she'd have to wait to get to her room, because this was more important—and settled back onto her bed to hike her dress up. The silk brushing over her skin scattered goosebumps over her legs, and she suppressed a shiver. She tiptoed her fingers over her underwear, and groaned at the wetness she sensed over the fabric.

If she couldn't sleep with Ryan, she sure as hell wouldn't stop herself from getting some relief. Because if she didn't, she feared she'd dial his number to beg him to come over and finish what they'd started.

"Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?" She bit her lip and pulled her dress up higher, and slid her panties off.

Without even touching herself, she sensed the moisture gathering between her legs. She'd have soaked her underwear if she'd spent another minute imagining Ryan; this was necessary. Not that she'd needed convincing, but anything to relax her conscience would help her relax herself and enjoy this solitary moment of pleasure.

So she slipped a finger between her lower lips and moaned. It was hard to focus with such a warm welcome, but she returned to the scene on the balcony; to where Ryan had been seconds away from ripping her gown off.

And this time, in this dream world of her creation, she let it happen. She let him tug the material down her chest, her waist, her thighs, and watched it pool at her feet in a puddle of navy silk. Like a wavy sea under a midnight sky, the fabric rippled as she stepped out of it, naked but for her heels, and her lacy undergarments.

Ryan eyed her, chewing on his lip, his gaze glistening with hunger for her. "God, you're delicious," he said, his voice a marvelous melody that encircled Coralie and hypnotized her.

She ripped his shirt off, exposing his brown, broad, muscled torso, and the sculpted abs she'd drooled over more than once. But she didn't give herself an opportunity to drool, this time. The peak of her arousal was approaching fast, and she wanted to make sure they reached the ultimate act before she climaxed—in the actual world.

She unfastened his belt as they locked lips, tongues tied in a treacherous tango. His hands massaged her ass, pulling her closer, making it difficult for her to free him of his pants. His erection was firm, almost painful against her, and she interrupted their fiery kiss to concentrate.

"I need you naked," she said, imagining her own voice as a sultry siren's song. "Now. Hurry."

As his slacks sank down past his knees, Coralie heard footsteps.

She opened her eyes, batting her lashes, checking her bedroom—but the noise hadn't come from the real world. It had come from her imagination; she'd placed those footsteps there. She'd wanted to hear them. Apparently, she'd invited guests to her dream-world sex-session.

"Uh... okay." She replaced her fingers into her drenched crevice, and stilled—the wetness was more intense than before, proving she'd indeed craved this new turn in her desires. "I guess we're doing this."

Traveling back to her wet-dream, she saw them—the audience. Gorgeously garbed women, sipping from their crystal glasses, watching her with envious eyes. Dapper gentlemen, the tops of their shirts unbuttoned, hands hiding in their pockets to rub the firm bulges in their pants as they licked their lips. They were turned on—the men and the women. They'd come to watch, they'd expected a show—Coralie and Ryan fucking on the second floor balcony of Ryan's new store.

Dream Ryan didn't seem to care. His gaze remained on Coralie, lustful and longing, holding her as if she were about to run away. But dream Coralie didn't run; she craved this. She was excited that they had spectators, and eager to get to the good parts. Eager to deliver a spectacle they'd never forget.

Ryan unbuckled her bra and marveled at her bared chest as the straps slid down. He gripped her breasts tightly, massaging the nipples as he trailed his mouth from her chin to the bottom of her neck. Every flutter of his lips over her skin, and every light pinch of his fingers over her nipples was like ecstasy running through her veins.

Though her eyes rolled to the back of her head, she noticed the onlookers getting comfortable. Removing dresses, kicking off shoes, putting their cups down to begin caressing one another. One man was getting closer to Coralie and Ryan, clearly intent on joining them; and a woman behind him seemed set on Ryan, glimpsing his footballer thighs and the growing erection between them.

He'd lost his boxers—Coralie didn't remember removing them—and the woman marched up to start fondling him. He didn't protest, but remained concentrated on Coralie, and on swirling his tongue around her nipples.

She arched her spine, and squirmed about on her bed. This was new; this was unexpected. Never had she been much of an orgy-lover or in any sort of voyeuristic mood, but tonight, she'd breached a new level.

"Damn, okay, so this is how it's going to go?"

