My arms braced against the couch armrest, the worn fabric rough under my palms as I held myself up. The living-room air felt heavier now, thick with the scent of our sweat and the faint, lingering fruitiness of the rosé that still buzzed in my veins. My ass was high, knees digging into the cushion, thighs spread wide enough that I could feel the cool draft from the open window brushing my exposed skin. Every breath I took pulled in the musky smell of arousal—mine, theirs—mixing with the carpet's faint musty odor from where we'd been kneeling earlier. My pussy throbbed, swollen and slick, the remnants of my last orgasm...