She re-plunged into her sexy world, and noticed another lady coming their way, but interested in Coralie. Her long, luscious red mane looked like lightning bugs decorated each strand, and she was fully naked aside from a necklace dangling between her perky, delectable-looking boobs. Coralie, though a bit dizzy from the pleasure caused by Ryan's wandering tongue, kept her gaze on this woman's sly strides, getting closer, her breasts enrapturing, intriguing—

But when Coralie saw her face, she gasped. In the dream or in real-life, she wasn't sure; but it paused the reel in her mind for half a second while she fought to understand what this meant.

It was Lila. The insanely hot and incredibly experienced chick from her three-way with Chester. What was she doing there? How, why had Coralie conjured her for this masturbation session?

Despite her reservations, Coralie hadn't stopped stroking herself. Her fingers worked away, rubbing faster and faster over her clit, sending spiraling trembles up her limbs.

"Shit." She slowed down, unwilling to cum too fast; no, this needed to last. If she couldn't have Ryan—and if she was going to explore this new fantasy—she'd take her time and enjoy every second.

When she resumed her mind-movie, Ryan had moved on to her lower half. His fingers were where she had hers in real-time; flicking, stirring, sending her entire body into shock. Lila meandered over and took control of Coralie's breasts, doing what Ryan had been moments before. Her tongue was warm, lush, enclosing over Coralie's nipples as she peered up at her, a spark of sensuality in her light eyes.

Fuck; Coralie had forgotten how gorgeous Lila was. How hypnotic her kisses were, how her aroma was like a delirious poison that enthralled the senses and removed one's speech.

Someone else took care of Coralie's other breast—and when she glanced down and saw a mop of messy blond hair and a pair of emerald eyes gawking up at her, she froze.

"Fucking A!" She nearly sat up—in the actual world—but it was as if she was glued to the mattress. Her body didn't want her to break from this trance, this dream that grew crazier by the second.

It was Chester, in his golden glory, his chiseled chest pushed into her stomach, his soft hands holding her breast. He'd pressed his mouth to her left nipple, while Lila worked on her right, and Ryan alternated between vibrating her clit and fingering her.

Of course, Chester had squeezed his way into her imagination. He always did, and she shouldn't have been shocked he'd showed up now.

She was too far to go back, too aroused to halt what she'd been doing to herself, and too intoxicated by the sensations these visions were giving her, and by how wet she was; so she continued. She observed her lovers, as if outside of her body; ogled them as they spread pleasure from her head to her toes, as they used their fingertips and tongues to provoke wave after wave of ecstasy in her abdomen. They were relentless, uncaring for their own indulgences, only wishing to delight her. It was all about her.

She was only a tad shocked when she sensed another presence; as if she'd been expecting him, because why not? This was her dream, her desire—she'd add whoever she pleased.

His breath, crisp and cool, washed over her neck as he nibbled her earlobe. She didn't need to see him, because she heard him; that sensuous, hidden sexiness in his tone as he whispered, "I want you, Cora. I must have you, Cora."

Michael—yes, he'd entered the game, as well. And shocking as it was to find him there, engaging in this eerily erotic made-up scenario Coralie was using to get off, it didn't stop her. Nothing would stop her; she was too close to the brink of satisfaction. Her near balcony-fuck with Ryan had transformed into her picturing herself in a five-way with the three men she'd been sleeping with, and the only woman she'd ever lusted after. And it was the most fervent, fiery fantasy she'd ever come up with.

If her fingertips hadn't been soaked with the fruits of her gratification, she'd have believed herself asleep. Because only her slumbering mind would concoct such a situation, such a stifling reunion of her conquests—past and future and current.

And she was the center of it all. Ryan kneeled before her, now making his way between her lips with his tongue. Chester and Lila continued their unctuous exploration of her nipples, and Michael was behind her, his massive hard-on digging into one of her butt-cheeks as he grabbed her other, squeezing it, kneading it while he pecked at her earlobe.

She had mere seconds to breathe as Ryan stood up, but her respite was short-lived; Ryan lifted one of her legs and slithered his penis into the mouth of her arousal, filling her up, prompting her to forget about the others and their acts. Chester, Michael, and Lila disappeared from her vision as Ryan thrusted, gripping her hips to enter her deeper, to occupy her fully. He drove into her, once, twice, three times—and she screamed.

Her legs quaked as they lowered onto the sweat-soaked sheets. "Shit." Her climax had been so powerful, so messy, that she needed a towel to clean herself up.

Never had she made herself cum so hard; and never while imagining several people touching her, and even more watching. She'd never been turned on by the idea of an audience, nor did she think she could focus on more than one person trying to have sex with her.

Until I had a threesome with Chester, at least.

She buried her head into her pillow and screamed again; but this time, not with joy.

***

She removed the dress—and planned to bring it to a dry-cleaner tomorrow, before she gave it back to Delilah—and managed to fall asleep, despite her wandering mind. She could still envision them all, naked, taking turns to satisfy her. At one point, she almost stripped from her pajamas to take care of herself again, but worried she'd have another explosive climax. And Delilah had likely come home by then; she didn't need to hear Coralie's insane pleasure.

When Coralie woke, she felt as though she hadn't slept at all. Exhausted and hungover. Her mouth was dry, her lips chapped, her legs sore. Had she had that much to drink the night before? Or was the hangover from her self-gratification? Had it been that fierce, to the point of making her feel inebriated and drained?

She didn't have time to interrogate herself further, as Delilah barged into the room in her robe, her hair piled into a lopsided bun atop her head.

"You awake?" She held a mug of steaming coffee in one hand, and her other was clenching and unclenching at her side.

Coralie checked her phone—that she'd forgotten to plug in, and was flashing at her with a low battery signal—and growled. It was six-thirty; she didn't have to be in the office that day until ten, and would have appreciated another hour or two to sleep.

"I suppose I am. What's up?"

Delilah's face was scrunched, but Coralie saw the marks across her cheek from her pillow. She must have gotten in late, and woken early for work, and was in a mood.

"Someone's here for you." She pranced out of the room without another word, leaving Coralie in a panic to get dressed.

Someone was there? Who? Had her screams of delight been so loud that they'd reached Ryan's ears? Chester's? Or somehow, Michael's? Was it a neighbor come to file a complaint about her vehement masturbation squeals? Or maybe someone from Ryan's work, to complain about their make-out session on the balcony?

She didn't know what to wear, as she didn't know who—or what—awaited her. So she shrugged on a sweatshirt and leggings, and after running a few fingers through her tangled curls, she emerged.

At the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, she immobilized. To her relief, it wasn't Ryan. Nor Michael, nor Chester, nor a stranger—it was a young woman with long, lithe legs, and with a large duffel bag at her feet, her back turned.

Even from behind, Coralie had no trouble deciphering who it was. She'd seen that back on many occasions, and recognized that bushy, albeit somewhat tamed auburn hair. She even recognized the long-sleeved shirt this woman wore, as she'd seen her in it over a few of their video-chats.

"Bella?" Coralie still couldn't move, but a large smile snuck across her lips as the guest standing near the couch flipped around.

Her gray-green eyes were red and tired, and her hair spilled out of her tousled braid, and the Converse shoes she wore—a lilac shade that matched her yoga pants—were rumpled and baggy; but otherwise, she looked her usual self. Her stubborn, but sweet, self.

The wise, witty woman Coralie had confided in for years, who knew everything about her, was there, in NYC. She was real, in person, and not on the other end of a phone-screen.

Happy as she was to see her, it dawned on Coralie that Bella wasn't supposed to be there. She lived in England, and had a demanding job; she wasn't in a position to make surprise visits to her friends on another continent.

"You... you're here? Why? How?"

Bella didn't return Coralie's brief smile. Instead, she massaged her temples and sighed. "I was called in as reinforcements," she said, a certain sternness to her tone as she gestured at Delilah, sitting on the couch behind her. "Because I got wind that you added a third man to the roster of your selection of men to date, and didn't tell me. So I'm here to help."

Coralie glared at Delilah, whose nose was about to drop into her coffee mug. "Ah, so you were summoned? When?"

"A few days ago. I used Daddy's miles to get here ASAP, as the Americans say." Bella crossed her arms, and arched an eyebrow. "But I should be asking you the questions, Cora. Why the secrecy, and why the complications? What the hell are you doing with your life?"

They were in need of some serious girl-time, Coralie realized. She'd been so busy with her adventures in dating that she hadn't called her best friend to keep her apprised of the situation.

Agreed—what am I doing?

Her cheeks flushed. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about, huh?"

♥♥♥